When Devils Sing(49)
“Andrea?” Isaiah called through the door. “It’s … Jordan.”
Isaiah was ready to give up when a light switched on inside the house. The curtains parted, revealing one of Andrea’s bright blue eyes, followed by the click of a lock. The front door opened, with Andrea hovering in the doorway, clad in stained, oversize pajamas.
“Afternoon,” Andrea said, her gaze going past Isaiah to the empty front yard beyond, then back to him. “Thank you for comin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Isaiah flashed his winning smile, hoping it would put Andrea at ease, if only a little bit. “Thank you for having me.”
“Come on in.” Andrea shuffled backward in torn slippers, leaving the doorway open.
Isaiah gave one last glance behind him, then stepped into Andrea Sumter’s home. It looked on the inside much like it did on the outside. A small, cramped place, with mismatched furniture and dim lighting. The smell of cigarettes and stale air clung to his skin.
Andrea led him to the cluttered dining table, clearing away stacks of magazines and mail. “Can I get ya anything?”
“Water would be great,” Isaiah said, taking a seat in a rickety wicker chair. While glass clanked in the adjoining kitchen, he took note of the chaos that surrounded him. Isaiah wasn’t one to judge, but he wondered if Andrea’s home had always looked this way, or if it was due to her fresh grief.
A moment later, Andrea sat a glass of water before Isaiah, joining him at the table. She shifted uncomfortably in the chair, wringing her hands in her lap. “How does this sorta thing go?”
“Well,” Isaiah began, as he pulled his notepad and tape recorder from his bag, setting them neatly on the table. He recited the lie he’d practiced. “As I mentioned before, I’m writing this article on Dawson and how a town treats a tragedy. It’s a wide-scope look at small-town life. Your perspective is, of course, the most important part of the story.”
Andrea’s gaze lingered on the tape recorder. “And that?”
Isaiah held it up for her to better see. “With your permission, I’d like to record our conversation. That way, nothing gets lost in translation in the article.”
Andrea gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “All right, then.”
With a polite smile, Isaiah clicked a button on the recorder, placing it between them. “Where would you like to start?”
Andrea was quiet for a long time, then she looked around her home, grimacing. “Dawson was the one who cleaned around here,” she said. “I’ve never been one for it, especially with workin’ nights and all. But he always took care of it.”
“He sounds like a wonderful son,” Isaiah said softly.
Andrea nodded. “He was the man of the house, ever since he was little, after his daddy and I split. Never acted up or anythin’—never did nothin’ wrong. He was the perfect child, and I mean that. It’s why this whole…” Her hand went to her face, hovering over her trembling chin. “It’s why none of this makes sense. I know my baby boy didn’t drown. Not like that—not like how they said.”
Isaiah took notice of the empty liquor bottles lining the kitchen counter. “So Dawson didn’t drink?”
“Never,” Andrea insisted. “He knew better because of me. Or, at least, that’s how it used to be. We’ve always been close. But he started pushin’ me away. Ever since he got that caddy job at Lake Clearwater.”
“What changed exactly?” Isaiah asked.
Fixing him with a sorrowful gaze, Andrea said, “Everythin’.”
Isaiah let a beat pass between them. “What do you think happened at Lake Clearwater that changed him?”
“I think workin’ up there showed Dawson the potential of something more.” Andrea gestured around the trailer. “Of a life better than anything I could ever give him. He was hungry like that. I think he saw Lake Clearwater as a ladder he could climb. Someway, somehow he was gonna get out. In a sense, I supposed he did. He didn’t need me anymore. Even moved out a month ago, all on his own.”
“And how exactly did he do that?” Isaiah asked sympathetically. He was reminded, once more, of the beautiful life his father had given him, and how easily it could all be taken away.
Andrea shifted uncomfortably in the chair, the wicker stretching and cracking beneath her. “Off the record?”
Isaiah reached for the tape recorder between them, pausing it with a click. “Go ahead.”
“Dawson made sure not to repeat my mistakes in life, but he couldn’t escape one of them,” Andrea said slowly. “Just like I once did, he fell for the wrong man. He was seeing him in secret because he’s a powerful man in Lake Clearwater. A man with a wife and children, and a reputation that I’m sure he’d do anything to protect.”
The still, recycled air of the law firm. The ceiling fan whirring overhead. A phone trilling.
Andrea Sumter’s voice. I know about you and my son.
Every muscle in Isaiah’s body tensed. He knew the answer before he asked the question. “Who’s the man?”
“Casey Leblanc.”
SECRETS OF THE SOUTH
SEASON 4: EPISODE 2
(INTRO THEME SONG)
ANDREA SUMTER, CARRION RESIDENT: My granmama used to have a sayin’ about this town. When I would act up as a little girl, she’d tell me, “You best be careful now. You were born in Carrion, which means you’re one toe closer to hell than everyone else. The devil ain’t ever far.”