Jamie closed the trunk and started across the parking lot. He walked over to a waiting limo and shook hands with his coworker Tony Carter, who was opening the door and stepping into the backseat. Marge heard Jamie yell “Have fun!” as the SUV pulled away.
A delighted smile came over his face when he saw her. Waving the way he always did, with his palm pushed forward and his fingers back, he walked over to the car, opened the door and got in beside her.
“Mom, you came to pick me up,” he announced, his voice triumphant.
Marge leaned over and kissed her son as she smoothed back the sandy hair on his forehead.
But Jamie’s happy smile quickly evaporated, and his voice became very serious. “Mom, are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you, Jamie?”
For a long moment a troubled look came over his face. That moment gave Marge time to look at him and, as always, realize what a handsome young man he was.
Jamie has Jack’s blue eyes and even features, his six-foot height and perfect posture. The only difference was that Jamie had been deprived of oxygen during a difficult birth, and it had damaged his brain.
She could see that he was trying to remember why she might have been upset with him.
“My sneakers and socks and jeans got wet,” he said haltingly. “I’m sorry. Okay?”
“How did they get wet, Jamie?” Marge asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact as she waited before turning the key to start the car.
Jamie’s eyes were pleading. “Don’t be mad at me, Mom.”
“Oh, Jamie,” Marge said quickly, “I’m not mad at you. But I just need for you to tell me what happened when you went over to Kerry’s pool.”
“Kerry was swimming,” Jamie said while looking down.
She was fully dressed, Marge thought. I saw her when Steve carried her out of the pool.
“Did you see her swimming in her pool?”
“Yes, she went swimming,” he said, not making eye contact with his mother.
She may have been still alive when he saw her, Marge thought to herself. “Jamie, did you ask Kerry if you could go swimming with her?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did she say to you?”
Jamie looked straight ahead, trying to reconstruct in his mind a picture of the previous evening. “She said, ‘Jamie, you can always go swimming with me.’ I said, ‘Thank you, Kerry. You’re very nice.’ ”
Marge sighed inwardly. Time was always a hazy concept for Jamie. A memory of a place they visited a week ago would intertwine with his recollections of visiting that same place years earlier. Did this conversation with Kerry take place last night or on one of the many previous times she had invited him to swim with her?
“Jamie, why did you go swimming with your pants and sneakers on?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I won’t do it again. I promise, okay?” Jamie said, his voice growing louder and aggressive.
“Jamie, did you and Kerry play any games in the pool?”
“Kerry went under the water for a long time. I said, ‘Kerry, wake up. It’s Jamie.’ ”
“Did you help Kerry in the water?”
“I always help Kerry. I’m her friend.”
“When you were playing a game, did you hold Kerry under the water?”
“I said I was sorry, Mom, okay?” Jamie said, as he started to tear up. “I want to go now.”
“It’s all right, Jamie,” Marge said, as it was obvious that Jamie was beginning to shut down. But she had to figure out a way to protect him.
“Jamie,” she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful, “can you keep a secret?”
“I like secrets,” Jamie said, “like birthday presents.”
“That’s right, like when we buy somebody a birthday present, we keep it a secret,” Marge said. “But this secret will be about your going swimming with Kerry last night. Can that be a secret for only you and me?”
While using his finger to make a big X on his chest, Jamie said, “Cross my heart and hope to die,” as he smiled widely.
Marge sighed. That would have to do for now. “Do you want to come home with me, Jamie?”
“Can I watch practice?”
Marge knew he meant the football, soccer or whatever team was on the field at the high school. “Yes, you can. I’ll drop you off. Be sure to come straight home afterwards.”
“I will, Mom, and I won’t tell anybody I was in the pool.”
As if he was trying to change the subject, Jamie said, “Tony Carter and his dad are going on a fishing trip.”
I hope they catch nothing but colds, Marge thought. She had heard that Carl Carter had told people that the only problem with Jamie was that “he didn’t have his head screwed on tight.” It was a remark that Marge neither forgave nor forgot. “That’s nice,” she managed to say.
As his mother drove, Jamie looked out the window at the passing houses. It’s a secret, he told himself. I won’t tell anybody I went swimming with Kerry. I won’t tell anybody I got my sneakers, pants and socks wet, and I won’t tell anybody about Big Guy who hit Kerry and pushed her in the pool. Because that’s a secret too.
11
The instant he pulled into his driveway, Doug Crowley became irritated. “I told Alan the lawn should be mowed by the time we got home. Look! The front is only half-finished.”
The consternation on June’s face matched her husband’s. Their avid tennis playing kept them in good shape. Both were on the short side. Doug was five feet, nine inches tall, with salt and pepper hair combed over to cover a growing bald spot. His even features always hinted at a scowl. June’s cap-length brown hair did not do enough to soften her narrow lips and frequent
