The Summer House

by Jean Stone

  “The night I told her I knew all about Daniel. That I’d always known that Grandfather made sure Daniel’s orders were for Vietnam.” There. She had said it. She had told Roger the secret she’d held in for so long. “I’m sorry, bro. I seem to be saying a lot of things I shouldn’t these days.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Keith said from the backseat. “Because you’re wrong.”

  BeBe turned. “No. I confronted Father. He did not deny it.”

  Keith shook his head. “It wasn’t your father’s idea,” he said. “It was Daniel’s. And it wasn’t Evelyn’s grandfather who pulled the strings. It was Evelyn.”

  He paused for a moment, as if to make sure he had BeBe’s attention. He did. Then he continued.

  “Evelyn’s grandfather had had a stroke. He was fairly out of it. So she pretended to be him. She wrote letters on his letterhead. She made phone calls on his behalf, without telling anyone he had no idea what she was doing, or that he was nearly dead. It was Evelyn who made it all happen so Daniel would go.”

  BeBe interrupted. “But why? Why did he want to go to Vietnam so badly?”

  “Because he wanted to be a war hero. He wanted to make your father happy. He thought that then he would feel as if he deserved to be president.” The rain on the windshield did not drown out his words. “It was Daniel,” he added. “Your father never even knew. Until it was too late.”

  The wipers squeaked. BeBe and Roger stared straight ahead.

  Whispering now, BeBe asked, “How do you know?”

  “Daniel told me,” Keith replied. “The night he was killed. He explained that he’d needed Evelyn to get what he wanted. In return, I guess he really was planning to marry her.”

  BeBe closed her eyes. “I told her I knew,” she said. “I told her I knew that Daniel wouldn’t have been killed if it hadn’t been for favor-swapping. I always thought it was Father … I hated him so much. And he hated me …”

  Roger looked at her in surprise. “He didn’t hate you, Beebs. If anything, he was afraid of you.”

  BeBe laughed. “For godsake, Roger, you know better than that.”

  “Think what you like, but Father was afraid of you. You reminded him of his sister, Ruth. She killed herself, you know.”

  BeBe snapped her head around. “She what?”

  “She killed herself. Father caught her with a boy one night. She and Father had a fight. She went down to the dock and got into the boat and rowed out to the ocean and jumped. She couldn’t swim. Her body washed up on the Cape.”

  BeBe could not say a word, for her mouth had dropped open and her brain had stopped working.

  “He told me you look just like her,” Roger continued. “He also said you acted like her. Stubborn. Independent.”

  “So he was afraid of me.”

  “He always felt guilty about his sister’s death. That’s why he never ran for president. He was afraid people would ask about her.”

  “I can’t vouch for all that,” Keith said, “But I know your father told Daniel you had accused him. Daniel intended to tell you the truth right after boot camp, before he shipped out. But then he was killed, and he never had the chance.”

  “Father could have told me.”

  Roger spoke up. “Would you have believed him?”

  BeBe shook her head.

  “By not telling you—by not telling any of us—Father kept Daniel’s image intact.”

  “Untainted,” BeBe added. “Perfect even in death.” Both men were silent.

  They were quiet for a long time, until they reached Tisbury. BeBe now wondered if the only secret left to tell was the one about the night before West Point graduation when Michael had been drunk and she had been, well, there. She decided that some things were best left alone, to keep in the scrapbook of the mind. With any luck.

  “What do we do now?” BeBe asked as they at last pulled into the debris-strewn parking lot of the community center.

  “Nothing,” Keith said. “Leave everything to me.” Then, as BeBe opened the car door, Keith stopped her. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Did you say that Evelyn knew that you knew about Daniel?”

  BeBe thought for a moment. “I used the term ‘favor-swapping.’ I don’t know if I specifically told her I thought it was Father …”

  “So she could have thought you knew she had done it. That she’d been the one to arrange Daniel’s orders.”

  “Well, yes, I guess …”

  “Great,” Keith said, then added, “We won’t be able to do anything about her until after the storm. So when you see her inside, keep your distance. Both of you. And tell Liz and Michael to do the same. Something tells me Evelyn is highly dangerous right now.”

  Evelyn tried to keep busy in the kitchen, pouring milk into pitchers, setting boxes of cereal on long tables set up in the back of the room, pretending that she was not looking out one small, unboarded window at Michael and Liz, that she was not aware they had been sitting in the car way too long and must be discussing something really important, like the fact that their son was not theirs and that their marriage was a ruse.

  She smiled, smug in the knowledge that, indeed, there was a God after all, one who was throwing Evelyn a life preserver just as the Adams/Barton boat was about to sink: a life preserver named Josh Miller.

  Josh, of course, now owed her big-time and she had every intention of cashing in her chips. Maybe an ambassadorship of her own—hers, not Roger’s. Hers, well earned.

  She had, of course, at one point, wanted Michael to win. At every point she’d wanted him to win, until that bitch BeBe had to interfere. Until Evelyn learned that BeBe had known all along.

  “Isn’t it a federal offense to impersonate a congressman?” Daniel had asked when he’d learned what Evelyn had done for him … for them.

  Evelyn spilled a dab of milk, then wiped it with a sponge, thinking, knowing that it should have been BeBe who’d wound up dead. Dead and unable ever to reveal to the world the things she knew about Daniel’s demise. But by the time Evelyn had a plan, BeBe had left Florida for the Vineyard. So she tracked down BeBe’s boyfriend. It hadn’t been difficult. In fact, it had been even easier when BeBe’s assistant said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Arroyo no longer works for French Country.”

  Evelyn found him, driving the silver Mercedes. Then, with one of the guns from her grandfather’s collection, she’d blown him away, tossed the gun into the Atlantic, and made one simple call to the police—all while Michael was making one of those god-awful speeches.

  “I’m worried about my son,” she’d told the desk sergeant, affecting a strong Cuban accent. She said that her son and his lover—a very rich woman—had a violent argument. The lover was outraged and spoke of revenge.

  The rest, Evelyn thought now with another wry smile, was history. And the only back she’d had to scratch was her own. No favors required. Only her own common sense.

  Liz sat in the car after Michael had gone back into the shelter. She needed to digest his words, their impact, and the effects it would have on her family. She no longer cared about the effects on the world.

  Once, she had thought Josh would make a fine president. Once, when she’d thought she’d known him. But Michael was right. She’d not known him at all. Clearly Michael thought Josh had an inside connection to have learned of Danny’s disappearance long before the media. An inside connection … a traitor on Michael’s side? One of theirs?

  Now, in addition to her shame over Danny’s birth, in addition to her humiliation that the truth had come out, Liz felt equally duped. She wondered just how much of Josh’s appearance on the Vineyard was a coincidence, and how much had been planned. She also wondered if, when BeBe had blurted out to Josh that Danny was his son, maybe BeBe had been telling Josh something he already knew …

  Which meant that Liz had some decisions to make. And she needed to start by repairing the damage between her and her sister. BeBe, who was …

  Just as Liz began got out of the car, she noticed BeBe crossing
the parking lot of the community center. Roger and Keith were at each of her arms—a trio of support against the still-blowing rain. BeBe, Liz thought, her sister, who should have been in jail.

  “Not exactly Palm Beach, is it?” Liz asked BeBe, who shook the water from her yellow slicker and hung it on a rack with dozens of others.

  BeBe turned to her sister. “Nope,” she replied.

  Liz put her hand on BeBe’s shoulder. “We found him, Beebs. Danny’s on Cuttyhunk. He’s okay. He’s with his friends.”

  They stood there, looking at one another, Liz hardly knowing her own thoughts, let alone BeBe’s. She only knew that she wished they were children again, innocent children who stuck together, defending one another from enemies of their kingdom. Once, perhaps, they had thought those enemies were external—that they were people like Father. Perhaps they’d both learned that enemies can also come from within, those self-inflicted beasties brought on by ourselves.

  “You didn’t kill that man, did you?” Liz asked.

  “No. But I would have if it could have brought Danny back, or if it could have changed what I did.”

  Liz held out her arms. They embraced, they cried.

  “Oh, God, Lizzie, can you ever forgive me?”

  “You? I’m the one who was such a fool, Beebs. I’ve been a fool and a liar and …”

  “Stop,” BeBe demanded, pulling away from Liz and wiping eyes—first her own, then her sister’s. “We’re not going to name-call and we’re not going to point fingers. Deal?”

  Liz laughed. “Deal. How’s your jaw?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “We’re going to get the best lawyer for you, Beebs.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Tell me about Danny. When’s he coming home?”

  A smile, a look of hope, a touch of anxiety all passed over Liz’s face. “It’ll be a day or so before the sea quiets down enough for the trip back.”

  “Why the hell did he go there? Christ. When I get my hands on him …”

  “When you get your hands on him a lot is going to be different,” Liz said. “Michael knows he’s not Danny’s real father. I told him. He has decided to drop out of the race.”

  BeBe stared at her and blinked. “He can’t do that.”

  Liz shrugged. “I don’t know what’s right anymore, Beebs. It seems that since Father died …”

  “Father was an ordinary human being,” BeBe said, “just like the rest of us.”

  Liz took off her slicker and hung it on the coatrack beside BeBe’s. The thought of anything about Father being ordinary seemed as unreal as these last hours had been.

  BeBe took a deep breath. “All these years I thought it was Father’s fault that Daniel was killed,” BeBe said. “I was wrong. It was Evelyn’s. And Daniel’s. Evelyn did it, but Daniel let her. Together they arranged for his orders to Vietnam. Together they concocted the whole thing.” She ran her finger along the windowsill.

  “Daniel must have had a good reason,” said Liz, the good sister, the trusting sister.

  “He was trying to please Father. Which I guess for him was enough. But all these years, Lizzie, I blamed Father …” Her thoughts, her words trailed off into the air.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Liz asked.

  BeBe shook her head. “I didn’t want to upset you. What a moron I was.”

  Liz smiled. “Come on, moron. How about buying me a cup of coffee? And maybe, between us, we can figure out a way to get Michael to change his mind.”

  Chapter 34

  Hurricane Carol finally blew out to sea. The Chilmark Community Center emptied by late morning—its inhabitants scattered to their respective homes to assess the damage and begin the cleanup of everything from broken tree limbs to swollen streams that flooded basements, from shattered windows to caved-in roofs. Most would, however, return to the community center by nightfall; it could be days before power would be restored and their homes would be inhabitable again.

  At twilight, Liz, Michael, BeBe, Roger, Evelyn (who was kept at a precarious arm’s length—orders from Keith, though Liz did not know why), and the Secret Service agents (one and all) came back to the center. Clay had insisted on staying behind at the house in case Danny made it back—so they left him with the Jeep and a warning to bring Danny immediately to the center if he, indeed, showed up.

  Liz stood in the food line now and felt muscles ache from her shoulders to her ankles, but she was grateful. Although seven large trees had been uprooted on their property and one had landed on the back porch, severely damaging it, they had been lucky: a few fallen trees was no great tragedy compared with what might have happened to Danny, what might have happened to all of them. It amazed her how life—and the forces of nature—had a way of putting things in perspective.

  Behind Liz in the food line stood BeBe; behind BeBe was Keith. In fact, he’d stayed noticeably close to BeBe most of the day.

  BeBe leaned in to Liz. “After this mess is over, Keith wants to take me out for dinner. What do you think of that?”

  Michael had overheard. “I think I’d like to know if his intentions are honorable,” he said. “Because you deserve the best, BeBe. And don’t ever forget that.”

  Liz smiled and took a cardboard cup of coffee. Then she reached for a bowl of chowder.

  “Honey,” Michael said, “I’ll get that.” He took one bowl for himself and one bowl for her, though Father was not in the room and no cameras were around.

  Honey. It was only a word, yet with it came the reforming of a bond, the mending of a heart. They’d had no time to speak today, to hear one another over the symphony of chainsaws that worked at rebuilding their property. They had no time to talk, and yet, working side by side, they had spoken great volumes of what was important to each other, and what was not.

  “I’m afraid our date will be on hold until the power’s back,” Keith said to BeBe. “Because only emergency flights are leaving today, and I intend to take you somewhere decent. Like London. Or Paris.”

  “Paris?” BeBe asked. “I could do some business while we’re there. These people named Loudet are … well, were, interested in buying my business …”

  “You’re going to sell your business?” Keith asked. “Why?”

  BeBe picked up a napkin. “Good question,” she said. “Maybe I won’t.”

  Just then the door banged open. The slam of wood reverberating against wood echoed through the hall. And then every motion, every sound, every breath among the crowd ceased as heads turned and eyes turned and the tableaux froze on Danny who sat there in his wheelchair.

  “Danny!” Liz shrieked, dropping her cup on the table and starting toward him.

  “Stop, Mom,” he said, holding up his hand. “Where is Aunt Evelyn?”

  Liz stopped. Danny looked tired. Danny looked angry.

  “I’m right here,” came Evelyn’s voice. She came out from the kitchen, her straw tote bag over one arm. “Nice to see you, Danny. Glad you made it back.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Danny said. “I would have thought you’d be working for Josh Miller by now.”

  Liz did not understand what Danny meant. She began to move toward him. “No, Mom,” he said firmly. “Stay right where you are. Evelyn is going to tell us what she did. She’d going to tell us how she tried to sabotage the election by going to Josh Miller. She’s going to tell us how she tried to frame Aunt BeBe over that man in Florida.”

  Silence deadened the community center.

  Then Evelyn moved forward. “Now Danny, dear,” she said, her voice not much more than a tiny tremble, “this is not the time or the place to air our family’s dirty laundry. Besides, anything I’ve done has been for the good of all of us.”

  “Including murder?”

  Liz heard the cry from BeBe’s mouth, but, thankfully, her sister did not move.

  Evelyn paled. Her eyes flicked around the silent, stone-still crowd. “Danny, you don’t know what you’re saying.” She turned back to the crowd. “Poor boy, he
doesn’t know what he’s saying. He must have been traumatized out there, lost at sea.”

  Liz held her breath. She noticed that Keith and Joe and Michael had jockeyed their positions without a word, without a sound. The three of them now flanked Evelyn, though she seemed not to notice. In the split second it took for Liz to wonder what would happen, Evelyn opened her tote bag and pulled out a gun.

  A shiny, blue-silvery, hefty handgun.

  Even after all these years, Liz recognized it immediately. It was the one Evelyn had given Daniel, the graduation gift that was now pointed at … Danny.

  Liz screamed.

  Danny ducked; Michael lunged forward and flung his body on top of the wheelchair, covering Danny. The trigger clicked. And the blast shook the timbers of the old community center. The gasps from the crowd were as loud and as the gunshot itself. And when Liz found the courage to pull her hand from her face, she turned just in time to see blood spurt from Evelyn’s temple, to watch her sister-in-law crumple to the floor, the gun still in her hand, still pointed at her own head.

  Chapter 35

  Liz had insisted on a proper funeral, though, thankfully, Roger chose to have it on the Vineyard, not in Boston, not in the Second Congregational Church with the traditional “reception” at the Beacon Hill townhouse.

  For Roger’s sake—and only for Roger’s sake—BeBe agreed to attend.

  So two days after Hurricane Carol departed and twenty-eight years after Daniel was killed, the Adams/Barton family gathered on the back porch of the summer house in Chilmark and said good-bye to Evelyn Carter-Adams, or at least to her ashes. The service was brief: they could not mourn long, because Michael had decided to go on with the campaign—Danny had talked him into it. But the polls didn’t lie: the gap was narrowing. Tomorrow they would be back on the road.

  After the ceremony, BeBe said “No, thanks” to iced tea, and strolled across the lawn, down to the thicket where Daniel’s skunks had once been. Stooping, she peeked into the brush: there were no skunks today; maybe they were gone, too, like so many people, so many years.