The Summer That Made Us

  There was no question in Krista’s mind she deserved to go to prison for the bad things she’d done. She and Rick stole, did drugs and sometimes sold them; she prostituted herself for money and kept downright evil company. But she never owned a gun and was opposed to doing bodily harm to anyone. One could argue that selling drugs was doing bodily harm but they only sold to addicts and never tried to coax any pure-blooded youngster into trying drugs. They were too hard up for money to give away drugs!

  When she realized Rick had used a gun to rob a gas station she panicked and tried to leave him. He responded by finding her and beating her senseless in the bedroom of a house while there was a party going on. A bunch of people were right outside the door and could hear his fists crunching into her face and body. They heard her screaming, heard her begging. When she found out Rick had actually shot a man, who later died, in another robbery, just the fact that she showed fear and remorse caused him to beat her again.

  A few months later they stopped at an all-night gas-and-convenience store for beer and cigarettes. Rick must have made a spontaneous decision to rob the place. The store was empty but for Rick and Krista and she was looking at magazines. She heard Rick’s voice. “I’ll have all the money in the till, Bud.”

  There was silence for a second. “Now!” Rick said. Then he called out to her. “Got that beer, babe?”

  Next, Krista heard a loud shout and the sounds of a struggle. She ran around the aisle and saw that Rick and an overweight, middle-aged clerk were struggling over the counter. The gun, which had been knocked out of Rick’s hand, lay at Krista’s feet. The clerk had a grip on Rick’s leather jacket. Rick was straining to break free as Krista bent to pick up the gun. Rick tore himself loose; Krista trained the gun on the clerk. And froze.

  “Shoot him, baby. Then we’ll go.”

  She stood stricken. Paralyzed.

  “If you don’t shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll shoot you. Let’s do it, Krista.”

  Shoot him? It was bad enough all she had done. Looking back on it, she realized she could have gotten away from him when she first knew how dangerous he was, but at the time she didn’t understand that. She was afraid of him, afraid he’d find her and kill her. At that time, chemically impaired and battered and all of seventeen, she saw no way out. One thing she did know for absolute sure, and even time and sobriety and knowledge would never change the fact, was that at the time of that holdup she had no way out. If she didn’t follow his orders he was going to kill her.

  Rick made an exasperated grunt and moved toward her. She pointed the gun at Rick and fired. The force blew Rick backward, crashing through a floor display of paperbacks, onto the floor. Her vision cleared and she saw him lying there in a rapidly growing dark red puddle. Not moving at all. Her first clear, logical thought was that the bad part of her life was finally over. It felt so good.

  “Call the police,” she told the clerk. Then she waited for them to come and get her. Believing, all the while, that her mom or grandpa or Aunt Lou or someone would help her explain this huge misunderstanding and she would gladly go home and live a quiet and law-abiding life.

  The facts slowly became self-evident. Grandpa Berkey had no influence in California and his hard line against criminals prevented him from paying for a defense attorney, it would seem. Krista got a not-very-talented public defender. The abuse Krista suffered at the hands of Rick was inadmissible and she was an accomplice/accessory in all the crimes he had committed, all of which she helped the police determine. Including the armed robbery while she sat in the car with no knowledge he even owned a gun. Her criminal history since the age of fourteen was all admissible, of course. It gave her the appearance of something a bit more dangerous than a misunderstood teenager. She became the Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde. They kicked her ass and took her name. She got two life sentences plus the armed robbery convictions.

  Her grandfather the judge wrote her a very long, very moralistic letter in his shaky old hand and advised her that she had no grounds for appeal in his opinion. He had obviously followed the case but wouldn’t help. He died shortly thereafter. Grandma and Aunt Lou never wrote. Krista heard from her mother when she finally got medical help and rose out of her depression. Jo was devastated by what had happened to her children.

  Krista wished uselessly and restlessly for some kind of reprieve, but never really believed it possible. She did finally get some ritzy female lawyer from a big-deal law firm to handle her case pro bono, but it was something she saw as the futile crust of bread, a little charity work for a rich broad, the Gospel Mission of law. Every lifer had a lawyer. Who knew if they could do anything? Krista never contacted her or asked about her progress.

  There sat Krista for almost twenty-three years, not even eligible for parole when Charles Manson was. So imagine her surprise when her hoity-toity lady lawyer appeared one day to tell her that she had petitioned the California Supreme Court and they agreed to hear Krista’s case, which could finally include the battery in her defense. Rather than scheduling a costly trial, Krista’s sentence was miraculously reduced, and she was suddenly eligible for parole. The board approved her release and relocation to Lake Waseka, Minnesota. In May 2016.

  * * *

  Jake McAllister put in much longer hours than necessary, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to walk the grounds of the lodge, or even take a walk along the lake for a breath of fresh air and to stretch his legs. He heard someone crying and calling out to God and he ducked behind a tree. It was by complete coincidence that he’d come upon her. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned up against a tree where Krista couldn’t see him. He had a lump in his throat as he listened to this emotional outpouring.

  He went quickly and quietly back to the lodge, feeling pretty good about his day.

  * * *

  Krista suspected it was getting close to dinnertime when she finally left that rope swing, her eyes dry and feeling lighter, freer. She couldn’t wait to tell Charley and Meg she had a job. She couldn’t wait to call Patricia Driver and give her Jake McAllister’s number. Then her mother...she’d call her mother.

  She could hear Meg and Charley talking in the kitchen when she walked across the porch. Meg was sitting on the stool at the breakfast bar while Charley was across from her, tearing up clean lettuce for a salad.

  “Hey,” Krista said. “You’re not going to believe this. I got a job!”

  “At the lodge?” Charley asked, eyes wide.

  “It’s the only place I went. I told the manager I’d take anything but he’s going to give me a chance to waitress.”

  “Oh, my God, I thought it was going to be a challenge,” Meg said. “Guess you’ve got that handled! First place you looked!”

  “That was easy,” Charley said. “But you look a little... Are you disappointed? Was it terrible?”

  “It was very good,” Krista said. “I told the truth, and he gave me a job. And then on my way home it just... It hit me. The road to a waitress job has been a long one. I’m wrung out.”

  “Too tired to celebrate?” Charley asked. “Because I’m prepared.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of sparkling cider. She pushed aside her salad makings and put out three glasses. “Selfishly, I’m glad it’s still just the three of us. We’ll drink it out of champagne glasses. But I’m warning you both—I’m not sticking to this diet. After we’ve toasted the new start, I’m hitting the wine.”

  “You do what you gotta do,” Krista said. She sat at the counter next to Meg, tired to the bone.

  “Gimme a second,” Charley said, excusing herself from the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a white box tied with a red bow. She put it on the counter and poured their cider.

  “Now what have you done?” Krista asked.

  “I thought it would take a while for you to get a job but I was determined to be ready. I’m glad I didn?
??t wait. It was killing me just waiting this long. Krista, here’s to you. You’re the bravest person I know and I’m proud of you.”

  “Here, here,” Meg said. “Me, too.”

  “I didn’t expect a party,” Krista said. “That’s really optimistic of you. Presents and everything. I hope it’s more underwear.”

  “It’s not underwear,” Charley said, pushing the box toward her.

  Krista lifted the lid, parted the tissue paper and looked at a rectangular metal folder. She’d seen these before. Some inmates had these or similar tablets, though they weren’t allowed to hook up to the internet. Even knowing what it was she asked, “What is it?”

  “It’s called a Surface,” Charley said. “For your writing. And your research.”

  “I’ve seen these,” she said softly, lifting it out of the box.

  “It’s all charged,” Charley said. “You give yourself a password and then write your brains out and no one can read it but you.”

  Krista slowly lifted the top to look at a flat, black screen and the keyboard below. Charley reached across the breakfast bar and pressed a button on top and it came to life.

  “I can’t believe you’d do this for me,” Krista said.

  “I did it for all of us.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was almost humorous, the amount of pride Krista felt putting on her waitress uniform. It was a simple pair of khaki shorts and a dark green knit shirt, but it was a costume that put her in the world of the working class. She didn’t get an extra set; every penny counted. She laundered it every evening and even though it was polyester and needed no ironing, she touched it up with a hot steam iron. Her creases were sharp and her seams flat. She was up at four thirty a.m. to get to work by five thirty. And she had warm smiles for even the earliest of customers.

  Of course, one of the first people in for breakfast every day was Jake McAllister. She would never complain about her hours after taking note of his. He was there at least twelve hours a day, sometimes more. “But this isn’t exactly my work schedule, Krista,” he said in good humor. “I live at the lodge, it’s that simple. I was brought in from a resort back East in the Catskills to help the owner get this place in shape. Seemed it needed a little freshening up. My specialty is sprucing up or shutting down a resort. It requires some moving.”

  “Your family must hate it,” she observed.

  “I’m divorced—my son’s in the Army, my daughter is in college. Since I don’t get to see that much of them, I might as well enjoy my work.”

  Krista settled into a routine, relieved by how quickly she was adjusting to being out of prison. There were no nightmares or panic attacks. She wanted to boast about opening a bank account; she wanted to flash her shiny new credit card. She wanted to sing about how great it felt to write her mom a check, to empty the change out of her pockets every afternoon and watch it fill up the mason jar on her dresser—and be safe there. Untouched. In prison, not even your toothbrush was safe. Her small change and minimum wage salary was nothing compared to the money Charley must have, but to Krista it was a personal fortune. She might as well be a brain surgeon, she felt so important.

  One week of work and the job came easy to her. Her training was brief and simple and she was on her own in no time. The staff, as Jake had promised, were friendly and accessible. They seemed not to know she was an ex-con. She said she’d just returned to Minnesota to spend the summer with cousins after living in California for twenty-three years; she liked it here and thought she might stay on since her mother wasn’t far away. When asked what she’d done in California, she answered, “Nothing as interesting as this,” as if to imply her life was dull beyond imagination. Then she deftly turned the subject back to them. People were universally predictable; when offered a chance to talk about themselves, they invariably took it.

  Jo rode the bus to Brainerd and came to the lake house for one day and one night and it was the greatest treat Krista could remember having. Jo brought homemade cinnamon rolls and carried one little overnight bag that must have been thirty years old. The four of them talked over coffee, remembering past summers at the lake. When it was time for lunch Jo took up her place in the kitchen beside Charley. “Tell me what to do,” she said, and Krista had a clear memory of Aunt Lou telling Jo exactly what she wanted done in the kitchen and Jo following instructions. “I’ve been so lazy, living alone all these years. I’m bad about grabbing something fast and easy on the way home from work.”

  “It’s all for me,” Meg said. “Charley’s never going to make me believe she was so fussy about her diet before. I visited her, remember.”

  “I’ve always been fussy,” Charley insisted. “How do you think I keep this youthful figure?”

  “By being the one member of this family with a metabolism that can whip through chili dogs and cheesecake!” Meg said. “Anyone but Charley would gain fifty pounds in a year.”

  “Lord knows I can’t get by with that,” Jo said.

  “I was always on the run a lot,” Charley said.

  Krista was in heaven. She couldn’t believe how natural it was, the four of them, talking and laughing and then being quiet together, as though no time had passed. When Meg rested in the afternoon, Krista and Jo went for a walk and ended up on the fringes of the lodge. Jo didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to invade that space. “It’s where you work, Krista. Keep it to yourself for a while. I can tell you’re happy there.”

  “I’m happy here,” she said. “Just to be able to walk around the lake, to earn a little money, to be with friends.”

  “After all that’s passed, you’re not bitter,” Jo said.

  “I am bitter,” Krista said. “There’s a dark place deep inside me where the bitterness lives. I just won’t let it come out of that cave I keep it in. I’m afraid it would keep me from smelling the lake, feeling Charley’s fancy linens, eating the food she makes to try to keep Meg alive.”

  Jo touched her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t let it eat a hole in you,” she said.

  “I won’t. I’m too stubborn for that.”

  Jo laughed softly. “I never thought I’d be grateful for your stubbornness.”

  Krista showed Jo her new sleek, small and efficient computer and told her she’d been writing, journaling, trying to put all the pieces together. “I want to know what became of us all,” she admitted.

  “Well, when you do, be sure to let me know, will you?” Jo said with a laugh.

  Of course Krista didn’t do any writing while her mother was visiting, but there was a moment that stuck with her, that she planned to look at more closely later, when her mind was clear. It was bedtime. Krista had a double bed in her room and Charley was in the master bedroom Jo and Lou had shared for so many years while the kids were little. Charley said Krista and Jo should take it—share that big king-size bed. It was completely refurnished, of course; the mattress was new. But Jo said, “No. I think I’ll just take the couch.”

  “Oh, Ma, it brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Krista said.

  “It’s okay,” Jo said, not exactly answering. “You take your bed as usual. I’m used to sleeping alone.”

  “I know,” Krista said. “The boathouse! Charley had it cleaned, prettied up and furnished with two double beds. We can hear the water lapping underneath.”

  Jo shuddered slightly; it was unmistakable. But she smiled and said, “Oh, sweetheart, I’d just pee all night. I have an idea! Let’s bundle up our pillows and blankets and sleep on the porch!”

  Krista hesitated, wondering what had just happened. Then she said, “Sure. I have to get up really early.”

  “That’s perfect,” Jo said. “I’ve got the early bus home and I’m going straight to work. But I hope to be back next week!”

  She put the incident from her mind because she couldn’t help grieving the fact that
it would be at least a week until she saw her mother again. For the first time since she started working at the lodge, she had a hard time getting excited about going to work. She tried to slap on that happy smile for the carefree summer people but it was harder than usual. Just the idea that her mother wouldn’t be at the cabin when she got home put her in a quiet mood. She thought maybe if she wrote about it in the afternoon it might put things into perspective. She didn’t want to waste the happiness of that time they had together by dreading their parting. She began to concentrate on remembering all the details.

  She was on her way around the lake when she saw Jake walking toward her, three ducks following him. The sight made her laugh.

  “There’s that smile,” he said. He pulled a couple of pellets out of his pocket and tossed them to the ducks. “Was it my imagination or were you a little down in the dumps today?”

  She bristled slightly, though she wasn’t sure why she should. It had been obvious, after all. “Keeping a close eye on me in case I snap, turn dangerous or something?”

  “I keep a close eye on everyone, Krista,” he said. He handed her a fistful of pellets for the ducks. “I have an employee whose husband is disabled and he’s been known to have some hard nights. I have a man who got hurt on the job a few weeks ago and I think he’s back at work a little too soon. He might’ve been worried that taking time off made him look lazy. And I have a valet who actually is lazy—but he’s young and it’s time he learned you have to work for a living. One of the women who works here has not one but two special-needs kids at home. I can tell a lot about how they’re doing from her moods.”

  “Well, don’t I feel stupid,” she said.

  He laughed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid—I meant to make you feel less suspicious.”

  “My mother visited for a day and a night. She had to leave this morning—she has a full-time job back in Saint Paul. I haven’t seen very much of my mother over the years. I was a little bummed. I hated to say goodbye again.”