Page 10 of Summer After Summer

There’s a trace of a blush on Charlotte’s cheeks. “Ann’s a lawyer too, Father. She works with him. They’re partners. And there were a lot of details to work out.”

I’m intrigued. It’s so rare to see Charlotte discomfited. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“And the new owner, of course,” William says, rocking on his heels. “A rich man from London. Though I hear he’s American. He bought the place sight unseen; can you believe it?”

A lump forms in my throat. “Fred. You invited him?”

He rattles the ice around in his glass. “Who’s Fred?”

“Mr. Webb. The man who bought the house.”

“Ah yes, that’s right. Some bigwig in shipping, they tell me. Or is it a cruise line?”

“Shipping,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Made a fortune, I understand. And bought this place, like I said, sight unseen.” William shakes his head at the marvel of it.

“He has seen it.”

“The virtual tour, you mean. They came and filmed that one day, and it took hours. I had to shoo them out eventually, but then they insisted on taking drone shots, flying that little buzzing thing up there over the house. What for, I can’t imagine.”

I finish my drink in one long gulp. I can’t tell whether he’s deliberately misunderstanding me or not. It’s possible he’s forgotten all about Fred. His daughters’ personal lives aren’t the sort of thing he keeps track of so long as the G&Ts flow nicely at five PM, and dinner is on the table promptly at eight.

“He’s really coming to the party?” I say to Charlotte, pulling her aside as William walks out into the lawn to stretch his legs.

“Father insisted on inviting him.”

“You could’ve warned me. You could’ve warned me about all of it.”

“You’re not still carrying a torch for him are you?” Charlotte’s tone is incredulous, but her eyes are filled with curiosity. “After all these years?”

“It’s not ‘all these years,’” I say, then bite back the rest of my answer.

It’s been five.

CHAPTER FOUR

June 2003

I do go back to the beach the next day. After an afternoon of hanging with Ash, but thinking about Fred, it feels like I don’t have a choice. Like my legs would’ve taken me there even if I was trying to go somewhere else. It’s a crush, I think, but I’m okay with that. I haven’t had a proper crush in years, not since I moved to an all-girls school in ninth grade that let me have the afternoons off to play tennis.

This time, I leave Ash behind with an excuse about having to run an errand that I’m not sure she believes, and I bring enough money to rent a deck chair and an umbrella—a twenty I stole from my father’s wallet because I don’t get my first paycheck until next week.

I’m nervous as I chain my old ten-speed to a wooden fence post, then scramble over the dunes. I don’t know how to do this—talk to a boy—and now I’m regretting not bringing Ash along to do the talking for me. She can be a lot sometimes, but that’s probably what’s needed.

But Ash isn’t here, so I pull the belt on my beach coverup tighter and gather up my courage. Under the coverup is a tankini two-piece in a light blue color that makes my tan pop and emphasizes my strength in a good way.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail, then walk to the umbrella station. Fred’s standing with the other guys, the ones who used to torture me in middle school. They’re horsing around the way guys do, slapping asses and punching shoulders.

I stand there, frozen, a lump in my throat. I should go, I think. He hasn’t seen me yet.

Then Fred looks up and gives me that slow smile I remember from yesterday, and my nerves travel from my stomach to my fingertips. I try hard not to stare at him, but I want to memorize his face so when I’m thinking about him before I go to sleep, I get the details right. Last night, I wasn’t sure I remembered the freckles properly, or the exact color of his eyes. But now I see them, plain as day—six freckles in a straight line across his nose, and his eyes really are the same color as the ocean.

He takes a couple of quick steps toward me. “Hey, Local. You came back.”

“I did.” I jut out my hip in a way I’ve seen Ash do, and something pops. Ouch. “I even brought some money this time.”

“I can’t be bought.”

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