A Vineyard Wedding

by Katie Winters

  “Shoot. Shoot!” Susan scrambled for an answer to her growing stain. A tissue? A white-out cleaning pen? But her purse revealed no assistance. The brown stain was a clear testament to her nerves.

  Susan gripped her suit jacket and yanked it tighter across her chest so that it covered up about a half of the stain. She then headed out of her car and traced the path up toward the porch. Perhaps, due to the stain, she should have asked to reschedule. First impressions were everything. But she also knew that Marcie didn’t have much of an option. It was either Susan-the-Stain or nobody.

  Just before Susan could ring the bell, Mr. Shean himself pulled open the door. He stood, a domineering force, in the doorway, wearing an old Boston University sweatshirt with a large stain of its own near the armpit.

  “Morning,” he greeted with a half-smile. “Thanks for coming by.” His tone didn’t feel sincere at all.

  Susan stepped into the foyer. Already from there, she sensed that this wasn’t exactly a happy house. It seemed overly shadowed with the curtains drawn over most of the windows. The walls had some cracks in the plaster, with only a single photo hanging, presumably of the mother who had long-ago passed away. There was also a dank, moldy smell that permeated through the air. Susan did her best to maintain her professionalism.

  A teenage boy snaked past her. He wore sweatpants and no shirt, and the dim light from the television made him look a little creepy.

  “Turn that off,” his father growled. “We have company.”

  The boy just fell back on the couch and did no such thing. He didn’t even lift his eyes.

  “Marcie is in her bedroom,” Mr. Shean said. “Upstairs. I’ll lead you.”

  Susan followed Mr. Shean up the steps and onto the landing. A door was hung with bright pink beads, presumably from a teenage past. Mr. Shean knocked on the door and hollered, “Your lawyer is here.” Horrible words to hear, Susan knew.

  The girl who opened the door didn’t look much like the girl in the newspaper. She wore no makeup, her cheeks were gaunt and tight, and her eyes were large and sad, like those of a trapped animal. She wore a light pink zip-up sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, along with socks that didn’t match. She just looked like an innocent girl, albeit a scared one, certainly not a murderer.

  But of course, nobody really looked like the crimes they’d committed. Susan knew that from her many years in the field.

  “Hi Marcie,” Susan said. She lifted her portfolio in greeting. “It’s good to meet you.”

  Marcie gave no smile, but she did step back and gesture for Susan to enter. Susan did and with her steps inward, she found herself inside a similar teenage fantasy. Old movie posters and magazine cut-outs adorned the far wall, ones from maybe seven or eight years ago. Susan knew them because Amanda herself had been into them, although she was a tiny bit younger than this girl. It was like stepping through time.

  Marcie sat on the bed. “You can sit here if you like.” She pointed at the desk chair across from her, which had a massive sticker across the back that read: I HEART VEGAN.

  A vegan murderer? It was possible.

  Susan sat and spread her portfolio out across her lap. When she looked up, she found Marcie’s large green eyes, zeroing in on the stain on her shirt. Susan had somehow forgotten it, en route from the car. She tapped the still-wet brown spot and said, “I got a little clumsy this morning.”

  Marcie nodded but didn’t smile.

  “Anyway, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions today, so I can get a better handle on the case as a whole,” Susan explained. “But before we get started, do you have any questions for me? I know it’s important for us to trust one another.”

  Marcie stuck her tongue into the inside of her right cheek so that it bulged out. After a pause, Marcie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I mean, you can ask about my past history?” Susan began.

  Marcie shrugged.

  “I’ve worked as a criminal defense lawyer for the previous twenty years,” Susan said, deciding to give at least a little bit of background. She hoped it would put the girl at ease a little more, even if she didn’t think she needed to hear it. “I’ve had hundreds of clients and I’ve enjoyed the work immensely.”

  “Cool.”

  This wasn’t exactly what Susan had wanted to hear. Still, there was no way to sense what a young girl like this thought in such a situation. Depression was probably too small of a term.

  Susan clicked the top of her pen absently. There was a hardness to this girl that maybe others wouldn’t have seen. She had built thick walls around herself. How would Susan dig into them? How would she work with this girl?

  “I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to prove your innocence,” Susan said finally.

  The girl just blinked at her. Susan placed her pen on her pad of paper and said, “Okay. I am sure this has happened to you numerous times already. But I really need to hear everything in your words, here and now. What happened on the afternoon of November 13?”

  “I came back to the apartment and he was dead.”

  Susan drew her eyes back toward Marcie’s. They seemed hollow, as though she’d already cried out all the tears she possibly could.

  “And now I’m on trial for his murder,” she added.

  Susan tried another approach. “Was there anyone that your boyfriend was talking about? Anyone, who might have had something to do with this? Anyone who frightened your boyfriend, any enemies?”

  This time, Marcie just shrugged. “He had a lot of friends. Some people didn’t like him. I don’t know. He was just a regular guy, in a way. A complete idiot other times, for sure.”

  “Idiot. Why do you say that?”

  “I’m sure you’ve read that Vincent and I didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye toward the end.”

  “All couples fight, don’t they?” Susan said.

  “Sure. But most couples get out of it alive,” Marcie replied.

  Susan furrowed her brow. Was this some kind of admission? Did Marcie want to insinuate that actually, she’d been the one to stab Vincent?

  “Where were you before you found him?”

  “At the store.”

  “And what did you do after you found him?”

  For the first time, Marcie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I wrapped myself around him and took out the knife and—well.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I blacked out for a while. I must have called someone because the cops were there shortly afterward. Everything after that is kind of a blur. Like I drank too much or something.”

  At that moment, the girl’s chin dropped toward her chest as a sob escaped. Susan felt a wave of pity for this poor creature. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was in terms of believing her story or not. One thing she did believe, though, was that Marcie didn’t deserve a life in prison.

  Well, she had to believe that. It was her job to believe that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Chapter Six

  Susan created a large bulletin board of information she had drawn up for Marcie Shean’s case. Thankfully, Marcie’s previous lawyer had sent over all of his research — which, admittedly, wasn’t very much — and she’d also read about a zillion newspaper articles, read about all jury members, and even interviewed a few people who’d grown up with Marcie on the island. Naturally, there was still a lot to do, but Susan now felt more on top of the case than ever.

  She now stood in front of the bulletin board as her heart hammered in her chest. At the center of the large space, she had placed that world-famous photograph of Marcie; those big, frightened green eyes peered out at the world, and her beauty told a sinister story. What had really happened that fateful day? Susan wasn’t sure she would ever truly know.

  There was a rap at the door. Susan had fallen so deep into her thoughts that the sound made her yelp. She hustled toward it and pulled it open to find Amanda, who gave her a silly smile.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while. You okay
in here?”

  A blush crept up Susan’s neck and dipped onto her cheeks. “I think I got a bit lost in the case again.”

  Amanda laughed good-naturedly. “I figured as much. You want to talk anything out?”

  Susan gestured toward the board. “Well — to be honest, I really need to get myself up to Boston. I want to interview the people the couple knew. Get a better sense for them before the murder happened. The version of Marcie Shean that people know around here isn’t necessarily the version she was up in Boston. People change.”

  “True,” Amanda said thoughtfully. She stepped toward the board and straightened out a crinkled edge of the photograph of Marcie. “She really is beautiful.”

  “I can’t imagine her getting life in prison,” Susan murmured as her heart swelled. “You should have seen her in her childhood bedroom. The house was a mess. It’s obvious she ran away from the Vineyard for a reason. And now, she’s trapped on house arrest.”

  “Such a horrible story,” Amanda murmured.

  Susan stepped toward her desk again and reached for a pen to jot herself a note.

  “So, are we still on for later?” Amanda asked then.

  Susan furrowed her brow as she lifted her head from her pad of paper. “I’m sorry?”

  “Mom, come on. We have to get you a wedding dress sometime.”

  “Oh. That’s right. I think it will work.” Susan glanced again at her calendar, which seemed to fill up more and more as the days passed.

  “We’re leaving here at five sharp. That’s final!” Amanda said then as she stepped back toward the foyer. “I’m serious, Mom. Someone has to take charge of your wedding and if it’s not you, then I guess that someone has to be me.”

  “You’re wise beyond your years, Amanda Harris,” Susan breathed.

  But a minute later, Susan’s phone blared. It was Scott. She hadn’t seen him since the previous afternoon when he had stopped by to have lunch at her office. He had spoken exclusively about his son — without a single mention of the wedding. It was obvious that he was worried. Kellan was meant to begin school at Oak Bluffs High that day. “He was bullied so much back in Boston. I just hope the kids here take some kind of liking to him. I don’t know. It was always so easy for me, you know? I had so many friends. I had you. But Kellan has nobody, and he seems to want to live life like an island— alone.”

  Susan hadn’t really known what to say. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. She wanted to be there for Scott in every way, but she really hadn’t accounted for this possibility. A teenage boy! In her life!

  “Hey!” Susan said brightly as she answered the phone. “What’s up?”

  Scott held the silence for a moment before he answered. “Susan. I hate to ask this of you. I really do.”

  Susan’s heart sank. Out the window, a bird landed on the nearest branch and seemed to stare directly through the glass and into her eyes, mocking her.

  “What’s wrong, Scott?”

  “It’s just that, well. You know Kellan started school today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well. He seems to have — erm — already gotten into a bit of trouble. The principal just called. He needs to be picked up.”

  Susan wanted to scream. She maintained eye contact with that bird and tried to tell herself to keep her tone light. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for her to lose her cool.

  “I see. Do you know what happened?”

  “I don’t. Not really. But the thing is, I’m in Falmouth right now, gathering supplies. I won’t be back on the island for another four hours because we have to wait for this shipment. I wondered if you could, well. Only if it isn’t too much trouble —”

  “I’ll go pick him up. Sure.” Susan’s nostrils flared. “Should you call the principal and let him know ahead of time?”

  “I already told him you were coming,” Scott replied.

  How presumptuous, Susan thought. This wasn’t like Scott. Normally, he was incredibly respectful of her time and her allegiance to her work. Still, it was true. She had time to head over to the high school, pick up this delinquent, and bring him back to the Sheridan house.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “Susan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. Seriously, I’m kind of in over my head right now. It’s like I blinked and Kellan turned into a raging teenager who gets into trouble at every corner.”

  Susan wasn’t sure how to respond. There was nothing appropriate to say. Teenagers sometimes flipped like switches. Sometimes, young women murdered their boyfriends in cold blood. Other times, people cheated on spouses they loved with everything in them. People did strange things. And she supposed that people like her and Amanda were left to pick up the pieces.

  When Susan explained the situation to Amanda in the foyer, Amanda glowered. “First of all, this is crazy. You aren’t this kid’s mom and you’ve only met him a few times.”

  “Yes, but I’ll be his stepmother soon. Supposedly.”

  Amanda huffed. “Second of all, you’re supposed to go with me to pick out a wedding dress!”

  “I know. But I promise that we’ll find time next week, sweetie. Trust me. I’m trying my best.”

  Amanda held Susan’s gaze for a long time. It felt like a funny role reversal, as though Amanda wanted to shame her mother into doing her bidding like a mother might. But Susan drew her purse over her shoulder and then headed toward the door, hollering, “I’ll see you at dinner?”

  Susan drove her car around the roundabout located nearest the front entrance to the high school. She clearly remembered her mother drawing her car to precisely this place for pick-up, back when Susan had gotten hit by a rogue baseball during gym class and had gone home with a horrible headache. She had hardly been able to walk to the vehicle. She had been maybe fifteen at the time. Anna had been two years from the end of her life. Nobody had known any different.

  Kellan appeared on the sidewalk. He walked with his shoulders hunched and his cheeks sucked in. The principal, a man Susan had gone to high school with called Jefferson Ritter, marched alongside him, and his belly protruded the slightest bit from his belt. When they reached Susan’s car, Kellan slid into the back as Susan pressed the button to open the passenger window. The principal leaned down to speak.

  “Hey there, Susan. It’s been a while,” Jefferson Ritter said.

  Susan had only ever half-liked Jefferson. His eyes had roamed strangely when they’d been teenagers. She’d always had the sense that he had wicked things on his mind.

  “Hey, Jeff. Thanks for bringing him out.”

  “Not a problem. I know it’s difficult sometimes for a young person to start at a new school,” Jefferson continued. He then hollered back, “But we’re going to get used to each other, aren’t we, Kellan?”

  Kellan gave no answer. The silence felt hollow. Susan tried on her brightest, most fake smile and waved a hand. “See you around, Jefferson.”

  “Hopefully not too soon!” Jefferson said as he chuckled. “Take care.”

  Susan weaved her car back toward the main road without a word. In the back seat, Kellan leaned so far back so that his long legs shot out in front of him like a spider’s.

  “Aren’t we going back to my dad’s?” Kellan finally asked as he noticed the route had shifted a bit.

  “No. We’re going to my house,” Susan told him pointedly. “I don’t want to hang out at your dad’s house until he gets home.”

  “I just need some stuff there.”

  “Like what?” Susan wasn’t particularly up for playing games with this kid.

  “Like my guitar.”

  “I think you’ll be okay without it for the afternoon.”

  In response, Kellan mimicked her by putting on a soft, lilting voice as he said, “I think you’ll be okay without it for the afternoon.”

  Susan glared at his eyes in the rearview. “I wish you luck if you put on that attitude back at my place. My dad might be an old man now, but he used to have a wicked temper
.”

  Kellan didn’t respond.

  Susan parked outside the Sheridan house and walked inside without waiting for Kellan. She swirled with a strange mix of anger and confusion. She craved dropping back into the case again. At least there, she thought very little about Scott and their future together, with or without Kellan. She thought little about the sudden communication breakdown between them. She felt like she was in limbo.

  “Who’s there?” Wes’s voice came out from the living room as Susan entered.

  “Hi, Dad.” Susan dropped down and kissed her father on the cheek. He looked so pleasant and kind with those soft eyes. He wore a beautiful knitted sweater — one that Anna had assuredly made for him — and watched an old baseball game on the TV. Beside him, Audrey was curled up beneath a blanket, fast asleep. Her eyes danced beneath her eyelids.

  “We’re having a lazy day,” Wes told her.

  “Looks so cozy,” Susan replied.

  “Sure is. Audrey made cookies. Help yourself.”

  “Wow. Audrey, baking?”

  “She says she’ll be a good mother, the kind who bakes and makes crafts,” Wes said with a funny smile. “I told her Baby Max won’t want to make a stupid clay pot for a few more years, but she said she wants to get ahead of it.”

  Kellan appeared in the living room. There was a dark cloud surrounding him, and his eyes pointed toward Wes angrily. Wes’s eyebrows drew high in surprise.

  “I didn’t know we had a visitor. Hi there, Kellan.”

  Again, Susan was surprised that her father remembered the boy’s name. They’d met a few times, but Wes’s dementia had only gotten worse since the previous meeting. Probably, Audrey’s memory exercises with Wes did him good.

  Kellan didn’t respond. He sauntered toward the cookie jar and took two. He then gazed out the window, his eyes glazed with boredom.

  Susan made eye contact with her father and shrugged. She then mouthed, “I’ll explain later,” as Wes shrugged and returned his attention to the baseball game. Susan was reminded of having a previous version of Christine around — the teenage-Christine, who’d wanted to make everyone else just as unhappy as she was. The difference, of course, was that Susan loved Christine unequivocally. She wasn’t even sure she liked Kellan right then.