The Light in Summer

by Mary McNear

  “Billy?” Cal repeated.

  “Uh-huh. I was named after my maternal grandfather. I would have been William if I’d been a boy, but since I was a girl, I was Wilhelmina. It was a lot of name, though, so everyone ended up calling me Billy.”

  He nodded. It suited her, though she was undeniably feminine. He glanced around now. They were still standing near the buffet table, but other guests who’d come through the line after them were sitting down at the little tables scattered around on the lawn. He looked at Billy questioningly. Should they sit down, too? But she seemed preoccupied, her eyes searching the throng of wedding-goers around them. He surreptitiously checked her ring finger. There was nothing there. Had she come with a date, then?

  “Sorry,” she said apologetically, her eyes resting on Cal again. “I’m trying to find someone. I was supposed to meet him here.”

  “Can . . . . help you?” Cal asked. “I don’t know that many people here, but . . . you could describe him to me.”

  She smiled distractedly. “Well, let’s see. He’s a boy. He’s thirteen. He needs a haircut. He usually has a skateboard attached to him. And he’s perfected the art of looking bored, whether he’s bored or not. He’s my son. I walked here to the wedding, and he was supposed to ride his skateboard here after me. I thought maybe he was sitting in back during the ceremony, but I didn’t see him after it, either.”

  “And you’re worried?”

  “Not worried,” she said. “Concerned.”

  “Are those different?”

  She sighed. “No. Probably not.”

  “Well, if he’s anything like I was at his age, he should be showing up at the buffet table any second now. Should we wait here for him?” Cal asked, gesturing at an empty table nearby.

  “Yeah, okay, let’s do that,” Billy said with a cheerful smile. Just as they were setting down their plates and pulling out their chairs, they heard someone trill, “Hello, Billy.” An older woman, fine-boned as a bird, alighted at the table. She was tiny, but she was wearing a plum-colored dress that seemed to involve several yards of material and on top of her head sat a plum-colored bird’s nest hat. She placed an enormous embroidered handbag down on the table. It was the same disconcerting color as her dress. Cal wondered how such a small woman could carry around such a large bag.

  “I think I’ll sit here if that’s okay with you two,” she said, but she didn’t seem interested in an answer.

  “Hello, Mrs. Streeter,” Billy said, smiling at her. “Please join us.”

  “I’m going to go get some of those amazing biscuits,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” But when she returned, she didn’t have a plate. She had several biscuits wrapped in napkins, and she proceeded to deposit them into her handbag.

  “Those should come in handy later,” she said, hurrying off again.

  Cal looked at Billy, who rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. “She likes free stuff. Free stuff and Cary Grant,” she explained, taking a bite of her biscuit. “She rents all of his films from the library.” Cal chuckled, but at that moment, a cell phone rang.

  “That’ll be Luke, my son,” Billy said, reaching into her purse. When she took her cell phone out and looked at the screen, she frowned uncertainly. “Excuse me. I’m going to take this over there,” she said, getting up from the table. She returned less than a minute later, seeming shocked, her freckles standing out against her suddenly pale skin.

  “Hey,” he said, “is everything okay?”

  She shook her head. “That was the police. They’re . . . they’re holding my son.”

  “What for?”

  “He was caught spray-painting graffiti on public property.”

  “In Butternut?”

  She nodded.

  “Is that, like, a thing here now?” he asked. “Graffiti?” He’d never seen any here, and it didn’t jibe with his squeaky-clean image of this town.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I have to go pick him up.” She reached into her handbag again, and then she froze. “Oh, no,” she murmured, bringing a hand to her temple.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My car. It’s in the shop. I’ll have to walk there.”

  “Where’s ‘there’?”

  “The state police satellite office. It’s right outside town, on Highway 169.”

  “Don’t walk,” Cal said. “It’ll take too long. I’ll drive you.”

  “That’s . . . that’s really nice of you to offer. But . . . you don’t want to leave now, do you? You’ve haven’t even finished eating yet,” she said.

  “No, it’s fine,” he said. “Let me just tell my sister I’m going, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll ask Officer Sawyer to give us a ride home.”

  Cal got up from the table then and went to find Allie. He explained the situation to her, and she understood, but she wanted him to come back after he’d given Billy a ride to the station. He begged off, saying he was tired. In truth, though, he’d already had enough marital bliss for one day.

  When he returned to Billy, she looked more pensive than ever. “Let’s go,” he said. They passed the now mobbed buffet table and headed toward the nearby field where the wedding guests’ cars were parked. He had no trouble finding his Porsche; it stood out like a shiny buoy floating on a sea of dusty pickups, SUVs, and minivans.

  “Can you answer a question for me?” he asked Billy, partly to distract her from her obvious anxiety and partly because he was genuinely curious.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Why do so many people up here drive a pickup truck? I mean, obviously there are people who need one for work. I get that. But does every other person in this town need one?”

  She shrugged. “You never know . . .”

  “Know what?”

  “When you’ll need to throw something in the back,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “A cord of wood. A buck.”

  “A buck?”

  “During hunting season,” she murmured. He looked to see if she was joking, but she seemed serious. He couldn’t actually picture her hunting, but the practitioners of this sport, he knew, could surprise you. He started to ask her whether she was a hunter but then changed his mind. She obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  “Here we are,” he said as they approached his car. He unlocked it with his key fob and went to open the passenger side door for her.

  “Wait, this is yours?” she asked, hesitating.

  “Yeah. Is it okay?”

  “It’s fine. But . . . did you get a ticket yesterday? On Main Street?”

  “Yep. That was me. Wow, word gets around fast here.”

  “You have no idea,” she said with a sigh as she got into his car.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Billy walked into the state police office, the first thing she saw was Luke sitting hunched over on a bench in the waiting area. The sleeve of his T-shirt was torn, his sneakers were muddy, and his tangled hair was hanging in his eyes. He looked about as forlorn as she’d ever seen him, and her first impulse was to comfort him. Before she could make a move to do this, the door to an adjoining office opened and Officer Sawyer leaned out.

  “Ms. Harper,” he called. Luke, who hadn’t looked up when Billy came in, looked up now. And for a moment—just a moment—Billy thought she saw fear in his face. But then it was gone, replaced by an expression she could only describe as contrite and defiant. It was an expression that was starting to look all too familiar to her.

  Officer Sawyer stepped forward then and gestured for Billy to come into his office. “Luke, why don’t you stay there while your mom and I talk,” he said sternly. Luke, now aiming for nonchalance, shrugged and resumed looking at his shoes.

  “Have a seat,” Officer Sawyer said to Billy. He shut the door behind them and adjusted the blinds on an internal window so that they could still see Luke.

  “Can I get you a coffee or a soda?” he asked, turning to he
r.

  She shook her head, though her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like sandpaper.

  “All right, then,” he said, lowering himself into his swivel chair. He looked at Billy sympathetically over the stacks of files on his gunmetal-gray desk. He was a large man, with a thick neck, light red hair shaved into a buzz cut, and pale blue eyes that he usually kept hidden behind aviator sunglasses. He had trouble with the sun, she knew; his skin was so fair that when he’d coached Luke’s Little League team in the fourth and fifth grades, he’d never come onto the field without a stripe of zinc oxide on his nose and across each of his cheeks.

  Billy tried to smile at him now. She’d always liked him. He was from Butternut—she’d seen his retired baseball jersey in a glass case at the high school—and his wife, Leslie, was also from up here. She was a first-grade teacher at the elementary school, and she often brought their two young children to the library’s Bookworms reading events.

  “So . . . graffiti?” Billy asked tentatively. “I have to say, I have no idea where this is coming from. That’s never been a problem before.” She glanced at Luke through the office window as if he might shed some light on this now, but his eyes were still fixed on his shoes. “Whatever damage there is, though,” she said, turning her attention back to Officer Sawyer, “Luke will clean it off.”

  Office Sawyer stirred. “There was some damage to property, but honestly, that’s not my main concern here. My main concern is where they were when they were spray-painting the graffiti.”

  They? Billy thought. This was her first indication that Luke had not been alone. “Where . . . where were they?”

  “They were on the Kawashiwi River overpass off Route 10. A motorist saw them climbing over the bridge and onto the ledge, and by the time we got there they were all standing on the six-inch concrete lip, dangling twenty feet over the river. I don’t know if you’re familiar with that part of the Kawashiwi, but the water there’s pretty shallow, and it’s rocky, too.”

  “Oh my God,” Billy exclaimed. “He could have broken his neck.” She glared at Luke through the window. Maybe she should have felt relief that he was okay, but all she could feel now was anger at him for doing something so dangerous. “That is not the kid I raised,” she sputtered. “I don’t even know that kid,” she added, gesturing at Luke. “We’ve always been safety-conscious in our family. Always. Luke still doesn’t go out on his skateboard without his helmet on.” Even as she was saying this, though, Billy was wondering if it was true. He wasn’t supposed to go out on his skateboard without his helmet on. But the boy who’d hung off the side of that bridge probably wasn’t worried about falling off a skateboard.

  Officer Sawyer shuffled some files around on his desk. “Look, the important thing is that he wasn’t hurt. And I know Luke is a good kid. Really, I do. You don’t coach someone for two seasons without learning anything about him. But Ms. Harper, the kids he’s hanging out with . . .”

  “Which kids?”

  “Van Olsen. Do you know him?”

  “I know of him,” she said, thinking that he was the boy who was with Luke when he got caught smoking beneath the bleachers at school. “But I think their friendship is still very new. Luke has mentioned him only a couple of times recently. He’s said he thinks Van is cool.”

  “He’s not cool,” Officer Sawyer said flatly. “He’s already on our radar over here. And his dad . . .” Officer Sawyer tapped on a stack of files. “His dad has had some pretty serious run-ins with the law. I can personally vouch for those.”

  “I had no idea,” Billy murmured. “When Luke was younger, I knew all of his friends, and their parents, too, but now . . .” Her voice trailed off. Now, increasingly, Luke was independent. She’d been delighted at first when she’d realized he was old enough to stay at home alone, and mature enough to ride his bicycle to and from school alone, but she understood now that Luke’s freedom was a double-edged sword. She’d thought her son would be safe in a small town. Trouble wouldn’t find him here, she’d reasoned. It had never occurred to her that he would go looking for it instead.

  “Yeah, I know. As they grow older it gets harder to keep track of them,” Officer Sawyer was saying when her mind returned to the conversation. “And the Olsen kid, they’re in the same grade, so Luke’s going to see him at school every day whether you like it or not. But this other kid they were with, J.P. Meyer—”

  “What grade is he in?” Billy interrupted. She knew for a fact Luke had never mentioned him before.

  “No grade. He’s a dropout.”

  “Already?”

  “He’s sixteen.”

  “And he’s hanging out with thirteen-year-olds?” Billy asked, mystified. “Why would he do that?”

  Officer Sawyer shrugged. “Maybe because they look up to him.”

  “Is he . . . on your radar, too?”

  He shrugged. “These two boys, Van and J.P., they don’t have much parental supervision. Van’s mother went AWOL years ago, and his dad is not around a lot. J.P. lives with his mom, but she works two shifts at the mill in Ely. Don’t think she’s around much, either. He already has a juvenile record. Which is why I think he might face charges for this incident today . . .”

  “Wait,” Billy said sharply. “There are going to be charges?”

  “In Minnesota, graffiti falls under public nuisance laws,” Officer Sawyer said, crossing his arms and leaning on his desk. “But since this is the first time Luke’s been caught doing anything like this, I think there’s a very good possibility he won’t get charged. Especially since he’s still really young. Just turned thirteen, right?”

  Billy nodded, distracted. So there most likely wouldn’t be any charges. This time.

  As if reading her mind, Officer Sawyer continued. “Of course, if this kind of thing keeps happening, you’re going to end up with legal fees, fees for cleaning up property, community service . . .” These images left Billy feeling something close to panic.

  “Luke got suspended on the last day of school,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “And now this. He seems so angry and moody all the time. I don’t—”

  Officer Sawyer interrupted her here. “Leslie told me his granddad died last year. I remember him from the Little League games. They were obviously very close. That’s got to be hard on the kid. Has he talked to any of the counselors at school?”

  “No, he said he didn’t want to.” Billy felt suddenly overwhelmed and uncertain. And she felt the loss of her dad more than ever right now. He’d always seemed to know how to handle even the most complex problems with his own idiosyncratic blend of honesty and humor. He knew, too, how to nudge Luke subtly in the right direction without lecturing him or hectoring him. Billy wondered if she was capable of that kind of finesse. She turned again to look at Luke. His shoulders were still hunched, his eyes still hidden behind tangled hair. Where was the good, cheerful kid he’d been just a year ago?

  Officer Sawyer was rummaging around in his desk drawers. “I think I might have something here,” he mumbled. “I don’t know if it’s completely up-to-date, but . . . here it is.” He pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to Billy. It was a little wrinkled and an ink stain covered its upper corner, but she could clearly read “North Woods Adventures for Teens: Teaching teamwork, building decision-making skills, and improving self-esteem.” She smiled faintly in spite of herself. She knew about North Woods Adventures. She and Amanda, her best friend in high school, had taken a Boundary Waters Canoeing course the summer before their senior year. It was much more rugged than either of them had realized it would be—the word portaging still struck fear in her heart—but it had been challenging and exhilarating, too, and she couldn’t remember ever having slept as deeply as she had during the two weeks the trip had lasted.

  “I’ve been on a North Woods Adventures trip before,” she told Officer Sawyer.

  “It’s worth a thought, then. Leslie’s nephew went on one of them and . . .” But Billy wasn’t listening. She was thinking
about how expensive something like that might be. Expensive enough, she decided, to put a crimp in their budget. Still, she might spread it over a couple of credit cards, or raid their rainy day fund.

  “I think the point is, he needs some additional guidance,” Officer Sawyer said. “In this day and age, it can be hard sometimes to know how to help your kid. Especially when you’re doing it all alone.” He looked a little embarrassed suddenly, as though he thought he might be trespassing. “I could give you some information on a program in Duluth,” he added tentatively. “It’s for parents who . . . need help with challenging kids.”

  Billy’s face burned. Surely she was capable of parenting her own child. Wasn’t she?

  Her eyes went to a photograph on Officer Sawyer’s desk. It was of him and his wife and their son and daughter on a vacation at Disneyland. They looked like the all-American family, emphasis on family. She’d never been ashamed to be a single mother before. She’d never felt defensive about it, either. But then she’d known she was doing a good job, and she’d assumed everyone else had known it, too. All they’d needed to do was look at her son—her bright, sweet, talkative son. And now? What now? She stole another glance at Luke. He looked as recalcitrant as ever. She sighed. North Woods Adventures for him; parenting classes for her.

  “It’s a lot to think about,” Officer Sawyer said, pushing back his chair. “But for now, the best thing you can do is keep Luke busy.”

  “I will. I am. He’s working as a counselor’s assistant at the museum’s Nature Camp this summer. His hours there, and my hours at work, are almost exactly the same.”

  “Good,” Officer Sawyer said, standing up. “The busier the better. And, uh, if you can, keep him away from those boys . . .” He held out his hand to Billy, she shook it. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Absolutely. Do you mind if . . . . ?” She held up the pamphlet.

  “Of course. You hold on to that.” She tucked it into her purse and steeled herself to face Luke. Officer Sawyer opened the door for her. Luke looked up, then stood. Despite all his bravado, and the fact that he was now almost as tall as Billy, he was still very much a kid, she realized. She mustn’t forget that.