Graham pulled away from his father and ran toward the kitchen. Willis started after him, but I said, ‘Leave him alone, honey. Just let him be.’
But then Graham was back, that morning’s Codderville News-Messenger in his hands. He looked his father square in the eye. Unfortunately for this moment, my son read at a fourth-grade level. ‘Why, Daddy?’ he asked. ‘Why did Uncle Roy do this?’
With Megan still in my arms, I stood up and all of us waited for Willis’s answer.
‘Uncle Roy didn’t do this, honey,’ my husband said. ‘The police are wrong.’
ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009
Dad wasn’t much of a cook, but he gave it his best effort. Wieners chopped up in macaroni and cheese and salad out of a bag. Elizabeth played with her food, not seeing her brother and sister scarfing down Dad’s efforts like they were good. Normally she’d take a shot at Megan’s eating habits and style, but tonight she didn’t even think about it. She had too much on her mind.
Aldon, he’d said. Her brother. Her dead brother. The brother who’d died when she lost the rest of her birth family, nearly a decade earlier. Elizabeth didn’t understand what game Tommy was playing, or why he would do this. Aldon was dead; she knew that; she went to his grave at least once a year.
After Tommy had written those words, Elizabeth had blackened the monitor, too numb with fright and bewilderment to even think about responding. It had taken her so long to lay her family to rest in her mind, and here was this guy bringing it all back up again. What was he doing? Aldon was dead. Just like her sister Monique and her real mom and dad. She knew who had killed them and why. Mom – E.J. – had told her the whole story when she was eleven. She didn’t have all the details – she didn’t want them – but she knew enough to know that her brother Aldon was definitely dead.
Elizabeth nibbled on a slice of wiener. What was Tommy up to? she wondered. Why in the world would he say such a thing? And how did he find out about her brother Aldon?
The taste of the wiener made her sick to her stomach. She sat at the table hoping she wouldn’t puke into her plate – one of those personal hygiene things she was so fond of.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Megan asked from across the table. ‘You’re acting weirder than usual.’
‘Nothing,’ Elizabeth answered.
Graham and Megan looked at each other. No come back. No shot at Megan having cleaned her plate. Something was definitely wrong. Megan looked at her father who sat oblivious at the end of the table, going for his second helping of wieners and mac and cheese. Best not bring anything up now, Megan thought. Not in front of Dad.
So they left her alone. Elizabeth didn’t notice; she was too wrapped up in the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ Tommy’s IMs had aroused in her. What if Aldon wasn’t really dead? What if he had somehow survived that awful night? Then why wouldn’t Mom – E.J. – know that? And if Aldon had survived, who was buried in his grave? Elizabeth shook herself internally and told herself to stop it. No way had Aldon survived that massacre. No way had he been wandering the world from the age of ten until now. Tommy was playing some horrible joke on her, but she would refuse to be anybody’s punch line. She just wouldn’t talk to him again. That’s all there was to it.
E.J., THE PRESENT
It was at the orientation meeting that I finally met ‘the girl,’ Graham’s friend Lotta. Both my girls were hanging all over her after the meeting when I walked up to the group.
‘So, what did y’all think?’ I asked.
‘Lotta’s gonna be one of the counselors!’ Megan said, practically jumping up and down.
‘Ah, Mom,’ Graham said, ‘this is my . . . friend, Lotta. Lotta, this is my mom.’
Lotta stuck out her hand and we shook. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Pugh,’ she said.
‘Nice to meet you, Lotta. I wanted to thank you for your part in rescuing my girls,’ I said.
‘It was my pleasure,’ she said. She put her arms around Megan and Elizabeth. ‘It was a strange way to meet my new buddies, but at least I got to meet them!’
‘Yeah!’ Megan said, and Elizabeth, thank God, just grinned. Somehow she and Graham had worked out their differences and gotten around his harsh words.
‘So what do y’all think about the camp?’ I asked again.
Graham shrugged, Megan said, ‘It’s OK,’ and Elizabeth said, ‘Whatever.’
Then Lotta spoke up. ‘I think it’s gonna be great!’ she said, a big smile on her face. ‘What an opportunity to shape young minds! And get them interested in sports and physicality. I can’t wait to see the camp!’
Oh, gawd, I thought, she’s perky. Then she won my heart. She said, ‘But that Myra, she’s a little hyper, don’t you think?’ I decided then and there, Lotta and I were going to get along just fine.
ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT
I don’t like kids. I’m not going to have any. They’re small pests. Bigger than a bug, but smaller than a grown-up, but still pests. It’s going to be a long summer. It’s hot as hell out there in the woods, and speaking of pests!!! There are a lot of the bug variety out there! I’ve got bites all over me and, ugh! I found a tick in this little girl’s hair and Myra said I had to get it out and deal with it!!!! How does one deal with a tick???? Then she told me – I had to burn it! Burn a living thing! That’s so gross I don’t even want to think about it! I refused to do it, so she made Graham do it! I noticed she didn’t do it herself! Myra’s getting on my nerves. Graham is so fawny over Lotta that I’m about to puke! I like Lotta a lot – ha! – but Graham is so lovey-dovey with her it’s embarrassing! I think even Lotta is a little embarrassed by the way he acts! Well, I know I would be if a boy acted like that around me! I can’t believe there’s another week of this session then three more sessions to go! What did I do in a past life to deserve this hell??????
GRAHAM, THE PRESENT
This camp counselor thing’s pretty cool. I’m the oldest counselor – well, me and Lotta – and all the little kids think we’re like junior gods, and the other counselors, the oldest a freshman in high school, tend to agree with the little kids. So, it’s OK. My sisters are the hold-outs, of course. Liz is acting like she’s too good to be there, and she’s pretty mean to the little kids. They don’t like her much. And Myra is starting to catch on to Elizabeth’s game. She’s not giving her any slack, which I think is cool. If Lotta wasn’t in my life, I’d definitely make a move on old Myra! God, she’s hot! But I can’t act like I’m aware of that fact, because even if Lotta didn’t catch me drooling, Liz or Megan would, and they’d rat me out in a New York minute.
Anyway, things went pretty smooth the first week. They’ve got this set up in two-week sessions, so we’ll have the same kids next week. Then the week after there will be a new bunch for two weeks, and so on, for a total of eight weeks. It’s not so bad, a lot of fresh air, time to sneak into the woods for some grubbin’ time with my baby, and being idolized by little snot-noses. The problem time for me is arts and crafts. I’m not so good at that. Actually, I suck big time. I can teach them sports all day long, take them canoeing in the lake, no problem, supervise swim time, I’m there, but arts and crafts? Give me a break. That’s for girls. I don’t even think they should be teaching the boys that, but Myra ignored my suggestion that the boys do something manly during that time. Unfortunately, the little snots seem to enjoy it, so what do I know?
Mom clued me in that Mr Mayhew, who drives the bus and is a deacon at the church, is going to stay to help keep an eye out for the faux Aldon. That’s French for phony. Sometimes I worry about my mother. Mr Mayhew’s like fifty or something, and already retired from his job at the post office because he had to have something replaced – like a hip, I think. Anyway, what’s a fifty-year-old guy with only one real hip gonna do if something goes down? I’m worried the old guy’s just gonna get in my way!
So anyway, that’s the set-up. Me and Liz work with one group of five kids, Lotta and Megan work with another, and then there are two more groups with tw
o counselors each. And then Myra oversees all of us and Mr Mayhew sits in the bus and reads the newspaper. Real helpful, this guy. The day camp part is about half a mile from the headquarters of the sleepaway camp, but we do see the older kids running through the woods sometimes – or at least hear them.
So, the five kids me and Liz are accountable for are three boys and two girls, ages five and six. All the kids do stuff together in a big group, mostly, but we’re responsible for our five, helping them with their, excuse the expression, arts and crafts, and the sports stuff. And breaking into smaller groups for swimming and canoeing.
Like I said, things went great the first week, but on Sunday at church we found out that Myra had a car accident over the weekend and broke her leg. She was in the hospital and we were getting a replacement. And then we met her: her name was Christine and she was butt-ugly. That solved my drooling problem.
On Monday, when I drove the girls (Lotta included – I pick her up on our way) to the church parking lot, Christine was standing by the bus, clipboard in hand. She was wearing khaki shorts and the camp T-shirt, and I gotta say, butt-ugly as she was, the girl had some legs. Lotta caught me looking at them and elbowed me in the gut. I’ll try not to do that again – my girl’s got a powerful elbow. Not to mention a wicked tongue and a hell of left hook. Don’t ask me how I know about the last one. It’s embarrassing.
The new supervisor, Christine, didn’t smile much, and seemed to be of the Marine Corps boot camp school of counseling. She wore a whistle! Truth! At least she seemed to agree with me on arts and crafts. She decided an hour was too much time to spend on that crap, and cut it by half. Which was fine by me. Megan – of course it had to be Megan – wasn’t thrilled.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Christine,’ she said. ‘Especially today. I think it would be a good idea for the kids to spend their time today making Miss Myra something. Cards, or something. After all, she is in the hospital.’
‘Yeah, I think she’s right,’ Lotta said, then glared at me until I agreed. Some of the other counselors also agreed.
Christine stared at Megan for a moment, then said, ‘OK. You’re right.’ Then she blew her whistle and, as she walked out of the arts and crafts pavilion, said over her shoulder, ‘Make cards!’ And blew her whistle again. It’s only Monday and I’ve already got some serious issues with that freaking whistle.
ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009
By her digital clock on the bedside table it was three a.m. when Elizabeth woke up. Her computer was pinging. It took her a moment to figure out what it was, then she remembered Tommy and the horrible things he’d said. She stared at her computer like it was a cobra about to strike her heart.
The pinging continued and she finally got up and moved to her desk, lest the noise wake up the rest of the family. She turned on her monitor and saw the IMs.
T_Tom37: ‘E, u there?’
Skywatcher75: ‘What do u want?’
T_Tom37: ‘Sorry if I scared u’
Skywatcher75: ‘U didn’t scare me – just pissed me off!’
T_Tom37: ‘Didn’t want 2 do that either’
Skywatcher75: ‘I don’t want 2 talk 2 u n-e-more, Tommy, or whatever ur name is’
T_Tom37: ‘Bessie, ur n danger’
The only danger Elizabeth felt she was in at the moment was from flying glass when she punched in her computer monitor. God, what was he up to?
T_Tom37: ‘Do u want me to prove I’m Aldon?’
Skywatcher75: ‘Yeah, u do that’
T_Tom37: ‘Our parents were Roy and Terry Lester and our older sister’s name was Monique’
Elizabeth felt her stomach turn over.
Skywatcher75: ‘U could find that out n-e-place. Big deal’
T_Tom37: ‘U have a mole on ur R hip, shaped like a star’
Elizabeth felt the bile rise. Not many people knew that. Her mom, Megan . . . Oh, yeah, and anybody in any gym class she’d ever taken! Again, big deal.
Skywatcher75: ‘So u no some-1 I took gym w/, huh?’
T_Tom37: ‘What do I have 2 do 2 prove I’m Aldon?’
Skywatcher75: ‘B dead’
Elizabeth wrote those words, then turned off the monitor and the computer at the box. No more pinging in the middle of the night, thank you very much.
BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999
The hospital administrator handed me a slip of paper with the estimated amount of the twenty per cent we would owe the hospital after the insurance paid out. It equaled to two house payments, a summer utility bill, a car note, and groceries for a month.
‘Looks like we’re releasing her tomorrow,’ the jovial, very young man said. ‘That’s good news, huh?’
I returned his beaming smile. ‘That’s wonderful news.’ I stood up and said, ‘I’ll go see Bessie now and talk to her doctors. You’ll have all this ready tomorrow when I check her out, right?’
‘No problem, Mrs Pugh,’ he said as he ushered me out of his office.
I made my way to the elevators and up to pediatrics and Bessie’s room. She was sitting up in bed and a girl in a candy striper uniform was feeding her Jell-O.
‘You are such a brave little thing,’ the girl said. ‘You’re my brave Bessie. Look at how you eat this stuff! Why, you’re the best little girl on this whole floor, you know that?’
I smiled and said, ‘Hi.’
The girl looked around and blushed. ‘Hi,’ she said.
I came into the room and kissed Bessie on the forehead. ‘Hey, Bessie, honey, how are you doing?’
She didn’t answer, she didn’t smile. What she did do was look at me. Right into my eyes. I thought my heart would break wide open. ‘You’re going home tomorrow, honey! Back to my house! Megan’s so excited. We’ll fix up the extra bed in there just for you! Like when you spend the night. How does that sound?’
She leaned forward, taking the Jell-O from the spoon in the candy striper’s hand into her mouth. She squashed it around a minute, then looked at me and nodded.
‘Can I have a hug?’ I asked. She put her little arms around my neck and squeezed. Real live communication. As she let go, I kissed her cheek. ‘I’m going to go see your doctor, then I’ll be back, OK, honey?’
She didn’t respond but went back to her Jell-O.
I found her doctor, a new one I hadn’t met. This was a beautiful young woman named Ashma Rajahri and we introduced ourselves.
‘Such a tragedy,’ she said, shaking my hand. ‘I am so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you. I just wanted to say what a great job you’ve done with her. She looks wonderful.’
Dr Rajahri smiled. ‘Do not thank me. Thank the incredible recuperative powers of children. She is a very brave little girl.’
‘Yes she is,’ I agreed.
‘One thing you should be aware of, Mrs Pugh,’ the doctor said, leading me to a couch in an alcove where we both sat down. ‘Elizabeth is not speaking. I don’t know how long she will be thus, but as of now, she is not talking. There is nothing wrong with her physically. I had an ENT specialist check her, and there is nothing wrong. Yet, she does not speak.’
‘You can’t say how long—’
Dr Rajahri shook her beautiful head. ‘I only wish that we could. I would suggest that at your earliest convenience you seek psychiatric counseling for the child. She has been through a very traumatic experience and I can only assume this is what has made her speechless.’
I nodded my head, wondering how Megan was going to handle this – how any of us was going to handle this.
FOUR
BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, THE PRESENT
I’ll infiltrate their little ‘family,’ as they like to call it. Charles Manson had a ‘family;’ Jim Jones had a ‘family.’ I’ll teach them what family is really all about! A lesson they’ll take to their graves.
E.J., THE PRESENT
This is the best summer I’ve had in I don’t know how long. Pre-kids, at least! I have the entire morning and part of the afternoon to
work, or talk on the phone, or catch up on inappropriate TV that I’ve DVR’d, or just sit and watch my hair grow. Oh, and of course worry about Elizabeth. But I think I have everything under control in that area. Graham is right beside her the entire time she’s at camp and Gus Mayhew is there for backup.
Then the second week of camp, on a Tuesday, Elizabeth came home and said, ‘I’m going over to my friend Alicia’s this afternoon.’
‘Alicia? I don’t know her, do I?’ I was folding clothes and catching a missed episode of ‘Project Runway.’ I don’t know why I watch the show religiously – I couldn’t get my big toe in one of the outfits they’re making – but I still love it.
‘She was new at school this year,’ Elizabeth said.
I looked at my daughter and muted the TV. ‘Oh! She’s the one you wanted to go spend the afternoon with without me talking to her mother.’
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘Gawd, Mom.’
I shook my head. ‘Her mother still hasn’t called,’ I said, un-muting the TV.
My daughter took the remote out of my hand and muted it. ‘Alicia’s mother is a drug addict. Alicia was taken away from her when she was ten. Alicia lives in a foster home. We won’t be going to her house, needless to say, we’ll be taking the bus to the mall in Codderville.’
I smiled at Elizabeth. ‘There!’ I said. ‘Doesn’t the truth feel better?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, it does, Mom. So I’ll be back around five—’
I shook my head and took the remote back. ‘No. You may invite Alicia to come over here. I’ll even go with you to pick her up. But . . . You. Are. Not. Taking. The. Bus. Anywhere. Do you understand?’
‘Gawd, Mom, you are such a . . .’
I waited. Finally, ‘Such a what?’
‘A pain in the ass!’ my daughter finally said.
‘Why don’t you talk to Alicia about coming over next week?’ I said. ‘Because you’re grounded for the rest of this week.’
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