Serial Summer
Page 12
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
I watch her enter the back door and slide down in my seat. I can’t tell from here if Justin is at home or not, but this is not the way I want to see him again. If I even do. Anita has given me a lot of information to think about. Should I just walk away now?
Then it hits me. I should just walk away now. Mark and the others have left for France. He and I are beyond finished, and Justin? Justin was never more than a summer-rebound fling. Why make it worse hanging around all summer licking my wounds?
By the time my mother sits next to me in the car, it’s decided. I’ll stay until the Fourth so it doesn’t look like I’m running away, and then I’ll…run away. Once again, my mother’s footsteps seem like the right ones to follow.
~*~
“You’re really leaving?”
“On the fifth.” I heave the bag of trash into the dumpster. Anita stands behind me, holding Sibley on her hip. Sibley’s fighting to get on the ground because two stray kittens run behind the dumpster.
“But it’s the second and…well, just no!” she exclaims.
“I know it seems kind of fast—but it’s time.” We walk away from the stinky dumpster, back toward the campers.
“Is it because of what I said? I didn’t mean to upset you! Are you mad?”
I smile and say, “I’m not mad. Promise. What you said made a lot of sense. There’s no point in trying to salvage some fling between me and Justin. We’ll both get hurt.”
“But you don’t need to leave! You still have a while left before school starts, right?” She’s giving me puppy-dog eyes and it’s like a stab in the heart.
“I kind of left in a hurry. There are some things I should take care of before I go back, anyway.” I tell her. “Plus, that camper is getting kind of tight for me and my mom.” I don’t mention Richard and their blossoming affair.
“But you’ll come to the Fourth of July party before you go?”
“Absolutely. I want to say goodbye to everyone and really, who wants to miss a party?” I lie. “What should I bring?”
“Maybe some chips or something? Ivy’s parents provide all the heavy stuff.”
I think for a second. “Oh! I have this awesome dip I can make.”
“Sounds perfect.” Anita steps forward and gives me a fast hug. “Thanks for not being mad at me,” she says. “Okay, I’m going to go put Sibley down for her nap.”
“Bye.” I walk back to my camper and find my mother sitting on our patio with another woman her age. She’s pretty, although a bit more weathered than my mom. She’s rounder in the middle and her hair is completely silver, bringing out the blue in her eyes.
“Hi,” I say when I come into view.
“Paige, this is my cousin, Sugar.”
“Oh! Anita’s mom?” I step forward, glancing between the two women. Everyone seems pleasant, which is a good sign. “It’s really nice to finally meet you. She and I were just talking.”
“I told her I would watch Sibley today while she got some shopping done, but I thought I’d stop by before I went over to her house.”
“Look Paige,” my mother says, handing me a piece of paper. “Sugar brought this photo of me and her back when we were kids.”
I take the rectangular piece of paper out of her hand. The two women—girls then, were stunning. Both with long sleek hair and even in the faded color picture you can see how tan their summer skin is. “Those are some pretty scandalous bikinis you have on,” I laugh.
“We used to swap.” Sugar says. “The white one was mine and the green one your mothers. She had a bigger chest than I did, so I would have to knot it in the back to keep it from falling off.”
Both women laugh at the memory and my mother looks happier than I’ve seen her in a while. They both look happy and it’s impossible to tell they spent the last thirty years not speaking.
“Sugar just invited me to a Fourth of July party over at the beach,” my mom says.
I raise an eyebrow and smile. “I got the same invite from Anita.”
“Good, it will give us something fun to do together before you leave.” I had told my mother about my plans to go back home. She wasn’t thrilled, but I think she understood. She needed to finish her book and maybe the quiet would help.
Sugar checks her watch and stands. “I guess I better get going, or Anita will wonder where I got off to.”
My mother stands too and gives her cousin an enthusiastic hug. “Thanks for coming by,” she says.
Sugar smiles back and squeezes back. “I’ve missed you.”
Once Sugar leaves I follow my mom into the trailer. “Repairing the family tree?” I ask.
“It’s time.”
“Why now?” I sit on my bed and she slides behind the table where her computer sits, open.
“Because you can only let wounds fester for so long, honey. I learned that the hard way.”
“So you think I’m doing the wrong thing by leaving?” I guess.
She shrugs. “Your life isn’t the same as mine. What went on between me, Richard, and Sugar has nothing to do with you. I just realized I needed to come home and put some bad memories to rest. I’m happy they were still willing to take me back.”
“So you and Richard…”
“Are testing the waters.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we only have one life, Paige, and he and I wasted too many years being afraid. We aren’t going to let that happen again. Will we make a go? I have no idea. We aren’t the same people as we were thirty years ago—but that doesn’t mean we aren’t better matched now than then.”
I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I try not to focus on the fact her life has come together when mine continues to fall apart. I’m happy for her. I just need to get my act together. I listen to her fingers click against the on the keyboard. I roll over and say, “Does it ever get easier? Love and relationships?”
She looks at me over the laptop screen. “I wish it did, honey. But at some point you have to push aside your fears and follow your heart.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, my mother and I make one last trip inland for her book. I’m thankful that for once, this meeting is not with a victim or in someone’s home. My mother has managed to convince a former detective from Donald Gaskins’ case to meet us for lunch. Seafood and murder. At this point, the combination sounds completely normal to me.
I expect an old man, but the guy waiting for us at Captain Jack’s appears only a bit older than my mother. He’s already at the table buttering hush-puppies and reading a paper.
“Mr. Marrs, I’m Julia. This is my daughter, and assistant, Paige.”
“Sit, please, and call me Judson.” He gestures to the empty seats at the table. “Try these hushpuppies. Best in the area.”
I stare at the fried ball of dough questionably, but I’m starving. I slather butter all over the bread and take a bite. “Holy crap, that’s good.”
“Paige!” my mother admonishes.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “Try one, they’re awesome.”
My mother ignores me. “So Judson, you worked on the Gaskins case in 1973?”
“Through ’76,” he confirms. “I was a rookie and found myself in the middle of the biggest serial killer case the state had ever seen. When I got on the case, though, he was already in jail, waiting for trial. Right before he was arrested, Gaskins had started taking on a lot of paid jobs.”
“You mean where he was paid to kill people.”
“Yep. Took his nasty habit and started making money off of it.”
“Wow,” I say, before shoving another hush puppy in my mouth.
Mr. Marrs smiles at me. “While he was in jail we arrested an associate of his, Walter Neely. He was the one that finally caved and told us everything. I was in the room when he confessed.”
My mother looks at her notes. “Walter Neely assisted him in some of his crimes, correct?”
At that, I push the basket of bread away.
My mother isn’t deterred by bones and bodies. “Was that all you used to connect them to Gaskins? Neely’s testimony?”
Judson pours a packet of sweetener into his tea and stirs it loudly. “That was a big part but there were some other identifying factors.”
“Can you share?” It’s slight, but I notice my mother’s interest pick up. She already knew these other facts. She’s hoping Judson can tell her something new.
“There’s a small fact that was never released—even in court. It was random on the victims, but we had seen it more than once. Predominately on women. It seemed Gaskins had a signature of sorts, yet it was inconsistent.”
“What was it?”
“On two of the women found at the grave, there were signs of a gash on their chest. We had seen this on several other victims and at least one other victim that had escaped.”
A horrible metallic taste enters my mouth and I realize I’ve clenched my jaw so tight I bit the inside of my cheek. Two images flash in my mind when he describes these wounds.
My mother and Martha Sanders.
~*~
There’s nothing like fighting tourists at the Piggy Wiggly the day before the Fourth of July. All I need is a couple of items from the dairy section, some chips, and two cans of beans, yet I’ve spent ten minutes dodging grocery carts full of hotdogs, screaming kids, and two guys each carrying out five bags of ice.
Oh right, and Justin.
He’s over in the beer section with Bobby, filling their own cart with a variety of brands. I’ve known them both long enough to appreciate that Bobby has a preference for cheap, American beer, where Justin tends to favor the quirkier, independent breweries. Sure enough, as I hide behind a display of soda, I can hear that’s exactly what they’re fighting about.
“Dude, no one cares what it tastes like—this case of PBR is only twenty bucks,” Bobby argues.
Justin’s jaw is set and he shakes his head. “I’m not drinking that crap.”
“Are you kidding me? Is this what you learned in college? Snobby beers?”
“Stop being stupid. Just get some of both. I’ll pay for it.”
“Whatever,” Bobby says with a grin. He tosses a couple more cases into his cart before rolling off.
I peek around the corner expecting to find them gone and instead come face to face with Justin.
“Oh!” I say in surprise. I wonder when he spotted me.
“Hiding from me?” he asks.
Anger flares at the accusation and I shoot back, “Avoiding me?”
His eyes drop and for a moment, I think he may be ashamed. Good.“Not exactly.”
“Sure feels like it.”
He sighs and rubs his chin. I see the grease stains on his hands from working on the boats. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”
I’m trying to not make eye contact because this whole thing is awkward. This whole segment of my life is one series after the other of uncomfortable moments. Thank god Justin is smoother than I am, because he breaks the silence.
“That whole thing at the bar with Mark. It was like a moment ripped out of my childhood. I can’t go back to that place.”
I’m confused. “What are you talking about?”
He looks around and lowers his voice. “All I ever saw was my mama and daddy fighting. It was always about other men or other women. More than once things got physical. Once some guy showed up with a gun and threatened to shoot us all because my daddy couldn’t keep it in his pants. I’m not living that life again, Paige.”
“I’m…I’m not asking you to,” I stammer.
“I know, and I appreciate it. I just don’t know if you appreciate what it’s like to live like that.”
“What? Where you’re the kid waiting around while your parents fight and divorce and leave one another for someone new? My dad was a cheat also, Justin. It’s one reason I left Mark the second I found out he was married.”
I see his resolve weaken—just for a second—before the walls come back up. “Good, then you understand.”
“I wish I did. I wish I was could pack up my emotions and never feel again, but I can’t. I can’t just throw myself into work or school or whatever and pretend I don’t want more.” He doesn’t respond, other than running his hand through his hair. I notice red scrapes on his knuckles. He talks a big game, but he cares more than he ever will admit. “By the way, my friend sent me a picture of Mark. He had quite the shiner.”
His eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead. “Oh, Really?”
“Yeah. Looked like he got caught on the wrong end of a fist.”
Justin shrugs. “He seems like the kind of guy that pushes buttons.”
“You got that right.” I snort. A woman bumps into my foot with her cart and I jump out of the way. He reaches out to steady me but pulls his hand back before I can settle into his touch.
“I’d like to be friends—I just can’t be more than that,” he says.
I nod and fight back tears. He’s only being honest and even though I respect that, his words hurt. “I’d like that,” I lie, willing to take whatever peace we can bring between us.
With the true-confessions over, he peers into my basket and says, “You going to the party tomorrow?”
“Anita invited me.” Again, I move out of the way of a mom pushing a cart filled with food and two kids. The aisles are packed with shoppers, making it hard to navigate. “Is that okay with you?”
Justin frowns. “Of course it is.”
I hold up my basket. “I guess I need to go gather some other things and then fight that line. See you tomorrow?”
He gives me a weak smile. “Yep.”
The second he walks away, I head directly to the freezer section and open and door. I stick my head inside, next to the boxes of waffles and pancakes. The cold air freezes the hot tears I’ve been holding back to my face and I relish the coolness on my skin.
One more day, I tell myself, before I can run like the wind.
~*~
“Already packed?” my mom asks. I’ve just finished cleaning out the cabinets over the bed. I’m sad to see my summer things packed away. It is the sure sign my vacation is coming to an end. I lay my bathing suit to the side since I have one more beach day left.
“Not much to take with me,” I answer. “I’ll leave the beach chairs and everything here.” There’s no room for the suitcase in the camper so I take it outside and place it in the back of the SUV. “Thanks for driving me to the airport.”
“No problem,” she says. “This tiny camper will feel weird without you here. I’m going to be lonely.”
I make a face. “I doubt that. I’m pretty sure a handsome man will happily take my place.”
She leans over and squeezes my shoulder. “He could never take your place,” she says, but we both know better. Once again, the Hawkins men save the day. Well, at least one of them. The other is mired in post-traumatic family stress. There’s nothing much I can do about that at this point.
“Talk to me for a minute,” she says, sitting in one of the patio chairs. The party starts soon, but we’re in no rush. I take the one next to her. “You know you don’t have to go, right?”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to leave because of a man. I’ve done that twice now and nothing good comes from it.”
That stings a bit, because I’ve done it twice now, too. Like mother-like daughter. “It’s not about a guy. It’s about me. I just can’t seem to get my act together. Sitting around here, acting like your assistant, dragging cute locals into my drama is just creating more problems.”
The breeze picks up and hits the kitschy wind chimes made out of pearly shells my mother hung up when we moved in.
After a moment she says, “Do you want to know why I ran away back then?”
“I’m not running,” I start to argue, but then think better about it. I brace myself. “Yes, if you want to tell me.”
“I want to.” She takes a deep breath and starts, “In 1974, Richard, Sugar, and I were accosted by Donald Gaskins on the highway between here and Myrtle Beach.”
This revelation should be more shocking, but it’s not. I’ve seen the scar. I’ve connected the dots, between the mark on Martha’s chest and the one on my mothers. Even so, I’d hoped it wasn’t true.
“Oh mom, I’m sorry.”
“It was the single most terrifying moment in my life. I still have nightmares. I’ll wake up in the pitch black and think I’m back there. Back with him.”
I have no idea how to respond. We’ve spent the last month digging up story after story about the evil Gaskins performed, each one worse than the one before. I swallow through the lump in my throat and ask, “Did he hurt you?”
“He hurt all of us,” she says. Her voice sounds stony. “In our own ways.”
My mind spins around the book, the interviews, the desire to find other close-call victims. “Is this why you found Martha?”
“I’d always wondered if we were the anomaly. Were we the only ones that got away? It seemed unlikely since he was such a risk taker. That wasn’t my intention with the book, though. I just needed to get the story out there. Stumbling upon the idea of other victims gave me a second focus—something positive to search for.”
I look down at my hands. “Is this why you and the others stopped speaking for all these years?”
She nods. “We were young and immature. Terrified. Even though we walked away alive, the encounter haunted us. Unlike Martha, I didn’t find my guardian angel. All I wanted to do was blame everyone else. I blamed Sugar for talking me into sneaking out that night. I blamed Richard for his terrible car breaking down on the side of the road. I blamed Gaskins for being a disgusting pervert. Most of all, I blamed this tiny part of the world for letting me down. So I ran. I ran fast and furious and I never looked back.”