Echoes of a Distant Summer (11 page)

The smile on his nephew’s face said everything. Jackson just patted him on the shoulder and said, “All right. We have a deal.”

Rhasan waved to another graduate and said excitedly, “Uncle Jax, there’s Wayman.” Wayman made his way through the crowd, followed by a tall, dark-skinned woman in her early thirties. Wayman introduced her as his godmother and then gave Jackson a solid hug.

Jackson returned Wayman’s hug and then held him at arm’s length while he looked into his handsome brown face. “Congratulations on graduating,” Jackson said with a smile. “You’re looking damn good in that robe, Wayman. I know all your girlfriends will want pictures.”

“Watch how you say that, Uncle Jax!” Wayman warned. “There could be somebody close!”

Unable to keep her hands off her son, Samantha wiped sweat from Rhasan’s brow. “Yeah, it’s hot in this robe,” Rhasan acknowledged, pulling the robe over his head.

Wayman stood on his toes, looking over the heads in the crowd. “They’re here!” he said excitedly to Rhasan. “And they’re looking good!”

“Hold this stuff for me, Mom,” Rhasan said hurriedly, shoving his mortarboard and robe into Samantha’s arms. “Laura’s here! That’s my lady and you know I’ve got to go talk to her!”

“Whoa!” Jackson interjected. “You are going to leave your mother holding your stuff while you go romancing? That doesn’t sound like the orator who made the valedictorian address.”

“I knew it! I knew it!” Rhasan complained. “That address is going to haunt me! I’m not even going to be allowed a transition period!”

Samantha smiled. “Go ahead, lover boy, my transitional man. Just don’t forget these are rented and they must be returned. Wayman, do you want to leave yours too?”

“No, thank you, Ms. Tremain,” Wayman said, still scanning the far edge of the crowd. Samantha gave Rhasan a nod of her head

“Thanks, Mom,” Rhasan said, then he and Wayman were gone.

Samantha looked down at the bundle of mortarboard and gown in her arms and the camera and case in her hands and said, “I think I’ll go back to our seats and drop this off. I want to get a picture of Rhasan and his girlfriend.”

After Samantha departed, Jackson was left standing alongside Wayman’s godmother. He noticed that she was very good-looking. She had smooth skin, so dark there were purple tints in it, large eyes, and full lips. When she smiled, exposing her white teeth and opening her large, dark eyes, she had a vivacity in her look that was hard to deny. He did
not want to stare, so he looked away, but even as his vision took in the meandering crowds of students and their extended families, he was thinking about the trace of a dimple in her cheek.

After standing a few moments with her in silence Jackson said, “Once again, the well-wishers are left to their own devices.… Your name is Elizabeth, right?”

She nodded and said in a husky contralto, “And I know your name.”

Jackson was pleased. “You meet so many people at these events. Their names turn into a blur. I’m glad you remembered mine.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about you.” Her tone was filled with insinuation and her eyes were teasing. “I wouldn’t forget your name.”

“Is that because I have made a good impression somewhere or is this the result of some more character assassination material that has been prepared through the worldwide conspiracy of my enemies?”

She gave him an appraising look and replied, “I have my sources and from what I hear you’re more than a well-wisher.”

Her husky voice tingled in Jackson’s ears. It made him look at her directly. A faint mischievous look skirted her large, brown eyes.

“How did you hear all that?” Jackson asked, studying her face.

“You’re the great Jackson Tremain, Big Brother of the year! Surrogate father nonpareil!”

“That’s only one of the ways I would describe myself, if given the chance,” Jackson answered. Both her smile and tone had an enigmatic quality. He could not distinguish whether her intent was teasing or veiled hostility.

She moved closer to Jackson, picked a piece of lint off his lapel and said, “That’s the way you were described by someone who respects and cares for you.” She looked off in the direction that the boys had gone and then turned to face him again. “How would you describe yourself, if given a chance?” Her face was only a foot away from his, but suddenly it seemed to Jackson as if they were rubbing noses. The rich darkness of her skin made him want to touch her. Fighting against the unbidden urges, he stepped back and said, “First, let me say that you are quite beautiful. I’m a little stunned by it.”

Her answer was glib. She tossed it off as if she had said it a thousand times. “Lots of people have said that and on the surface I am thankful that I look appealing, but on a deeper level I am reluctant to be placed upon a pedestal for such a transient thing as beauty.”

“Only the beautiful can afford such a rationale,” Jackson countered.

She gave him a bright smile then said, “Why walk a path that is well paved? Break new ground. Let’s turn it around. Describe yourself.”

“The physical profile is easy: six foot three inches, two hundred thirty pounds, reasonably athletic.” He paused, unsure of what to say next. The woman’s face was very mobile. She had a quick, mischievous smile that intrigued him and her eyes had a quality that made it difficult to look away. His body began tingling as if he was receiving an electrical message that his mind could only partially decode. They spent a moment looking at each other but when she put her hands on her hips, he realized that she was waiting for the elaboration or conclusion of his statement. He began, “The persona is more difficult.…” He did not want to continue. If he was going to give a description of himself to this woman, he wanted to work from a prepared statement. He wanted to make the best impression.

Elizabeth shifted her weight to one side, folded her arms, and said with a trace of impatience, “Go on! That’s what I’m interested in: the persona. I can see you. You’re not totally unpleasing to the eye. Provide all the personal detail that you dare.”

Jackson was a bit cautious as he said, “Okay. I am a man who’s interested in the pursuit of excellence and doing what’s right. I attempt to avoid hurting people; sometimes through negligence, ignorance, or stupidity, I cause someone pain. If I do, I try to remedy it. I value niceness. I know some people think that’s weak, but they don’t understand how valuable niceness is. I believe in investing energy and time in our young people. Since I never had a normal family, I know the value of one.”

“That’s confusing to me,” she said. “I’ve met several members of your family here today. They appear quite normal.”

“Ah, they are masters of camouflage and deception. For short periods of time they may appear almost like regular humans, yet under the surface they constitute a major dysfunctional unit. I have often thought that my family should run a blood bank because we are so good at squeezing the blood out of everything we touch.”

A frown flashed across her face and was replaced by a contemplative look. “That’s a grisly metaphor but it leads us back to your description. I take it that you don’t consider yourself a causal factor in this situation.”

“It began long before I was born.” Jackson smiled sadly. “I’m just a spoke in this wheel of pain, trying to stand as straight as I can.” He gestured
toward his grandmother, who was making her way slowly in his direction. “Here comes one of the primordial hubs from which we spring. Ask her why the wheel is bent.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side as she looked at him and asked, “Are you always so morbid? Particularly with strange women?”

“Only when they bring up the subject of my family. Anyway, I don’t know you well enough yet to classify you as strange,” Jackson replied quickly, then after a moment’s thought shrugged. “I might just be saying this because my family gives me terrible gas pains.”

Serena stood patiently a few feet away, waiting to be recognized. Her magisterial presence could not be ignored.

Jackson asked, “Did you want something, Grandmother?”

“Yes, if you have a moment, I’d like you to walk me to my car.”

“Surely, Grandmother,” Jackson answered with resignation.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your young lady.”

Jackson mumbled awkwardly, “She’s not my … uh. She’s a—”

“We’ve met, Mrs. Tremain,” Elizabeth said, rescuing Jackson from the need to explain. “You were with your other grandson on the far side of the stage. I’m Elizabeth Carlson, Wayman’s godmother.”

“You’re right, Miss Carlson. Please forgive me, but when you get to be my age, the mind gets a little fuzzy with facts. Do you mind if I steal my grandson briefly?”

“No problem, Mrs. Tremain.” Elizabeth flashed her a quick smile. “I should go and find Wayman. It’s getting late.” Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Jackson Tremain.”

Jackson shook her hand and spoke into her ear, filling his nose with the smell of her body and her perfume. He whispered, “I’d like to see you again.”

Elizabeth smiled at him and said, “Good.” She turned and walked into the milling mass of people.

Jackson was surprised at how fragile his grandmother had grown. She leaned on him steadily as they made their way across the plaza to her car. They were halfway across before any words were spoken.

“Is it your intent to spend the rest of your life hating me?” His grandmother’s voice was raspy from exertion.

“I don’t hate you, Grandmother, I just don’t love you.” For reasons that he never understood there were never any moments of laughter or gentleness shared between them.

Serena Tremain paused for a moment and stared at her grandson.
When she started walking again, she said, “Word games make poor answers to serious questions. If you don’t hate me, can we call a truce in the war between us?”

“How can you call a truce when your ally has sworn to outflank me?”

“I want peace! I have had two sons killed in the prime of life, watched my husband turn into a bloodthirsty killer, and had my dreams destroyed as I watched. I have paid dearly for my mistakes. Now, my time is growing short. I wish to set aside the hostilities and the anger. I wish to do what is best for what is left of my family. This is why I have come to ask you to represent the family’s interests. Don’t let your grandfather give the wealth that has been accumulated over the years to strangers. Our family has shed blood for all that he owns.”

“Although you seemed to have developed manipulation to the level of an art, I won’t be your instrument,” Jackson said, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not old enough to set aside my memories and forget. I guess I’m not close enough to meeting my Maker, nor am I attempting to atone for a life of cruelty.”

“Is that how you truly see me?”

“I don’t pretend that I can truly see you. You image has always been distorted. The person that I see when I look at you may, in truth, be gone now. I say, who cares? The person you were is still alive and breathing to me.

“Let’s be clear, I don’t want anything to do with my grandfather either. I don’t want his blood money and I don’t care who he gives it to. That’s final.”

“If that is to be your final decision, let me warn you—”

“Ah, the threat; the other shoe drops.” He shook his head as he helped his grandmother down the steps of the plaza. “This is what I have been waiting for. Your return to character.”

“It is not me who threatens you,” his grandmother chided him. “It is the life that your grandfather lived that threatens us all. He has made many enemies and though none would dare to stand face-to-face with him in his youth, they crowd around like jackals and hyenas at the death of an old lion. They seek not only his death, but all the territory that he controlled as well.”

“Let them have it! The old lion lived by the law of the jungle; it is only fitting that he should die by it.”

“Hmm,” his grandmother said, stopping to stare at Jackson. “That is a coldhearted assessment. Your grandfather taught you well.”

“I learned coldness from you, Grandmother. Grandfather taught me anger.”

“Touché,” she said, suddenly looking older. She leaned heavily on Jackson as they continued down the stairs. “Suppose we take the metaphor further,” she posed in her raspy voice. “The jackals know that they can never truly possess all that the old lion controls without first eliminating his offspring. Even if you do not go down to Mexico, they will come for you and Franklin. And after you two are gone, they will come for the rest of us.”

“Why should they? That doesn’t make sense. All they should care about is his business and his money. What more is there?”

They were now standing beside his grandmother’s car. Her driver opened the door for her and assisted her in entering. “The answers lie in Mexico,” she said from the interior of the car and motioned for the door to be closed.

Jackson felt a coldness seep into his heart that he had not felt in nearly twenty years. It was a feeling that he had known well in his youth. It was fear, and he could not force it back into the vault from which it sprang.

“Congratulations, Rhasan,” he said to no one in particular as his grandmother’s car drove off. “What kind of world did we bring you into?”

T
he air was thick with dust. It seemed to rise up and form shapes while floating on the warm gusts of air. Eight-year-old Jackson stood in the shadows of the bus depot, watching the hot afternoon sun desiccate everything in its path. His grandmother, dressed in black, stood silently a few feet away. They were waiting for his grandfather.

Jackson was in a storm of confusion and pain. His father was in the grave barely three months, the victim of a violent crime. Jackson’s whole world had exploded and imploded at the same time. He had no conception or words for the emotions that he was feeling. He was a frightened little boy, yet no one reached out to calm his fears or explain
what was expected of him. He was left to struggle through his heartrending confusion by himself. Jackson kept brushing his face to keep what seemed to be millions of flies from landing on his eyes and mouth.

His grandmother was luckier; she had a black veil which she had pulled tightly over her face before they left the house in San Francisco and had kept it down for the full duration of their trip. It was an unnecessary barrier, for she had always been a forbidding figure. He had no relationship with her. If his grandmother had smiled at him, he would have rushed to her side, but she did not even talk to him unless circumstances required it.