Page 67 of Summer After Summer

“What? No. Not directly anyway.”

“It must be discomfiting to have him back here. And for him to be buying the house.”

I slather mayo on all four pieces of bread, then follow it up with grain mustard. “Yes, but that’s not why I’m asking.”

“Everyone’s unhappy sometimes.” Tracy pulls a bowl toward her, oiling it quickly and loading the dough into it.

I add the insides to the sandwiches and put the top on. I cut them in two on the diagonal. I put Tracy’s on a plate and don’t even bother with one for me. I bite into it, almost groaning in pleasure. It’s been way too many hours since I ate anything.

“It’s not good to dig around in the past,” Tracy says. “You never know what you might turn up.”

“You know something.”

“I don’t. I’m speaking generally.” She sprinkles cornmeal over the top of the dough and makes two slashes in it. Then she covers it with a tea towel. “What happens between two people is between them.” Tracy crosses the kitchen and puts her arms around me. She smells like yeast. “That sandwich looks great—thank you.”

“It’s pretty basic.”

“So, I’m basic. Kill me. Wait. Basic is bad, right?”

“Basic is bad. But also good.”

Tracy shakes her head. “I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If your mom were here, she’d be so proud of you.” She gives me one of those looks again, like it’s parent–teacher night, and I’ve won the top prize.

And maybe I have. Despite everything and the mess my life is in currently, I’ve had more good than bad, overall. Not right now, but most of the time. And, like Anne of Green Gables used to say, tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it yet.

Or something like that.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

June 2008

After we fled Fred’s uncle’s funeral, I sulked around Ash’s for a while, but I couldn’t settle. I felt guilty for leaving, and sad. Sad about my mother, sad about Fred. This wasn’t how I’d imagined the summer would go, and it was only two days in. Added to which, Fred and I had never agreed on a day to meet for lunch, and I wasn’t sure how to reach him, or even if I wanted to.

Fred had broken my heart. It had taken me a year to get over it, and every boy I’d met since then I compared to him. They never measured up, and after I while I couldn’t tell if that was because I’d built Fred up in my mind or if he really was the boy I was supposed to be with. It was a lot to live with. I’d finally reconciled myself to us not being together. I didn’t want to go and stir all that up again. I should leave the past where it belonged—buried in the hard ground like Fred’s uncle was about to be.

When Ash tells me I’m moping too much, I leave. My side’s aching, and it’s time for my next pill. I take it when I get home, then make myself some food in the kitchen and creep upstairs, avoiding the family because I don’t feel like engaging with that dynamic.

My room is hot, and after I eat, I feel sleepy, so I strip down to a tank top and my underwear and crawl into bed, settling under the sheet before the drugs pull me under.

I dream about Fred. About how we used to lie in the grass and kiss, our hands twined together, our legs entwined too. I remember the smell of the night, the ocean, the fresh-cut lawn that was a blanket beneath us. I remember the taste of Fred’s mouth and the feel of his hands and the want that built up between us until I felt like breaking my promise to myself that I wasn’t ready for the next step.

In this dream, I take that step. Fred’s hands undo the buttons on my shorts. His lips trail along my collarbone to my breast. His fingers run up my thighs slowly, making my back arch. I bite down on my lip as he slips a finger inside me, thrusting it deep. The pressure builds as he moves methodically, moving his thumb in a slow circle over my—

Clink!

The sound starts to pull me from sleep, but I don’t want this dream to end. I don’t want this feeling to end. I want, want, want—

Shit.

I sit up, my heart beating, my rib aching. My room is dark, with only the flashlight of the moon cutting across the ceiling as it angles in through the open window. There’s a noise outside, something metal clinking against itself, and then something else. A branch snapping, a soft curse.

I get out of bed and go to the window. Someone’s climbing up the drainpipe in dark clothing.

It’s Fred.

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