The Dead of Summer (20 page)

I sat down between Mama and Carson on the swing, nudging her out of the way. “Kennedy has been showing me around,” Carson said. “She’s the only person I know in town,” he added. He failed to mention Lindy.

“Oh, and a southern accent, too. Where y’all from?” Mama asked sweetly, bringing the glass to her lips.

“We’re from Texas, ma’am,” Carson told her after a sip of his drink.

Mama choked ever so slightly on her drink. I glanced up to see her face, but suddenly, we heard a crashing noise that seemed to come from the back of the house. It was followed by the tinkling of glass. All three of our heads jerked toward the noise.
Lindy! Damn it, I forgot that the window was locked! I bet she found something to break it with.

“What was that?” Mama asked, rising unsteadily to her feet, panic all over her face. She shoved her glass of sweet tea at me.

Think quickly, Kennedy. Otherwise Mama will find Lindy before Lindy can even snoop around.

I grabbed Mama’s arm. “I think the Hunters are having new windows put in. They’ve been making quite the racket all week.”

“That sounded like it came from our backyard, Kennedy,” Mama said. “Maybe I should—”

I pulled her back down onto the swing. “It’s fine, Mama. I’ll go check. You drink your tea.” I started to stand and Mama grabbed my arm.

“No, no, I’m sure it’s coming from the Hunters’ house. They make a lot of noise all the time. They have four really young boys,” Mama told me and Carson, as if I wasn’t the one who told her about everyone in the neighborhood to begin with. “Those boys run amok. Their mama is never home.”

“She’s a nurse at the hospital, Mama. She works crazy hours.”

Mama rolled her eyes. “No excuse for not being home for your kids,” she said bitterly. “You have to make sacrifices for your kids.”

I stared at her for a second.
Who was this woman? Why was she so angry today? Was she angry enough to. . .kill?

“So what do your folks do?” Mama turned to Carson, completely changing the subject.

“My mama was a veterinarian.”

“Oh that’s lovely. Does she work at the Novella Animal Hospital?”

Carson shook his head as he took another sip of his sweet tea. “No, ma’am. She died two years ago.”

Mama’s face clouded and I could tell she instantly regretted prying. I felt oddly triumphant even though I knew I shouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” Mama said, laying her hand on Carson’s arm. I shot her an evil look and she moved her hand back to her lap.

Carson shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Mama nodded, and I could tell she was resisting the urge to dab at the tears that were forming in the corner of her eyes. “Is your daddy a vet, too?”

Carson shook his head. “Nope. He’s a cop.”

Mama gasped quietly, the color draining completely out of her face entirely. Well, whatever color she had to begin with. Since she never went outside, she could probably play one of those vampires in those movies Lindy liked to go see—she didn’t even need make-up

“Mama, are you okay?” I asked. I reached for her glass which was precariously dripping sweet tea onto her leg.

“Oh, yes, yes,” Mama stammered, steadying the glass. “I just remembered…I have to go shut off the crock pot. I think I turned it on high. And by golly, then it’ll be done way before suppertime. And we can’t have that now, can we?” She laughed nervously as rose to her feet. I glanced at the door. I sure hoped Lindy had found something before Mama came back into the house. “You guys stay out here.”

“Um, sure, Mama.” I felt around in my pocket for my phone. It was on vibrate. I hadn’t felt it—there were no messages from Lindy.

Mama waved timidly to us as she stepped into the house. I stuck my thumbnail into my mouth and began to chew. I really hoped she didn’t catch Lindy snooping. I had to pray that Lindy was smart enough to stay out of her way.

Carson and I looked at each other after the door was closed. “Well that was strange,” he remarked with his eyebrows raised. “Why’d she run off like that?”

“You told her that your daddy was cop,” I explained. When he still clearly did not understand what I was getting at, I further reiterated, “The
body
? In the cellar?”

Carson nodded solemnly. “Oh, yeah. Can’t forget about that body.”

“Gosh, how can you?” I asked while gulping down the last of my tea. I would never be able to forget that sight as long as I lived. Well, as long as I lived and I had a brain in my head that worked. “That vision is etched in my mind forever. I’ll probably have nightmares for years,” I managed to whisper.

With one arm draped over my shoulder, Carson pulled me close to his body. He was sweaty and smelled pretty rank, but I didn’t care. I just leaned my head on his shoulder, wishing I could just run away with him right now and leave everything behind—my mama, Lindy, and most of all, the body in the cellar. My heart was racing, but I felt eerily calm at the same time. Carson’s touch somehow had such conflicting effects on my body.

I felt the tears rolling down my face and I quickly wiped them away, not wanting Carson to see me crying.

“Come on,” I said, jumping to my feet. We had work to do. We couldn’t spend the afternoon sipping tea while the body in the cellar continued to decompose.

“Where are we going?” Carson asked, struggling to his feet. It was a bit harder for a guy of his size to get up from a rickety swing than it was for me, despite me being overweight and all.

“I’m texting Lindy to see if she found anything,” I explained as I dug out my phone.

“Don’t bother,” Carson said. “She’s coming around the side of the house right now.” I looked up to see Lindy practically bouncing down the path between the two houses, clutching a small photo album to her chest. Colt leaped to his feet and began to bark as she approached.

“Calm down,” Carson said, gently stroking the top of his head. Colt obeyed immediately, sitting on his haunches. “Good boy.”

“Look what I found! Your house reeks of bleach by the way,” Lindy said, waving the album in the air. A piece of paper fluttered out from between the pages.

“You dropped something!” I said, glancing around nervously, hoping Mama couldn’t see her.

“Oh.” She glanced at the ground behind her. Stooping down, she picked up the paper and examined it for a second. Her eyes widened and her mouth drew up into a little O shape. “Holy crap, Kennedy. You’re gonna wanna see—” A squeaking noise interrupted her. We all turned our heads toward the sidewalk. Old Mrs. Nettles was being pushed past in her wheelchair by her home health aide.

“Let’s go somewhere else to look at this stuff,” Carson said, interrupting Lindy and grabbing her by the crook of her arm. “Somewhere quiet.” I silently thanked him with my eyes even though Mrs. Nettles was so deaf she wouldn’t hear a semi driving into her living room.

“I don’t know if this can wait till we get somewhere private,” Lindy said excitedly, reaching me and shoving the paper in my hand. “This is huge!”

“How did you get in the house?” I asked, before accepting Lindy’s find.

She smiled devilishly. “I broke the window with one of the branches.”

Why hadn’t I done that? I would have never found the body…But then I would have had a broken window and a raving mad mama.

I examined the piece of paper, which now had dirt smeared across the top. I could barely make out the header—I had to wipe the dirt off to read.

“Shelby County” the top read, with an official looking seal raised in the middle. It looked like a birth certificate. At first, I thought it was my birth certificate. I had never actually seen my birth certificate in the flesh. Confused, I wondered,
what was Mama doing with a birth certificate from Shelby? I was
born in Henderson County.

“Shelby County in Texas?” Carson asked incredulously.

I nodded. “I was born in Texas. We came here when I was eight.”

Carson eyes grew wide, excitement spilling over the brims. “I lived in Shelby—” He clamped his mouth shut, as if he had said too much. “I mean, I visited there. Once.”

I nodded, but didn’t have to time to reflect on his odd behavior as I quickly skimmed the lines of the birth certificate.

Riley Noelle Ryan…Date of birth December 24, 2005…wait, this was at least five years
after
I was born.
This couldn’t be my birth certificate.

I sank to the ground on the path between our house and the neighbor’s and glanced up at Lindy. “Where did you find this?”

“In this album,” she told me, still swinging it in the air. “It was between your mama’s mattress and box spring.”

I choked back a laugh. Mama and I utilized the same hiding places. No wonder why she knew what was in my journal.

I gazed back down at the birth certificate, words dancing in front of my eyes, taunting me.

Mother: Tracie Ann Ryan, maiden name, Carter. Father: Mark Andrew Ryan.

This person, this Riley, had the same mama and same father. She was my sister.

“You have a sister?” Lindy squeaked. “How come you never told me you had a sister?” She stood over me, hands on her hips, voice accusatory.

“I don’t have a sister,” I moaned as Carson slid next to me. “This is all a mistake. I don’t know who this person is.” I waved the birth certificate in the air. I don’t remember anyone named Riley, in fact, I don’t remember any babies in my life at all. Mama had two older sisters—both had kids, my cousins, but they were all a lot older than I was. There were never any younger kids in my life. Despite what this flimsy piece of paper from Shelby County said, I did not have a younger sister. I never had any sister. I would remember having a sister when I was five years old…
wouldn’t I?

Lindy joined us on the ground and snatched the paper out of my hand. She shoved the album she was carrying at me. “I’m pretty sure this album proves otherwise,” she said as she flipped open the first page, a picture of a newborn on a scale, the red numbers lit up, announcing that this baby was six pounds, two ounces. I stared at the completely naked, pink and shriveled up newborn in the picture, fist clenched, mouth open, screaming indignantly as if she had just been served the most barbaric of injustices. Which, I guess birth
was
to a newborn. You were safe and sound and cozy in your warm little watery sac and then suddenly,
whoosh
! There you were in this bright, cold, unforgiving place where everything you’ve known has been stripped away from you in an instant. Not quite unlike my life at age eight and nine. Or now at this moment.

Lindy gave me a minute to soak in the picture before she flipped the page. There I was, mousey brown hair in mismatched, sloppy ponytails that looked like I had done them up myself, sitting on a hospital bed. I was grinning stupidly as if I was purposely was showing off the missing tooth on my lower gum. I probably was. Weren’t five-year-old kids extremely proud of their first lost tooth, like it was actually an accomplishment or something? Their very first participation trophy in a way? I felt like screaming at five-year-old me, ‘
Stop smiling kid! You’re not special because you lost a tooth
!’

Maybe I was overreacting to this photo of my younger self, but I didn’t want to look at the rest of the picture. Because I could see the person in the hospital bed was my mama, younger and much more disheveled looking than I had ever seen her (today aside), her hair in a messy bun and wearing glasses (she wore glasses?). Despite her weary expression, she also looked happier than I had ever seen her, cradling that same newborn to her chest, gazing down at her with love and adoration like I had never witnessed.

This picture couldn’t be real. I didn’t remember it being taken, this moment occurring in my life, but I was there, in this picture, grinning like a dope at the camera, wearing a shirt that was clearly too big for me, a shirt that shouted
I’m a Big Sister,
an impossibility in itself. I wasn’t a big sister. I could not have been a big sister and not known it. This picture had to be fake.

I was about to claim that the photo must be a forgery, when Lindy once again flipped the page. Now I was the one cradling the baby, staring down at her with a wondrous smile. I felt light headed while I stared at that picture, as if I were really in the room, watching my past self, cradling this newborn. I could hear Mama’s voice, but it wasn’t her voice that I normally knew. It was lighter, younger, less guarded. Less…pained.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Mama asked, her words echoing in my head. Past me nodded. “What do you think we should call her? I was thinking Riley was a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“I like Riley,” baby me chirped, sounding delighted at being asked my opinion of something so important. “But it’s Christmas. Shouldn’t her name be Noel? Like the song?”

And then, the younger me started singing to the baby and then the younger Mama joined in, singing
The First Noel
. It sounded so real and so true that I knew in my bones that this exchange had actually taken place.

And suddenly, I was back on the ground, tears rolling down my face, big salty tears plopping onto my sister’s photo album, the sister I couldn’t remember a thing about other than singing to her.

How could we have left my sister in Texas? Why did we leave her? And what the hell did this have to do with someone impersonating my daddy?

Lindy poked at the photo album, the next page showing Mama and a young man. He was holding the baby and staring at her with the same smitten grin Mama had.

“Is that your daddy?” Lindy asked.

“I think so,” I stammered.

I had never seen a picture of my daddy. Mama had hidden everything from me—photo albums and picture frames that should be housing happily married parents with 2.2 children. I never even questioned it. Right now, the idea that it never struck me as strange, was actually mind boggling.
Why had I never asked to see a picture of my daddy? Or did I ask and Mama denied me?

I slammed the book shut. I didn’t want to see anymore.

“What else did you find?” I glared at Lindy. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I needed to take out my anger on someone.