Summer Shadows

by Gayle Roper

  He pushed his legs into his sweatpants, his arms into the matching jacket. He pulled the zipper up all the way, bringing the collar to his ears. He’d be too hot, but the mosquitoes would feast on any skin he left uncovered. He already had a bite between his shoulder blades. To keep the bloodsuckers out of his eyes, he put his sunglasses on, making the already dim forest dimmer still. He traded his high-gloss leather loafers with their tassels for his New Balance sneakers.

  Taking his tire iron, he pried the license plates off the front and back of the car. It was hot, sweaty work, and what he really needed was a screwdriver. Finally they came free. Again using the tire iron, he dug a hole several inches deep in the sandy soil. He laid the plates in it and covered them.

  He heard one of the countless streams that laced the Pines gurgling nearby. He forced his way through the underbrush to its edge. The water ran a clear brown. Cedar water, turned tea-colored by organic compounds leached from the soil. He knew that for all its strange color, it was some of the purest water to be found anywhere. He lowered himself and drank. He rinsed out an old Gatorade bottle he found in his gym bag and filled it.

  The mosquitoes buzzed him in dark, undulating clouds. Grimacing, he reached into the water, drew out some mud, and plastered it all over his face and neck. Anything to keep the biting marauders at bay.

  He collected some more mud and carefully coated all the chrome on his car. The last thing he needed was for some adventurous hiker to see a reflection and investigate.

  He arranged the undergrowth carefully to camouflage the vehicle. Then he walked ten feet away and looked back. He could see nothing, and he knew it was there. For the first time since the accident, he felt a rush of genuine hope. No one would find the car for years, if ever.

  Gym bag in hand, he began the long walk back to 206. He hadn’t remembered how dark it got under the pines and oaks. And there were the noises of the night creatures. He found himself looking over his shoulder at each rustling of leaves, each crunch of ground cover. He knew there were timber rattlers in the Pines, slithering across the floor of pine needles and fallen oak leaves. Did they slither around at night? Some people said there were cougars too, though no one had seen any for years.

  A blood-chilling scream ripped the air. He felt his heart drop to his shoes. The cougar? A woman being murdered? The Jersey Devil itself? He and McCoy and every other kid in the area had scared themselves silly with tales of midnight encounters with the famed Jersey Devil, meetings from which no one ever returned.

  Reason told him it was only a screech owl, but still the hairs on his arms stood up straight and his heart, returned to his chest cavity, pounded wildly.

  When he finally got to 206, he was hot, sweaty, and in a foul humor. He had several mosquito bites on the back of his neck, and one on his left calf in spite of the elastic on the leg of his pants. It was driving him nuts, but every time he bent to scratch, his jacket separated from his pants and the mosquitoes attacked him.

  He began to thumb a ride. If he could get out to Route 30, he could get back to Seaside easily. He should be home in plenty of time to do all he needed to do tonight. He couldn’t deviate from habit. It would raise too many questions.

  He hadn’t had to depend on the kindness of strangers for years. Now he remembered why: Lots of strangers weren’t very kind. They zoomed by, kicking sand and cinders into his face. Finally a fat man in an old blue Ford pickup stopped.

  “If you don’t mind riding in the back, I’ll take you.”

  If it weren’t for the Doberman chained to the truck bed with a chain that reached to within four feet of where he was plastered against the tailgate, he might have enjoyed the ride in the soft night air. With relief he slid to the ground when they reached 30 and watched the dog and his fangs disappear.

  It was Friday night, and everyone was heading down the shore. A carful of guys from South Philly picked him up within five minutes of sticking out his thumb. They shared their beer with him, and for once he didn’t care that all of them, including the driver or maybe especially the driver, were crocked. He nursed one bottle and made believe he was looped. They were too far gone to recognize his playacting for what it was. The good thing was that they’d never remember him. In fact, with their fried brains they’d be lucky if they remembered their own names.

  But he made it. Home, invincible, and still possessed of the finest reputation. He grinned as he showered quickly and slid into his classy clothes. He was beyond touching.

  Eleven

  CELIA REACHED OUT and grasped Abby’s hand. “It’s all right. Really. When God wants you to remember, you will.”

  Abby turned her hand over and gripped Celia’s hard. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But what if I never remember? What if he gets away?”

  “I don’t know.” Celia looked at Karlee. “I’ve been so consumed with making certain that she’s going to be all right and that Jess isn’t too upset that I haven’t given much thought to the driver. I guess I figured the police would catch him.”

  “But what if they don’t? What if I could help and I can’t?”

  Celia didn’t know how to answer the despair in Abby’s voice. “It’s not your fault, Abby. It’s not. You had nothing to do with what happened.”

  “In theory I know that, but I still feel responsible.”

  “Yeah.” Celia sighed. “Me too.”

  “You? But you were at work. I was there.”

  “Yeah, I was at work. A good mother would have been home taking care of her kids. A good mother would have known where they were at all times. A good mother would have seen to it that her little girl didn’t try to cross a busy street like Central.”

  Abby sat up straight. “Are you saying that no children of good mothers get hurt? That the only good mothers are ones who are at home all the time?”

  Celia felt as if a basset hound with a sad, droopy face had turned pit bull and bitten her. The despairing woman of a minute ago had transmogrified into a forceful asker of hard questions.

  “Well,” Abby continued, “I was a mother who was home all the time, and my daughter died.” She spoke like she dared Celia to challenge her mothering credentials.

  Celia didn’t. “How did she die?” she whispered.

  Abby leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Automobile accident.” She must have heard Celia’s exhalation of sympathy, but she kept her eyes on the crack that wandered aimlessly over Karlee’s bed.

  “No wonder today upset you so much.” Celia knew that was stating the obvious, but she didn’t know what else to say. “I mean, anyone would be upset, but you have all your own memories to deal with too.”

  Abby nodded. “I feel so foolish that I can’t separate the two.”

  “Was it a hit-and-run like Karlee?”

  “No, a man ran a stop sign because he was trying to dial on his cell phone and wasn’t paying attention. He hit us going full speed.”

  Celia shivered at the image. “Were you driving?”

  Abby shook her head. “My husband. He was killed too.”

  “Oh, Abby!” Celia couldn’t imagine losing both husband and child at the same time. At least Eddie went years ago. She had only one tragedy to cope with today.

  Abby shrugged. “It was three years ago. You’d think I’d be over it by now, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” This was territory Celia was familiar with, and she could speak with authority here. “My husband left me three years ago. While I’m over it now, I know it takes a long, long time to come to terms with such deep hurts. Besides, I don’t know that you ever get over the death of a child.”

  Celia watched Abby as tension sluiced away and her whole body relaxed. She turned to Celia with a grateful look. “Thank you. That’s the second time you’ve said exactly the right thing.”

  Celia tucked a leg beneath her as she snuggled more deeply into her chair. “People have been giving you the old get-over-it line?”

  “All the time. Especially
my parents. It’s not that they’re insensitive. They just want me to get on with my life.”

  “Would that it were that easy.”

  The women looked at each other with perfect understanding.

  Celia rested her head on the back of her chair. It was her turn to study the crack in the ceiling. “When Eddie left us, he looked right at me. ‘Let me be honest here, Celia,’ he said. ‘I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did. I don’t even like you, and I don’t care what happens to you. If you can find me, you can try to make them make me pay child support, but I don’t think you’ll find me.’ And he walked out the door.” She glanced at Abby to deliver the kicker. “It was Christmas Eve.”

  Abby looked properly, satisfyingly aghast. “So what did you do?”

  “Cried all night.”

  “Just one night?”

  “Well, the next day being Christmas, I had to act excited for Jess. Karlee was too little to know what was going on. After Christmas, then I cried a bunch more. Not over Eddie, you understand. It was almost a relief that he had gone, even though his farewell speech devastated me. I would have stayed in our marriage because I believe that’s what the Bible asks of us, but it would have been strictly obedience to God that kept me there, not love for my husband. He had long ago killed any affection I felt. I cried because I was terrified.”

  “I don’t blame you, alone with two little girls to support. When Sam died, at least I had insurance money.”

  Insurance money. The luxury of it made Celia’s mouth water. “I married right out of high school with hormones calling the shots. I thought Eddie was wonderful.” She snorted. “I had the brains of a nit.”

  “Come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  Celia smiled. This Abby was a nice person. She was a good listener too. Celia found herself saying things she’d never said to anyone. It must be a combination of late night, the darkened room, and relief that today hadn’t ended in tragedy.

  “Once we were married, Eddie decided he didn’t want the responsibility or the constraint of a wife.”

  “A little late to come to that conclusion,” Abby said dryly.

  “Tell me about it. Jess came along within the first year, and he hated having a kid. He went out every night with the guys, partying, drinking, living it up like he was single. When Karlee was born, it was too much for him. By then he’d disappear for weeks at a time, and I knew it wasn’t the guys keeping him company anymore. Then he disappeared period.”

  “You don’t know where he is?”

  “I have no idea.” And I don’t want to.

  Abby looked at the sleeping girls, then back at Celia. “How have you managed?”

  “The year after he left, I waitressed nights. The lady next door baby-sat. By that I mean she let the girls sleep in her spare room, charging me an exorbitant amount for the convenience.” She shrugged. “At least I was home when they were awake.”

  “When did you sleep?”

  “I didn’t. That’s why I came to the conclusion that something had to give.”

  “I had a point like that, too.”

  “When you couldn’t sleep?”

  “When I knew something had to give.”

  Celia waited for clarification, but none came. “What’d you do?”

  “Nothing, at least not right away.” Abby looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. “I used to be a terrible wimp.”

  Celia laughed. She couldn’t help it. That this classy looking lady with the slim crossed legs and elegantly expensive boiled wool jacket had ever been anything but aware and in charge was hard to imagine.

  Abby gave a sad smile. “It’s true. I allowed myself to be manipulated for years, and I didn’t even realize it.”

  So, Celia conceded, maybe looks could be deceiving. Hadn’t she once thought Eddie the handsomest thing on earth? “So what happened?”

  Abby took a deep breath, almost like she was getting the courage to confess to something horrendous. “I’m an only child, and I was the good girl, the kind all parents want. I enjoyed being good, pleasing my parents. I loved them. I still do.”

  “But?” Celia prompted.

  Abby grimaced. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “And my story’s not? Hormones calling life’s most important choice except Jesus? Wandering husband? Brains seriously lacking?”

  Abby shifted, rubbing her right thigh. “I commuted to college, never leaving my pink-and-white bedroom. I worked for my father’s firm in the summers. I rode to work with him. At college I met Sam, a handsome, very assured guy who seemed to be fascinated with me. I learned too late that it wasn’t me; it was my pliable nature. He loved to control me. When I started to develop a mind of my own at about twenty-four, he didn’t like it one bit.” She looked disgusted at herself. “Twenty-four. Talk about a late bloomer.”

  “What in the world did you do that upset him?” Somehow Celia couldn’t see this sweet woman doing anything rebellious.

  “I decided I wanted to go back to college for a master’s in library science.”

  Celia waited for more, but Abby seemed finished. “That’s it?”

  Abby nodded. “That’s it. That’s the whole dirty truth. I wanted to go back to school.”

  Celia couldn’t help it. She laughed again. “Oh, you rebel, you.”

  “After sweet little Abby for all those years, it must have seemed that way to Sam. He was undoubtedly waiting for me to come out dressed all in black with piercings all over my body and hair a different color every day.”

  “Why didn’t he want you to get your degree?”

  “He wouldn’t be there on campus this time, guiding my every step, my every thought. I’d be all by myself, thinking by myself.”

  “Dangerous, dangerous.”

  “Apparently he thought so. I, on the other hand, found it painful. When you realize your husband loves you conditionally, it hurts.”

  Celia snorted. “Try when he doesn’t love you at all.”

  Abby shifted again, tucking her left leg under her. “So what did you do? If you didn’t feel you could keep on waitressing, what?”

  “I saw an ad on TV for a school for massage therapy.”

  Abby sat up straight, all attention. “You’re a massage therapist?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Don’t tell me you’re one of those who think we all work in seedy massage parlors with clients who come in with bags over their heads to prevent recognition.

  “I need to find one.”

  Relief rolled through Celia. Abby wasn’t like Aunt Bernice.

  “I’m new in town, so I need to locate a massage therapist to keep my hip and leg from getting too tight. If they cramp, then my back acts up, then my neck. You know the drill, I’m sure.” Abby rubbed her hand up and down her right hip and thigh.

  “I’d love to help you. What’s wrong with your hip? Congenital problem?”

  “From the accident. Our car was pushed into the tractor-trailer waiting at the stop sign on the other side of the street. I was sitting in the passenger side and got pinned against the truck. My hip was crushed.”

  Now that she thought about it, Celia realized that Abby had limped when she walked across the room. “Call Pinky at Seaside Spa tomorrow, and we’ll set you up with an appointment.”

  Abby nodded. “I’ll ask for you.”

  Celia grinned. “What if I’m no good?”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “I am good. I graduated at the top of my class.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

  “How did you manage to keep working, care for the girls, and go to school all at once?”

  Celia rubbed her forehead. Even thinking about the past year could give her a migraine. “We moved in with Great-aunt Bernice.”

  “From your reaction, I take it we’re talking last resort?”

  “Aunt Bernice is—difficult, to put it kindly. She didn’t want us with her, though Poor Uncle Walter didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Poor Uncle Walte
r?”

  Celia brushed a piece of blanket fluff off her shirt. “Everyone puts the poor in front of his name. It’s Poor Walter like it’s Mary Lou or Billy Bob. After all, he’s lived with Aunt Bernice for almost forty years.” Celia sighed. “They’re just about the only relatives I have and are definitely the only ones with money. I didn’t know where else to turn. I was scared to death when I asked if we could live there for a year while I went to school. ‘Well, girl,’ Aunt Bernice said to me, ‘I don’t know about helping a woman who chased away her husband.’ ”

  Abby looked horrified. “She didn’t actually say that!”

  “Oh, yes she did. ‘I’m a good, God-fearing Christian, and I’m not sure I want you and those little girls in my house.’ ” Celia raised an eyebrow. “It was always my house, never ours, though Poor Uncle Walter paid all the bills.”

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “He was a mailman, the kind who walks his territory every day with a huge pack of mail hanging from his shoulder. But at night he played the stocks and securities markets on the Internet. He might be a Milquetoast, but he’s a whiz at investing.”

  “So Poor Uncle Walter isn’t so poor after all.”

  Celia gave a puff of frustrated laughter. “Big house. Beautiful furniture and clothes, but it wasn’t until I said that I’d work weekends and give her all I earned that she said we could stay. All I wanted to do was learn a way to care for my girls without hovering at poverty level for the rest of my life.” She mimicked Aunt Bernice right down to the toss of her head. “ ‘And massaging people’s naked bodies is the way to do that?’ ”

  Abby appeared fascinated with her story, so Celia continued. “I told her I didn’t want handouts. I wanted to be responsible the way God wants me to be. Responsible. That was the word that did the trick. Or maybe it was mentioning God. For nine interminable months, the girls and I lived in Aunt Bernice and Poor Uncle Walter’s museum, taking care not to touch anything or to express an independent idea. Aunt Bernice never ceased complaining about the great ‘upsetment’ they were to her. Leaving Aunt Bernice’s forever was almost as sweet as graduating at the top of my class and proving to Eddie in absentia that I was smart and capable.”