Summer People (12 page)

“I’ll be okay,” Winnie said. “Go ahead.”

“When my mother found out what Angela was doing—when she found out how
bad
it all was—she demanded that Angela let Candy live at our house. She told Angela if she didn’t let Candy come to our house to live, she’d call the police. But it was tricky, see, because
then
Angela told my mother that Leon had been having sex with Candy, too, and so he’d be the first person to go to jail.”

Winnie felt herself shaking on the inside. Marcus took her hand, and this surprised her. His hand was huge and warm, which made Winnie realize how small and cold and brittle her own hand was. She stared at their interlocking hands. He stared, too, confused by his own gesture. He’d taken Winnie’s hand instinctively, like he was reaching out to steady himself.

“My mother decided she didn’t care about Leon and she didn’t think Angela would turn him in anyway since he did all the dirty work scoring their drugs. Angela never left the house; she just laid in bed all day, got high and ate Hostess cakes.” Marcus emptied the last few drops from his Coke can into his mouth, then with his free hand he pried off the tab and dropped it into the can. “My mother was a teacher so she planned it.” There it was, the premeditation. “On October seventh Candy had a half day of school because of in-service. My mother waited for Candy on the street at noon and brought her home. Like, to live with us.”
Intent to abduct,
the D.A. said. “Mama gave her some lunch and told her, you know, that Angela and Leon were sick and needed time to get better so Candy was going to move in with us. Candy nodded and said she understood but she was crying. Mama gave her a glass of milk and let her watch cartoons on PBS.” Marcus rattled the Coke can, a sound effect—his jittery nerves, his dried-out brain rattling in his skull. “Angela wasn’t as clueless as my mother thought. When Candy didn’t make it home from school she knew where to look. She came over to take Candy back.”

Here was where the story got convoluted—for the judge, for the jury, and for Marcus. Why did Constance let the woman in? In his mind, Marcus reconfigured the end of the story so that Mama just bolted the door shut and waited for someone else to get home—Bo, Marcus, even LaTisha. Or waited for one of the neighbors to call the police. There might have been an ugly scene, but no one would have been killed.

Marcus was in the room the first time Arch met with Connie at Riker’s. Bo and LaTisha had walked out—Marcus could tell his father was nervous about having a private attorney show up because how would they ever pay for it? Connie asked Marcus to stay. The public defender was a milky-skinned woman named Fiona Dobbs who got bright pink spots on her cheeks when she spoke to Constance. She was twenty-seven years old, eighteen months out of Pace Law School, and although there was no way her defense would be effective, Constance felt comfortable around her. Arch was another story—a tall, successful-looking man with such a cheerful demeanor that Marcus wondered if he realized the reason they were here was
murder
. Arch introduced himself, shook hands with both Connie and Marcus, smiling right into their eyes. To Connie, he said, “We were freshmen together at Princeton. 1975, right?”

“Right,” Connie answered warily, as if it were some kind of trap. “Did I know you?”

“No,” Arch said. “But that’s why I’m here. I looked you up in the facebook. I thought maybe I could help you.”

“I can’t afford your help,” Connie said.

Arch sat down and pulled a yellow pad out of his briefcase. “Free of charge,” he said. “Let me ask you a couple of questions.”

A couple of questions turned into her whole life history up until the murders. Marcus fell asleep, his head resting against the cinder block wall behind his chair, his arms crossed in front of him. When Arch started asking about October seventh, Marcus opened his eyes. Arch’s voice was much more serious.

You were holding the knife when you opened the door?

I was trying to scare her.

That doesn’t answer my question.

Yes, I was holding the knife. She was there to take the child, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I hated the woman. I’d always hated her.

That’s not something you’re ever going to tell a jury. What happened, exactly, when you opened the door? What did you say? What kind of movements did you make?

I can’t remember.

You’re going to have to remember. They want to execute you, Connie.

My life was over a long time ago.

That’s not true. What about your family?

Connie glanced in Marcus’s direction, her eyes like a couple of closed doors. Marcus stood up to leave. His father and sister had the right idea. He didn’t want to listen to this.
Poor child. It’s not his fault. My life was over before he was even born.

Arch nodded at Marcus, as if giving him permission to go. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Can you tell me what happened with Candy?

Connie started to cry.
She’s dead. God, she’s
dead.

In Constance’s official testimony, there was a fight, a struggle, just like in the movies—a duel between herself, Candy’s savior, and Angela, who wanted her nine-year-old daughter to have sex with grown men for money. But in this day and age, you can’t lie about something like that. The forensic expert found no evidence of a struggle. Connie opened the door. Angela stepped in and Connie stabbed her.

“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.

“I promised Daddy I wouldn’t,” Piper said.

“Since when do you keep promises to your dad?”

“Since now,” Piper said. “I’d die if I got grounded and couldn’t see you. Besides, I’m not ready to tell Mom your name yet. First you have to prove yourself.”

He kissed her and bit her lip. “I intend to.” As soon as Garrett got his license, they were going to drive out to the beach and have sex. They’d decided this together, last night, when they’d made out on the beach and Garrett’s shorts were down to his knees and Piper’s tank top was pushed up. She made him stop. She said she wanted to wait until they had a car.

She was a virgin, she said.

A voice came over the loudspeaker: “Anyone holding a green boarding card please proceed to the gate.” Piper’s plane. She stood to go, her purse hitched over her shoulder. She blinked rapidly.

“I’ll have Daddy bring me over the second I get back,” she said. “Tuesday at four. Or four-thirty. Okay? Promise you’ll be home waiting for me?”

“Promise,” he said. He kissed her again until he knew if he didn’t stop, he’d never let her go. “Be good.”

She skipped out onto the tarmac, waving to him the whole way.

Outside, it was hot. Beth sat at the wheel of the Range Rover reading the
New Yorker.
She smiled when Garrett opened the door.

“Piper got off okay?” she asked.

“I guess,” he said. “Can I drive home? I have to practice for my test.”

“Sure,” his mother said. They passed each other in front of the car, switching seats. Garrett got himself buckled in behind the wheel and started the engine. Shifted into drive and eased out of the parking space.

“You’re going to miss her,” Beth said. “But you’re probably ready for some time alone. You kids have spent every waking second together. That’s not usually your style.”

“My style’s changing,” Garrett said. He and Piper had been together so much that he felt weird now, without her. He checked the air for her plane, wishing she could see him driving. As he turned onto the main road, he thought about the past two weeks. He and Piper sat out on the deck in the afternoons drinking Malibu and Coke, they swam, they walked the beach at night and made out in the sand. They rode their bikes to Sconset one day and had lunch at Claudette’s. They walked to Bartlett Farm to get Beth the first zucchini of the summer. They went to two movies. They played Monopoly with Winnie and Marcus—with Piper there even that was fun.

There had been only one bad night, the beginnings of an argument. Piper took Garrett to a bonfire on Cisco Beach where kids from her high school were having a keg. They walked there from Garrett’s house—a long walk in the dark—and Garrett stepped in a shallow hole and twisted his ankle. Piper stopped to inspect his injury.
A little tender,
she said,
but nothing you can’t handle, right? You don’t want to turn back?

No,
he said,
it’s fine.

He limped along, enjoying the way Piper held him closer, cooing in his ear, rubbing his lower back. Then they saw the distant flash of the fire and the silhouette of bodies. Piper hurried him along. Her friend Jenna was going to be at the party and her friend Kyle. Garrett was uncomfortable as he hobbled toward the group. The fire was in a pit; it was smoky and a couple of people fed it newspapers and paper bags.

“All the guys at my high school have a car,” Piper had told him earlier. Garrett saw the vehicles lined up on the beach: Jeep Wranglers, a rusty old Bronco, and one brand new canary yellow Land Rover Defender series with all the bars.

“We’re here,” Piper announced to the party in general. There were high-pitched screams and girls came running up to her, kissing her, touching her hair. Just the way the girls at Danforth acted when they saw each other outside of the classroom—freaking out like they’d been separated by continents and decades.

Everyone was looking at Garrett; he could tell even in the dark. So many orange glowing faces. Garrett nodded in the direction of the male population who were either feeding the fire or standing around the keg. He took a deep breath. His science teacher had once told the class that nearly all pain could be managed by deep breathing. His ankle swelled.

“I need a drink,” he said.

A kid with a shaved head wearing a fisherman’s sweater held up a plastic cup. “Beck’s.”

“Nice,” Garrett said. Piper was completely encircled by friends, and so Garrett made his way over to the keg, found the sleeve of cups lying in the sand and poured two beers. He drank his down right away. His ankle really hurt and he could tell already he was going to have a sucky time at this party. He tried to remind himself that these kids weren’t as smart or sophisticated as the kids at Danforth. They drove their Wranglers on the beach, but Garrett was pretty sure they’d get lost taking the cross-town bus.

Piper tugged on his arm. “My friends think you’re cute,” she whispered. “Jenna actually said ‘
gorgeous.
’ ”

Garrett couldn’t hide his smile. “Am I going to meet them?”

“Later,” she said. “Right now I want you to meet my friend Kyle. He’s definitely here. That’s his Rover.”

“Okay,” Garrett said. “Let me fill up.” He topped off his beer. It was warm, but it did lighten his mood. “I’m not sure how long I want to stay.”

“We just got here.”

“What time is your dad picking you up?”

“Not until eleven,” she said. “Come on, there’s Kyle.”

They found Kyle on the far side of the Rover, lying in the sand, smoking a cigarette. A girl sat on either side of him. Kyle wore jeans and a gray tank top. He, too, had a shaved head.

“You guys all use the same barber?” Garrett said.

“Football team,” Kyle said. “Who the fuck are you?”

Garrett stepped forward on his good leg. “Garrett Newton. I’m a friend of Piper’s. Nice to meet you.”

“Garrett’s a summer person,” Piper said. “From Manhattan, New York City.”

Kyle regarded Garrett and blew smoke out his nose. “ ‘Manhattan, New York City,’ ” he mimicked in a high voice.

Garrett swallowed half his beer. He looked up into the sky and heard, despite his wishes, words from his father.
These are her friends. This is her life. She wants to show it to you. Yes, it’s difficult, life is difficult. If you want easy, date a girl from Danforth. Date Tracy Hayes whom you’ve known since Montessori.

“I like your car,” Garrett said.

Kyle nodded, then he touched Piper’s leg. “Ronan,” he said. “Where’ve you been lately?”

“With Garrett,” she said.

“You were supposed to meet us at Ego’s on Tuesday.”

Piper swatted Kyle’s hand away, like it was a fly on her food. “I was busy Tuesday. With Garrett.”

Garrett laughed nervously. “You actually know someone named Ego?”

“Nickname,” Piper said. “My old boyfriend. They call him that because he’s so full of himself.”

One of Kyle’s girls stood up to get Kyle another beer and Kyle pulled Piper down into her place. Then he passed her his cigarette and she took a drag. Garrett shifted his weight. He couldn’t believe she was smoking. He was about to say something when Kyle slid his arm around Piper’s waist and pressed his face against her stomach to make a farting sound. The girl on the far side of Kyle, who looked completely stoned, burst out in giggles, and Piper pushed Kyle’s head away. “Gross,” she said. “You need to grow up.”

“I thought you loved my boyish charm,” Kyle said.

“I’m out of beer,” Garrett said.

He limped back to the keg and filled his cup, taking the tap from Kyle’s minion, then decided he was angry. Piper was smoking, she was letting this asshole Kyle touch her, she wasn’t introducing him to her girlfriends which was the reason he came. She didn’t seem to care that his ankle hurt. Hurt so much that he dreaded walking home, except that home meant an ice pack.

He left the party without her, trying not to think about how uneasy he’d felt around Kyle or about the ex-boyfriend named Ego, or about how pissed Piper would be when she realized he was gone. He concentrated only on making the dark stretch of beach before him disappear.

She caught up with him an hour later. He was very slowly climbing the stairs to his house. Wishing he’d kicked sand in Kyle’s face, thinking he might be better off with Tracy Hayes or Brooke Casserhill or some girl whose idea of a good time did not include smoking Marlboros and fawning over someone who looked like Mr. Clean’s delinquent son.

But then he heard her calling his name and when he turned around he saw that she was close to tears.

“Thank God I found you,” she said. “I can’t believe you just
left.
”

“My ankle hurts,” he said. “I need to ice it.”

“You should have told me.”

“It looked like you were having fun.”

“Fun?” she said. “With those bozos? I can see them whenever I want. My time with you is precious.” She linked her arm through his and helped him up to the deck where Beth and David were playing cards. Garrett realized that David hadn’t gone home and come back; he’d been here all along.

“How was the party?” Beth asked.

“Fine,” Garrett said.

“Terrible,” Piper said. “I need to get out of this place.”

Now that Piper was gone, the memory of the party was even more painful to Garrett. Later, Piper had accused him of not liking her friends and Garrett pointed out that he hadn’t even met her friends, only Kyle. Kyle was her friend, she said, and Garrett admitted that Kyle seemed like a jerk.
Yeah,
Piper said,
Kyle is a jerk.
They’d left it at that, but somehow Garrett understood that he’d failed in her eyes. The people at that party were her real life, and he hadn’t fit in. He was a “summer person.” Now, in the car, a turn was coming up and Garrett signaled. He hit the brake kind of hard and the car bucked a little. His turn was tight. If there had been another car at the intersection, he would have smashed it. He sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Beth asked. “You’re doing fine.”

“Nothing,” he said. He never talked to his mother about girls, although truth be told, he felt differently this time. Maybe because his mother was connected to Piper through David. Maybe because Beth seemed different now that she was unmarried. Garrett couldn’t believe he was thinking such things. He checked his rearview mirror. The road was deserted, ahead and behind. He gave the Rover some gas. It surged forward.

“How did you and Dad meet?” Garrett asked.