The Summer of Winters (10 page)

Probably.

So I wasn’t afraid of having water dumped on my head like pig’s blood from that movie
Carrie
or being forced into Satanism, not really, and yet I hesitated to walk inside. What if some kind of alarm went off, alerting everyone that an intruder had entered? After all, I didn’t belong here; I wasn’t Catholic.

Not that I was entirely sure what religion I was, or if I was any religion at all. I’d asked my mother the question once and she’d answered that we were a family of Pragmatists. I had no idea what that meant, but I figured it was something like Presbyterians which I’d heard were pretty much like Baptists only they would raise their hands and wave them in the air while singing hymns.

In any case, I’d seen on TV and in movies that Catholic churches had this thing where you could go sit in this little closet and tell a priest all your darkest fears and secrets and he wasn’t allowed to tell anybody else about it. Sort of a lawyer/client thing. I figured this would be my best bet to get some advice on how to handle the Brody situation.

Finally, after a few deep breaths and a mental pep talk, I walked up the steps to the church’s double doors. The sign out front listed the times they held confession, and I was here at one of those times. I wondered if there would be a lot of people and I’d have to wait in line. I hoped not, because the longer I had the wait, the greater the likelihood that I might chicken out. Plus, I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew, although I didn’t think I knew anyone Catholic. Then again, I couldn’t be sure; Catholics kind of looked like everyone else.

As it turned out, I didn’t really need to worry. I entered an empty vestibule with a tiled floor and a short round table with an explosion of flowers on top of it, as well as some religious tracts fanned out in front of the vase. It was quiet and cool, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. I walked across the vestibule, my steps seeming unaccountably loud, and into the sanctuary.

It was larger than I expected, three separate rows of pews creating two aisles that ran up to an elevated pulpit, above which hung a large crucifix of gold (or at least made to look like gold). Off to the left of the pulpit was a statue of a sad-eyed woman I assumed must be the Virgin Mary. To the right, against the far wall, were the confessionals, two of them it seemed. I probably wouldn’t have known what they were if I hadn’t seen them on TV. So my mother was wrong. TV could be educational.

I was surprised to find the sanctuary as empty as the vestibule. Where were all the people in need of absolution? Perhaps the Catholic community hadn’t done much sinning this week. Then again, it was early, just past the time confession started, according to the sign; maybe everyone was waiting until the last minute so they could get in as much sinful behavior as possible before coming to confess.

I went down the aisle to the right then turned in front of the pulpit and stopped before the first confessional. I hesitated again, feeling a knot like a clenched fist in my gut. Why did I feel like I was doing something wrong? Wasn’t going to church a good thing?

Before I could lose my nerve, I opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark in the small closet of a room, nothing in there but a short bench and a window with a mesh covering. Just like on TV. I climbed onto the bench, propped up on my knees, and stuck my face up to the window, staring into the adjoining room. “Hey, anybody there?”

Silence for half a moment, then through the mesh I saw an indistinct figure lean forward and respond with a quizzical, “Hello?”

“Are you the priest guy that I tell my secrets to?”

“Uh, yes. You want to make confession?”

“I guess the first thing I should confess is that I don’t go to this church or nothing. I just really need some help, didn’t know where else to go.”

“I see. Are you parents with you, son?”

“No, sir. And you can’t tell my mom anything I say in here, right? Whatever I tell you is confi…confi…”

“Confidential. Yes, that’s correct. However, if you’re not a member of this congregation perhaps—”

“What if you know somebody did something bad?” I blurted. “It’s just as bad if you don’t tell, ain’t it?”

Another pause. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘something bad.’ You aren’t necessarily obligated to tell just because you hear someone use a curse word, for instance. Their conscious should lead them to seek penance; it isn’t your job.”

“But what if it’s something really
really
bad? Like one of those top ten sins. Or seven, I get confused on which are the worst ones.”

“Son, I really think you should discuss this with your parents.”

Now it was my turn to pause. “You see, thing is, I don’t really
know
for sure this person did the bad thing. I mean, I’m pretty sure, but…he could get into serious trouble if I tell, and what if I’m wrong? Like I said, I don’t think I’m wrong, it’s just…I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.”

I thought I heard the priest laughing softly, then he said, “Let me get this straight. Someone may or may not have done a ‘bad thing,’ you don’t know for sure, meaning you didn’t witness the bad thing in question, and if you tell someone, the person you suspect could face serious consequences. Do I have all that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How old are you, son?”

“Eleven.”

“Look, at your age your imagination is pretty much in overdrive, constantly running and weaving fantasies.”

“This isn’t a fantasy,” I was quick to say. “The bad thing…it really happened.”

“And too many reruns of
Perry Mason
or too many
Encyclopedia Brown
books probably have you wanting to play detective, crack the case as it were. Maybe your ‘suspect’ is even someone you’d like to see get into trouble.”

I shook my head furiously. “No, that’s not it at all.”

“I’m going to give you some advice. If you don’t know for sure this person did the bad thing, I think it would be ill advised to say anything to anyone. You could even end up getting into trouble yourself for making a false accusation.”

“But—”

“Listen,” the priest said with a sharp edge to his voice, “I don’t want to be rude, I know you mean well, but you’re abusing the confessional, son. This is a place to confess your own sins, not the imagined sins of others. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

My face burned from embarrassment, much as it had the time in second grade when I’d realized I’d gone half the school day with my fly undone. Without another word, I burst out of the confessional and ran back down the aisle to the vestibule. As I hurried out the door, I passed an elderly woman on her way in, nearly toppling her over, but I didn’t slow.

I had walked to the church, not wanting to risk taking my bike out, so I just ran the few blocks back to the house, fighting tears the whole time. If I couldn’t even get any help from a priest, what were the chances I’d fare any better with any other adults?

It seemed if I was going to get to the bottom of this Brody situation, I was going to have to do it on my own.

Chapter
Ten

Near the end
of July, Paige and I were finally allowed to go out on our bikes as long as we always went together, didn’t go too far, and were gone no longer than an hour. It wasn’t complete freedom but it was better than nothing, a semi-return to normalcy. Without speaking about it, we steered clear of the Oakland Cemetery, sticking mostly to Thompson Park, the Central playground, and I even got her to go with me to the library a few times.

The last day of the month was on a Sunday, and Paige and I biked down to Central Elementary and spent some time on the swings, urging each other to go higher and higher until I thought we might make a complete loop. After we both leapt from the swings, seeing who could jump the farthest (she won), we lay in the grass, staring up at the cloudless sky and giggling.

Finally Paige sat up and said, “Hey, wanna play Round-the-Flagpole?”

I immediately tensed, wondering if this was another game in the same vein as Show and Don’t Tell. “Well, um, we should probably be getting back home soon.”

“Oh, come on, you chicken.” And with that, Paige jumped to her feet and shot off across the playground, headed straight for the flagpole. During the summer months, no flag was put out on display, and as I watched, Paige took hold of the chain, started sprinting around the pole, then she leapt into the air, holding her feet up off the ground, and rocketed around the pole like the earth orbiting the sun.

Her squeals of delight danced on the breeze as I made my way over to her. She spun around four times, wrapping the chain around the pole, and as the centrifugal force started to die down, she deftly landed on her feet, started running in the opposite direction, bounded into the air and around the pole again, now unwinding the chain. When she landed this time, she let go of the chain and stumbled around for a moment as if drunk, then sat down heavily on the ground, laughing the whole time.

“You’re nuts,” I said, stepping up next to her.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Your turn.”

“Nuh-uh, what if I let my legs drop too soon and I hit the brick wall. It’s dangerous.”

“So’s getting in and out of the tub, riding in a car, just walking down the street. Now go on, just pick up some speed and jump. It’s the closest thing a creature without wings can get to flying.”

I just shook my head.

“So you’re telling me a
girl
can do it but you can’t?”

I knew what she was doing. I knew she was trying to manipulate me, so it seemed I should have been able to resist. And yet I found myself moving to the pole anyway, gripping the rusty chain. I was nervous but also strangely excited. I didn’t manage anything as impressive as Paige, I only made it around the pole twice before finding my feet and letting go of the chain. It had been almost like the merry-go-round, only more frightening and more exhilarating because there had been nothing solid beneath my feet. Paige was right, it was like flying.

I sat down next to her, a stupid grin stretched like silly putty across my face. “That was fun, where’d you learn to do that?”

“Brody taught me.”

The mention of her brother instantly wiped the smile off my face. That day after leaving Sacred Heart I had told myself that I was going to do something about Brody, find some way to either confirm or dismiss my suspicions, and yet I’d done nothing. Perhaps this was my chance to get a little information on the teenager.

“So you and Brody are pretty close, huh?” I said, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.

“Yeah, he’s my bestest friend…no offense.”

“That’s okay. I mean, you’ve known him a whole lot longer than you’ve known me.”

“Seems like I’ve known him my whole life,” Paige said then broke into giggles.

“What kind of stuff do you guys do together?”

“Well, you know, play games and stuff.”

“What kind of games?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t say
Show and Don’t Tell
.

“All different kinds. He’s been trying to teach me how to play chess. He says I’m picking it up pretty fast, but I’d still rather play Checkers. I mean, I don’t figure you should have to think so much when playing a board game unless it’s Trivial Pursuit or something.”

“What else do you do?”

“I don’t know, we talk a lot. Great thing about Brody is he doesn’t treat me like a little kid or nothing. He makes me feel like I’m a grown up. Of course, with his new job and all, I don’t get to see him as much these days. I miss him.”

This wasn’t really telling me anything useful, other than Brody was a lot nicer to his younger sibling than I was to mine. I decided to try another tactic.

“What did Brody say when he found out you and me found Sarah’s body?”

Paige suddenly got very still and very quiet. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper. “Why’d you wanna go and bring that up for? We were having such a nice time.”

“Sorry, I was just curious what Brody thought about it all.”

“He was upset, of course, just like everybody else. He kept telling me how sorry he was.”

Despite the warmth of the day, my skin suddenly felt cooled. “Sorry? For what?”

“For what I had to go through. I was a bit hysterical when I got home that day, after the cops got done talking to us, and Brody just held me and told me he was sorry I’d had to see that, that it should never have happened.”

My chills turned into a bone-numbing cold, and I found it hard to breathe. I opened my mouth to respond, but Paige suddenly bolted to her feet. “You know, you’re right, it is time we get home before they send out a search party.”

Without waiting for an answer or to see if I was following, Paige ran off toward our bikes.

Chapter
Eleven

I didn’t see
Paige for about a week after that. According to her mom, she had some kind of stomach virus and was throwing up a lot. It gave me some time to think about what I’d learned from Paige that day at the Central playground.

Not that anything she’d told me had been all that damning, I was more convinced than ever that Brody wasn’t the nice young man he seemed to be on first glance. And I was more worried than ever about Paige.

But the question remained, what could I do about it? I still didn’t have anything concrete to take to anyone, and without some kind of evidence I’d be dismissed like I was by the priest at Sacred Heart. How did I get evidence?

I spent so much time worrying over it that I started to make myself sick. It seemed like an impossible situation, an unsolvable dilemma, and it left me feeling more helpless than I’d ever felt in my life.

***

One of my favorite shows as a kid was
Knight Rider
. I really loved the talking car, and I’d seen an advertisement on TV for a KITT toy that actually talked when you pressed the license plate. I wanted one so bad I could taste it, even though I knew my mother would never be able to afford it.