Elin Hilderbrand - Summer People

David returned to his seat, only now he gripped the table and lowered himself gingerly into the chair, as if he were an old man. “Honey, we need to show your sister support. We have to rally around her.”

“What about me?”

These words came from Garrett. He waited a beat to see if anyone had heard-yes, everyone at the table turned to him.

“I guess the question for you, young man, is why weren’t you more careful?” David said.

“I was careful,” Garrett said. He’d used condoms every time, and it was just the one time when his mother startled him when he wasn’t paying full attention. But he couldn’t explain that. “We had some bad luck.”

“Good luck,” Piper said, rubbing her still-flat stomach. “I consider this good luck.”

“You consider this good luck,” Garrett said to Piper. “So I guess what I think doesn’t matter. And this is my child, too.”

“I care what you think,” Beth said.

“So do I,” said Winnie.

“So do I,” said Marcus. “What do you think?”

Garrett’s eyes blurred with tears. What he thought was that if he had to sustain any more growing pains, any more major changes in life or death, he would explode. What he thought was, thank you to his mother and his twin sister and yes, even Marcus, for caring about him despite the fact that he possessed a despicable character. What he thought was, I amsorry, I amso, so sorry to the child that Piper carried within her. I want to do better by you, but right now, I just can’t.

When Garrett spoke, his voice was thick with confusion. His normal voice had abandoned him.

“Let’s just do what Piper wants,” he said. “She’s the mother. It’s her decision.”

Beth sighed. David clapped Garrett’s shoulder. Winnie said, “Well, congratulations, then!” Marcus saluted Garrett. Peyton went over and touched the top of her sister’s hair, as if checking for a halo. Garrett fell back in his chair, he was exhausted.

“Is there dessert?” he asked. He was grateful when Beth said, “Of course! Yes!” and bounded into the kitchen to serve it. Anything predictable, to Garrett, was now unspeakably precious.

Winnie couldn’t believe it, but she was jealous. For years she had heard of girls her own age having babies-once even a girl at Danforth-and it was always spoken of with distaste. It was called “getting in trouble.” But why?As Winnie lay in bed with Marcus that night, she longed to be filled with another human life, a life that could miraculously be created out of thin air and passion.

“It would be romantic, wouldn’t it?” Winnie asked. “To have a baby?”

“Don’t talk that way,” Marcus said. “It won’t be romantic for Garrett and Piper. Those two didn’t even kiss good-bye tonight.”

Winnie had noticed. The relationship between Garrett and Piper was different now, and not in a good way. Garrett kept talking about going back to New York like there was nothing he’d rather do. Meanwhile, Winnie wanted to stay on Nantucket forever. Once she got back to New York, everything would change. She would go back to living on Park Avenue, Marcus would go back to Queens. They could still see each other; it was thirty-five minutes on the subway. But it wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be living together; they wouldn’t spend every afternoon on the beach swimming; they wouldn’t eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together on the deck. Instead, Winnie imagined herself stepping off the train in an unfamiliar neighborhood where all the other girls her age were black or Hispanic and tough . Smoking cigarettes, chewing gum, dishing out attitude when they saw Winnie and Marcus walking down the street holding hands. Winnie had beentoMarcus’sapartmentoncebefore with her father and Garrett-the building was shabby, and although Marcus’s apartment was nice on the inside, it looked like an apartment where the mother was absent. There had been dishes in the sink-lots of them-and there were two TVs blaring in different rooms. Marcus’s sister, LaTisha, he said, came home from school and plunked herself in front of the set until bedtime. She did her homework in front of Oprah and ate her dinner in front of Jeopardy! Winnie didn’t want to place herself in that apartment or on the street in Queens, but she was afraid the trip to Manhattan would intimidate Marcus just as much, and that he wouldn’t come. New York, Winnie was certain, would stink. They wouldn’t be safe from the rest of the world like they were here.

A few days later, the Western Union truck pulled up in front of the house. Winnie was the only one around. Garrett and Beth had gone running together and Marcus had fallen asleep down on the beach. Winnie was in the kitchen making sandwiches when she heard the crunch of tires on the shell driveway and she reached the front door in time to meet the driver and sign for an envelope. Winnie became sore with the memories of previous summers-the FedEx truck came nearly every day with documents for her father.

The Western Union man tipped his hat at Winnie in an old-fashioned way that made her smile. She looked at the envelope and saw it was addressed to Marcus. It was a telegram, she realized, another telegram for Marcus. There had been one a few weeks earlier, back when they were angry at one another, and she had forgotten to ask him about it. From one of his parents, his father probably, telling him it was time to come home. She wanted to throw the envelope away, or else she wanted it to contain happy news, like Marcus had been offered a college scholarship. Like his father had found a great new job and they were moving to Manhattan.

Winnie took the envelope down to the beach along with their lunch. Marcus was still asleep, face down, on his beach towel. He was so tall and solid; at night, when he held her, she wanted to melt into him and disappear.

She nudged the bottom of his foot with her big toe. “Turkey sandwiches,” she said. The days of Malibu and Coke were over, but she’d brought a thermos of icy lemonade. She laid out lunch as Marcus rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“I’m really going to miss this,” he said. “You know?”

Winnie squinted at the ocean. A seagull stopped at the edge of their blanket and squawked for some of their lunch. Winnie threw a piece of bread crust. Finally she understood the heartache her mother felt every year when she left this island. It was falling in love here that did it, Winnie guessed. It was falling in love here that made you never want to leave.

“A telegram came for you,” Winnie said. She pulled the envelope out of her jean shorts. “Just now. Western Union.”

Marcus looked at the envelope but didn’t reach for it right away. Winnie’s heart dropped. It was bad news. She remembered the morning of March sixteenth, her mother coming into her bedroom while Winnie was getting dressed for school. Her mother didn’t have to say a single word; Winnie knew in her gut that her father was dead.

“Is everything okay?” Winnie whispered.

The seagull returned, begging for more. Throw the telegram to the seagull, Winnie thought. Throw it into the ocean. It seemed plausible on such a gorgeous day that bad news could simply be tossed away.

Marcus opened the envelope, shaking his head all the while. Maybe it was from Constance. Could a person send telegrams from prison?

“What does it say?” Winnie asked.

He fell back onto his towel. “There’s something I have to tell you. Remember back a couple of weeks ago when I got that other telegram?I know you were the one who slid it under my door.”