The Dead of Summer

by Heather Balog

  I opened the front door and was immediately assaulted with the steaminess of the day. Had it been that hot on my walk from Lindy’s? I glanced down the block, feeling sorry for the mailman. He usually came later in the day, when the heat wasn’t so oppressive. I thought he might like a glass of sweet tea to take with him.

  Not seeing him, I shrugged and lifted the lid to the mailbox. He must be moving quickly, I mused as I stuck my hand in the nearly empty mailbox. That’s unusual, I thought as I pulled out a single envelope. We normally get more mail than this.

  I turned the envelope over to discover a single word scrawled on the front. Kennedy. I realized that this was obviously wasn’t sent through the mail. Glancing around, I tried to see who could have put the envelope in the mailbox. Except for Mr. Crumley whizzing past on his moped, the street was completely deserted.

  I stepped outside and sat down on the front swing, curiosity peaked. Nobody had ever left me an anonymous letter in the mailbox before. My mind raced with possibilities as I ripped it open. Money, a secret admirer letter, the bookmark I had accidentally left in a book and Marnie promised—

  Oh crap! I left that book under the bush in Lindy’s backyard yesterday. I’ll have to go back and get that before she finds it and reads the poems inside.

  That thought quickly left my mind however, as I pulled the lone contents of the envelope out. It was a single piece of paper with a hastily scrawled note, “Meet me at midnight…tonight.”

  Carson! He still wanted to meet me even though I stood him up last night! Beaming, I tucked the note into the back pocket of my jean shorts and sailed into the house, drunk from my Carson cocktail, completely forgetting about my mama’s crazy and my missing book.

  TEN

  That night, I stared at the clock on my dresser, willing the bright green lights to speed up and be in the eleven o’clock hour. I wondered how long it would take me to get to the trail at night. I shivered a little at the prospect of walking around in the dark, but then I reminded myself that Carson would be meeting me there.

  Finally, at 11:32, I couldn’t take it anymore. I slipped out of bed and tip-toed over to my bedroom door which was open a smidgen. Cracking it open ever so quietly, I stuck my head out and peeked down the stairs. Mama was still awake, burning the midnight oil at the kitchen table, pouring over the computer.

  The way I saw it, I had two choices. Number one, I could sit at the foot of my door with my head leaned against the door jam, waiting for Mama to get tired, close up the laptop, and go to bed so I could then sneak out the front door. Judging from the steamy mug of coffee next to her, I had a feeling that was going to be quite a ways into the night—too late to meet Carson. I doubted he would tolerate being stood up two nights in a row.

  Or, my other choice was to open my bedroom window, climb out onto the tree branch that hung nearby, and scramble down to the ground. Hopefully unscathed. I opted for choice number two.

  I quietly pushed the screen up and it squeaked in protest. I bit my lip, glancing toward the door. I tip-toed back to the bedroom door and silently pushed it closed. Hopefully Mama wouldn’t check on me before she went to bed, but if she did, I needed to create a decoy. I glanced around my room, but unlike Ferris Bueller, I didn’t have a manikin to use. Shoving my pillows under my blanket, I figured that would have to do. As I stuck my feet into my flip flops, I inspected my work with a nod; if Mama checked on me before bed, she usually just stuck her head in; she didn’t come in and actually examine my breathing. I put a stop to that one night when I was twelve and she leaned in to kiss my cheek. I had been startled and ended up accidentally smacking her in the nose and making it bleed. From that point on, she avoided contact with me when I was asleep.

  Pushing the window screen farther up the track, I evaluated my escape route. The nearest branch grew practically up to the window sill, so I leaned on it with my arms to test its strength. It was a thick as my waist (which was quite a feat for a tree branch) and didn’t budge at all when I pushed. Satisfied that it would hold my weight, I hoisted myself up onto the windowsill. While I had actually never climbed out of my window onto this tree, I had climbed many trees in my day and had confidence in my ability to get to the ground in one piece. Straddling the branch, I reached for the middle and wrapped my arms around it in a tight embrace. I scooted my backside off the windowsill and onto the tree branch. Leaving the screen open for my return, I threw my leg over the next branch and shimmied quickly and stealthily down the trunk of the tree. I hit the ground with a small thud, my landing causing a puff of dirt to swirl at my feet.

  The base of the tree was near the kitchen window. From where I stood, I could see Mama at the table. Coffee mug still steaming, she was scribbling feverishly in the notebook at her right hand. I had never seen her with a notebook before. It was usually just the laptop.

  Curious, I moved toward the window, but as I stepped forward, a twig snapped loudly underneath my sneakers.

  My mama’s head jerked toward the window. Curse these open windows! Why couldn’t we have obnoxiously loud air conditioning like normal people?

  I ducked behind the boxwood that grew next to the house, my heart hammering in my chest. First time I was attempting to sneak out and I wasn’t even gonna make it out of the backyard.

  I held my breath as I heard Mama scrape her chair across the linoleum floor and walk toward the window. My body was pushed against the house, so I couldn’t see what she was doing, but within a few minutes, I heard her pad back over to the table and plop back down on the chair with a sigh. She must have thought I was the neighbor’s tom cat out for a midnight stroll.

  I waited a few more minutes before I crept out from behind the bush on my hands and knees, crawling until I reached the edge of our property. When I was out of her view from the kitchen, I rose to my feet and brushed the dirt off the knees of my lightweight pajama bottoms.

  I left the yard by climbing over the fence at the back and headed toward the trail. I realized Carson hadn’t specified where to meet him; I was going to have to walk down the trail a ways in order to find him. Plus, I was a little early, so I needed to kill time.

  Glancing around, I realized that it was a hell of a lot darker than it was during the daytime. Those marshes didn’t bother me during the day; it wasn’t the same as the woods. But as I crept slowly down the darkened and deserted back route, the marshes seemed downright spooky. Coupled with the uncomfortable feeling I had from the séance at Lindy’s house the night before, I was getting kind of creeped out. Hell, who was I kidding? I was downright scared out of my mind.

  I found myself muttering, “It’s the same as in the day time, it’s the same as in the day time,” as I shuffled forward as quickly as possible. My eyes darted from side to side, convinced that a ghost, zombie, or chainsaw murderer was hiding in the tall grasses, ready to pounce on me.

  If I thought my pulse had been racing in Lindy’s room the night before, it was nothing compared to the flopping my blood was doing in my veins right then. Between the fear and walking quicker than I usually did, I was plum ripe for a heart attack.

  So when a dark figure crept into my line of sight from the path, one could hardly blame me that I opened my mouth and a blood curdling scream came out from the depths of my soul.

  I felt a hand clamp over my mouth before I saw the figure standing next to me; possibly because my eyes were welded closed as I screamed. I squirmed to get away, attempting to bite the fingers of my assailant when I heard, “Kennedy! Kennedy! Stop! Shhh! It’s just me!”

  Recognizing the voice, I froze and practically went limp with relaxation.

  “Carson?” I asked, my voice muffled through his fingers.

  His hand slid off my mouth as he replied, “In the flesh.” He clicked on a flashlight and shined it on his face (which looked mighty creepy under the darkened night sky).

  I shoved him hard for frightening me. “What are you doing out here scaring people like that? You coulda given me a heart attack!” I clu
tched my pounding chest.

  “Sorry,” Carson said. “I thought you were expecting me. Didn’t you get my note?”

  Of course I got your note, Carson! Did you think I slunk around in the marshes at night for no good reason?

  “Yeah, I did. I just didn’t expect you so soon,” I stammered.

  “Blame Colt. I wouldn’t have been so early if it wasn’t for Colt needing to pee,” Carson told me. “Our yard isn’t fenced in, so I need to walk him at night.”

  Confused I asked, “Well, why didn’t you bring him?”

  Carson’s laughter pierced the silent night air. “Colt is right here, Kennedy.” He pointed toward his leg.

  I squinted in the darkness, convinced that Carson had possibly lost his marbles because I couldn’t see a dog next to him. But then, at the sound of his name, Colt let out a small bark; it was then that I could see the outline of his body against the night time backdrop of darkness.

  “Oh yeah, there he is,” I replied with a laugh as I reached out to pet his head. “How you doin’, boy? I couldn’t see you there in the pitch black.”

  Carson chuckled. “You have no idea what a pain in the ass that is. He can sneak up on you at any time in the night. And he’s really stealthy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up to him staring at me and breathing on me in the middle of the night. It’s kind of hair-raising.” He took a few steps in the direction of Lindy’s house, so I fell into step with him.

  “Oh, that sounds terrifying,” I replied as the ground squished underneath my feet. Not quite as terrifying as summoning your dead daddy in a séance, but whatever. . .

  Carson reached down and rumpled Colt affectionately. “He’s just making sure I’m okay. Just doing his job.”

  Colt let out a low rumble that sounded like a cross between a growl and a purr. I guessed he was agreeing with his master.

  “He’s very protective, huh?” I asked after we stepped over a fallen branch in our path. Carson didn’t respond, resulting in an uncomfortable break in our otherwise smooth conversation. My mind immediately started scrambling to come up with ways to fill the silence. I was cursing myself, trying to segue into a conversation starter.

  I opened my mouth to give him a dissertation on the history of this land during the Civil War (not quite the romantic, midnight stroll topic, but obviously, I was naive and inexperienced in the ways of romantic midnight strolls), but Carson sighed loudly and spoke before I could (thank goodness).

  “I’ve had Colt since my mama died. I guess he’s sensed that I need extra protection or something.”

  Ooo. His mama died? Did he tell me that and I forgot? No, he couldn’t have told me. . .I’d remember something like that.

  Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded my head. You should know what to say, Kennedy…you have a dead daddy, he has a dead mama…why, you’re practically soul mates.

  So I opened up my mouth and the most stupid thing came out. “How did she die?”

  Ugh, Kennedy! Number one rule for kids with dead parents, don’t ask how they died! I bit my lip, hoping Carson either didn’t hear me or the question didn’t bother him.

  If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “She was in an accident. With my baby sister.”

  I had to hold back a gasp. A dead parent was one thing—lots of kids lost parents. A dead baby sister. . .well, that was a whole different ballgame.

  “Oh, Carson, I’m so sorry…I…” I wanted to tell him that I knew how he felt. But that was rule number two…never tell anyone with a dead parent that you know how they felt. Because even if you’re a child in the same exact situation, you never know how someone else feels. (I’ve read a book or two on grieving and stuff.)

  Even in the darkness, I could tell Carson’s face was pained and he was swallowing hard. His eyes were shining, quite possibly from tears. I didn’t want to make this more difficult for him, but I wanted him to know that I was an ally, someone he could talk to. How many nights had I lain awake, wishing I had someone who could understand my life and what I had been through? And here he was, standing in front of me, like a gift offered from God. Did he want to talk about it? Should I tell him about my daddy? Would he think I was trying to one-up him? I didn’t know what to say.

  I wrung my hands together and finally said, “It must be hard for you and your daddy. And movin’ and all.”

  Carson nodded as he stooped down to pick up a stick. “Yeah. It happened right after I turned fifteen. I was on the football team and just started riding with the first aid squad. I was in the Honor Society and wrote for the school newspaper. I had friends—damn, I had tons of friends. I had girls eating out of my hand—” He sheepishly glanced at me and then said, “Sorry. You didn’t need to know that.”

  I shrugged and shook my head like it didn’t bother me. Why don’t you tell Carson about all the boys you’ve got lined up? I nearly snorted through my nose at the ridiculousness of that thought.

  “I never thought anything would screw up my perfect life. Then bam! My mama and sister are dead in this crazy accident and my daddy starts drinking all the time and falls apart and everything changes.” He inhaled sharply and I could tell he was trying to fight off tears. “You know I didn’t even get my driver’s license? I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to drive. My mama’s dead, my grandparents are dead. Hell, I don’t even have an uncle or an older cousin. I’m alone all of a sudden.”

  Crap! What do I do if he cries? I’ve never seen anyone but Mama cry! Well, Lindy when her manicure nail polish didn’t match her pedicure nail polish, but I don’t think that counts.

  “Well, even though they didn’t understand, I’m sure your friends—”

  Carson shook his head and cut me off. “Back home, after…it happened, I was like a spectacle, like an unlucky celebrity. Everyone wanted to be near me, but nobody really wanted to be my friend. I was supposed to be this tough fifteen-year-old kid and I had to keep playing the part. So I had nobody to confide in. And before that, I never really needed to confide in anyone. One minute I had everything I wanted and didn’t need it and the next minute everything’s gone and I wanted it. I guess I was living the American dream and never even realized it,” he said while poking at the ground with the stick.

  It was strange listening to this seventeen-year-old kid talking about his past like he was a ninety-year-old man. But I could understand him, relate to him, because I, too, felt like I had lived two lives. One after I came to Novella where my mama never left the house, and the life that I barely remember from before we left home and wandered around like nomads for months. It was obvious that Carson’s former life was better, but I wasn’t sure which one of my lives was better because I could barely remember the first one. All I had were brief snapshots in my mind, pictures of my daddy, Mama Grace, my school, my friends, and my mama, a happy and fun person who took me places like the lake and the carnival.

  I knew no words would make it better, so I said the only thing I could. “I’m sorry.”

  Carson dropped the stick he was holding and gazed at me for a second. In the dark, I could definitely see the tears were glistening in his eyes now. He placed both his hands on my shoulders. My breathing became jagged as my heart sped up. He was going to kiss me. I was certain of it this time. There was no Lindy here to interrupt. I closed my eyes, waiting to feel his lips pressed against mine, time feeling like it was standing still.

  Instead, I just felt his arms wrap around my body. He was hugging me, not kissing me.

  “You’re a really good friend, Kennedy,” he whispered into my hair.

  I tried to embrace him just as enthusiastically, but that word cut me like a knife. Friend. Of course I was a really good friend. What else would you be, Kennedy? Were you expecting him to cry on your shoulder and then ask you to be his girlfriend? How insensitive can you be?

  “I try,” I replied as I stared down at the back of his feet, where Colt was now reclined lazily.

  We broke apart and he smiled appreciative
ly at me. I smiled back, stifling a yawn. After my sleepover at Lindy’s, I hadn’t slept in nearly two days.

  “Oh, it’s really late,” Carson said. “We should go.”

  I wanted to argue with him; I probably could have spent the entire night out here with him, but my body wasn’t having it. My mouth traitorously yawned again.

  “Okay.”

  Colt looped around next to us as we headed down the dark path back toward our houses. Maybe tomorrow I’d get Carson to somehow see me as more than just a friend.

  ELEVEN

  My house was completely dark when we approached it. I silently congratulated myself; I wouldn’t have to worry about Mama hearing me sneak into the house.

  “Sure you’re okay?” Carson asked with concern as I headed toward the backyard and my open window.

  I nodded as I pushed open the gate and crept into the backyard. “Yup! I’ve been climbing trees since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I’ll be tucked in bed in five minutes.”

  As he entered the yard behind me, Carson gazed up at the window and then down at my flip flops. “Those aren’t exactly climbing shoes. I’ll wait.”

  I glanced around nervously, half expecting Mama to click on a light and be standing at the kitchen window.

  “Okay, suit yourself,” I said to Carson. “But I’m really fine.”

  He sat down on the picnic bench near the back door. The previous owners had left it—nobody ever sat on it. It was full of splinters and dirt. I shuddered at the thought of Carson getting a splinter in his fine behind.

  Hoisting myself up, I climbed the tree with ease. I even felt a little show-offish. Trying not to make any noise, I shimmied until I reached the branch that led to my room. And then, I nearly fell off the tree in shock.