The Fourth Summer

by Kathleen Gilles Seidel

  Caitlin called him, and the voice mailbox on his phone was full. But she was sure he would call her back when he got back to the States. He didn’t.

  She sent him an email, and three days later got a form reply. “Hi, Friends! Weren’t the Olympic Games great for the whole USA team? We...” She tried again a couple of weeks later, and he still didn’t answer.

  And after a while she used the money that she had saved to buy herself her own computer.

  It was a difficult spring for her. The girls in the JV boat resented that they had to give their coxswain, who was one of their friends, to the senior boat. As hard as Caitlin had studied the sport over the winter, she made a tactical error in one of the first races of the season, and they wouldn’t let her forget it. She longed to talk to Seth about it, to tell him how isolated she felt, to see if he had any advice. How could she motivate these rowers who hated her? But Seth had abandoned her.

  She had to figure it out on her own. And she did.

  * * * *

  No one on the jury or any of their immediate families worked at Street Boards, but many of them had friends and neighbors who did. It made Seth realize how important his family’s company was to the town. Street Boards had saved the town when the furniture factory had closed. No wonder his father had made such a big deal about keeping jobs in North Carolina, not opening a factory in China or contracting with an outside manufacturer to produce boards to Street Boards specs.

  What would happen in the future? His sister Abby and her husband ran the factory; Becca and her husband managed sales and distribution. His parents developed the new products, supervised the marketing campaigns, made the strategic decisions, all that. Didn’t they ever worry about what would happen when they retired?

  No, he suddenly realized, they didn’t...because his parents, especially his dad, were taking it for granted that Seth would take over.

  That was nuts. Surely you’d have to be a big-picture thinker to run a company, planning years ahead. That wasn’t him.

  Except what about the parts, the videos? Didn’t he always start with something big, a feeling he wanted to create, a vision, even geometry? But there were actual pictures. He could think big for them.

  Maybe he could do strategic planning or whatever it was called—he was certainly surprising himself during the trial—but maybe he would run the place into the ground. He had visited Nate’s hometown once. It was in the coal-mining region of West Virginia, but the mines were closed. Half the storefronts on Main Street were vacant, and the used-car lots were full of cars people couldn’t afford to keep.

  He did not want to be the guy who made that happen here.

  His parents had always emailed him the company’s monthly numbers. He never even opened the files. Last week they had brought him hard copies. At least he hadn’t thrown them away. That was something.

  The spreadsheets were easier to understand than he would have thought. The company did well at the middle and lower ends of the market. His parents respected those customers; they had never forgotten having to save up for Seth’s first board. But the professional line didn’t come close to breaking even. Seth supposed that his dad would say that they needed the high-end boards to promote the other products, but was that really true?

  The boards that Seth himself used were as good as anything out there, but for how long? The big companies were investing so much in research and testing. Did Street Boards have the resources to keep up with them? Probably not.

  When his parents arrived for the Sunday visit, he tried to talk to them about the long-term viability of the high-end market. Yes, he had actually used those words, “long-term viability.”

  The conversation was awkward. He thought that his mom was getting it, but his dad wasn’t. Toward the end of the visit when his dad was chatting with Caitlin’s dad, his mother spoke to him softly. “Don’t forget, Seth, that for Dad the heart of all this is you. He has made boards for every level of your career. He has always lived vicariously through you.”

  What? Seth stared at his mother. Dad? Living vicariously?

  “It took a lot of talking to convince him that you needed to get out of competition.”

  This was not cool. His dad didn’t need to live vicariously through anyone. Look at what he had achieved, going from being a high school graduate building boards in his garage to being the president and CEO of Street Boards. And he was nothing like some of those parents who were ultra stage moms, sucking up to the big-time coaches.

  But, on the other hand, wouldn’t his mother know?

  His getting that bronze medal had taken three other guys, guys who were better than him, underperforming. You couldn’t count on that in sports, not ever. But Seth had been seventeen, and seventeen-year-olds were cocky. If luck broke your way once, why wouldn’t it always? And pretty soon you stopped thinking about luck at all. Surely it was all you; surely you deserved all the credit.

  So he had come back from the Olympics, believing himself the crown prince, the heir apparent of American snowboarding. That’s what the mainstream media kept saying. He was Seth Sweep.

  But inside the snowboarding world he had a hard landing. “It was great what you did for the sport,” people told him. “Grab your endorsement deals while you can.”

  His coach eventually told him the hard truth. There were kids, thirteen and fourteen, who were already almost as good as Seth, and they didn’t have uncles who were six foot three. Seth’s big swooping moves were going to be a joy to watch, but in terms of speed, height, and the tight twisting flips that won the Olympics, he had probably peaked. He still had a bright future in the Big Air competitions, but not the more traditional ones.

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Seth answered. “I’ll show them.”

  But the next time he went home, his parents, for the first time ever, didn’t seem to be on his side. It was his mother who talked to him. Of course they would support him in whatever choice he made, but if he was going to pursue the Olympics again, Street Boards would have to diversify their marketing and promotion. Everything couldn’t be about Seth.

  “So you want me to stop at bronze?”

  “You know you’ll do well at Big Air, and the videos you make...people love them.”

  It took Seth another six months to see that his parents were right. Nate with his explosive power and Ben with his precise technique were starting to score better than he was. He also knew that the sport was changing. The extra little quarter twist that made a trick immeasurably more difficult meant everything to the judges and nothing to the general public. The future was in five- or ten-minute videos that people could watch on their home computers.

  Seth now knew that he was one of the best in the world at what he did, seeing the possibilities in the beautiful backcountry settings, planning runs that harmonized with the landscape, finding exactly the right music. But for almost a year, filming the parts had felt like failure.

  That’s why he had let things fall apart with Caitlin. He had been too miserable, too confused, to talk to her.

  Right now, watching her saying goodbye to her parents, he had to think that that had been a pretty high price.

  Maybe that was the real point of Ben and Colleen. A Colleen was the perfect woman for you and the one you had let get away.

  He caught Caitlin’s eye and jerked his head toward their balcony. She nodded.

  It usually took her a long time to get upstairs because so many people wanted to talk to her, but this time he had only been out on his side of the balcony for a minute or two when he heard her door open.

  “What’s up?” she asked. Her voice was soft. She had sensed that something was wrong.

  “Do you think my dad lives vicariously through me?”

  “Your dad?” She stopped and thought. “I don’t know, but would it be so surprising? Wasn’t he working at the furniture factory even bef
ore he had graduated from high school?”

  “I guess. He didn’t have many choices.”

  “Do you feel guilty about that?”

  “A little,” Seth admitted.

  “I get that, but what can you do? The kids who should feel guilty are the ones who’ve screwed up, who threw away everything that their parents had done for them. You didn’t do that.”

  “But what if all this vicarious shit is leading him to making bad decisions now?”

  “That would be a problem,” she acknowledged. “What’s going on?”

  He told her how the company might need to rebrand itself, focusing on the Walmart customers, getting them to spend a few dollars more for a board that was twice as good as what else was there. “But I don’t know. My dad doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s kind of ironic. My parents have this vision that I will swoop in and do a great job of preserving the family legacy, but the first time I ask a question, it’s too threatening.”

  “Do you want me to do the usual women-are-from-Venus thing and listen sympathetically, or shall I pretend I’m from Mars and offer a suggestion?”

  “Suggest away.” At least as long as she held on to being from Venus too. There were aspects of that he liked a lot.

  “You jumped in there with something pretty global. That would make anyone uncomfortable, but they’d probably love it if you came up with a smaller, more concrete idea.”

  “If I had one of those I’d suggest it, but I don’t.”

  “Well, I do. This is the one thing I know about. Did you sign away any rights with that old video game?”

  “I should know that,” he admitted.

  “Yes, you should. If you do a video game for kids, little kids, and sell it cheaply or even distribute it for free, you’ll get some good data from the downloads. Does it tank completely? Is there initial velocity, then build? Does it do better in one part of the country than another? It will give you information. Every company needs information.”

  “But Street Boards...we’re trying to get kids outdoors, we want them to be more active, not spend more time staring at a screen.”

  “Then make it educational. Have the kids think strategically, see patterns, work systematically, process information, all that.”

  It did sound like a good idea. “I don’t know much about this.”

  “I know plenty,” she said confidently.

  * * * *

  Sunday evenings were always a little dreary. The jurors found it hard to say goodbye to their families, and none of them were looking forward to another week in the courtroom. April was particularly unhappy. Her parents and sisters had told her that she was going to have to make a difficult decision. Either she postponed her wedding or she let them start making some decisions for her.

  “My sister and I are the same size,” she was saying when Caitlin had come into the library. “Do I let her go try on wedding dresses for me?”

  “Does she have your coloring?” Caitlin asked.

  “No, not at all. So if the color looks good on her, it will look terrible on me.”

  “This just isn’t right,” Delia said. “Did the judge have any idea what he was asking us to give up?”

  No one had an answer to that.

  Out on the balcony Seth asked Caitlin if this wedding-dress shopping was a big deal.

  “It is to April, but I don’t know that there is anything we can do about it.”

  “Maybe there is. Before she had to start traveling with me, my mother did the alterations for that wedding shop near the VFW hall. She is still chummy with the owner. I bet if Mom asked, Mrs. Kressley would open up late sometime and let April come in by herself.”

  “Oh my God, Seth. That’s a great idea. It really is.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Who knows if the judge will approve it, but I will suggest it to Sally.”

  * * * *

  Another week passed. They had been at this for a full month.

  One morning they were gathering in the back lobby, waiting for the van. Caitlin was listening to Marcus asking Joan and Delia about their grits recipes. April suddenly burst in, shrieking Seth’s name. In violation of a great many rules, she threw herself on him, hugging him, thanking him rapturously.

  His hands closed around either side of her waist. April’s shirt was densely patterned with tight clusters of red and violet flowers. Seth’s sun-warmed hands looked strong and masculine against the riotous print.

  This was what he had done to help Caitlin get down from the tree; he had put his hands on her waist. Would that ever happen again?

  Now he was smiling down at April, not with his naughty little boy grin, but with a sincere happy adult smile.

  That should be me. He should be holding me that way, smiling at me that way.

  April had already broken away from him to tell the others. Seth’s mother had set up a private session at the bridal salon on Sunday morning for April, her mother, and her sister. By promising to stay with them the whole time, Sally had gotten the judge to approve.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Delia said, “but that judge must have a heart.”

  “Or a daughter,” Keith added. “A girl and her wedding...You say, ‘Yes, dear’ and keep out of the way.”

  April was back by noon on Sunday. She’d had a glorious time. Seth’s mother had brought champagne and mini-muffins, and Mrs. Kressley was giving her a huge discount because she felt so bad about April’s jury duty taking so long. April was able to look at dresses that would have been way out of her price range otherwise.

  Sally had taken pictures of April in all the different dresses and had then stopped on the way back to the inn to get the pictures printed. All the jurors—at least all the female ones—spent the hours before the family visits, looking at them, giving April their opinions. Even though Caitlin wouldn’t have been caught dead in any of the dresses, she had a good time looking at them. Heather was steadily popping the rubber band, her cue not to tell stories about friends of friends of friends, and maybe it was the music lessons or maybe it was that April was feeling genuinely happy and secure, but her laugh seemed less forced and annoying.

  “I hope the court is paying Sally for printing the pictures,” Joan said. “It can be pricey.”

  “Honestly,” April leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not sure that she’s even putting in for her hours. She’s just a really nice person.”

  * * * *

  Each day there were fewer observers in the courtroom. The public was apparently losing interest in the case. Caitlin couldn’t blame them. The prosecution was building up to its big finish with an array of witnesses sneaking in comments about the defendants’ characters and lifestyles when the testimony was nominally about something else. At the start of the trial Caitlin might have enjoyed the juicy gossip. Now she knew that it was irrelevant and yet another waste of time. At the start of the week in August the prosecution rested, doing so shortly after an afternoon break. That was a crappy trick. The defense teams wouldn’t want to begin their cases at 3:15 p.m. But the judge wanted to keep things moving.

  One of the defense lawyers had made his opening statement at the beginning of the trial. Now the other one had a turn. His gist was that this was a political witch hunt.

  Well, duh, we figured that out a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean they are innocent. Or that they are guilty. We are still obliged to listen to the evidence.

  The first witness was called. It was clear that several lines of questioning had been ruled out. The defense lawyer would start to ask a question, and an instant later someone from the prosecution team would be on his feet objecting. The judge would rule in favor of the prosecution, and the defense lawyer would look shocked, which he couldn’t possibly be. Caitlin was surprised at how uncurious she was at the excluded information. Please, please, please just give me what I need, and let’s
get done.

  Finally the judge called the lawyers to the bench. Caitlin stared blankly at them. One of the prosecutors still had a little stain on the lapel of his suit jacket. He had gotten it at lunch last Tuesday. He had worn the suit again on Thursday and now on Monday.

  We are bored enough that we notice your dry cleaning.

  The one female defense lawyer was wearing a different suit. It looked new. Caitlin supposed that she had gone shopping over the weekend. Why hadn’t she bought new earrings too? She wore the same ones day after day. She was saying that the prosecutors didn’t need—

  Wait. Caitlin’s heart stopped. Why did she know what the lawyers were saying? The judge had turned off his microphone and flipped the switch that sent white noise through the courtroom speakers.

  She looked at him. He was speaking to the prosecution team so his face was turned toward her.

  “Yes, I am awash fat...”

  Awash fat? No, it must be “aware that.”

  Oh my God, I am lip-reading.

  It made sense. Much of her work involved observing how people moved, including their facial muscles. During the trial when she listened to the witnesses, she watched their mouths. Unconsciously she had been putting it together.

  She glanced at the observers. Most of them had turned to their neighbors to chat. She couldn’t tell anything from a profile view, but those who were directly facing her, yes, she was making out a word here, a phrase there, nothing very coherent, but with time...

  What should she do?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Seth heard Caitlin gasp.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  She nodded, but something was definitely wrong. She was staring intently down at her lap, her hair falling over her face. When the testimony started again, he nudged her foot. She flinched and then looked up, but she wasn’t okay.