The Myth of Perpetual Summer

by Susan Crandall

  I get a glimpse of Elizabeth Taylor. She’s already dancing with another guy.

  “Just come home with me!” I call.

  “I’ll be home later.” I watch his back as the crowd swallows him up.

  18

  The next morning I’m sitting in sophomore chemistry, the only student interested in Mr. Neiman’s lecture—the man can drone on, but I love the predictable surety of chemistry. You know exactly what will happen with any set circumstance just by counting the electrons. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two police cars stop out in front of the high school. Chief Collie and three other officers—probably the full day shift—get out and stride up the front steps with grim faces under their uniform caps. I’m not the only one who’s noticed their arrival. Even Mr. Neiman has stopped talking about covalent bonds and is staring out the window with his chalk stilled in his hand.

  A short time later, Floyd Beeson calls from his seat near the window, “Hey, it’s Griff James! The cops have him in handcuffs!”

  My stomach whips upside down.

  Everyone jumps to their feet and surges toward the window.

  By the time I squeeze up to the window, Chief Collie is putting Griff in the back seat of his cruiser. I can’t see my brother’s face because the three other officers are crowding close, as if they’re afraid he’s going to make a break for it. My ears are so full of my own heartbeat that I can’t untangle the jumble of voices around me, but the drone is full of condemnation and judgment.

  Suddenly, I feel the attention shift to me. Without looking at a single face, I push my way through my classmates and run from the room, leaving my books and purse behind.

  Chief Collie’s cruiser is pulling away when I burst out the school’s front door. I fling myself halfway into the window of the second police car. “Why are you taking him?”

  Lanky, nineteen-year-old Teddy Gibbs is the officer in the passenger seat. He won’t look at me, his profile is all nose and Adam’s apple. The driver, a bristly, gray-haired officer I only know by sight, puts the car in gear. I feel it shift slightly under my hands. Inching forward.

  “Get away from the car,” the driver says. “We need to stick with the chief.”

  I hear voices behind me, filtering through the open windows. I’m not strong enough to turn and face them. Instead, I take off at a sprint toward Gran’s house.

  By the time I burst through her front door, I have a sharp pain in my side and I’m so out of breath I can’t even call her name. But I don’t need to. The racket of the slamming screen door draws her out of the kitchen.

  “What on earth?” She rushes toward me. “What’s happened?”

  Through gasps, I tell her, and her face drains of color.

  “Is Dad still here?” I ask.

  “Asleep.” She gestures upstairs with a lift of her ashen face.

  I start for the stairs, but she grabs my arm. “Don’t! He’s in no shape to deal with this. I’ll go down to the police station, figure out what’s going on.”

  I nod. When I follow her to the closet, she turns and says, “You stay here.”

  “I’m going!”

  “Tallulah—”

  “I have to go! It’s Griff.” I feel a tear track around the curve of my jaw. “Please!”

  She puts on a hat and her gloves. They look ridiculous with her housedress. Then she picks up her pocketbook. “All right, come. It’s just a misunderstanding. It has to be a misunderstanding.”

  “Or Chief Collie just being a bastard.” The memory of his hateful face so close to mine makes my stomach lurch again.

  Gran’s eyes snap. “Watch your language!”

  “But it’s true. You don’t know what he’s like when no one is watching.” Should I tell her about last night’s run-in? No. It won’t change anything and will just upset her more.

  Gran tugs her gloves and lifts her chin. “We will not lower our standards of behavior just because the chief does. We will comport ourselves with dignity. You will listen and not speak once we’re there. Can I trust you to do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gran’s comportment lasts right up until Chief Collie tells us why Griff is sitting in jail.

  She shoots to her feet, her voice raised to the roof. “You can’t be serious!”

  “We have a dead girl. Griff was seen with her last night.” There’s an inappropriate amount of satisfaction on his face considering he’s talking about a dead girl.

  “Who?” I ask. “Who’s . . . dead?”

  He shoves a photo across the desk.

  Elizabeth Taylor. Not the real one. Griff’s.

  My head gets fuzzy, and I sway sideways in my chair. “Griff wasn’t the only one with her last night!” I say. “She was dancing with other guys, too.”

  Gran cuts me a killing look, and I snap my mouth closed.

  “So, she was cheating on him?” Chief Collie looks like I just handed him the final piece to his puzzle. “Jealousy is a powerful motive.”

  “That’s not what I said—”

  Gran cuts me off, her voice steady and cool. “My grandson wouldn’t harm anyone, especially a young woman. What happened to the poor girl? And what evidence do you have that says Griff had anything to do with it?”

  “We have a case,” Chief Collie says. “That’s all I’ll say at this moment.” He leans back in his chair. “Apparently, you don’t know your grandson as well as you believe. He has a reputation for violence.”

  Gran snaps the back of her hand in front of my face to silence me before I can start. “I would like to see him. Get this all straightened out.”

  “Sorry.” The chief lifts his hands as if helpless. “Only parents or legal guardians are allowed.”

  My God, is he smiling?

  “Has he been charged?” Gran asks.

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Don’t you dare do anything—no questions, nothing—until I get back here with his father!” Gran says as she grabs my hand and pulls me out of my chair. “And a lawyer. Not one question!”

  We’re halfway home before I can find my voice. “Chief Collie is lying. Griff didn’t hurt that girl. I heard him come in at ten thirty last night. He took a shower and went straight to bed.”

  “Of course it isn’t true. This is insanity. Pure insanity. How could they have possibly done any kind of an investigation if she died just last night?” There is an undercurrent to her tone that speaks of a fear she’s not admitting. And it scares me to death.

  “There were tons of kids at the bonfire. She was dancing with more guys than just Griff.”

  Gran snaps her head to look at me. “You are not to be hanging around college activities. You’re far too young. People will get the wrong impression. You must protect your reputation; no one else will do it for you. Once the damage is done, there’s no going back.”

  “I wasn’t hanging around. I had to walk home, remember? And I’m not the one who’s been getting in trouble.” I can’t help my anger. Why does Griff get to do whatever he wants without a care, and I have to protect my reputation? And worry about Daddy, and Margo, and everydamnthing else?

  “You’re a young lady. Things are . . . more delicate for you.”

  I take a deep breath and closet away my arguments. Helping Griff is all that matters right now. He must be so scared. “What lawyer will we get? And where will we get the money?”

  “I’ll call Charles Gaylord. He’s the only one I trust. Your father and he will get this all straightened out, and Griff will be home in a few hours.”

  I close my eyes and send up a prayer that she’s right.

  When we get home, Dad’s unmade bed is empty. So is the bottle of aged bourbon on the floor of his room. His shoes lay right where they fell last night when Gran pulled them off.

  Gran makes some phone calls, his office and our house, while I run around outside looking for him. Neither one of us turn up a clue.

  “He’s barefoot,” Gran says. “He can’t have gone far.
”

  “Did you call Margo?” I ask. “If we can’t find Dad, she can at least get in to talk to Griff.”

  “I don’t want her anywhere near the police station! She’ll just make things worse.”

  I wonder how much worse they can get. But then, I thought the same in Dad’s office last night.

  “Did you call Mr. Gaylord?” I ask.

  “Yes, but he’s on a fishing trip and gone for the rest of the week.”

  “We can’t just leave Griff in jail without a lawyer for a week!”

  “I know, I know. I just need time to think. The criminal lawyers in this town aren’t used to doing more than defending bar brawlers and shoplifters.”

  True. Murders—a clammy chill runs across my skin at the word—just don’t happen in Lamoyne. Impossible to believe that twenty-four hours ago, Elizabeth Taylor was driving her convertible and last night she was filled with life, dancing wildly. Now she’s gone. Forever.

  And Griff could be, too.

  “What about Ross’s family?” I say. “It’s filled with lawyers. Maybe one of them can help, or they can at least recommend someone.” My heart lifts with the idea of a city lawyer, a good lawyer, one who doesn’t play poker with Chief Collie. For the first time since I saw Griff in handcuffs, I feel a spark of hope. Collie thinks he’s all-powerful in this town. A good city lawyer will put him in his place. “I think I should call him.”

  Gran’s quiet for a few seconds. “Yes. Do. We must get this taken care of before the damage is irreparable.”

  The maid answers at the Saenger residence in New Orleans.

  “This is Tallulah James, is Ross available, please?” I let out a breath of relief when she asks me to wait.

  “Tallulah?” He sounds somewhere between baffled and concerned.

  I’m not sure I’m making sense as the words rush from my mouth, but I must be because when I stop talking, he says, “That’s insane! Griff would never. Are you all right? You’re not alone right now, are you?”

  “Gran’s with me. You were the only one I could think of to call. Can your dad help?”

  “I’ll call him right now.”

  “Okay.” I can’t believe how much better he makes me feel, even with nothing done yet.

  “It’ll be okay, Lulie. We’ll get him out.”

  Ten minutes turns into fifteen. When the phone rings, I pounce on it like a cat on a cricket. “Ross?”

  “This is Samuel Rykerson’s office in Jackson,” a woman’s voice says. “Mr. Rykerson asked me to inform you as soon as he’s finished with a client, probably fifteen minutes, he’ll be headed to Lamoyne. Should he meet you at the house on Raintree Road, or at the police station?”

  I ask Gran and then relay her answer. “We’d like to meet here first. Then go to the station together.”

  “I’ll tell him. Good day.”

  “We have a lawyer!” I feel like jumping up and down. I have no idea who Samuel Rykerson is, but he must be good. We’ll get Griff free, then figure out a way to pay.

  Gran doesn’t look nearly as relieved as I feel. “Now I need to find your father.”

  Oh my gosh, I’d forgotten about Dad. “Should I come?”

  “No, you stay here in case he comes back.”

  “What if you don’t find him?”

  She sighs, and for the first time I see how tired she looks. “Let’s not borrow trouble. If I can’t find him, at least he’s not setting anything on fire.”

  Book burning isn’t the only troublesome thing he might be up to. There are things more—indiscreet. But I keep that to myself, at least for now.

  After she leaves, the elation of finding a lawyer ebbs. I hover near the phone, just in case Ross calls. The fifteen-minute intervals of grandfather-clock chimes seem to have stopped, but the pendulum is swinging, the inner works ticking. It’s my sense of time that’s distorted.

  Feeling fragmented and adrift, I wander from room to room in the old house, my feet feeling the concave paths worn in the hardwood by generations of Neelys, my fingers trailing on chipped doorframes, looking at heirlooms that survived hurricanes, floods, tornadoes, Yankees, and a depression. The Neely family has finally worn itself out, just as they’ve worn out this house. Now there are just Jameses. And us Jameses are destroying ourselves.

  A knock on the front screen startles me. Taking a breath, I steady myself to meet Griff’s lawyer.

  When I open the front door, it’s no stranger. It’s Ross. The screen bangs against the house as I throw myself into his arms. “Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you!”

  I burst into tears. His arms squeeze me tight, and he says something against my ear I can’t understand over my sobs. I cry for my brother. Cry for my dad. Cry because Margo is so oblivious that she doesn’t even call to find out where Griff and Dad are. Cry because I’m truly terrified of Chief Collie and I can’t tell a soul, not now.

  I finally gather myself and stand on my own. My face must be a mess, but I don’t care. Ross is here.

  He frowns. “What happened to your eye?” He gently touches my cheek, then trails his hand down my arm, looking at the scrapes before he takes my hand.

  “Nothing that matters. An accident.” That’s when I realize his mother is standing three feet away.

  She smiles her Harriet Nelson smile. “We came straightaway. Of course, we know Griff had nothing to do with this. Our poor boy. He must be terrified.”

  I’m not quite sure how I feel about her talking about Griff as if he’s hers. Especially when we haven’t even told Margo yet.

  “Please, come in.” As we go into the parlor Ross continues to hold my hand, and I can’t think about anything but the reassuring strength of it.

  “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Saenger? Sweet tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you, Tallulah.” She takes a seat in the worn wing chair beside the fireplace. “As soon as Sam gets here, we’ll all go to the station and get this matter in hand. Do you know any more than you did earlier?”

  I shake my head. “The police aren’t telling us anything.” Every time I think of Chief Collie, a pool of black dread floods my stomach.

  “Well, I want you to know, Sam is a very good lawyer—and my cousin. He and I have already discussed his fee. It’s taken care of, so your parents don’t need to give that a thought. Are they at the station waiting?”

  “I—I’m not sure where they are at the moment.” I stop short of making up some excuse. Habits die hard. “Gran will be back any minute. We appreciate your generosity.” Truth be, I’m torn between being grateful and feeling intruded upon.

  Mrs. Saenger smiles warmly. “Oh, my dear. We love Griff. I always wanted a brother for Ross, but that wasn’t to be. Griff is such a blessing.”

  That ripple of possessiveness passes through me again. But the harsh reality is, without Ross and his mother, odds are high that Griff will end up in prison for the rest of his life.

  Ross pulls me with him and we sit on the davenport. “It’s going to be all right, Lulie.”

  I look into his blue eyes, and for the first time in nearly two days the world stops whirling beneath my feet.

  And then Gran returns with no word of Dad.

  19

  Chief Collie tries to stonewall Mr. Rykerson from talking to Griff, standing with his badge puffed out and his hands on his hips. But Mr. Rykerson isn’t someone to be cowed by a small-town police chief. It takes about five sentences, only one of which sounds even remotely like a threat to me, for Mr. Rykerson to disappear into the deeper rooms of the police station. It’s all I can do to keep from running after him and trying to slip through before the door closes.

  While we were still at Gran’s house, Mr. Rykerson explained a few things about a person being arrested. I didn’t like any of them. The police don’t need solid proof that Griff killed that girl in order to hold him. All they need is what Mr. Rykerson called “probable cause.” They can keep him in jail for a couple of days before the district attorney even files charges. />
  Gran said, “At least the district attorney doesn’t have a chip on his shoulder concerning every leaf on the Neely family tree.”

  I gave her a surprised look. Apparently, the fact that Chief Collie does isn’t news to her.

  While Rykerson is meeting with Griff, I stand at the front window watching normal life on the other side of the glass. I feel so strange, as if that world is completely separate from mine. I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone. I can almost hear Rod Serling narrating: “You’re traveling to another dimension . . .”

  But this dimension is real.

  When I feel a sharp pain in my finger, I realize I’ve gnawed my nail to the quick. If I had my arrowhead, my nails would be safe. Up until this second, I’d completely forgotten about my abandoned purse. I hope Mr. Neiman gathered my things. Who knows what happened if he put one of my classmates in charge of them.

  Gran and Mrs. Saenger wait silently side by side in hard chairs, their backs straight, pocketbooks on their laps, under their folded hands. Their faces are as blank as if they’re waiting in line at the bank. I wish I could cover up my fear like that.

  Ross is more like me, pacing and fretting. I’m ashamed of how much I’ve been resenting him. It’s not Ross’s fault that Griff would rather be with the Saengers than at our house. I mean, who wouldn’t? How often did I want to go with him and abandon Walden and Dharma to whatever upheaval was happening at home?

  The fact that Mrs. Saenger hasn’t asked about either of my parents since just after she and Ross arrived tells me Ross has filled her in to some degree that Dad and Margo aren’t normal parents.

  I am glad Margo isn’t here with her pushy outspokenness. But I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved that Dad’s not here. Normal Dad would be good. Hurricane Dad, a disaster.

  Finally, Mr. Rykerson comes back out. I can’t tell anything from his face. Gran and Mrs. Saenger stand, and Ross comes to my side.

  Mr. Rykerson says to Chief Collie, “I have told my client not to answer any questions without me being present. And now you have been informed. No questioning.”

  He motions for us to head out the door.