The Dead of Summer (10 page)

“Wait for us now, Kennedy,” Lindy called to me in a syrupy sweet voice. I ignored her as I forged ahead, stomping the dirt angrily underneath my tennis shoes. My breathing was coming out in raspy puffs (I might have had a touch of the asthma as Mama said. . .or a touch of being fat) but it didn’t matter because I was getting to the top of that hill before Lindy did, damn it.

I could hear her, huffing equally loud, desperately trying to catch up with me, sticks snapping underneath her feet as she jogged. Who knows what Carson was thinking? He was so silent I was beginning to wonder if we hadn’t left him behind, but I certainly wasn’t going to turn around to look.

“Kennedy! Slow down!” Lindy pleaded behind me, but for once, I ignored her. My anger at her behavior around Carson was overtaking my rationalization at the moment. The only way to get past my anger was to get to The Canyon before she did. At least that’s what made sense in my mind.

I curled my fists up and held my arms close to my body as I pumped my thick legs up the steep hill, nearly running. I was determined, steadfast in getting there first, doing something in my life before Lindy managed to hog all the glory, when I heard a sharp snap. And then, a high-pitched screech, followed by a thump to the ground.

“Are you all right?” Carson’s concerned voice called out, the first time I had heard him since I had stormed off like General Custer leading the charge.

I whirled around to see Lindy about fifty feet behind me, sitting on the ground with her left leg bent to the side, her foot twisted in a very unnatural manner. Carson was on one knee, bent over her body as she clutched her leg and wailed in agony.

Instantly, I was shamed.
Oh my goodness, Kennedy!
Look what you’ve done to your best friend! If you hadn’t been trying to prove something, this wouldn’t have happened.

I slunk over to them like a reprimanded child. As I got closer, I could see Lindy was crying so hard she had made her mascara run.

Carson looked up at me as I approached. “I think she just sprained her ankle,” he told me as he pointed to the way her foot bent back in that weird sort of way.

I sucked in my breath and cringed as Lindy cried out, “It’s not sprained! I’m sure it’s broken! It hurts!”

Standing up, Carson leaned into me and whispered, “I was a first aider in my old town. That doesn’t look broken. It looks what we call
exaggerated
.”

My anger rushed back in full force.
Of course it did.
Could I expect anything less than that from Lindy?

“I’ll have her up in no time,” Carson told me before he squatted next to Lindy and patted her shoulder gently. “I know it hurts and we’re gonna get you to a doctor, but first you need to calm down so that we can help you.”

Her head jerked up as she looked at him and broke into a broad grin, obviously completely forgetting about the “agonizing pain” she was just in.

“What are you going to do?” Lindy asked, with what Mama Grace used to call “crocodile tears” glistening in her eyes.

“We’re gonna lift you under the arms and help you walk down the path,” Carson said crouching while next to Lindy. I reluctantly squatted on the other side. We both wrapped her waif-like arms over our shoulders and lifted at the same time. She tilted dangerously close to the ground on my side.

“Owwwww!” Lindy howled. “That hurts too much. I can’t make it like that.” She jutted out her bottom lip and pouted at Carson. I seethed, steam nearly coming out my ears.

“Okay, put her down,” Carson instructed, and we lowered her gently to the ground even though I was tempted to drop her on her bony butt.

“What now?” Lindy asked in her injured voice.

“I think we need to splint your leg,” Carson said seriously, turning his head away from Lindy. Only I could see that dimple deepening, Carson fighting back a smile.

“Splint?” Lindy used her high-pitched damsel-in-distress voice. I wanted to throw up in my mouth.

“Yeah. I was a first-aider where I used to live. I rode the ambulance with the squad and shadowed them. You can’t do actual first aid until you’re seventeen and. . .well, we left before then.”

His face clouded over, but only I noticed. Lindy was too busy fanning herself like Scarlett O’Hara about to swoon.

“That sounds very complex. Do you think I need to go to the hospital?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But we’re going to have to find something to splint your leg with and then carry you all the way down the hill.”

Did he think that she would protest, not wanting to be carried and that would get her to her feet? Oh, Carson. . .you amateur. Attention is what Lindy Lincoln lives for.

Well, I wasn’t going to stand for it today. Lindy had ruined my day and I was determined to have a little fun at her expense. Even though I knew Carson would suggest a branch or piece of wood to splint Lindy, I had a different suggestion.

“Hey, you’ve got the perfect splint in the picnic basket!” I pointed out. I caught Carson’s eye, jerking my head toward the bread sticking out of the top, and he immediately registered understanding.

“That’s a great idea, Kennedy!” He grabbed the loaf of French bread out of the basket.

Confused, Lindy asked, “What. . .what are you going to do with that?”

Carson pulled his t-shirt over his head and I quickly I averted my eyes from the shirtless Carson, as I knew it would just my heart race like a pack of wild cheetahs across the Savannah. Instead, I looked down at the bottom half of Lindy’s leg which Carson had now tied his t-shirt to. Lindy looked incredibly uncomfortable. . .and not from her ankle pain, either.

“This is a bit, much, don’t you think? Can’t you just carry me down in your arms?” She batted her eyelashes, which got stuck in her clumped mascara. Her face twitched and contorted. She quickly turned away from Carson so he wouldn’t see her slide her fingers between her eyelids to pry them apart. But I could, and I had to bite my lip to prevent myself from laughing at her predicament.

Carson ignored her as he squatted behind Lindy and tucked his hands underneath her armpits. “Kennedy, can you hold Lindy’s legs while I lift her under the arms and carry her back down?”

I simply nodded; what other choice did I have, really? Lindy was still playing along with this charade so I needed to “help” her. Never mind the fact that I really wanted to leave her here and let the coyotes munch on her innards. Okay, maybe not her innards. . .just maybe to take a little off her face. And her hair. Definitely her hair.

I crouched by Lindy’s feet and slid my arms underneath them. First the one that had been made into a giant baguette and then the gluten-free leg.

“
Easy
, Kennedy!” Lindy said. I sucked in my breath and started counting to ten in my head, the method I usually employed rather than punching her in the face.

“Sorry,” I told her, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

“On my count of three, we’re gonna lift her and carry her down the trail. I’m gonna walk backward so I’m gonna need you to keep an eye out so I don’t trip over sticks or a root sticking out of the ground or anything.”

I nodded as I gripped Lindy’s legs. Thankfully we hadn’t gotten too far up the trail so it wouldn’t take us that long to get her back down. I hoped.

“Ready?” Carson asked, and I bobbed my head. “One, two, lift!”

As Carson stood up, I gently lifted Lindy’s weightless legs (even as a sub sandwich, her leg weighed practically nothing) and rose to my feet, trying desperately not to fall in the process. All I needed was to break her like a wishbone; she’d never forgive me for that.

“Ouch. It hurts,” Lindy moaned anyway, her lashes fluttering as she tipped her chin toward Carson’s face. I was pretty sure she was practicing for an Emmy.

Carson ignored her, checking behind him before walking backward toward the house. We slowly traveled to the backyard, seamlessly walking in tandem, ignoring Lindy’s little cries of “Ooh” and “Ouch” and protests that we were being too rough. When we reached the yard, Carson halted and glanced around as if looking for something.

“What are you looking for?” Lindy asked.

“Is there some place that we can put her down?” he asked, directing the question toward me.

“There’s a lounge chair over there on the terrace,” I told him, with a jerk of my head.

“Put me down?” Lindy squeaked desperately. “Why are you going to put me down?”

“Well, you didn’t think we were going to carry you like this to the hospital did you?” Carson asked as he shuffled backward toward the deck. “As fun as this adventure has been, my back is cramping up.”

Lindy sulked as we lowered her to the chaise lounge. “Well what now?” she inquired in a baby voice. I had a feeling she would have liked it if we
had
carried her all the way to the hospital like that. I could just imagine her pouty face as she waved glumly to everyone we passed throughout the neighborhood.

“Oh, Lindy what happened?” Mrs. Forester would gush as she tended to her begonias.

Lindy would fan herself and sob while Mrs. Benson rushed over with a refreshing pitcher of lemonade—

“Kennedy!”

Carson’s sharp voice roused me from my daydream.

“Huh? What? Did you say something?” I asked sheepishly.

He kind of scowled. “Yeah I asked if you knew Lindy’s mama’s number. Do you?”

I stared at him for a second and then down at Lindy. “Don’t
you
know your mama’s number?”

She smiled coyly and replied, “It’s in my phone and my phone is in my room. And I just can’t remember the number right now. It must be from the trauma.” She waved her hand toward her leg and shot me a cunning smile.

I glanced at Carson. His face told me he didn’t buy her story either.

I dug in my pocket for my own phone, but of course, I didn’t have Mrs. Lincoln’s number. I turned to Carson and placed my own hand lightly on his arm.

“Could you go see if Maria is in the house? She would have Mrs. Lincoln’s number.”

“No!” Lindy yelped. We both turned our heads to stare at her and she quickly said, “Why don’t
you
go, Kennedy? She knows you. Why, if she saw a strange boy in the house she’d be liable to shoot at Carson, now wouldn’t she?”

I pursed my lips together and swallowed my angry response. Maria would be no more likely to shoot an intruder than I would. Hell, the worst she’d do would be to throw a shoe at him and then crawl into a cabinet or something. As far as I knew, she didn’t even know how to shoot a gun. I now knew what game Lindy was playing. It was, “get Kennedy to leave so Lindy can be alone with the boy.” I hated that game.

“Well, I can just go and get your phone then,” I told her, challenging her with my eyes.

Lindy’s eyes narrowed into slits. I knew her phone was in her back pocket. She didn’t even go to pee without it.

“I want
Maria
,” she hissed.

“Fine,” I mumbled through clenched teeth as I stomped off on the cobbled walkway that led to the house. The walkway was uneven on purpose (Mr. Lincoln claimed it gave it “old world charm”, whatever the hell that was) and I had to be careful as I walked so I didn’t trip. My luck, I’d break my nose—my only saving grace of my features. I climbed the steps to the deck and eventually reached the back door. As I put my hand on the knob, I could hear a high-pitched giggle coming from the general direction of the lounge chair.

“Damn her,” I muttered under my breath as I stepped into the cooled and seemingly empty mansion. “Maria!” I called out as I wandered into the kitchen, where I would normally find the housekeeper. The kitchen was empty except for a rack of cupcakes waiting to be iced. Probably for Mrs. Lincoln’s garden club or something. I stuck my arm out to grab one but then I remembered the discomfort from having to lie on my bed to zip up my jean shorts that morning.

Cupcake-less, I left the kitchen and entered the main vestibule. “Maria?” My words bounced off the marbled walls making my voice sound hallow. I had been in this house at least five million times, but always with Lindy. I had never been here alone and I suddenly felt scared. A chill passed over me and I hugged my arms to my body, as if that would warm me up. This wasn’t a normal chill, it was that shiver you get for no reason, what Mama Grace used to say was “someone walking over your grave”
.

Her words echoed through my head as I continued down the hallway, poking my head in the doorways, calling out for Maria, praying I would see her in the living room, dusting the rarely used furniture.

Nope, no Maria in here
. I peeked into the downstairs guest bathroom, imagining Maria with a toilet wand in her hand. Wrong again. I checked in the rec room, wondering if Maria was in there, getting ready to vacuum. No such luck. I stood back in the vestibule considering my choices. I could go back outside and tell them I couldn’t find Maria, and Lindy would miraculously recall her mama’s phone number, which was not bound to happen because it would interrupt her whole “pretend to be an invalid” game, or I could climb the stairs and search for Maria on the second floor.

With a heavy hearted sigh, I picked the latter. “Maria!” I called out as I reached the landing.

“Kennedy?” Maria was coming out of Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom, dragging the vacuum cleaner behind her. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you going on a picnic with Lindy?”

“Lindy fell and she needs help. She’s outside in the backyard and she needs you.”
And I need to get Carson away from her!
I turned on my heel, heading down the staircase.

“Dios mio!” Maria was gasping as she followed me down the stairs. “Is there blood? I don’t like blood.” I knew this to be a fact because one time when we were playing in the yard, Lindy had a nosebleed and came up to the back door, scaring Maria with all the blood gushing down her face. Maria screeched and slammed the door in her face. She wouldn’t let her in till she cleaned up with the garden hose.

“No, there’s no blood,” I assured her.
Just a whole lot of swooning and drama.

“Oh good. Thank heavens,” Maria said as her feet hit the floor of the vestibule.

“She says she needs to go to the hospital, but she can’t remember her mama’s number. I think an adult will have to sign her in at the hospital,” I explained as we chugged along toward the back of the house, me practically dragging Maria.