Elin Hilderbrand - Summer People

Marcus lowered his eyelids, an involuntary sign for her to stop. Obviously he knew what she was talking about; he wasn’t an idiot. The question was whether Marcus was going to tell her the bad news. He considered the consequences. If he told Beth the truth-that her secret was out-Winnie would never forgive him. Furthermore, the workings of this family were none of his business. He felt badly for Beth-yes, he did-but he couldn’t speak.

He shrugged.

Beth hooked his gaze, trying to pry him open with her eyes. “Winnie hasn’t said anything to you?”

“Winnie hasn’t said anything to me,” he repeated. “In about ten days.”

“They’re pushing us away,” Beth said. “It’s not like they’re openly hostile, but I’m beginning to feel like their butler. Know what I mean? I’ve been thinking of inviting our therapist to come for the weekend. Kara Schau-you’d like her.”

The therapist. Marcus supposed that’s what rich people did when they had family troubles-invited the therapist for the weekend. He shook his head, then eyed the letter.

“I’d like to be alone now,” Marcus said. “I don’t mean to kick you out of a room of your own house, but I really do want to be alone.”

What could Beth do but respect his wishes? She stood up to go.

“You’ll let me know if you learn anything?” she said.

The woman was just begging him to lie to her. Sometimes, he supposed, that was what people needed.

“Sure,” he said.

That night, Winnie went to the movies with Garrett and Piper. They didn’t invite Marcus along, and it took Beth to ask, “Isn’t Marcus going with you?”

They didn’t answer her, and Marcus quickly stated that he wanted to stay home. He went upstairs to his bedroom, listening through his open window to Winnie’s voice, her laughter, the sound of the car doors slamming. He felt so angry with her, and yet their separation didn’t seem to bother her at all. As the Rover drove off, Marcus pulled Constance’s most recent letter from the inside of his dock shoe and opened it. He decided he would read it, then throw it in the trash.

July 24

Dear Marcus,

Through everything I have never stopped loving you. I will wait as long as it takes.

Mama

Marcus crumpled the letter and threw it at the mirror. “It’s bullshit!” he said, louder than he meant to. “Bullshit!”

The fury in his voice bounced back at him from the white walls of his room. Beth was somewhere in the house but she didn’t call up to him. He opened the other letters; they all said basically the same thing: I love you, child… I think of you every… I pray to hear the sound of your voice…

“It’s bullshit!” Marcus shouted. God, it felt good to yell. It felt good to let go for once. At home, his father and sister would have been frightened, not to mention baffled, by his anger. He ripped the letters in half, though he yearned to destroy them more permanently-with fire or water. He stuffed the pieces of paper back into his dock shoe then threw the shoe at the door of his room, a fast ball. He pulled his notebook out of the drawer, tore out the single page that constituted the sum of his work this summer and started a fresh page.

Dear Mama , he wrote. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done it.

Later, there was a thunderstorm. Marcus woke up to a loud crashing, loud enough to make him think lightning had hit the chimney. The house shuddered. Marcus lay in bed, listening to the deep rolls and sharp cracks of thunder. He’d never heard a storm like this before. He looked out his window-the sky flashed with light, bolts of lightning hit the pond in the distance, and rain poured down in sheets. Out in the driveway, he noticed the windows of the Rover were down. Winnie and Garrett had forgotten to roll them up when they got back from the movies. They deserved to have a ruined car-they were spoiled brats, both of them. But then Beth entered his mind. He’d already disappointed her once that day and so Marcus threw on a T-shirt and ran downstairs and out the front door. The rain pummeled his back. He dashed for the car. They always left the keys in the ignition, even when they parked in town. Any idea how fast this car would be gone in Queens? Marcus asked once. He turned the key in the ignition and put up the windows. Then he leaned back in the driver’s seat, straightening his arms to the steering wheel. He thought of driving away. But there was no escaping this island in the middle of the night. Marcus relaxed against the leather seat until it sounded like the rain was abating a little. But three seconds outside-from the car to the front door-left him soaked. He peeled his shirt off as he climbed the stairs, cursing himself for being such a slave. When he got into his room, he tossed the wet shirt onto his chair, missing Winnie by a few inches. She was standing there, in his room.

“What the hell?” he said.

She looked different. He switched on the night-light that Beth gave him the first day of their vacation so he could find his way to the bathroom. It was a scallop shell night-light and it glowed pink; this was the only time he’d ever used it. It gave off just enough light for him to study Winnie. She was staring at him. It occurred to Marcus that maybe she was sleepwalking. Then he pinpointed what was different-she wasn’t wearing the sweatshirt. She was wearing a short pink nightgown. Marcus felt his body temperature rise. He dug through his dresser drawer for a dry shirt.

“If your brother catches you in here, I’m dead meat.”

“He doesn’t care anymore, Marcus.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really, we talked about it.”

“I’m sure you did,” Marcus said. He imagined some elaborate trap-sending Winnie in here to give Garrett a reason to attack him again. “Where’s your sweatshirt?”

“I’m finished wearing it,” she said.

“How come?”

She moved closer to him. “I can’t explain it, really. I just don’t feel the need to wear it anymore. I might wear it once in a while, if I get cold.”

“Oh,” he said. Along with everything else, he felt betrayed that the shedding of the sweatshirt took place without his knowledge. Because Marcus knew that meant something bigger had happened, a change in Winnie’s brain or heart. He thought the retiring of the sweatshirt deserved some kind of ceremony, the sweatshirt that Marcus had worn once himself. He still hadn’t told Winnie about that, and now he figured he never would. “Well, congratulations.” Although he meant it, his voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s a good thing.”

The pink nightgown was sheer and through it, Marcus could see the outline of Winnie’s white panties. He was afraid to go near his bed, but there wasn’t anywhere else to sit, aside from the chair where his soggy shirt lay in a puddle. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

“I came to apologize.”

“Did you?”

She lowered herself onto the bed next to him, and Marcus glared at the floor, allowing only the side of Winnie’s foot in his view. “I acted badly. I said mean things.”

“Yeah, and there was a lot you didn’t say.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t said shit to me in over a week, Winnie. You cut me out.”

“I’m sorry-”

“You can’t treat people like that. You’ve been horrible to your mother.”

“She was horrible to us.”

“She wasn’t horrible,” Marcus said. “She just kept a part of her past private.”