The Dead of Summer (11 page)

Maria dug her feet into the floor, causing me to stop. I had no choice; Maria was ten times sturdier than I was with her thick calves in her black orthopedic shoes. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Miss Lindy don’t know her mama’s phone number now?” She pursed her lips together as if she was thinking really hard. “Did she hit her head? I bet there’s gonna be blood if she don’t remember her mama’s phone number.” She was shaking her head doubtfully, her huge gold hoop earrings clacking loudly against her fleshy cheeks.

“She didn’t hit her head. She just twisted her ankle,” I reassured her. Then, I conspiratorially lowered my voice. “There’s a boy out there. She’s putting on an act for him, making it like she’s more hurt than she actually is.” I lowered my eyes so Maria wouldn’t be able to tell how utterly ticked off I was by the whole ordeal.

Maria sighed heartily and shook her head again, this time in a more jovial manner. “Oh, that Miss Lindy. She sure is a piece of work,” she said with a chuckle. She shuffled over to the back door, laughing and shaking her head.

“She sure is,” I mumbled to myself as I trailed behind her.

After I summonsed her, Maria called an ambulance. She had reached Mrs. Lincoln’s cell after the ambulance arrived to transport Lindy to the ER. Lindy had squeezed Carson’s hand and begged him to ride on the ambulance with her, but the ambulance driver told her that only Maria could go. Lindy had pouted, but Carson and I had waved happily as the ambulance doors closed, finally leaving us alone.

“We should take the picnic basket and have our own picnic,” he had suggested. “Minus the French bread, of course.”

I had been about to ask whatever we would do without French bread (insert sarcasm here), my heart nearly bursting with excitement, when Mrs. Lincoln had come screeching up the driveway.

“Where did they take her?” she had asked, leaning out the driver side window. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, David’s day off.

“The hospital,” I answered, pointing toward town.

“Well, don’t just stand there catching flies!” She threw open the passenger side. “Get in!”

My mouth dropped open. “But I…”
Were both Lincolns determined to wreck any chance I had with Carson?

“Now!” Mrs. Lincoln yelled. “We don’t have all day!”

I shrugged my shoulders apologetically at Carson and stepped off the side walk. Carson grabbed my arm and pressed his mouth to my ear. “Meet me on the path by the marsh at midnight,” Carson whispered.

I stared at him for a second, not sure what to say. I had never snuck out at night before. Nobody had ever given me reason to. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage it. Mama was a very light sleeper. But hell, for Carson, I’d walk across hot coals, so I’d figure out a way. I nodded as I waved at him and climbed into Mrs. Lincoln’s car. She backed out of the driveway at a speed that caused my head to hit the seat.

And so, I reluctantly ended up a passenger for Mrs. Lincoln’s try-out for the Indy 500 down all the side streets of our town; her attempt at “taking a short cut” that actually took us ten minutes longer and shaved at least four years off my life.

When we got there and approached the front desk looking for Lindy, the receptionist made it quite clear that Lindy was already making a nuisance of herself. She had apparently “fired” a nurse when she told her they couldn’t give her Percocet without a doctor’s order, and that furthermore, it was not routine to give a narcotic for a sprained ankle. Mrs. Lincoln was livid that anyone dare deny her daughter Percocet—she was probably looking to swipe a few in the process—so she demanded to speak with the nurse’s supervisor. The supervisor promptly backed up her staff nurse and that went over with Mrs. Lincoln like a fart in church.

After several temper tantrums on the part of both Lindy and Mrs. Lincoln (and also a janitor named Luis who got upset when Mrs. Lincoln kicked over his bucket of water), five hours, and at least three Valium later—for Mrs. Lincoln, not Lindy—we were on our way back to Lindy’s house with a Percocet script and an ace bandage wrapped around the princess’s elevated ankle.

“Now Lindy, you’re going to have to be careful with that ankle. I want you to prop it up on your bed and no wandering around the house all night,” Mrs. Lincoln was instructing as she turned down a side street, nearly hitting two kids setting up a lemonade stand.

“Of course,” Lindy mumbled while rolling her eyes at me. I wasn’t fooled. She was lavishing her mama’s attention. This made up for the fact that Carson had escaped from her grasp.

“Maria, we’re going to need you to stay with Lindy tonight,” she continued as she swerved into the driveway and bounded over the curb. I could see where Lindy got her keen driving skills from.

“What? Why?” Lindy asked at the same time as Maria said, “Sorry, Mrs. Lincoln, I can’t stay. It’s my mama’s birthday today.”

“But I have a fundraiser dinner tonight and James is out of town!” Mrs. Lincoln wailed. Lindy also inherited her mama’s negotiating skills. “Lindy can’t stay alone! Surely you can have cake another night!”

“I can’t stay tonight,” Maria said firmly. “My mama is ninety-seven years old. Who knows if she’ll live to see tomorrow, let alone another birthday.”

“Well, I guess you’re just gonna have to miss the dinner then,” Lindy said smugly from the backseat.

Mrs. Lincoln shook her head. “I can’t. I’m head of the committee. And I got the most darling blue dress to wear—it’ll have that Missy Jorgensen spitting bullets,” she mused.

“Maybe Miss Kennedy can stay instead,” Maria suggested. I shot laser-beams at the back of her head full of black curls. I certainly did not want to stay. I was supposed to meet Carson at midnight. Was
everyone
sabotaging my chance at romance?

“I can’t. Mama wants me home tonight…” I stammered.
So I can sneak out and meet a boy in the woods.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lincoln said as she climbed out of the car. “I’ll call her and explain the situation. It’s all settled then. You’ll take care of Lindy tonight.” She waved me off as she sashayed up the driveway, her gold Louboutins clacking on the cobblestones.

Like mother like daughter. Mrs. Lincoln was also accustomed to getting her way. Needless to say, Lindy was disappointed she had not been the victor in this particular standoff with her mama.

When I went home to pack my bags, I hoped Mama would insist I stay with her tonight. She usually became forlorn if I stayed at Lindy’s and I was counting on it tonight.

Instead, she seemed more than happy to get rid of me, packing my bag for me, further solidifying my fear that she was indeed having some sort of online affair. At least I
hoped
it was still online.

On my way back to Lindy’s, I agonized over how I was going to get word to Carson that I wasn’t going to be able to meet him at midnight. There was no way I could sneak out without Lindy knowing, and if she found out what I was up to, there’s no telling what kind of ailment she’d fake.

I passed Carson’s house, but all the rooms appeared dark, even though it was after eight o’clock and the sun was setting. I hurried past his house, still contemplating what to do. Besides, I didn’t think I would have the guts to knock on his door anyway. What if his mama or daddy answered the door? I sighed and silently prayed that he would somehow know I couldn’t get away. And hopefully he wouldn’t hate me and think I didn’t want to see him.

Our sleepover was ill-fated from the beginning. Lindy was, of course, in a foul mood. She started off by pinching me on more than one occasion; I didn’t hand her the remote for the TV fast enough, I didn’t agree on the movie she wanted to see, I didn’t give her the extra piece of cake that Maria sent over with her son. It was her pity party and she was making damn sure that I knew it.

Then, she got real sad-like and I caught her staring off into space. I made the mistake of asking her what was the matter, which was definitely the wrong move. She snapped out of her melancholy staring and got this wild look in her eyes.

“Go into my closet,” she instructed, pointing at the spacious walk in closet that housed clothes, shoes and accessories on the one side and her games, books, dolls, etc., on the other. Each side was roughly the size of my own bedroom and everything was so organized you would think you were in a department store when you stood in the middle of the damn thing.

I reluctantly pulled the doors open and stood there staring into it. “What do you need?” I had been waiting on her hand and foot all evening, so of course, I assumed she needed something.

“There’s a box on the game shelf. It’s black and white and says
wee-gee
on it.”

Sighing, I flicked on the closet light and stepped inside. I examined the game shelf and found a dusty Battleship box
and several Truth or Dare games and one about going to the mall. There were assortments of other older games, but none that said Wee-gee.

“Did you find it?” she asked after several minutes had gone by.

“I don’t see it,” I shouted back at her.

I heard a thump followed by bumping noises. Lindy appeared in the doorway of the closet.

“What are you doing?” I asked in an annoyed tone. “You’re supposed to have your leg elevated.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face. She hopped on one foot into the closet and pulled a box off the shelf. “It’s right here. Geez, Kennedy. Are you blind, too?” I could only imagine what she meant by “too”. Like maybe was I blind in addition to dumb and fat.

She hopped out, clutching the box, and I followed.

“What’s that?” I had asked suspiciously. She shoved the piles of makeup we had been experimenting with to the side of the bed and hopped up on it. She got around really well for a girl with an injury that necessitated my staying over.

She gingerly placed the box on the bed and I stared at the cover. “What is it?” I asked again, confused at the drawing on the box. My fingers trailed over the lid. “O-u-i-j-a.” I looked up at Lindy. “What the hell is
oija?
” I tried to pronounce the word.

Lindy rolled her eyes at me. “It’s pronounced
wee-gee
. Haven’t you ever played with the Ouija board before?”

“Uh, no.” And I didn’t really want to start then either. It was past midnight and I was annoyed that I wasn’t going to get to meet Carson.

“This is going to be awesome,” she told me matter-of-factly. She lifted the lid to reveal a yellowish board with black lettered
yes
and
no
at the top and all the letters of the alphabet underneath that in two arching rows. Below the letters were numbers, zero through nine, and the words
good bye
. There was a picture of a sun and a moon and a very creepy looking lady. My skin prickled as Lindy lifted a white plastic arrow shaped disk out of the box.

“What is that for?” I asked with concern. This didn’t look like a game where you could spin a dice and land on a prize or go directly to jail. The lady’s face reminded me of the carnival movies where bad things would happen. The whole game gave me a sinister feeling and I had no idea why.

Lindy sat cross-legged on her bed and tapped my legs with impatience. I guessed I was supposed to be sitting that way, too. I crossed my legs and scooched backward so that I could lean my back up against the headboard.

“Not that far away,” Lindy chastised. “Get closer to me.”

I scooted close to her and when our knees were touching, she gently balanced the board on them. I scratched a mosquito bite on my shin, jostling the board in the process.

“You can’t move at all,” she admonished as she placed the white plastic thingie in the center. Her fingers gently caressed the edge of the arrow. “Now
you
put your fingers on it,” she instructed. “It’s called a planchette.”

I placed my hands over it lightly like she had done and asked, “So are we supposed to move this or something?” I was totally and utterly confused as to the purpose of this game.

“No, you dope!” Lindy replied with a snort. “The
ghosts
move it!”

“What? What ghosts?” I asked as I pulled my hands away. I must have looked just like I saw a ghost at that moment because Lindy rolled her eyes in that patronizing fashion at me.

“This board is for convening with the dead, Kennedy. It’s like a séance.”

“The
dead
?” I jumped to my feet, the board falling on the bed. “I don’t want to convene with
the dead
!” I had no idea what convene meant, but I had a pretty good feeling it wasn’t anything I wanted to do with the dead. There wasn’t much I wanted to do with the dead, in fact.

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s fun. Cut the light, will ya?” Lindy said as she propped a pillow up behind her back. I just stared open mouthed at her for a minute before she barked, “Don’t be such a baby, Kennedy!”

Reluctantly I flicked off the lamp on her nightstand, submerging us in darkness. I was not afraid of the dark, per se, but in Lindy’s room just then, I was petrified. My skin erupted in goosebumps as I climbed back onto the bed and I awaited instructions.

Lindy flicked on a small flashlight and held it up underneath her face, illuminating her usually pretty features, making her appear grotesque.

“Put your hands back on the planchette,” she commanded in a spooky voice.

My blood pounding in my ears, I settled my trembling fingers back down on the board.

Pleased with my obedience, Lindy explained, “We have to call a dead person to have a séance. Do you know any dead people?” She asked it in the same manner you might ask a party host where their restroom was located.

I kept my mouth shut, though. The only dead person I knew was my daddy and I sure as hell didn’t want to raise him from his dirt nap.

As if she read my mind, Lindy exclaimed, “We can call your daddy!”

My fingers tensed up and froze on the planchette, but I didn’t say a word. It didn’t matter if I said no. Lindy would do what she wanted to anyway and I was powerless to stop her. Not that I believed in this whole séance thing anyway. . .

“Now you have to be very quiet,” Lindy said ominously.

I nodded my head. I hoped she wasn’t going to yell at me for my heart thundering in my chest; I was certain that she could hear it.