Elin Hilderbrand - Summer People

“Whatever,” Marcus said now to Winnie, shaking the vision out of his head. “Mama stabbed her to death.”

Winnie swallowed sour saliva. “What about Candy?”

What about Candy? Marcus might someday forgive Mama for killing Angela-the woman was strung out every time Marcus saw her, with her dark hair wild and frizzy, her skin pasty, track marks like the red eyes of rats running up the inside of both arms. But the worst thing about Angela was her foul mouth, the trashy language she threw around even the youngest children. Words that the worst kid at Benjamin N. Cardozo High School wouldn’t dream of using. Angela, in Marcus’s opinion, could barely be considered human. But Marcus would never forgive his mother for killing Candy, nor understand how the sweet little girl his mother had tried to look out for-the tights, the patent leather shoes!-and had taken into her home to save ended up dead. Stabbed, just once, in the neck. Constance claimed all along that it was a “tragic mistake,” that Candy got in the middle of things, that when she saw her mother at the door she ran to her then started shrieking and kicking and lashing out at Constance. “Like she didn’t know I was trying to save her,” Constance had testified. “Like she didn’t understand the sacrifice I was making. I was trying to save the girl’s life and she starts fighting me and calling me a bitch.” The next thing Constance knew, Candy was bleeding from a dark spot at the base of her neck. Constance called 911 then pressed a bath towel over Candy’s wound, but Candy bled right through it.

“Candy got mixed up in it,” Marcus said. “Mama cut her, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose. She bled to death.” Marcus squeezed Winnie’s hand. “My uncle Leon shot himself when he found out. He blew half his head off, but he lived. He’s retarded now. In a state hospital.” Head permanently tilted to one side, tongue hanging out like a thirsty dog. Marcus had been forced to visit him once, but would never go back.

Winnie leaned against Marcus’s shoulder and closed her eyes. It was the most horrible story she had ever heard, worse than a movie or TV. And it was true. It happened in the life of this person right here. Winnie was impressed by Marcus in a way she knew she’d never be impressed by anybody again. Because he’d survived. Because he’d just had the courage to tell her the truth, instead of making excuses. She was impressed by him because he had the courage to spend the summer with three people he barely knew when he had this nightmare to contend with.

“It’s going to be okay,” Winnie said.

“No, it won’t,” Marcus said. “My mother is a murderer, Winnie. She killed a third grader. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

“Yes,” Winnie said.

“She’s a bad person. Everyone thinks so.”

“I don’t believe that,” Winnie said. “My father would not have died defending a bad person. He didn’t think Connie was bad.”

“No, he didn’t,” Marcus said. In fact, Arch’s confidence in Constance was the only thing that kept Marcus from drowning. Arch, for whatever reason, was able to see the good in Connie. He was able to make Marcus recall the admirable things about his mother-her beautiful singing voice (she was always a soloist with the church choir) and the way, when she tutored kids at the kitchen table, she would give them as much milk as they wanted, many times sending Marcus or LaTisha to the store for more. “But he was the only person in New York City who thought she deserved to live. Everyone else called her a monster. And they think I’m a monster because I’m her son. At my school… whatever, its like I have this permanent stink following me around.” He ran a hand over his hair. It needed to be trimmed already-it felt like a pilled-up vinyl rug. “If Arch hadn’t taken my mother’s case, he would still be alive. Have you ever considered that? Of course you have. Your brother knows it well enough.”

Winnie sat with this awhile. True, Garrett blamed Constance Tyler for their father’s death. But what Garrett didn’t understand was how strongly Arch felt about the case. If Arch had known he was going to die saving Constance Bennett Tyler, he probably would have done it anyway. If I save this woman, he told Winnie at EJ’s, my life will have been worthwhile. And he’d saved her.

“It was an accident that killed my father,” Winnie said. “Pilot error.”

“I guess we’ll all believe what we want,” Marcus said.

“I guess we will.” Winnie sighed. She waited to see if there was anything else Marcus wanted to say, but she could tell by the way his eyelids flagged that he was shutting down. Their conversation was over. Winnie wanted to talk to Marcus all night long for the rest of the summer. “Want to go up?” she asked.

“Sure.”

They ascended the stairs and when they reached Winnie’s room, she took Marcus’s hand and realized he was holding his mother’s letter. “I don’t want to go to bed now,” she said. “I’m scared.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I’m scared all the time.” He stood close to her in the dark. Winnie thought he might kiss her. She lifted her face and closed her eyes, but then she heard him whisper, “Good night, Winnie,” and by the time she opened her eyes, he had disappeared down the hallway to his room.

I can’t believe I’m not going to see you for three whole days,” Garrett said. He was at the airport terminal sitting on a bench with Piper until her plane was called. She was flying to Hyannis to visit her mom. Beth was parked outside, waiting in the car.

“Ssshh, don’t even say it.” Piper kissed him slowly with tongue. She tasted like the blueberry pie they’d shared at Hutch’s for lunch. Whenever Garrett kissed Piper, he felt like he was falling. A rush went to his head. He shifted on the bench and looked around the terminal: lots of people and dogs and guys carrying toolboxes who stole glances at Piper. Because she was gorgeous, sexy, a knockout. Looking especially hot today in a pink string halter and a little jean skirt. When she bent over earlier at the Nantucket Air counter to hoist her bag onto the scale, he caught a glimpse of her white panties.

“For God’s sake,” he said, blushing. “Bend at the knees.”

Now Garrett held her around the waist, trying to memorize how her skin felt against his fingertips. He couldn’t wait for three days to pass. By the time Piper got back, he was going to have his driver’s license. He’d convinced his mother that getting a Massachusetts license was the right thing to do. He could use the Nantucket address, and he might end up going to college in Boston anyway. He and Piper had already talked about applying to the same schools.

“That way,” Piper had said, “we’ll only have to be apart for one school year.”

The thought of nine months away from Piper was too much to bear. The thought of the next three days without her was nearly as bad, since the last two weeks she and Garrett had been inseparable. But she had to leave, she said. This was the longest she’d gone without seeing her mother since Rosie moved off-island in December, and Rosie called to complain, saying a new boyfriend was no excuse for staying away. Piper didn’t tell her mother Garrett’s name, and she wasn’t going to any time soon. David had asked her not to.

“He doesn’t want Mom to know that Beth’s around,” Piper said. “Don’t ask me why. Those were strict orders, punishable by a very long grounding, he said.”

“I think you should go ahead and tell your mom about me,” Garrett said. “If she gets angry at your dad maybe he’ll stop chasing after my mom.” One bad side effect to Garrett and Piper dating, and Garrett not having his license, was that every time they saw each other, David stopped in to talk to Beth. Or if Beth were the one driving, David came out into the driveway. One night he’d gone so far as to climb into the front seat and ride with them into town. He popped a cassette tape into the stereo without even asking, and he sang to Beth. Old-fashioned stuff, like Elton John. It made Garrett want to puke.