The Fourth Summer

by Kathleen Gilles Seidel

  He was determined not to make too much about that two-moments-at-once feeling he had had out at the lake. It had simply been a memory, he kept telling himself. That was all.

  But what a powerful memory it had been. It did make him wonder if she was the new Colleen.

  It was funny, their names being so similar, Caitlin and Colleen.

  A couple of summers ago a woman named Colleen Ridge had come to the resort to translate for two Norwegian coaches. She and Ben had known each other a little bit as kids, not as boyfriend and girlfriend, nothing like he and Caitlin had had.

  Everyone adored Colleen; she was lively and cheerful, but also smart and grounded. Knowing her from before, Ben had the inside track, and she was really good for him. He lightened up around her; he talked more, he stopped analyzing everything all the time.

  But Ben was Irish American. He said that that made him a realist; the rest of them called him a pessimist. He didn’t trust that anything good was going to last. So he had managed to push Colleen away even though she probably was the best thing that could ever happen to him.

  Is she the new Colleen? That became the standard by which he, Nate, and some of the other guys assessed women. “She’s no Colleen, but she’s fine for right now.” A Colleen was the real deal, the one you could see yourself sticking with, the one you would finally grow up for. He had never come close to finding a Colleen.

  But what if Caitlin were it?

  Talk about the wrong time, wrong place thing. It was like they were doomed. The boredom in the courtroom, the friction at the motel...they were bound to end up wanting to strangle each other.

  He had no space in his brain for anything but trying to survive this mess.

  He watched her cross the parking lot and then offered to help the deputies carry in all the stuff that people’s families had brought to the picnic. His family had brought him books, DVDs, and high-resistance exercise tubing. Another woman had a big plastic tub of scrapbooking supplies. The two older ladies had yarn for whatever they were doing. Caitlin’s family had probably brought her a water filtration plant. But no one was getting any of it.

  “We’re going to have to lock it all up until tomorrow,” one of the deputies told him. “We have to search everything, and apparently they’re trying to cut back on all our overtime.”

  “That’s not going to sit very well with people,” Seth said. Some of the jurors were having budget problems of their own.

  Teddy was the biggest baby about not getting his stuff. He wanted to watch the Japanese animated feature film that his wife had brought for him. He was trying to cajole one of the deputies to give it to him. He had seen them load it into one of the storage closets. It was right on top.

  “It’s just one DVD,” he kept saying. “What is there to search? It won’t take you a minute.”

  Fred was, of course, the first person to attack him. “Why should they get your crap, and no one else’s?”

  “But it’s for all of us,” Teddy protested. “We can all watch it.”

  “You don’t think the rest of us want to watch foreign shit, do you?”

  Seth certainly didn’t, but he wasn’t going to take Fred’s side on anything.

  “She went to so much trouble,” Teddy bleated, “and I—”

  “What’s that to anyone else? You’re a pussy-whipped little pansy, you know that?”

  “There is no call for that kind of language.” Delia spoke in her extreme church-lady voice, a voice that had probably terrified three generations of little boys.

  “What’s it to you, Aunt Jemima?”

  Aunt Jemima? Seth froze. He was never around racism this open. What were you supposed to do?

  “I’ve had it with this bullshit.” Fred pushed back from the table so sharply that his chair tilted back. He had to grab hold of the table to keep his balance. “I’m quitting. I’m going home.”

  “The judge will need to—”

  “Screw that.” Fred interrupted the deputy. “Here. See how the judge likes this.” He pivoted and shoved Teddy’s shoulder. “Or this.” He hooked his foot around the leg of Teddy’s chair and jerked it backward, then shoved Teddy again, sending him sprawling on the floor.

  Seth shot out of his chair. This he understood.

  “Don’t touch him.” The deputy’s voice rang out with authority. “Don’t any of you touch him.”

  People, tables, chairs were in Seth’s way. He had to push the chairs aside, weave around the people and tables. This felt good, to be moving, to being physical.

  “Step back, all of you.” It was the deputy again.

  “Seth.” This time it was Caitlin speaking.

  Her voice made him stop. He looked around. The other men had already stopped, putting their hands up, showing that they hadn’t touched Fred. Keith and Dave were military veterans; they knew when to take orders. Maybe he should follow their lead. He stepped back, put his hands in the air too.

  The deputies grabbed Fred’s arms. Even with his arms trapped, Fred was able to shoot his foot forward. He kicked Teddy. Teddy shrieked.

  “Stay in your seats. Stay in your seats,” one deputy ordered.

  The jurors all sat down in the closest chairs and watched the deputies march Fred out to the hall.

  Teddy sat up, then, gripping the edge of a chair, struggled to stand. No one dared help him.

  One deputy returned. He stood in the doorway, trying to keep his eye both on the jurors and on his partner and Fred out in the hall, while using his radio to call for help. He asked Norma to assess Teddy.

  “I’ll have to touch him,” she said.

  The deputy nodded. That was fine. Norma took his pulse, peered into his eyes, and asked him a few questions.

  “I’m fine,” Teddy protested. “Really.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything immediately life threatening,” she said, “but he should be checked out. He didn’t just fall. He was kicked.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Teddy repeated. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”

  This was what the deputies wanted to hear. Seth figured that if Teddy said that he wasn’t hurt, then he wasn’t. He didn’t seem to be the most stoic of fellows.

  As soon as another deputy arrived, the jurors were told to put away their—that is, Caitlin’s—things and go to their rooms. Only then did Seth realize that Andrea, his new running partner, hadn’t reported for the evening shift on Sunday.

  That was a surprise. She had talked as if she were going to be on duty all week. He hoped that nothing was wrong. But he didn’t suppose there was any point in asking. No one would tell him anything.

  * * * *

  Monday was grim. Even though people had gotten their yarn, craft supplies, magazines, and movies, nothing could make up for the fact that they were spending the Fourth of July in a windowless hotel breakfast room.

  April, the redhead with the shrieky laugh, was bummed over some wedding-planning details her family had told her about; apparently everything was more expensive than they had imagined. Heather, the one who talked so much, was yammering on about the People magazine pictures of celebrity weddings. Seth doubted that this was going to help April with her budget problems.

  At lunch he sat with Marcus. “Hey, man, it was crappy of me not to ask my folks to get a watch for you. Shall I tell them to get one for you if we’re still here next weekend?’

  Marcus smiled, but shook his head. “Caitlin already offered.”

  Of course she did. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Thanks, but Delia had her family brought me some contact lens solution yesterday.”

  Well, crap. How could you compete with women in the thoughtfulness game? A guy was always going to be outclassed in that race.

  At least they didn’t have to deal with Fred. Keith, his roommate, confirmed that a deputy had come to pi
ck up Fred’s stuff.

  At dusk they were ushered onto a bigger bus to go down to the river to watch the fireworks, but they weren’t allowed to get off. That’s why, they were told, the court was paying for the bigger bus so that they could each have a window on the river side.

  Whoop-dee-do.

  * * * *

  The whole time they had been at the motel, no one had been tempted to discuss the case; they weren’t thinking about it. They could have been marooned on a spaceship; they could have been trapped by a snowstorm or quarantined for fear of a disease; they could have been political hostages. Why they were stuck in the motel didn’t matter.

  But they were jurors, and Tuesday morning they were getting back on the bus.

  They arrived at the courthouse before eight and settled into their chairs in the jury room. Sally was there with her clipboard. She did confirm that Fred had been excused and that the judge needed to see Teddy in his chambers.

  “Me?” Teddy looked surprised. “Why?”

  Did he honestly think that she was going to answer that? And indeed, she didn’t.

  Teddy was back in ten minutes. The judge had wanted to be sure that he was okay, not too traumatized by Fred’s attack to continue serving. “I told him it was nothing.”

  Good for him. Maybe he wasn’t as big a baby as Seth had been thinking.

  Sally was addressing them again. “And now the judge would like to see you, Seth.”

  “Me?” Seth drew back. “Why?”

  Hadn’t that been exactly what Teddy had said? But Seth was surprised. Why would the judge want to talk to him? They had been told that they could raise their concerns in individual notes to the judges. He knew that Caitlin and Marcus had sent notes about healthier food. Dave had asked if they could get the box scores from the Durham Bulls and the Atlanta Braves. Others had been concerned about their prescriptions running out. But Seth hadn’t sent any notes about anything.

  Under the cover of the table Caitlin nudged him. So he stood up and followed Sally through the empty courtroom to the judge’s chambers.

  The room was paneled in dark oak although the wood in the courtroom itself was birch. There was an Oriental carpet on the floor, and the furniture was leather. Seth guessed that he was supposed to feel like he was in the library of an English country house.

  He didn’t.

  The judge did not look up when Seth had entered. He continued to read something for another moment or two before acknowledging him. Then he pushed away from his desk, tilted his heavily padded chair back, and linked his hands behind his head, keeping his elbows out, taking up as much space as possible.

  “So, Mr. Street.”

  What an Oscar. Out on the slopes that’s what they called people who were always strutting about, pretending that they were more than they were. They deserved an Oscar for acting.

  There were two chairs facing the desk. The judge had not invited Seth to sit down. Seth did so anyway. He spread his legs and lifted one ankle to cross the other knee. The chair had arms, so he propped one elbow on one and hooked the other elbow over the chair back, making himself big too.

  Two could play this game.

  “This trial, Mr. Street, is not a promotion opportunity for your company.”

  Seth had no idea what he was talking about. “Sir?”

  “It is my understanding that you have been distributing branded products among the other jurors.”

  “You don’t mean the water?” Seth noticed that he was suddenly sitting like a normal person. Apparently the judge had won this round of the who-has-the-biggest-dick game. But, really, how could he be objecting to bottled water?

  “Yes, the deputies will be telling your family that they can pick up the remaining bottles.”

  This was insane. If they were so worried about cost, then why not accept this donation? “What about if the labels were removed?”

  The judge didn’t answer that. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t an Oscar. He wasn’t acting as if he had power and authority. He did have power and authority. “Now there is a second issue,” he continued. “It has been reported that you left the hotel without approved supervision.”

  “No. No.” Seth was going to defend himself. “I did go out running with a deputy, but I was with her at all times. We were off the main roads so there was no chance of seeing newspapers. No, sir. I was supervised at all times. Sir.” He needed to be polite.

  “But she was off duty at the time. Therefore you were not technically under court supervision.”

  “I had no idea that she was off duty. She never said anything about that.”

  “I believe that I cautioned you early on about not treating my courtroom as a singles bar.”

  Was he serious? A singles bar? This was even crazier than the water. “I know that, sir. I never approached her about anything. She came to me. It was her idea.”

  Was this ungallant of him, to blame her? But he was telling the truth. She had been the one exploiting her professional position. He was not going to have the face of Street Boards to be thrown off the jury for something plain old Seth hadn’t done.

  And there was no way the judge was dismissing him. Otherwise he would have done it at the start of the conversation.

  Something had gone terribly wrong with this trial. Clearly this sequestration had not been planned—or budgeted for. They had had less than one day of testimony, and they were down to one alternate. Unless the judge wanted a mistrial, however much he hated Seth, he was stuck with him.

  Suddenly Seth realized that he had some power too.

  It wouldn’t take much. Two people had to break, that’s all, and there would be a mistrial. Seth himself couldn’t be the one of those dismissed, but how hard would it be to get two others to crack?

  Teddy was tougher than Seth realized, and Yvette was actually happy to be here. As godawful a place as the poultry plant was to work, she was actually getting her paycheck while on jury duty. But the jigsaw-puzzle person—Stephanie?—was still feeling absurdly guilty for having finished the puzzle. Keith was worried about his family and the farm chores. Dave had that payment coming up on his rig. Norma and Marcus seemed impervious, but sometimes those people who seemed so strong snapped because they couldn’t bend. Delia and Joan, the two older women, were probably as resolute as Caitlin. Seth didn’t know much about the other two young women, but he could find out.

  He looked straight at the judge. Okay, buster, sir, sir buster, you get this trial moving, or I torpedo it.

  “You may return to the jury room, Mr. Street.”

  But the judge had broken eye contact first.

  “It was about the water,” he told the others back in the jury room. “Apparently the court can’t accept donations that appear to be promoting a commercial enterprise.” He didn’t know if that was the actual truth or if the judge was just being a jerk because the enterprise in question was Seth’s.

  “What if the labels were removed?” Marcus asked.

  Seth shrugged.

  The other jurors asked Sally about the notes they had sent to the judge. He had read them, she said, but had not had a chance to address them. That annoyed people.

  “I’m not asking to see the newspaper,” Dave protested, “or even read about the games. Can’t one of you sit down at a computer and print up the box scores? What could be the harm in that?”

  Sally too could only shrug.

  * * * *

  Once testimony got started again, the judge did seem to be trying, urging the lawyers to move along in their questioning, dealing with objections quickly, allowing fewer sidebars, but sometimes it seemed that there wasn’t much he could do.

  With Fred gone, Seth was sitting next to Caitlin now. He could tell that she was developing a glossary, keeping a list of the terms she didn’t understand, then gradually filling in—or crossing out—definitions
.

  He needed to talk to her, but he had to be careful. Even during the sidebars, the jury was being watched, both by lawyers and by people whom he supposed were journalists. There wasn’t any chance at lunch either. Everyone wanted to stand with her, sit with her, talk to her.

  He figured his best chance was back at the hotel during the evening meal delivery...which sounded like prisoner-think, when will the guards be the most distracted? But prisoners were the best role model he had, so during the bustle of foil pans and serving utensils he asked Caitlin if she would recommend one of the books that her parents had sent.

  Her boxes were in the corner. “What is it?” she said as soon as they had their backs to the room. She knew that his parents had sent him books, that he wouldn’t need any of hers.

  She really did have the most beautiful eyes. There was a little halo of green around the pupil, which shaded into the rich dark brown, which was flecked with bits of gold. And to be standing so close to her. Her hair smelled like grapefruit and lime.

  He had to force himself to step away. Wrong time, wrong place. “You know we are down to one alternate. So it will only take two people and then this whole thing is over.”

  “Two...wait, you aren’t suggesting that you and I—”

  “No, no. I can’t. But—”

  She straightened. “I am certainly not doing anything dishonorable.”

  “Can you keep your voice down?”

  “I will not discuss this.” At least she was speaking more quietly, but from the way she was standing, you’d think that she had gone to the Naval Academy. “Not now. Not ever.”

  Well, crap. Now she was even madder at him. What had he expected? She might wear leather miniskirts and carry a hip messenger bag, but she was a military kid, the daughter of a judge; she was going to follow the law.

  Why did he keep screwing this up? He wasn’t trying to turn her into a Colleen. He simply wanted them to work together. He couldn’t even manage that.

  * * * *

  Dinner was awful. It was supposed to be a well-balanced meal from a local family-dining restaurant, but the salad was soaked in a sweet dressing, and the chicken was swaddled in cheap tomato sauce and rubbery cheese. Then they all felt that they had to watch Teddy’s Japanese animated movie with him. It was every bit as incomprehensible and tedious as the trial.