Summer People (28 page)

A few days later, there was a knock on Marcus’s bedroom door. Marcus had his legal pad out and was jotting down notes, if not actual sentences. It hardly mattered to Marcus—he was so relieved to have words on the page, even if those words had no more meaning than entries in a dictionary: “Princeton University,” “smack,” “petty theft,” “child prostitution,” “anger,” “social services,” “intent to kill???” Now that the ball was rolling, or if not rolling than at least moving,
of course
there would be an interruption. Marcus tucked the legal pad under his white pillows and grumbled, “Come in.”

It was Beth, a fact that both relieved and disappointed him. She looked awful—thin and desiccated like a plant that needed watering. She gave him a smile, though, and held out an envelope. Marcus’s first thought was,
Another telegram. Leave me alone, man.

“From Constance,” she said.

Even worse! A fourth letter from Mama.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” He took the envelope from Beth and dropped it on the bed in front of him as though he planned to read it once Beth left. Beth, however, remained in the doorway smiling at him. Then her friendly smile turned into a worried smile and she said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

This was the last thing he wanted, though he was surprised it had taken her so long to confront him. Garrett and Winnie had joined forces and so it only made sense that Beth and Marcus would do the same. Except neither of them wanted to. Marcus was used to being cast out on his own—that, after all, was what he’d expected from the summer: the twins wrapped up in their own exclusive cocoon, Beth lost hopelessly in the outer space of her grief. As for Beth, well, she believed she understood her kids well enough to know that whatever was bugging them would pass. But now their bizarre aloofness had lasted more than a week and showed no signs of abating. She needed help.

Beth closed the door to Marcus’s bedroom and sat on his bed. The letter from Constance lay between them, a boundary.

“I was just wondering,” she said, “if maybe you knew what was going on. In this house, I mean. With the kids. Winnie and Garrett. Their behavior. This isn’t like them.”

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.”

“An
important
part.”

“Fine, an important part. There’s no law saying that parents have to explain themselves to their children, Winnie.” He raised his head and looked at the brown smudge on the door where his shoe had hit. “My mother hasn’t explained herself. I don’t know why she killed those people and I probably never will. Everyone has their secrets.”

“I don’t,” Winnie said.

“Well, I do,” Marcus said. “I have a big secret that nobody knows about, but if I told you, you’d probably be mad at me for keeping it, even though it’s mine to keep.”

“I won’t be mad at you,” Winnie said. “What is it?”

“Why should I tell you?” he said. The nightgown left her shoulders bare—bare shoulders, bare arms, bare legs to midthigh. And her neck. For ten days there had been no Winnie, and now there was all this. “When you and I first became friends, I thought I wanted to be a part of this family. Now I don’t want to. You know the other night, when I went into town? It was to call my pop and tell him I wanted to come home early. Do you know how bad things must be for me to want to go back to
Queens
?”

Winnie touched his leg, and Marcus jumped up. This was a terrible room for confrontation because there was practically nothing in it. He crossed the room in three steps and sat on top of the wobbly dresser. His shirt was dripping, making a puddle on the floor under the chair.

“Please don’t go home,” Winnie said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What about the last ten days? What about not one kind word in ten days?”

“I was confused. And angry. And I thought you were angry at me. And Garrett—”

“Don’t even mention his name,” Marcus said, rocking the dresser back and forth. “I should have beat him blind when I had the chance.”

“Garrett and I have to confront my mother,” Winnie said. “We have to get this out in the open.”

“I told you that before.”

“I wasn’t
ready
before. I had a lot to think about.”

“Whatever,” he said.

“I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face,” she said.

“I’m used to people treating me that way,” he said. “I’m used to being shunned. That’s all I get at home. But here everything was different. Everything was better.”

“I was feeling better, too,” Winnie said. “Until.”

“Until.”

“My mother,” Winnie said.

“Your mother? What about my mother?” Marcus said. “Can’t you tell the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony?”

“No,” said Winnie. She rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t sit on the beach with you. That was mean.”