The Fourth Summer

by Kathleen Gilles Seidel

  “This blows, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “I wish I had my computer and my phone.”

  “This will be a test. Is our generation as addicted to constant stimulation as people say we are?”

  “I’m sure that I am,” she answered.

  Sally boarded the bus last. “Now I have your room assignments.”

  “What?” It was a voice from the back of the bus. “Are you serious? We don’t even get our own rooms?”

  “It’s the Fourth of July weekend,” Sally reminded them. “We were fortunate to get this many rooms.” She started reading off the names. Caitlin knew that there was no chance that she would be with Seth—which might make all this not just worthwhile, but potentially rather glorious—and she was happy to be with Joan, although she was surprised that Joan and Delia, the two older women, had not been put together.

  The bus headed east. People had questions for Sally. They were pretty much the same questions that they had had earlier. How was anyone supposed to pay their bills on $12 a day? How was Keith’s wife going to manage the farm without him there at all? Sally had no answers.

  The bus went through a seedier part of town and then pulled into the parking lot of an older Best Western. The driver parked by a side entrance and waited while Sally went in to get their keys. It was a while before she came back. People were starting to complain about being hungry.

  Sally returned full of apologies. “We had wanted to organize a common space for you to relax and eat in, but unfortunately we could not make that happen on such short notice. I am afraid that you will have to stay in your rooms this evening. We don’t have the manpower for anything else. Your dinners will be delivered to you. And we have to ask you not to leave your rooms except in the case of fire or some other emergency.”

  “Can you do this?” Teddy, the young rabbity-looking one, asked. “This is like being in jail. Don’t we have rights?”

  The judge, Sally said, was fully conversant with the extent of his legal authority.

  Caitlin had traveled a few times on Silicon Valley business, and this room was nothing like the sleek hotels she had been booked into then. The two double beds had matching floral spreads, the kind where the quilting is done not by actual stitches, but by little broken lines that had been heat-stamped into the synthetic fabric. There was a desk and a desk chair that had arms so that it could serve as a reading chair as well. If Caitlin had been here of her own free will, she would have been annoyed by the lack of electric outlets, but of course she had nothing to plug in, and there were now plenty of outlets since the radio had been removed, the phone had been removed, and there was a big blank space on the wall where the television had been. Even the chain on the door had been removed. This really was like jail.

  Caitlin supposed that they were lucky to be allowed to keep their belts and shoelaces. Apparently the judge was not worried about suicide attempts. Maybe he should be.

  A few minutes later one of the deputies handed them a bag from Subway. “Sally says to tell you that we are really sorry. We’ve never done anything like this. We will do better tomorrow.”

  “What about our luggage?” Joan asked.

  “And the phone calls?” Caitlin added. She realized that if she gave her parents access to her cloud storage accounts, they could deliver her latest project and invoice the client. At least she hoped that they could. They were both a good five years behind on the technology curve. And maybe more than five.

  The deputy said that the luggage was being searched now and that the phone calls were already starting. Someone would come get them when it was their turn.

  Joan had opened the bag of food, and Caitlin could see that she was hovering uncertainly. Oh, of course, there was only one chair.

  “You take the chair,” Caitlin said. “Really. I’m fine sitting on the floor or the bed.”

  The sandwiches came with potato chips and a cookie, but no beverages. Caitlin went into the bathroom to get water for both of them.

  Joan thanked her. “But we’re outside the city limits, and the rural water is pretty bad.”

  It was. It had a bitter bite followed by a metallic aftertaste. Caitlin had to force herself to drink it.

  After they ate, Joan sat down with her knitting, and Caitlin took the little sketch pad she always carried in her purse and started making a list of everything she would need her parents to do in the next few days. Some clients required detailed messages while the rest could get something generic.

  Of course Tlin wrote in a different style than did Aurora. Then it occurred to her that this was a lot to convey in a phone call, so she started to rewrite her messages to make them shorter...except now she was using up a lot of her sketch pad. Did she need to worry about that? Should she be writing on the Subway bag? No, surely, her mother would think to send some more drawing paper. And if the deputy had explained that the jurors would not be able to use their phones and computers, her mother would also know to send her some books. Her mother had always been great at things like packing for long car trips. She had been a navy wife, and navy wives could pack.

  But when the deputies arrived, they only had the carry-on bag that Caitlin had brought from San Francisco, and in it were only the things that Caitlin had brought from San Francisco.

  Oh, Mom... You couldn’t have at least sent me a book? Dylan’s in elementary school, and he lives in Atlanta. You have time to think about me now. Isn’t it my turn?

  So what was she going to do with herself? If there had been a Bible in the nightstand drawer, she would have read that, but either the Gideons had stopped putting Bibles in motel rooms, or the judge had declared that the Holy Book was potentially subversive reading material. Caitlin sighed, took her sketch pad, and wasted another sheet of paper drawing her suitcase in excruciating detail.

  “It’s nine thirty,” Joan said at last. “I guess we didn’t get to make our phone calls.”

  “Shall I go out and ask?” Caitlin was starting to stand up.

  “They did tell us to stay in our rooms.”

  That was true. Caitlin sank back to the floor.

  At ten they decided to go to bed. This was Joan’s usual bedtime, and Caitlin didn’t have anything else to do. They took turns in the bathroom, and Caitlin had to ask Joan for some toothpaste. Her mother had simply repacked the toiletries that Caitlin had brought, and Caitlin didn’t bother to bring toothpaste and deodorant when she was visiting her parents.

  The bed wasn’t uncomfortable, but Caitlin wasn’t sleepy. Not at all. She lay on her right side for a while, then turned over to her left. That was fun. Now what?

  Apparently the critics of her generation were right. She was addicted to external stimulation. Didn’t she have any inner resources? Why hadn’t she learned to meditate?

  Pay attention to your breathing. That’s how meditation classes began. Caitlin inhaled, then listened to herself exhale. It was not interesting.

  The air-conditioning unit switched on, fluttering a little burst of air. Then it stopped. No, it wasn’t the air-conditioning. It was Joan, Joan breathing. The flutter became a sigh, and a moment or so later Joan was full-out snoring. There were rattles, snorts, grunts, a whole symphony.

  Okay. So how were you supposed to pay attention to your breathing when someone else was going at it too?

  Grrru-th...hahhuh... This was getting hard to listen to. Why did cartoonists represent snoring with a line of peaceful z’s?

  If she turned on the light, she could use yet another page of her sketch pad. But she couldn’t turn on the light. Although each bed had its own sconce, they were mounted together with one knob. One turn of the knob turned on Joan’s light, the second turn added hers as well, then the third turn left her light burning and Joan’s off, but by then Joan would be awake, and Caitlin would have to apologize when what she really wanted to do was shoot Joan.

  What
kind of person wants to shoot a retired third-grade teacher?

  If Joan’s snoring was regular, Caitlin thought that she might be able to block it out, but there were gasps and wheezes, followed by periods of stone silence that went on long enough that Caitlin would start to wonder if her roommate had died.

  What was she going to do in court the next day? How was she ever supposed to listen to the testimony if she hadn’t slept? And she wouldn’t be wearing deodorant. Maybe she would stink enough that Fred would stay on his side of the armrest.

  She tried putting the pillow over her head. It didn’t help. She was going to sleep in the bathroom. That was the answer. She scooped up her bedding and tiptoed across the room. As she was spreading the quilt across the bathroom floor, she couldn’t help noticing that the underside of the sink surround was unfinished particleboard. The floor was clean enough, but the underside of the countertop? Who cleans that? And who actually sticks gum there?

  Sights you wish you hadn’t seen.

  The heat-stamped quilt didn’t have enough loft to soften or warm the hard tile floor, and even as small as Caitlin was, she had to think about how to lie down. Should she put her head next to the toilet or underneath the old chewing gum? Her something-great-grandmother and Clara Barton would have been happy to do either.

  Well, good for them. She was going to sleep in the hall. What could the court do to her? Throw her off the jury? Oh, darn.

  She picked up the bedclothes again and opened the door as quietly as she could. The hall was carpeted, which was good. Cone-shaped sconces shone on the vinyl wallpaper, making it brighter than she would have liked, but she was not going to let herself mind.

  Midway down the hall, a desk was set up perpendicular to the walls. A deputy was on duty, guarding access to the jurors’ rooms...except that the deputy had crossed his arms on the desk and was resting his head on them. If he was snoring, Caitlin couldn’t hear.

  He had a bottle of water next to his clipboard. Would he wake up if she tried to steal it? Probably.

  She spread the quilt on the carpeted floor and lay down, pulling the sheet and the blanket over her face to block out the light. The sheet had a slight metallic smell. It must have been washed in the local water.

  At the least the sheets were clean. She should celebrate that.

  She heard a sound, another door open. She peeked out from her blanket. It was Seth, also carrying a pillow and a blanket. She sat up and put a finger across her lips, nodding her head toward the sleeping deputy.

  “Snoring?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “It’s only ten to eleven.” She watched him as he laid out his quilt. “Your parents didn’t send you anything to do?”

  “It must not have occurred to them that we won’t have our computers. Did you try the water?”

  “Isn’t this starting to feel a bit postapocalyptic?” Caitlin had worked on several postapocalyptic games. “We are stranded somewhere with crappy water, only fast food to eat, and nothing to do.”

  “So you are assuming that McDonald’s will survive the apocalypse?”

  “Seems like a good bet.”

  This was nice talking to him like this. If the deputy hadn’t been there...motel-hallway sex? She didn’t know what that involved, but it might be fun to find out.

  “Jurors!”

  The deputy had woken up. He was getting up from the desk and moving toward them. “You need to return to your rooms. Immediately.”

  Seth shook his head. “No. Our roommates snore. We can’t sleep. But we are going to be right here in the hall. You will be able to see us every second.”

  “I know we aren’t supposed to roam around,” Caitlin added, “but we aren’t going to do that. It’s the last thing we want to do. We want to sleep.”

  The guard shook his head. “I don’t have the authority to authorize this. You need to return to your rooms.”

  “Is there some way we can figure this out?” Seth was trying to negotiate. “We understand that you don’t want to wake up your boss, but is there some middle ground? We’ll stay on opposite sides of the hall, we won’t speak to each other, we can even come closer to the desk. Would that work for you?”

  “You need to go back to your rooms.”

  Caitlin looked at Seth. He was looking at her. Which one of us is going to make a scene?

  He shrugged. The face of Street Boards and all that. I have to behave.

  And she shrugged back. I am turning over a new leaf in the citizenship department. I am going to be worthy of the gold eagle on the front of my passport. I don’t really know what that involves, but assaulting a deputy in the hall of a Best Western probably isn’t the place to start.

  She doubted that her telepathic connection to him was strong enough to send this entire message, but he understood the shrug.

  At least he had thought to bring his room key out with him. Caitlin hadn’t. Apparently part of her new leaf involved being an idiot tourist. The deputy had to call the night manager to let her back in her room.

  Back in the room, she made a nest for herself between her bed and the wall...and tried to listen to her breathing and think of someplace beautiful.

  San Francisco was beautiful. But San Francisco was far away. And too expensive. So the lake...the lake was beautiful, with the grass running down to the rocks at the water’s edge, the birds, the wind in the trees, being in the tree with Seth, being on the grass with Seth. And the water, above all the water...they had never drunk the lake water, had they? No, agriculture runoff and all that.

  Couldn’t she find something else to think about besides crappy drinking water?

  * * * *

  “Honey lamb, what are you doing down there?” Joan looked upset to see Caitlin on the floor the next morning. “Is your bed too soft?”

  Caitlin sat up. “I just couldn’t get comfortable.”

  “Let’s talk to someone about getting you a bed board.”

  A deputy, a tall, fit-looking woman whom Caitlin hadn’t seen before, had woken them up. The jurors were to eat breakfast between six and six thirty, at which point the motel’s breakfast room would be open to the public. The jurors were to return to their rooms and wait there until it was time to leave for court.

  The breakfast was typical motel fare, cold pastries, oatmeal packets, yogurt so sweet it might as well have been ice cream. There was a toaster and a waffle maker, but Caitlin felt as if she were swimming through molasses. If making a piece of toast felt too hard, how was she ever going to stay awake during the testimony today?

  Chatty Heather and red-haired April with the hideous laugh were all bright and perky on one side of the room.

  Shut up. Please. For fifteen minutes could you just shut up?

  I am an awful human being.

  Caitlin opened the little refrigerator, hoping that there would be some bottled water, but there were only juices. She took her yogurt to sit next to Marcus, the slender, quiet chef, guessing that he would not want to talk.

  Delia, the other older lady, came over and asked them if they had gotten their phone calls.

  “No,” Caitlin said. “Did you?”

  “I did, but there were others who didn’t.”

  “What happened? Do you know?”

  “I certainly do. That young man, Teddy. The one that can’t make a move without talking about his wife—”

  Teddy walked into the room in time to hear his name. “Oh, are you talking about me?” he asked innocently.

  “Yes, I am,” Delia said firmly. She was a majestically built African American Southern grandmother radiating a “say grace before dinner” ethos. “You owe some people in this room an apology.”

  Teddy, slight and pink cheeked, looked startled. “Me? For what?”

  “Because there were only two phones. Other peo
ple didn’t get to speak to their families because you wouldn’t get off.”

  “And the deputy kept telling you to get off,” Chatty Heather said. “The rest of us got off after our fifteen minutes.”

  That certainly must have been a different deputy than the one who wouldn’t let Caitlin and Seth sleep in the hall.

  “Yes, but it was important”—Teddy was pleading his case—“and my wife said that they couldn’t make me, that we still had rights. And Dave, he didn’t get off. I heard the deputy tell him to, and he stayed on.”

  “For an extra five minutes.” Delia defended the trucker before he could speak. “And he has to get his son-in-law to take over his business. That’s not like you needing to tell your wife what you had for supper.”

  Caitlin looked at her watch. They had been at the motel for twelve hours, and people were already bickering.

  Seth came into the room and sat down next to her. He hadn’t shaved, and he must have taken his contacts out because he was wearing narrow, square-framed, silver-rimmed glasses. None of his pictures had ever shown him in glasses, but she liked the look.

  She twisted her wrist so he could see her watch. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Who cares about a little thing like that?” he said, clenching his fist in some kind of power salute. He got up to get some coffee, and right away the new deputy joined him, the tall female one.

  And in a moment she was touching her hair. Then her tongue flicked across her lips. Caitlin knew how to animate attraction. This was textbook.

  Leave him alone, will you? He’s probably had five minutes of sleep.

  But the deputy was fascinated. Here he was, this good-looking celebrity. Seth had to eat standing up.

  At six thirty, another deputy told the jurors to go back to their rooms and then be ready for court at seven thirty. Someone would knock on their doors when it was time. Caitlin used Joan’s toothpaste again, but decided that she would fly solo on the deodorant issue. She and Fred could have a competition. Who smelled worse, him from smoking, her from a natural glow?