A Different Kind Of Summer

They were at the summerhouse on the lake. Every year her father explained to her about the old well.

“You mustn’t climb up there or remove the cover. If you fall in, Sylvie, you can never, ever get out.”

The rounded, grey stones were surrounded by high weeds and briars. Once, she had seen a long black-silver snake slither around the base. Sylvie stayed far away from the well. This summer, Sylvie’s mother would be commuting. She explained to her five year old daughter commuters take the train into the city to work during the week and return at the weekend to be with their cherished, delightful daughters. Sylvie’s lower lip trembled.

During the time they spent at the lake her father was forever writing. In years past, she and her mother had gone for hikes, picnicked in the woods and paddled around the lake. On rainy days, they baked spice cookies, blueberry cream scones and played cards and board games. This year Sylvie had brought tons of books to read, pads of paper, colored pencils and crayons to “make art happen” as her father said - still she was alone most of the time. There were no other children to play with, and even though her father walked with her twice a day, “like the family dog” as she’d heard her mother say to him, Sylvie was most often listless and bored. It seemed that her parents filled most weekends with arguments this summer. Often after a fight her mother would search her out, grab her hand and run with Sylvie down the hill to the lake. There they would swim in their shorts and tee shirts. Lying on the dock, they deciphered cloud configurations until their clothes dried.

Several nights when she was in bed and supposed to be fast asleep she heard them shouting at each other – her mother crying in their room afterward.

Sylvie woke one Sunday night when her parents were having a louder than usual argument. She heard her mother scream, “No!” Afterward it was quiet. Sylvie was beginning to dream again when she heard the screen door on the porch slam. Still half asleep, she got up and peeked out the window. It was quite dark, but she thought she saw her father carrying something over his shoulder in the direction of the old well.

Sylvie rubbed at her eyes. When she looked again, her father was gone and she could hear him pacing back and forth on the porch below her. She went to the top of the stairs and called out, “Daddy?”

Her father walked to the foot of the stairs and said, “Right here, Sylvie.”

“Where’s Mommy?”

“Why, she’s fallen asleep on the porch sofa. You get back in bed and we’ll be right up.” Sylvie scuffed back to her room and crawled into her bed.

Sylvie Slept.