Echoes of a Distant Summer

by Guy Johnson

  Wednesday, June 30, 1982

  Elizabeth hung her work suit in the closet and then checked the fit of her jeans over her behind in the mirror. They weren’t too tight … yet. Despite all her recent trial work and long hours spent developing her case strategy, she was still holding shape. She turned to face the mirror and checked the tightness of the waistband. Not so good. She had to get out and run some miles pretty soon or she would begin to have midriff bulge. Sit-ups alone weren’t enough. It was hard enough being a consistent shark in the courtroom while maintaining a caseload of serious felonies, including murder one, but it became a superhuman effort when she tried to keep all the elements of her feminine guile up as well. She adjusted the barrette that held her thin braids on top of her head. She thought if white women had hair like black women, the Western world would be different. On humid and rainy days concerts and theater activities would be canceled and restaurants wouldn’t be open. She looked at her watch: Jackson was due in ten minutes, at six o’clock. She went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of Chardonnay.

  The thought of Jackson coming over made her heart flutter. Elizabeth took a quick look around her apartment to ensure everything was in order. She stood still for a moment and composed herself. She was not one to rush into things. She was thirty-four and had never been married. She had been waiting for the right man to come along and she would not be hurried. Many an impatient man had walked away because she would not be intimate before she was ready. There were no such obstacles with Jackson. He was the right man and every fiber of her being confirmed that decision. She had never enjoyed herself so much with anyone. Just thinking about the way he cocked his right eyebrow when he looked quizzical made her smile. There was a harmony between them that preempted conversation.

  The right man had finally appeared, but not without grave complications. She was by law an officer of the court and a representative of law enforcement. She had signed an oath that she would uphold the laws and the Constitution of the United States and the state of California and she took the oath seriously. There had been occasions when she had crossed the line, but they had all been minor infractions. Jackson had admitted to her that he had killed, and that posed a real problem for her. She had spent a good part of her adult life apprehending and prosecuting people charged with attempting and committing violent crimes. What was she going to do? Murder was not something that could be overlooked. Was she just going to say good-bye to this man? A man to whom she was ready to give her heart? Should she risk everything? And what if it didn’t work out between them? Would she still be able to go back to being a DA? Her heart told her one thing, but her mind said another.

  The truth was that she was becoming pretty disenchanted with prosecution work. Her caseload was unending and required that she consistently put in long hours to stay current, but that wasn’t the principal problem. The most troubling reality about her job was that the vast majority of the people she was sending to jail were men of color, men who had not had the same advantages in their youth as she and her white colleagues. Other than the drug dealers and the pimps, most of the men were poor, uneducated, and possessed no means of joining the mainstream. It wasn’t that these men didn’t deserve jail time for their crimes, but jail taught them nothing except how to become lower animals. What to do? Should she give up being a district attorney? Eight years of work in the wrong career direction? She was in line for the next chief position in the DA’s office. There were no easy answers.

  The doorbell rang. Elizabeth made final adjustments to her appearance in front of the hallway mirror before opening the door. Jackson stood there with a bottle of wine and a bunch of calla lilies. “Are those for me?” she asked, indicating the flowers with a nod of her head as she opened the door wider.

  Jackson pressed past her and replied, “Of course. There’s no one else I’d rather give them to.”

  He took a seat at the kitchen counter while she went behind it and squatted down to find a vase under the sink. Jackson leaned over the counter and said, “I thought about what you said last night after I left and I want you to know that if I could turn my back on this conflict, if I could walk away, I would do that to be with you. Even if it meant losing my grandfather’s fortune.”

  Elizabeth looked up at him and there was a smile on her face as she said, “Well, I like that. I like that a lot.” Her smile slowly vanished and was replaced by a serious expression. She continued, “You’ve come along at a very confusing time. I don’t have a road map here like I’ve had in the earlier years of my life. But I am sure of some things. I don’t want any part of a gang war and I don’t want to be involved with anyone who commits violent felonies.” She pulled out a vase and stood to arrange the lilies in it.

  Jackson reached out and touched her, his hand caressing her cheek. “I want to be a law-abiding citizen. Tell me how to escape this situation. Help me find a solution that doesn’t have me looking over my shoulder.”

  Elizabeth took his hand in hers and studied him with her large brown eyes. “You could leave and go somewhere else. Use a different name.”

  Jackson kept eye contact and asked, “Where? How? Would you go with me? Even if we did, could we raise our children with confidence? Would you feel secure?”

  A big smile spread across Elizabeth’s face. She asked, “Children?”

  Jackson nodded and pressed his point. “Would you feel secure?”

  She thought a moment then shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “What good is your advice if you won’t take it yourself?”

  Elizabeth removed her hand from Jackson’s. “Did you really just mention ‘children’?”

  “A normal concept for a heterosexual couple to discuss. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes! You’re just this side of being a gangster!”

  “Bullshit! I’m looking for a way out! Perhaps I can arrange something.”

  “What kind of arrangement?” Elizabeth asked as she moved away to run water into the vase.

  “I want to avoid a conflict if I can.”

  Elizabeth began arranging the lilies in the vase, concentrating on the position of each stalk. She spoke as if musing aloud to herself. “I’ve attempted to think things through in terms of various what-if scenarios, but no matter what decision I reach the only thing that seems to matter is what I feel. I have never had this happen before.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jackson confirmed. “I felt it immediately when I met you. I was drawn to you. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Elizabeth gave him a long look then said with a trace of a smile, “Don’t cut it too thick, Tremain. You’ve shown amazing restraint for someone who couldn’t help himself.”

  “I had to work my way through what was happening myself. Plus, if I had moved any faster, you would’ve run and you know it.”

  Elizabeth brought the lilies over to the counter and stared at Jackson. “Do you have any idea what I feel? How much I’m conflicted about you? What big changes this would mean in my life? How did you know I like calla lilies so much? This is the second time you’ve brought them.”

  “Which question do you want me to answer?”

  “The lilies.”

  “You mentioned it when we were on Angel Island, then I saw you had two calla lily lamps and one of your upholstered chairs has a lily design on it.”

  “That’s what makes you dangerous, you’re observant. Are you this way with all your women?”

  Jackson replied, “There’s never been another woman that interests and intrigues me the way you do. Anyway, I would have to be blind to have missed all those cues.”

  “In your whole life? There’s not been another woman of equal interest? Not one?”

  “Maybe one, but it was young love. I was eighteen, but still a child. I have more control over my life direction now. I have a better understanding of what I really need.”

  She put a hand on her hip and a smile crept across her face. “How do you know I’m what you really need?” />
  “A trick question,” Jackson replied with a chuckle. A serious look came into his eyes as he continued, “How about this: I have memorized the form of your lips when you smile, the liquid, creamy sound of your laughter, the shape and color of your eyes, the way your hips move when you walk, the soft darkness of your skin.”

  Jackson stood up and walked around the counter. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his and then when they were looking into each other’s eyes, he said, “More important than any physical attraction I feel for you is the sensation that I have when we’re together. I feel connected when I am with you. I’ve never had this feeling before, and believe me, I don’t want to lose it now.”

  “Don’t be glib. Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Elizabeth said as a serious look entered her eyes.

  Jackson reached down and took both her hands in his. “My heart is behind everything I’ve said. And I never want to hurt you. I want to be your partner and protector. I want us to see and enjoy the sun and the stars as few have.”

  Elizabeth stood quietly trying to memorize the angles and color of his hands, the calluses on his knuckles, the veins beneath the skin, the lines which crisscrossed the joints. Were these the hands that would be holding her in her declining years? She felt emotion welling up within her. She realized that there was only a thin line of restraint holding her from rushing into his arms. She looked into his eyes and their gazes locked. They stood for several seconds in silence then Jackson cocked his right eyebrow and gave her that quizzical look. She could not help herself. She smiled. He had something nobody else had. He could touch her inside and make her laugh. She wanted to hug him, feel his arms around her, have his chest press against her. There was a roar in her inner ear, like the sound of a powerful current rushing through a confined space. She was on the verge of being swept away.

  An alarm went off on top of the fridge and the mood was broken. Elizabeth pulled her hand free from his grasp and exhaled. “Time to go, Tremain. Uncle Elroy is expecting us.”

  “What is this ‘Tremain’ stuff? Don’t you like my first name?”

  “It’s just a holdover from my days as a police officer,” Elizabeth answered as she donned her coat. “Everyone was called by their last name. Jackson is an okay name, but it isn’t what I want to call you. It’s too formal for me. What’s your full name?”

  “My friends call me Jax.”

  “That’s a guy name. What’s your full name?”

  “Jackson St. Clair Tremain.”

  “St. Clair? Oh, I like that. St. Clair Tremain. I’m going to call you St. Clair. Do you mind?”

  “Only if I can do the same with you.”

  “Just don’t call me Liz, Beth, Betty, or Eliza and you’ll be okay.”

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Elizabeth Alexandra Carlson.”

  “Alexandra? Too long.”

  “Don’t call me Sandy!”

  “What about Alex? It’s got a crossover quality.”

  Elizabeth nodded her head. “Alex, hmmm. Alex is good. I like that, but don’t introduce me like that. That’s a special name only for you.”

  “You have a hell of a lot of rules.”

  Elizabeth grabbed his arm and ushered him to the door. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Buster.”

  Elroy Fontenot stood on his balcony and watched the traffic whiz back and forth in a sunken roadway over which Ocean Boulevard passed. The fourplex which he owned was located in the Westlake District of San Francisco on a hill with a view over the City College campus and Ocean Boulevard. He lived in the top apartment and when the fog rolled in like milk of magnesia billowing in water, and visibility ended at the street below his building, Elroy would go out on his balcony with a drink and stare into the gray nothingness. It gave him a sense of the supernatural. He often imagined that the entrances into both heaven and hell would be shrouded in swirling fog. For the most part, he was a pragmatic man who gave little thought to gods or demons. Elroy was an empiricist, who believed in cause and effect, action and reaction. There was a logic to life; one need only piece the facts together. He had little use for faith or prayer. He believed in solid things like hard work, property ownership, guns, flag and country, and an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.

  The afternoon sky was free of clouds. The view from his balcony extended across the bay to the dark line of the East Bay hills. Elroy sipped his scotch and looked at his watch. He was awaiting the arrival of Elizabeth and King Tremain’s grandson. He still did not know what there was to say, yet he felt that finally meeting some member of his long-lost family would bring to resolution some of the questions that used to haunt him. Who was LeGrande? Why was he left in an orphanage? Why had King never contacted him? Was Serena his mother? These questions no longer possessed the intensity to upset him, but if there were answers, he’d like to hear them.

  He heard the sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs to his apartment and went to the front door. He opened the door as Elizabeth was poised to knock. He smiled and stood back for her and her companion to enter. Elroy was prepared to be formal and polite. After all, her companion had neither a hand in the injustice of leaving him in the orphanage, nor the ability to remedy the situation. At best, he would be a source of information. At worst, a brief nuisance. The man who followed her was tall and athletic, but it wasn’t until Elroy stood face-to-face with him as they shook hands that Elroy saw something that shook him to his core.

  “Hello, Mr. Fontenot. My name’s Jackson Tremain. I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you” was all that Elroy could muster. Jackson Tremain looked like his oldest son, Denmark, the one who was killed in Vietnam. It was not that they could be confused with each other, but there was no doubt they were part of the same genetic stream. The eyebrows, the cheekbones, the shape of the head, the little smile which appeared at the corner of the lips: all were pieces of Elroy’s dead son, pieces that were assembled differently, but recognizable nonetheless. Elroy had not expected anything like this. The resemblance was unsettling.

  “I brought Grandfather’s file on you.” Jackson held up a fat accordion file. “Where would you like me to put it? I’m sure you will find it very interesting reading. I did.”

  “Take it to the kitchen table. We can sit and talk there.” Elroy watched as Elizabeth led Jackson into the kitchen. He felt a shortness of breath and a hollowness in his chest cavity as if the air had been knocked out of him. All the unresolved issues that had existed between Elroy and his sons seemed to bubble to the surface of his consciousness. He had not even said good-bye to Denmark before he had shipped overseas for his tour of duty. He had not ever told the boy that he loved him. Neither of his sons had received much warmth from him, a fact that filled him with regret whenever he thought of them. Unknowingly, he had denied them the very same things he had been denied in the orphanage. A bad taste filled his mouth, but he suppressed his misgivings and followed his guests into the kitchen.

  “We brought some wine to lubricate our palates and some barbecue to ease conversation,” Elizabeth said with a smile. She went to a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. “St. Clair, get three glasses out of that cabinet.”

  “I’m doing the higher-octane stuff, I’m already drinking scotch,” Elroy interjected with a frown. “I don’t need a glass. And I’m going to have to ask you to take that barbecue back to the car, because the smell of it makes me sick. Sorry about that.”

  There was a moment of silence then Jackson shrugged. “Sure thing; if we’d have known we would’ve brought something else. I’ll be right back.”

  Jackson was gone several minutes and when he returned the wine was opened and poured. Elroy watched the interaction between Elizabeth and Jackson and saw them exchange a bantering conversation without words, consisting of facial expressions and hand signals. He saw her use her hip to nudge Jackson toward the table. Elroy mused that if she liked Jackson sufficiently to show this level of affection in front of h
im, then Jackson must have something. Elizabeth had high standards. He wondered how they had met. If Jackson was even thinking about carrying on his grandfather’s business, they were from different worlds. Elroy sipped his scotch as he studied Jackson covertly. What was his story?

  Jackson raised his wineglass for a toast and said, “To the end of a long search and the reestablishment of family ties.” Elizabeth raised her glass in agreement and Elroy followed suit but with reservation. Jackson continued, “It’s unfortunate that this meeting didn’t happen while my grandfather was alive, but you’ll see from the file papers, he kept up with the events in your life. Personally, I don’t know why he never contacted you himself, but it’s obvious he wanted me to talk to you, or he would’ve never left this file for me to read.”

  “How well did you know your grandfather?” Elroy took out a cigar and clipped the end before he lit it. He puffed it until it was glowing brightly. “Did you know he was one of the main crime bosses running the Fillmore back in the forties and early fifties?”

  “I don’t know details, but I know my grandfather was an Old World gangster. He started back in the prohibition era. Did you know him? He doesn’t mention that you knew him.”

  Elroy examined the end of his cigar and replied, “I knew of him, through police reports. I only met him once.”

  “There’s nothing in his papers that mentions you met him. You saw him face-to-face?”

  “It was 1954. We were looking eye to eye. He saw me and I saw him. He knew who I was then, but at the time I didn’t know who he was. He didn’t say anything to me about our kinship then, so I don’t understand this now.”

  “He’s dead. I’m the one making the overture,” Jackson answered, thumping his chest. “You have a right to your inheritance. You and I are related. We should know each other. I’m just trying to do the right thing now. I can’t help what went before. In his papers he acknowledges you as his son. I want to respect that. After you were kidnapped, he spent thirty years looking for you. He had no idea that Serena knew where you were all along. By the time he tracked you down, you were already working for the police department.”