The Summer Man

Chapter THIRTY-TWO





A few days after the tragedies, Port Isley’s mayor called an impromptu town meeting at the community center. He welcomed representatives from churches and other places of worship and several business owners to his panel of speakers, scheduling the meeting for six o’clock. When it became obvious that the community center, which could easily seat a town basketball game, wasn’t going to hold half of the people who’d turned out, Poppy moved everyone to the fairgrounds, suggesting that they all grab some food and reconvene at eight somewhere big enough to accommodate them. No one objected, and word spread.

Better than a thousand people were there by eight, and more continued to arrive. Someone had thought to bring candles, boxes of them, and when Poppy spoke to them about their losses, flickers of light spread across the open field, mostly lost in the gold of the setting sun. People wanted to talk. Dozens of men and women from those who’d gathered stepped up to the stage to ask for help, to say a few words, to share information. A man was missing: Herb Winchell, middle-aged, receding light hair; a slightly hysterical wife held up his picture. Neither Jaden Berney nor Max Reeder had been found, but searches were starting up again, independent of the PIPD or the county. Someone had started a fund for Georgia Duray, a young, pregnant widow whose husband had died in a fall down the stairs; the bank was accepting donations in her name, and there were similar funds set up for the families of the officers and deputies who’d died. The line of people seemed to keep growing, and Poppy stood back and watched, occasionally speaking to his assistant, having him write down reminders of things that needed to be done.

Henry Dawes had stopped by to talk earlier that afternoon, and they’d made some decisions. The council needed to be reformed, a new police chief elected—the remnant of the PIPD was limping along with help from a similarly traumatized county sheriff’s office and some mediators from the state, but they weren’t prepared for any more emergencies, not as things stood.

Poppy saw and spoke to a lot of people that night. He didn’t know if Bob Sayers was among those gathered—he wasn’t, in fact—but he thought of the old reporter often as the daylight faded, as the candles re-created the fairgrounds in curving lines of light and more people came, joining a community that they hadn’t known they’d needed. What Bob had said, about doing something instead of talking about it. It was nearly fall, the hot weather having peaked, and the summer people were drifting away, many of those who promised to be back not meaning it, afraid of how they’d felt there, afraid of the things they’d done or thought of doing, but Poppy wasn’t worried. Port Isley would take a hit, but the seasons would change, as always, and summer would come around again.

The meeting lasted until well after midnight. Poppy stayed until the end.





Tommy was on Hemet Nesingwary’s latest hunting quest when his mother called up the stairs. The tone of her voice told him that it was time for the talk, which he’d been expecting. School was due to start in a couple of weeks, and his mother had been conspicuously silent about when they were going to leave. Tommy, who’d been extremely good since that night he and Jeff had gone to the carnival, wasn’t sure what to expect.

He left Warcraft running and headed down the stairs, to where his mother and Aunt Karen and John Hanover all waited in the living room, John’s presence hinting at the direction things were going to take. He thought of Jeff, who’d been as frightened and sick as he had after what had happened at the fun house. Tommy thought that he wouldn’t mind staying, maybe. Karen wanted it, no doubt, and John had been around a lot lately and had been cool, not really a dick at all. Tommy had been so freaked after the carnival that John’s gentle, steadying presence was kind of nice. He was always polite, and super nice to his mother, not in a fakey way. Jeff was a year older than Tommy, but that wasn’t a big deal, here; they hung out almost every day now, and he could go here or go to a school where he didn’t know anyone, just to be an hour closer to his father and Vanessa.

Maybe they want my opinion, he thought, but looked at their faces and saw that it was already decided, one way or the other. They all looked so serious, afraid at how he would react to whatever they wanted to say.

“Tommy,” his mother said, and glanced at John, who looked nervous, and Tommy waited, thinking of what he’d promised so that he could survive in the fun house, about being good to his mother. No matter what she said, he would try to accept it with grace and good humor. He would try to make her proud.