The tower was Mark’s idea, to begin with.
That summer the Enrights had moved from San Francisco to Rockport, and one of Mark’s first orders of business in their new town was to buy The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas from the Sandpiper Bookshop on Main.
Ms. Haynes from his old school had recommended the book.
“It might be a tad old for you,” she’d said, “but I think you’ll have fun.”
Which, of course, had only made Mark want to read it more. Sure, there were words he didn’t understand and long, winding passages he skipped, but the real meat of the story, and the illustration of three brave men declaring “One for all, and all for one!”—that had kept him riveted. It had first made him realize that he, John, and Pat could form their own brigade.
“We’re the trio,” he told John. “The three of us can face whatever missions come our way.”
Mark was full of vision—a painter of colors, words, and adventures alike.
“What missions are coming our way?” John asked, skeptical.
“We’ll make them up,” said Mark. “We can hold meetings in the tower. It can be our place, just ours.”
This part, at least, John understood. Their parents didn’t go up those spiral stairs—neither their silent, stolid father, nor their constantly angered mother. They remained below, brewing arguments and resentment. Things were especially bad in the summer, when the winds stilled and the house overheated. The summer made their father quieter and their mother angrier. Downstairs were shouts and scoldings, unpredictable outbursts.
The tower, though? It was untouchable.
“It could be our place,” John said, thinking it over. “Not a lot of made-up adventures, though, huh? We could do practical things.”
“Like what?”
“Study for tests.”
Mark made a face. “It’s summer.”
“Well, you can work on your paintings, and I can study.”
“But … it’s summer.”
“I’m studying ahead.”
John was full of plans—plenty of which he hadn’t shared with his brothers. Plans for how he would study so hard that one day he’d get out of this house, away from Mom’s raging and Dad’s indifference, away from the too-tiny streets and chattering mouths at Ramsey’s Diner. He’d leave here for the east coast, where he’d get into a prestigious Boston school. That’s why he studied, even though it was summer, and even though he was “only” twelve. You could never study too much, or too early. Not when you had a goal in mind.
When the brothers told Patrick about the plan, his eyes got wide as full moons.
“The tower’s creepy,” he said.
“We’ll make it nice,” said Mark, coaxingly. “It won’t be creepy if the three of us are there. Anyway, there are all those old books, from the last owner. Could be money hidden in some of them.”
Patrick considered before saying, “It would be a good place to spy. From the window, way up high?”
“Spy?” John scoffed. “There’s nothing to spy on in Rockport, Pat.”
“How would you know if you haven’t tried?”
With that challenge, Patrick took off from the hallway, ascending the spiral stairs in an all-stops-out run.
Mark and John shared a look, shaking their heads.
“Weird kid,” said John.
Mark agreed. Patrick was full of energy—often frenetic, zipping from one interest to the next. He had strange ideas and so much life, Mark sometimes worried there was too much of it, and that it would get him into trouble one day.
For now, though, he was just a kid. He deserved the chance to run upstairs, especially when that meant the Enright brothers would be together. They had to stick together, like Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. No one else in this town, parents included, were on their side. They were the trio, and if they had each other’s backs, they’d be okay.
“YOU GUYS!” Patrick called. “It’s still creepy, but … it’s kind of cool up here too.”
Mark and John exchanged a smirk and then they, too, set up the spiral stairs.
So the Trio’s Tower was occupied for the first time. It was an auspicious beginning for the Enright brothers. But, like many youthful beginnings, it reached a less optimistic end.
If, twenty-eight years later, you were to ask why …
You might not get any real answers.