Shadowed Summer

by Mitchell, Saundra

  “It’s only four letters,” I said. “It’s not like I’m Penelope or Elizabeth or anything.”

  “Or Evangeline,” Ben added, waving the book slightly. “Do any of these work?”

  Collette looked like she might yank it right out of his hands. “They all work if you do ’em right.”

  Turning the notebook around, Ben held it up to show our spell for invisibility. “No kidding? I could use this one.”

  Seeing a chance to change the subject, I threw in the part Collette left out. “It’s only good if nobody looks at you, though.”

  Ben smiled, and suddenly I did, too.

  “Anyway,” Collette said, holding her hand out for the spellbook, “whatever it is, you’ve got a connection, so we should do the board at your house.”

  I gaped at her. “He’s already riled up—you want to make it worse?”

  Collette shrugged. “I think he’s just frustrated.”

  Seeing as how Elijah came and went as he pleased and could cart a whole riverbed into my room if he felt like it, I didn’t see how he was the one who was frustrated.

  chapter seven

  The inside of Nan Burkett’s trailer smelled sweetly artificial, like apple spice from a can.

  Rose-patterned curtains covered the windows, matching the dusk-pink couch and creamy carpet. Curio shelves held a collection of porcelain Scarlett O’Haras, with the occasional kitty thrown in for variety.

  “I have red pop and lemonade,” Miss Nan said, gesturing for us to sit down. When she walked, her hips swayed back and forth, her tight denim skirt whispering with each step.

  I was pretty sure I caught Ben staring, but since I had been, too, I couldn’t hold it against him. She was just plain interesting to look at.

  We all took lemonade, which she brought to us in glasses with little ivy leaves ringing the rim. I thought I saw her add a little extra something to hers before she went back to a pile of laundry on her table.

  “So,” she said, picking up a white T-shirt with the ghost of a grease stain on it. “Y’all want to hear about Elijah.”

  Collette nodded in midsip, hurrying to swallow so she could answer proper. “Yes, ma’am. Everything you remember.”

  Miss Nan smiled with her mouth closed, like she’d remembered a secret. “Well, first off, he was something to look at—long ol’ eyelashes, the sweetest damned smile. His mama wouldn’t let him wear his hair long, but he got enough in front to feather it.”

  She took a deep drink of her lemonade and picked up another shirt. “Anyhow, he was a boy. He ran all over, joyriding, playing stickball, sneaking into the movies. His mama didn’t know about all that. There was plenty she didn’t know.”

  Condensation trickled down my glass, giving me a good reason to have the shivers. Miss Nan’s sunny face had clouded over, an old storm new all over again.

  “Was she strict?” I asked.

  “Oh hell yes,” Miss Nan said, and reached for her glass. “Babette Landry had herself one perfect baby boy, and she planned on keeping him that way.”

  The hard edge in Miss Nan’s voice made Babette sound like a curse.

  Subtle as I could, I elbowed Collette. Ben had the sense to talk out loud. “How come?”

  Fortifying herself with another swallow of lemonade, Miss Nan went back to folding. “She had him late, first, last, and only. Elijah was a bandage baby, the kind a woman has to patch a marriage up when it starts falling apart.”

  We all nodded, and I leaned over my glass. “Did he hate her for it?”

  I didn’t mean to sound so hungry, but she knew so much. Gossipy things, real things—it was like eating sugar straight from the bowl.

  Stopping midfold, Miss Nan trained a slow look in my direction. “Why do you care so much about old Elijah Landry? Your daddy been reminiscing?”

  “Sort of,” I lied bravely. My eyes watered when Collette pinched the side of my thigh. I’d have appreciated getting her approval without the bruises. “He just talked about the football team.”

  Hesitation weighted the moment. Miss Nan wrapped her arms around herself, clutching a blue dress shirt, for what seemed like forever. Then, like somebody’d flipped her switch, she started going again.

  “Now, look. He loved his mama all right. All men do—you girls remember that—but the older he got, the less he wanted to be her doll baby. She had too many rules. No swimming because he might drown. No hunting because he might get shot. No driving because he might crash.” Miss Nan tossed the shirt into the basket and reached for another, so bitter I could feel her prickle on my own skin.

  “No girls because he might get one in trouble. She might as well have said no living, because that’s what she meant. Babette wrapped him up in tissue paper, and she hated every one of us who tried to tear it off.”

  “If it’s all right to ask, ma’am,” Ben said, itching to hurry her, “were you there when he went missing?”

  Grabbing a brown paper bag from beneath the table, Miss Nan shook it hard to open it. It rattled like caught thunder. “I was that boy’s first and last kiss, Mr. Duvall.”

  Collette almost lunged off the couch she was so excited. “For real?”

  “I was there the night before.” The wistful look came back, and Miss Nan blindly stuffed shirts in the bag. “He’d been in the hospital. Babette didn’t want us bothering him when he came home, but I snuck in anyway. Climbed right into his window and lay down beside him . . .”

  “What was he in the hospital for?” I asked, on the edge of my seat. “My daddy didn’t say.”

  Necklace glittering in the light, Miss Nan stopped, her pretty features smoothing. Escaped streaks of lipstick haloed her mouth. She waited a second, then said, “I don’t know. Just sick, I guess.”

  We jumped when she punched the stapler three times fast to seal up the bag. Everything warm and cozy in Miss Nan’s trailer bled away.

  Feeling like intruders, we shifted uncomfortably, trying to talk to each other with our eyes, until Collette got brave. “All right, then, but what do you think happened to him?”

  “I think his bitch of a mother killed him, that’s what I think.” She slammed the stapler once more, then thrust the bag at us. “Y’all run that over to Duane Jessee for me. Tell him it’s a dollar more for the dress shirt.”

  After we dumped off Duane’s laundry, we took our time heading to Ben’s house.

  “She was definitely drinking,” Ben said, kicking an old split tennis ball into the weeds. “And she was lying when she said she didn’t know why he was in the hospital.”

  Miss Nan had started out sweet and gotten mad so fast. . . . My head felt full, stretched tight with new information. “I know, she so was!”

  Collette tugged a stick free from a tangle of brambles, using it as a cane. The wood bent under her weight, a curl of willow in her hand, but she seemed happy enough to keep going that way. “Still, I don’t think Old Mrs. Landry killed him.”

  “Where’d you get that from? You can’t just decide without evidence.” Ben looked over at her, his frown suspicious.

  “I have evidence.” Whipping up dust with the end of her cane, Collette hurried ahead, turning so she could walk and talk to us at the same time. “In her heart, I imagine Miss Nan believes every word she said, but don’t you think she told the police Elijah’s mama did it? I would have.”

  “Maybe the police didn’t care.”

  Ben and Collette turned on me like I’d gone soft in the head. They hadn’t seen the look on Deputy Wood’s face, though. They hadn’t heard him laugh about it, like Elijah’s going missing was nothing to worry about. “The police thought they were wasting their time looking for him. Why would they listen to her when they all thought he ran off?”

  “They wouldn’t,” Collette gave her stick another twirl and fell into step with us. “We’ll have to ask him.”

  “Where are we meeting?” Ben asked.

  “My house.” I would have rather met at the graveyard, but it was better to bend lik
e Collette’s willow cane than get snapped. I even managed to come up with a good side. “I can’t get caught out after dark if I’m at home, can I?”

  Ben shook his head, leaning forward to look at me past Collette. “I guess not. You don’t plan on calling the police on me like you did Elijah, do ya?”

  Snorting, I shrugged. I’d had enough embarrassment on my front porch to last me a good long time, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun with it. “I might, so you’d best come to the door instead of sneaking in my window like you usually do.”

  Collette’s quiet turned chilly, and I shrank. I didn’t know why I’d said it. It just sounded funny to me: a big, foolish joke nobody could possibly take seriously. But she did. She had frost in her voice when she asked, “What time does your daddy leave for work?”

  “Eight-thirty or thereabouts.”

  Tossing her cane into the bushes, Collette veered off when we got to the corner. “I’ll be there at nine o’clock,” she said. She hurried away with her head held high, leaving a little bit of winter in her wake.

  chapter eight

  I filled Daddy’s thermos and tried to shove him out the door. My heart beat faster and faster. Though Daddy’d never said it was against the rules to have friends over while he was gone, I figured I’d be better off if I didn’t give him the chance.

  He kept dawdling and I didn’t know why until he stopped at the door and asked, “Are you going to be all right alone?”

  “Yes, Daddy, God!” I snatched his lunch off the counter and held it out at arm’s length. “As soon as you leave, I’ll lock up.”

  “I mean that. One call from Rennie Delancie in my lifetime is more than I need.”

  Disappointment stuck in my throat. I’d been so happy thinking Daddy’d just known to come home and save me; it hurt to find out he hadn’t. I guess I should have known better. Daddy didn’t believe in that sort of thing.

  I shooed him toward the walk. “If you’re late, it’s not my fault.”

  Pointing as he jogged down the steps, he called back, “I mean it! Lock that door!”

  And I did, for the whole ten minutes it took Collette and Ben to show up.

  “He didn’t bring the board,” Collette said, brushing past me. It was still winter in her world; she didn’t even bother with a hello.

  Ben followed, arguing with the back of Collette’s head. “It’s not my fault! Shea told her I had it and she took it back!”

  “You shoulda hidden it,” she snapped. “You shoulda left it at my house.”

  “I didn’t want to leave it at your house!”

  “And see where that got us?”

  Leaning against the door to close it, I wanted to slide to the floor and mope. Nonna’s witchboard was the finest thing about Ben Duvall, and now it was gone. I twisted the lock until it caught, barely looking up at them. “So what are we gonna do?”

  “Nothing, now,” Collette said, black and dire.

  “You got some candles?” Ben hunched down in his Saints jersey, hands stuck in his pockets. “We could have a séance if you got candles.”

  Collette snorted.

  “What?” Ben glared at her. “You got a better idea?”

  “You don’t listen to my good ideas.”

  Before things got really ugly, I said, “We’ve got storm candles, lots of ’em.” I started for the kitchen, tugging one of Collette’s curls. “Help me carry some drinks?”

  “I’m not thirsty,” she said, then winced when I yanked her curl hard.

  “We might be later.” Narrowing my eyes, I stared at her until she got up to follow me.

  In the kitchen, I pulled glasses out of the cabinets while Collette got the ice. Glancing to make sure Ben hadn’t moved any, I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Collette, you know I was only joking.”

  “I know you were.” She set the ice bucket down hard, scattering flecks and chips all over the counter. She’d been coming to my house long enough to know which drawer had the washrags in it, and she grabbed one to clean up her mess. “It’s not just you.”

  Rooting through the drawers, I asked carefully, “What did he do?”

  “I don’t even know how to explain it,” she said. After scooping the ice chips into the sink, she tried filling the glasses again, more slowly this time. “Half the time, he’s all over me, and half the time, I don’t even know why I’m there. I don’t get him at all.”

  “He’s probably wound up about his mama,” I said.

  Collette flattened her hands on the counter. “He could talk to me about that, but he don’t. He’d talk to you, I bet.”

  “Uh-uh,” I said automatically, but my stomach sank. He probably would have, if I’d let him.

  I didn’t know how to give Collette advice about stuff like this. Since she was mad, I figured I couldn’t do wrong by appealing to her temperament. “He’s gonna be sorry he messed with you.”

  “I know. I don’t care.” Collette sighed, then said, “He’s got a lazy eye, anyway.”

  Not that I’d ever seen, but I kept that to myself. I dug out the thick yellow emergency candles, then shifted deep in the drawer to find the matches. “He smells like cabbage, too.”

  “I can do better.” Tumbling ice into the last glass, she looked at me and added grudgingly, “So can you.”

  She meant it, but she still looked wounded. Patting her hand, reassuring her one more time, I said, “I’m not looking, so it don’t matter.”

  And with Elijah looking for me, that was the truth.

  When we straggled back to the living room, Ben had cleared the coffee table so we could sit around it. He kept his eyes down, and I was careful to put his soda on the coaster instead of in his hands.

  “All right, now what?” Collette lit a row of short candles as I arranged and rearranged.

  Still on my feet, I turned off the lights, then hovered by the doorway. Upstairs, the hall light still burned, so we had candles and a faded orange glow to keep us from falling all over each other in the dark. “The AC’s awful loud; y’all want me to turn it down?”

  “It’s fine,” Ben said.

  “I’m cold,” Collette said.

  I pushed it to seventy-five and flopped down at the head of the table, with Collette on one side and Ben on the other. We were as far away from each other as we could get while still sitting together. The amber glow from the candles filled our triangle.

  “We’re supposed to hold hands,” Ben said, offering his, palms up.

  Glancing at Collette, I asked, “How come?”

  Ben sighed. “The Web page said.”

  Caught between knowing everything and shunning Ben, Collette twitched, then grabbed Ben’s hand. “Same reason everybody does the witchboard together—it’s so you don’t get possessed.”

  “There you go,” Ben said, relieved, and I joined the circle.

  Collette’s palm was still cool and damp from pouring sodas; Ben’s was hot and sweaty, and he took it back twice to rub on the knee of his pants before we got started.

  Clearing his throat, Ben stared at the candles but talked to me. “Elijah’s your ghost, so I guess you’d better call him up. Just ask him to come down or something.”

  Inside my belly, my nerves tangled to a knot. It seemed kinda stupid to call down a ghost testy enough to trash my bedroom—but like I had when we played the witchboard, I just went along. It was easier that way.

  I breathed through my nose, exhaling slow as I let my eyes drift closed. Ice tinkled in our glasses like chimes, and the steady hum of the air conditioner became a regular, electric heartbeat. “We’re trying to talk to you, Elijah. Are you there?”

  A busy silence answered. I could hear ordinary house sounds from about everywhere, but no word from the other side.

  Gooseflesh prickled my arms, winding me up tight in anticipation. His voice had been clear in the cemetery; I was afraid that I would—and that I wouldn’t—hear him again, right there in my living room.

  Collette squeezed
my hand and whispered, “Ask again.”

  I licked my dry lips. “Elijah, if you’re there, answer me.”

  Something thumped above us, a rolling kind of sound, like somebody falling out of bed. My throat went desert dry, because we all three looked up at the same time. I wasn’t the only one who heard it.

  Hushed, I tried again. “Elijah, ’s’at you?”

  The hair on my arms stood up when the ceiling rumbled again. I felt like I was breathing through water, and I know I squeezed Collette’s hand too hard, because she gasped. I couldn’t help it, though. Those sounds were coming from my bedroom.

  “Elijah, do you have a message for us?” Collette asked quickly, as if somebody might stop her if she didn’t rush it all out.

  The living room filled with the sound of marbles skimming across hardwood. Rattles and jumps and bumps went on and on—an answer, but not real specific.

  Eyes wide, Ben spoke to the ceiling. “If that’s you, Elijah, knock once for yes and twice for no.”

  Startled, Collette squeaked at two sharp raps, right up close.

  “Elijah Landry, is that you?” I asked.

  One knock.

  “That’s yes,” Collette said. Her voice came out thin, broken with an uneven breath. Collette—the brave one, the one who’d wanted to pierce the veil between the living and the dead in the first place—all the color had gone out of her face. Her lips had turned hazy gray, and that scared me. I wanted to cry.

  “We ought to stop,” I said.

  Collette shook her head. “No. Keep going.”

  Agreeing with her, the ceiling thundered again, this time with heavy footsteps. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop shivering; it had turned cold, so cold my bones ached. Any minute, I expected to see my breath frost up. “Do you have a message for us, Elijah?”

  Two knocks. No.

  Scared or not, Collette wasn’t about to let foolishness ruin the moment. Sounding like our English teacher, she pronounced her question with perfect diction, demanding a real answer this time. “We’re trying to help you, Elijah. Do you have a message for us?”