Summer After Summer

Chapter 5

Our gang managed to dodge the bullet—sort of.

Daddy kept giving me the “look.” I knew he knew what we’d been up to; fortunately he couldn’t prove it.

Too bad! This was my last opportunity to be a carefree kid and I intended to take advantage of every minute. Yeah, I realized we were being childish, but our tiny bit of hell-raising was our version of asserting our independence.

Summer in Meadow Lake had always had a magical quality—it was sun and fun at its best. And July was truly our summer, a time and place that could never be replicated.

It’d been almost two weeks since our skinny-dipping escapade. I cringed at the thought of what would’ve happened if the patrolman had caught us butt naked. Darn it, I was not about to let Bunny talk me into another debacle. And if I believed that, I was delusional. She was charismatic, mischievous and irresistible to mere mortals.

That’s how she managed to snag me for our next escapade. I protested, a little, but it was to no avail. We were heading off to toilet-paper Mr. Hargrove’s house, and that antic was guaranteed to land us in a pile of trouble. Not only was he our high-school principal, he was also one of the grumpiest guys in town.

“I certainly hope you bought that stuff at different stores,” I whispered as I jumped into Bunny’s car. The backseat was filled with rolls of toilet paper.

“Even better, I raided the janitor’s closet at Daddy’s factory. They’ll never be able to trace it to us,” she assured me as we rolled quietly down the road. Our covert mission required maximum darkness—read the middle of the night—so we all had to sneak out. I felt like a cat burglar in reverse as I crept out of my house and met Bunny down the road.

I was afraid Mary Alice would chicken out, but there she was, standing on the corner with Misty.

“Good grief,” Misty exclaimed, batting the toilet paper out of the way. “Where did you get this junk?”

“I liberated it.”

“You stole it,” Mary Alice squeaked.

“No, you ninny. I’ll eventually inherit Daddy’s business, so in essence I own everything in that building. Toilet paper and all.”

Even I realized that was a bit of a stretch. But who was I to criticize? I was in the process of giving Daddy gray hair. Thank goodness Bucky was working as a camp counselor. Brother dearest was the biggest tattletale in the world, and Daddy really didn’t need to hear about this stunt.

We cruised past the Hargroves’ house several times before we came up with a definitive game plan. We didn’t have a ladder—which was probably just as well—so we’d have to make do with papering the bushes.

Total silence was a necessity for successfully completing our mission, and pulling that off would require a miracle. When Mary Alice got in a bind she turned into a giggle box. That wasn’t good when you were committing a misdemeanor. Misdemeanor or felony, it wouldn’t make a whit of difference to Daddy—breaking the law was breaking the law.

The alley was dark, the town was silent, and other than the odd insomniac and the night clerk at the 7-Eleven, we were the only people up and out. Mary Alice gave another maniacal giggle, managing to wake a dog in the process.

“Stop that,” Bunny hissed as she crept into our potential victim’s yard. “I have an idea. We can do this tree.” She indicated a small mimosa. “Jazzy, since you’re so tall, Misty can get on your shoulders and she can throw the toilet paper at least halfway up the tree.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “What’s this ‘we,’ kemo sabe? Looks to me like Misty and I will be doing all the work.”

Bunny waved her hand in the air. Sometimes that girl really annoyed me.

“Come on, let’s do it.” Misty dragged me through the hedge and headed straight to our target—a poor, innocent tree.

“Kneel down and I’ll get on. Then you can stand up,” she instructed me.

“Sure, I bench-press a hundred and ten pounds all the time!”

“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” Bunny said. “I’m too short to do this and so is Mary Alice. We have to finish up and get out of here.” She had a roll of toilet paper in each hand.

It was nice of her to remind me I was the only Amazon in a bevy of petites. Uh-huh!

I got down on my knees and allowed Misty to straddle my shoulders. The tricky part would be getting up.

“Hey, you guys, give me a hand,” I hissed to my coconspirators.

We were making more noise than a Ringling Brothers circus. I was positive someone had already called the cops, so when Misty fell off my shoulders and we landed in a heap of arms and legs, I knew we were busted. It didn’t come as a surprise when the front porch light went on.

“Beat feet,” Bunny yelled, dropping the incriminating paper.

Running sounded like one of the best ideas I’d ever heard; too bad Misty was sprawled across me.

“Get up,” I demanded. Then I pushed her off and scrambled toward the hedge. Yay for adrenaline and the flight response! I was well hidden in the leafy foliage before my compatriots made it halfway to safety.

By the time we tumbled into Bunny’s car, every dog in the neighborhood was barking. The Bennett family must’ve had some larcenous genes lurking in the background. The way she pulled her car out of the alley, sans lights, was pure genius.

“I about busted a gut.” Mary Alice lapsed into a fit of giggles. “I can’t believe we did that.”

Neither could I. Had I totally taken leave of my senses? Oh right, this was the goody-two-shoes club’s summer of mischief—innocent, of course. And if I could talk Daddy into buying that one, I was shoo-in for an Academy Award.

“Where are we going?” Misty asked. She’d obviously recovered her sense of speech. From the moment I pushed her away, until we were well out of the danger zone, moaning had been her only form of communication.

“We’re going to the truck stop,” Bunny answered, whizzing down Main Street.

The only place in town that was open twenty-four hours a day was the truck-stop restaurant on the interstate.

“I’m hungry for some pecan waffles,” the princess of our misadventure informed us before she launched into a boisterous sing-along with Carole King.

“Running from the law makes you hungry, huh?” I asked. My pesky sarcasm reared its ugly head again. I was beginning to doubt our friendship, and that made me sad.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, gracing me with the dimples that had turned boys all over the county into slobbering idiots.

Bunny was drowning her waffles with syrup. “Are you over your snit?” Her question was directed at me.

“Beg your pardon?” I asked, emphasizing the question with my famous arched eyebrow. Bucky taught me that trick, and I had to admit it made an effective statement.

“So, how does Charlie feel about you going back East to school?” Although Mary Alice, the inveterate peacemaker, was attempting to head off a spat, her choice of questions left a lot to be desired.

“Charlie has nothing to do with where I go to school. I haven’t discussed it with him. And it’s really none of his business.” Bunny punctuated her assertion with a hair flip.

Sometimes that girl was a real bitch. As I watched her, I tried to remember why we were friends. To be totally honest, it was one of those situations where you intellectually acknowledge a person’s faults, but for some reason you choose to ignore her shortcomings.

But when it came to her cavalier attitude toward Charlie, she pushed all my buttons. In all probability it was a good thing we were about to scatter to the four winds.

College would be a new beginning for all of us, and I wasn’t sure our friendships would survive.

Chapter 6

I think I mentioned I was employed—sort of. That is, if you called sitting by a pool sipping Tab and watching kids play Marco Polo a job. At any rate, every other afternoon and on Saturday mornings, I was a lifeguard at the Meadow Lake Resort where Charlie and Colton gave ski lessons to the debutantes from Houston whose parents owned summer mansions. I referred to those airheads as Bimbos in Bikinis—not that I was jealous of their bosoms or anything.

The days I worked were high on my “look forward to” list, because I could hang out with Charlie. Every so often Colton would join us. Although they were twins, they were physically as different as night and day. Charlie had the looks of a blond surfer boy while Colton resembled a young Clint Eastwood.

They were both handsome guys, but there was something about Charlie I found irresistible. What’s it about sexual chemistry? People through the millennia have asked that question and the answer’s always eluded them.

So I continued to pal around with Charlie. We’d talk for hours. At times it felt like we were on a date. On other occasions, it seemed more like a therapy session, especially when he lapsed into a discussion of Bunny.

There was obviously more than a little trouble in paradise; in other words, they were fighting like cats and dogs. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I wasn’t surprised, but I really didn’t want Bunny to be hurt. And more importantly, I didn’t want Charlie hurt.

But Charlie and Bunny’s relationship had nothing to do with the day my world went to hell. It started out innocently. I was doing a Saturday-morning shift at the pool. Charlie had some private ski students and Bunny was in San Antonio with her parents.

“Hey, Sunshine.” Charlie strolled over to my lifeguard stand. My heart did its usual flip-flop. Darn it, I wished it would stop doing that.

“Would you do me a favor?”

Anything, especially if it involved lots of kissing. That thought deserved a mental slap. “Sure. What do you need?”

“I have a private client coming up from Houston for a lesson this afternoon and Colton’s busy so I’d like you to drive the boat.” Charlie and his brother made money team-teaching water-ski lessons. One of the twins would drive and the other one would get in the water to assist the student.

“You might remember the guy. His parents own a house out on the island. In fact, I think you dated him a couple of times.”

“Are you talking about Stuart Redding?”

“Yeah.”

Boy, did I remember that jerk! “I had one date with him.” And a team of wild horses couldn’t have forced me back into a car with that pervert. He was one of those rich kids who thought a country bumpkin would be an easy lay. One quick jab, and that notion was dispelled!

“He’s not very nice.”

“What did he do?” Charlie was about to segue into his white-knight routine. No telling how he’d react if I told him about my Stuart encounter.

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yeah. What time do you want me?” I’d been driving a ski boat since before I had a vehicle license, so this would be a no-brainer—plus Stuart was afraid of me.

“Let’s say three o’clock.”

“Okay.”

Later, as I looked back on our conversation, it struck me as ironic that a simple little request could have such a profound impact on my life. My shift was over and I was sipping a Coke when a flashy new Corvette roared up and screeched to a stop. The driver was Stuart “I’m nothing but trouble” Redding.

We’d been on the water almost an hour and Stuart still hadn’t managed to get up on the skis. It usually took a six-year-old kid about three tries before he was up and away. I wasn’t positive, but I suspected Stuart was a pothead and that affected his coordination.

I’d made the boat stop and start about two dozen times and the guy still couldn’t do it. Billy Tom, who happened to be our spotter, and I were placing bets on how soon Stuart would give up.

I felt terrible for Charlie. He’d been in the water so long he probably looked like a California raisin. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Even over the rumble of the motor I could hear Stuart cursing. From the snippets I overheard, I knew he’d disparaged Charlie’s teaching methods, my driving, the river, the weather and God only knows what else. Yep, he was something, all right.

“Charlie’s swimming back to the boat,” Billy Tom said.

I cut the engine so Charlie could hoist himself safely onto the rear platform. He heaved his skis aboard and sat there for a few minutes with his head in his hands. Then he grinned at me, brightening my day.

“Hey, Sunshine. You up for one last try?”

“Sure.” If he’d asked me to jump off the bridge I would’ve done it. I would’ve run with scissors if he’d suggested it.

“I suspect he’s a lost cause, but I’m gonna try one more thing. If I get him up, give it enough gas to keep him in an upright position, okay? Go down the river where it’s not quite so crowded. I’m leaving my skis here, so after he goes down help him into the boat and come back to get me. I don’t think he’ll stay up very long. Is that okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie jumped back in the water and paddled over to his student in preparation for another try. When he gave the thumbs-up, I hit the gas and much to my surprise whatever Charlie did worked.

“He’s up,” Billy yelled.

“Thank goodness,” I muttered. The whole thing was getting old.

“Give it more gas. He’s a pretty big guy.” Billy said. “I want to keep him up as long as possible.”

“I do, too.” I made a wide, gentle arc into the river. Our passenger did not need to get fancy. Experienced skiers preferred the smooth water outside the wake. Novices, on the other hand, were safer within the confines of the boat wave.

“How’s he doing?” I shouted to be heard over the roar of the engine.

“Fine,” Billy said, and then amended his assessment. “Uh-oh. He’s out in the smooth water. I wonder how he managed that?”

Yeah, how did he do it? It took some measure of control to jump the slight swell created by the boat, and control wasn’t his forte.

I decided the derelict Two Mile Bridge would be a great turning-around place. We could go under the bridge and I’d slow down to allow our student to sink into the water. Then we’d retrieve him and this fiasco would be over.

Too bad it didn’t happen that way. Not even close.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Billy screamed. “Stop! Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God!”

It was the desperation of his last “Oh, God” that prompted me to jerk back on the throttle, stalling the engine.

“What?” I launched myself from the driver’s seat and ran to the rear of the boat.

I looked toward where our student should’ve been, but there was no one in sight. The only thing I could see was the yellow nylon ski rope stretched out behind us.

“He hit the bridge pillar.” Billy put his hands on his head and rocked back and forth. “Oh, my God! Shit! He hit the bridge!”

“He did what?” I wanted to smack Billy. “What? What did he do?” Surely Billy was wrong.

“He hit the bridge,” Billy Tom moaned. “He smacked into the concrete!”

My heart flapped around like a landed bass, but I somehow maintained enough awareness to know we had to do something.

“Pull in the rope, Billy! Right now!” My tone of voice must have penetrated his building panic, because he did as I instructed.

I turned the boat around and slowly motored back to the bridge. Please, God, please, God, please, please, please—Billy had to be wrong.

“There he is.” Billy spotted Stuart’s orange life vest. “Damn! Damn! Damn! Look at his neck.”

One glance at the unnatural angle of his head and I about lost it. He had to be dead. With all that blood in the water, he had to be dead.

Dead!

I motored up next to the body and Billy was in the water almost before I cut the engine. He was now issuing orders. I, on the other hand, was but an inch from pure terror. “I’m going to take him to shore,” Billy called. He had Stuart in a rescue hold and was swimming to the riverbank.

“Drive over to that dock and see if someone’s home. We have to call the cops,” he shouted.

I wanted my Daddy. He could make everything better, I told myself. But could he really?

I barely had the boat stopped before I was out of it and sprinting up the hill, praying that someone would be home.

“Help us,” I screeched, beating on the door. My guardian angel must’ve been working overtime. Thank you, God!

Mrs. Thompson was a tiny woman with steel-gray hair. “Take a deep breath and put your head between your legs,” she told me.

After she was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, she asked, “What’s the problem?”

Somehow between sobs, I managed to spit out my story. By that time, Mr. Thompson had joined us. He was the one who called for the rescue units.

Mrs. Thompson was a retired nurse and she ran with me to where Billy Tom had laid Stuart on the grass. Regrettably there was no need for medical assistance. She confirmed my worst suspicion; Stuart was not returning to his good life in the Corvette lane.

“Someone has to go downriver to get Charlie.” My teeth were chattering like castanets, making it hard to get the words out.

“Charlie?” Mr. Thompson asked.

“Yeah, he was teaching Stuart to ski and he dropped off in the water over that way.” I nodded toward Charlie’s location.

Looking back on it, I think I scared Mr. Thompson half to death. The way he jumped into his boat and sped off, he must’ve thought he was about to find another dead body.

It seemed like an eternity, although it was probably just a matter of minutes before he returned with Charlie.

“Oh, Charlie.” That was all I could say before I broke into tears.

“It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” He sank down on the grass where I was huddled in one of Mrs. Thompson’s blankets.

Damn, I was cold.

“Listen to me,” Charlie commanded. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He enveloped me in an embrace. He was warm. He was safe. And my world had just imploded.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Much to my surprise, Daddy was sitting on the ground next to me. Where had he come from?

I looked up and was astonished to see a fleet of fire and police vehicles.

“I’m taking you home.” Daddy pulled me to my feet and propelled me in the direction of his cruiser. “Come on, boys, I’ll drive you home, too. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to talk about what happened.”

Chapter 7

It had been two days since the accident, but every time I closed my eyes there it was, running again and again like a bad movie. Stuart’s eyes were open and sightless, and his ear almost touched his shoulder. Would I ever be able to get that sight out of my mind?

All my life I’d been the queen of guilt—I felt guilty, or perhaps a better word was responsible—about situations that were way beyond my control. For instance, I felt horribly guilty when Mary Alice didn’t have a date for the junior prom and I did. He happened to be a total dork, but he was still a date.

Then there was the case of the taco stand that went out of business. Somehow I convinced myself that if I’d stopped there more often, the guy might still be around. In general, the guilt was annoying but bearable. This fiasco had taken it to a new plane.

“I got some of your favorite sweet rolls at the Dixie Delite.” Mama was standing in my bedroom door holding a bakery box. She was doing her best to cheer me up. In fact, my parents were spoiling me rotten. On one level, it was nice. On another, it was making me crazy. Instinctively, I realized I had to get out of bed and face the situation. However, knowing and doing were two entirely different things.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

I could tell by the smile on her face, she was delighted that I was slowly, but surely, coming back to life. My mood was actually rather strange. Sometimes I felt perfectly fine and then it would hit me like a brick. I was to blame for a person’s death. That’s when I’d plunge into depression.

I trudged to the shower. Even when things got really bad, there was something rejuvenating about an orgy of hot water.

Before I made it down the stairs, I heard voices in the kitchen. Could that be Charlie? I hadn’t seen him since the day Daddy took him home to help explain the situation to his parents. He had to be feeling as bad as I did. So why hadn’t I called him?

Although Daddy said the official coroner’s decision was an accidental death, and there wouldn’t be an inquest, I was sure the Morrisons were worried silly. Their boat and their son were involved.

However, he hadn’t been driving the boat. I had.

“Hi, Charlie.” He was sitting at the table with my mother, munching on a sweet roll.

“Hey, Sunshine. You’re looking better,” he replied between bites.

That exaggeration required a very unladylike snort. “Better than what?” I was wearing my rattiest shorts, my hair was wet and pulled up into a ponytail, and I didn’t have on a dab of makeup.

Mama put a glass of milk and a pastry on the table in front of me. The combination of warm cinnamon and sugar jump-started my taste buds. All of a sudden, I was ravenous.

By the time I’d plowed through three Dixie Delite specials, I was stuffed.

“I see your appetite’s returned,” Charlie teased. “Why don’t you ride down to the dam with me?”

“Okay.”

“Mrs. Boudreaux, we’ll be back in a little bit.”

Mama had always been impressed with Charlie’s manners. The guy could charm the birds out of the trees, and regardless of their age, people of the female persuasion were particularly susceptible to his charisma.

“That’s fine,” Mama said. She likely would’ve agreed to anything that got me out of the house.

“How are you feeling, really?” Charlie asked after he parked in a gravel spot near the river.

For some inexplicable reason he entwined his fingers with mine.

“I guess I’m okay. How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I feel like crap. He was my responsibility. I knew he couldn’t ski, and I also knew he was the kind of guy who’d take dangerous chances. I should’ve told him to get lost, but I didn’t.”