The Children (24 page)

“Thank God they're going. We have to plan. We have to protect ourselves,” Sally said.

“No, Sal,” I said, trying to keep my voice very calm. “The things Spin said, they had nothing to do with Laurel. It sounds like he's been holding on to some bad feelings for a long time. I just don't understand how we didn't know he was so unhappy.”

Now she was pacing back and forth between the two windows, looking out of each one as she ranted. “He wasn't unhappy. It's her. She's poisoned him. Have you seen how black her eyes are?”

“No,” I said. “Sally, stop.”

“There goes Everett. EVERETT!” she called, banging on the window.

“No, Sally, we don't need Everett,” I said.

“EV! Ev! Ev!” Sally called again through the open window. I heard him asking her what she wanted.

“Come up here, quick. It's an emergency.”

“Oh, Sally, don't say that.”

But it was too late—he was running up the stairs.

Everett still looked a little rough, even though he'd had a swim and a shower. He stood in the doorway and I could see he knew, without her saying anything, that Sally was off. He just stood there with his shoulders sagging, watching her pace back and forth. She stopped every few seconds to peer out the window like a fugitive.

“What if they come back?” she said. “What if they come back? Let's lock the doors. Everett, run down and lock the doors.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, what now?” Everett said to me.

“The thing to do is to change the locks, Everett,” Sally said. “Laurel's been brainwashing Spin. She's been telling him all sorts of lies, sick lies about us, about me.”

“What kind of lies?” Everett asked. “Sally, what lies?”

I tried to get his attention. It's never a good idea to get her to elaborate. For Christ's sake, what was he thinking?

“He thinks that we've made him feel like a guest. She wants us out. She called me a whore. She thinks we're all whores.…”

“No, Sally,” I said, and as she continued ranting, Everett came and sat next to me. I quietly filled him in on what had taken place in the kitchen. “Laurel wasn't even there, but somehow Sally thinks she was behind it.”

“She was behind it,” Sally said. “Everett, you know how wicked she is. She's evil; you know that. I know you know. If anybody in this house would know that, you'd know.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Everett said. He jumped up and lunged at her. He grabbed Sally by both her shoulders, shook her, and said, “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?”

This was as uncharacteristic of Everett as Spin's flare-up had been. I screamed his name. He let go of Sally and took a step back.

“I'm sorry, Sal,” Everett said after a moment or two. He leaned back against the wall.

“It's okay, Everett,” Sally said. Now she was crying, and he put his arms around her.

“Let's all just calm down,” he said.

Joan walked into the room just then and said, “What on EARTH is all the shouting about?”

*   *   *

Joan, Everett, and I spent the afternoon cleaning up the yard and the beach. Sally had gone into the music room. She started out with the same melody she had been playing all week, and then she moved into a livelier one. She went back and forth with the doleful, melancholy tune, lilting, lilting, then suddenly flew off into the fast reel. When I recall that afternoon now, it seems like the perfect score, that chaotic melody. It lulled you into a sense of calm and then it was on fire again. When we were outside, the sound of it was very faint, but I strained to hear it, and I know the others did, too. It was like listening carefully to an erratic heartbeat so that you could tell when it became steady again.

The sky was a perfect summer blue, and the lake was dotted with sailboats. A motorboat sped back and forth in front of the house, pulling an inflatable tube that carried children who laughed and screamed as they bounced across its wake. Everett was stacking the chairs and tables. Joan and I picked up litter, empty bottles, and cigarette butts, and we shared disjointed thoughts in passing.

“He told me he was hungover. He wasn't feeling well,” I informed Joan when she dropped some paper plates into a garbage bag I was holding. “I'm sure that was a big part of it.”

“A guest?” she said a few minutes later as we carried some empties up the steps. “He feels like a guest?”

“He was probably still half-drunk,” I said on our way back down the steps.

“How could he have felt like a guest?” Joan asked when we were back in the kitchen washing up.

“I have no idea.”

Everett carried the tables and chairs down to the boathouse and then he came into the kitchen. Sally's music had become quieter; she seemed to be working out a sequence of chord changes. Joan was going through some leftovers that somebody had covered up and left on the table.

“Everett,” she said. “There's some fried chicken left from last night.”

“Yeah?” he said, and he sat down.

“No, guys,” I said. “It's been sitting out all night.”

But they ignored me.

“Tastes good,” said Everett quietly.

“Yummy,” said Joan. “Everett, have a beer. The fridge is filled with beer. Charlotte, get Everett a beer.”

“Nope,” Everett said. “I'm good. I drank too much last night. I like the sound of what Sally's got going in there, with her fiddle.”

“A beer will make you feel better. Hair of the dog,” said Joan.

“No,” Everett said. “Listen to that. She's got this kind of Turkish, almost Arabic-sounding thing going on there, then she dives back into the hillbilly reel.” He was tapping out a rhythm on the table with his fingers.

“What's the movie about?” Everett asked me.

“It's set in the nineteenth century, I think. A sort of Western. I don't know. Yeah, I see what you're saying about this tune. It's mountain music, but you could see somebody belly-dancing to it.”

He listened for a few more minutes and then he got up and rummaged around in our silverware drawer until he found four spoons that he liked, then he left the room.

A moment later, we heard Sally stop her playing. When she started up again, we could hear the tap-tap-tapping of the spoons. They sounded like the little cymbals that belly dancers hold in their palms. They were just the thing. We heard Sally let out a whoop of delight.

“Joan,” I said. I listened to make sure that they were still playing. “Mom, did Whit ever find out what happened to Sally?”

“That's sweet, I like it when you call me Mom,” Joan said. She had now moved on to some cookies that somebody had left in a Tupperware container with a Christmas tree on it. “You girls always called me Joan. I think it's because you were so little. You called him Whit, and Perry called me Joan, so I can see where it would get confusing.”

“Did Whit ever know about Sally and the boys from Holden that night? Did he find out?” I asked.

Joan looked at me then with a confused expression. “Did Whit
find out
? Of course he did. I told him that night.”

“What? No, that can't be,” I said, blinking hard, trying to keep the tears from coming. “I mean, I always thought that if he knew…”

“What?” Joan asked. “If he knew, then what?”

“He'd have gone to the police.”

The music had stopped. I wasn't sure exactly when. Joan and I both held our breath, wondering if Sally was within earshot. But she started up again.

“Whit was the one who told me
not
to call the police. I thought you knew that. We had a big fight about it. I don't think I ever got over it. I thought you knew that.”

“No,” I said.

“I never forgave him. How could you not have known that?”

*   *   *

Spin was here at Lakeside that weekend; he would have been twelve or thirteen at the time. He was still living in New York with Marissa and coming up on alternate weekends. I remember that he came down to see what all the commotion was about. He had always been a light sleeper. We were all in the foyer, helping Sally; Spin was crouching wide-eyed on the stairs. The first time Joanie told him to go to bed, she used her normal voice. The second time, it was more like a scream.

We should have just taken Sally to the hospital. I know that now.

She had been really out of it when Everett and I found her. Everett had wanted to take her to the hospital, but every time we mentioned the idea, she would thrash around and scream, “I am not going to the hospital. You can't make me.” She was so messed up. It wasn't just booze. Everett kept asking her what she'd taken. “Vodka,” she'd mumbled.

“What else?” Sally was still on the ground, just inside the tunnel, when he asked her. She was trying to stand, but she kept slipping because the tunnel floor was wet and starting to freeze. She giggled when she slipped. Everett kept standing her up and she kept sliding.

“She doesn't have her shoes,” I said to Everett. “She's sliding because she just has socks on.”

When Everett dragged her out of the tunnel, we saw that her jeans hadn't been pulled up all the way. “Who would leave her like this?” I asked. That's when I started crying—when I was hiking up her jeans. “Who would leave her like this out in the freezing cold?”

I kept looking for her shoes. Sally, in her semiconscious state, heard me and started saying, “My shoes, Max, those are new. I want my new sneakers. Where the fuck are my sneakers, Max?”

Everett picked her up and carried her down the bank and back to the truck. For some reason, I thought it was important to find her shoes.

“Forget her fucking shoes,” Everett shouted. “We need to take her to the hospital.”

“Where are my shoes?” Sally asked. She was giggling and playfully punching at Everett's chest. “I WANT MY SHOES. Where's Max? Who are all you other guys?”

What if we hadn't gone looking for her? What if we had fallen asleep in Everett's room? What if she hadn't told me that she and Max Osborne sometimes went to the tunnel? Max was her current boyfriend. He was a day student. Sally and I had gone to preschool with Max; I'd always hated him. Now she was hooking up with him in the Holden field house and, on occasion, down in the old railroad tunnel. What if I hadn't known that? She would have frozen to death that night.

The tunnel was a frequent destination for Holden students—had been for years. It was spooky and secluded, yet not too far from campus. It was a perfect party spot. But once the nights started getting cold, nobody went there.

When I opened the door to the truck and the light came on, I could see that Sally had blood on her face.

“Everett, look,” I said. “And her pants … I can't tell if they're wet, or if she's bleeding, or what.”

“Oh man,” Everett said, setting her gently inside the truck's cab. “Quick, get in on the other side of her.”

Soon we were speeding along the old service road and then we were in Harwich Center.

“We need to call my mom,” I said.

“We'll call her from the hospital,” Everett said.

“NO! I'm not going to the hospital,” Sally said. “They'll send me to jail. I'm all fucked up.”

“You won't go to jail,” said Everett.

“Sally, what happened?” I asked. “Who were you with? Was it Max?”

“Yeah. Where's Max? I wanna go home. I keep telling you that. I keep telling everybody.”

“Who, Sally?” I said.

She was dozing off.

“Keep her awake,” Everett said, elbowing her hard. “SALLY! WAKE UP!”

“I'll go home, okay?” Sally pleaded. “Please, let's take me home. I won't say anything. I don't even know you guys.”

“Everett, we have to go near the lake to get to the hospital. Let's stop and get my mom. There's no cell service here.”

“I'M NOT GOING TO THE HOSPITAL!” Sally sat up straight now and started wiping her mouth. “Ow, what happened?”

“Sally, do you want to go home and see what Joan thinks?”

“NO. I just want to go to bed. I'm fine.”

I was relieved when Everett turned onto East Shore Road. Sally did seem improved.

When we got to the house, Everett wanted me to go in and get Joan. He would wait in the truck with Sally. But Sally had sobered up somewhat during the short drive. I mean, she was still a mess, but she seemed a little better. She stumbled out of the truck and Everett and I walked her into the house.

“I just want to go to the bathroom,” she said. I helped her to the powder room next to the foyer. I tried to go in with her, but she closed the door.

“Privacy, PLEASE!” She giggled. She was alternating between silliness and anger.

I went and woke up my mom. Whit kept snoring away.

Downstairs, Joan and I persuaded Sally to open the bathroom door and let us in. She had a cut lip. Her hair was caked with mud.

“Oh no, oh my God, oh sweetie, what happened? What happened?” Joan said.

“I don't know, Mommy,” Sally said. Now she was even more lucid. “I can't remember. I need to take a shower.”

I pointed to the spots of blood on Sally's jeans, and Joan got very upset. It was the only time I'd ever seen my mother really cry.

“Sally? Sally? What happened.”

“I want some water. I'm hot.”

We followed her out of the powder room. Everett was standing by the front door, and when I looked at him, he nodded at the stairs. That's when we saw Spin. Joan sent him upstairs.

“Come in the kitchen, dear.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Sally was walking fine now, just a little slowly, and my mother had her arm around her.

“She seems so much better,” I said.

“There's no way that was just from alcohol,” Everett said.

“What do you think happened?”