Page 13 of Summer After Summer

“Nah, he just gets super hyper when he eats them. Or at least he did when we were kids.”

He taps my breastbone lightly. His touch feels like it will leave a mark. “Right, local knowledge.”

I clear my throat. “That’s me.”

“Come say goodbye before you leave?”

“I have to bring back the chair, don’t I?”

He raises his shoulders. “Most people just abandon them.”

“Most people suck, then.”

“Nah, it’s the job. Enjoy the read.”

I smile. “Reread.”

“Ha! Later, Local.”

I think he might touch me again—I want him to—but instead, he gives me a small wave, then turns on his heel and skims back over the sand to where Dave is waiting.

Dave gives him the requisite punch in the arm while looking at me. I’m sure he’s placed me by now and is telling Fred all about my most embarrassing fifth-grade moments.

And in that moment I wish I was Lyra, that the spirit part of me was something detached that I could send after those who might do me harm or protect me like a charm.

CHAPTER FIVE

June 2023

Waking up in my bedroom on the third floor feels both familiar and awful.

I had too many gin and tonics last night, followed by too much wine at dinner after Charlotte pulled me aside and finally asked what happened with Wes. I didn’t give her the gory details, but she figured out the basics. I was here, wasn’t I, when I’d said I couldn’t be. She knew something was broken in my marriage.

How broken was too much to think about. So instead, I escaped to my stuffy room, threw both windows open to let in the night breeze, and turned on an old fan that rattled as it turned on its axis. Then I stripped down to my underwear and a tank top and tried to fall asleep, which, after a long night of sweating and a carousel of regrets, I finally did.

This morning, my heart hurts and I miss the large king bed I picked out with care, enjoying the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets Wes had insisted we splurge on in our perfectly temperature-controlled apartment. Even though this room is exactly as I left it, it’s not mine anymore. I am essentially homeless. And that’s hitting home like some terrible metaphor.

And then there’s Fred.

I’m going to see him tonight. Just the thought of it sets my body quivering in anticipation and dread. Fred. Fred. Fred. His name echoes through my thoughts like it always has. And it feels like it always will.

I turn on my side and squeeze my eyes shut against the intrusion. I don’t have to see Fred. I can skip out on the garden party. If I do, he might frown in that way he has when he’s disappointed, but I won’t be there to see it. My father will tut-tut about how I never think of anyone but myself, and Charlotte will get sick of having to answer for my whereabouts because she hates when the attention isn’t entirely on her.

I can live with all of that except for the fact that it would make me a coward. I still have a competitive edge in me somewhere. The fire I used to use to stare down my opponents on the tennis court and make them think they were going to lose before I even hit the first shot—that’s still buried in me.

So, I’m going. I’m going.

I just have to get out of bed first.

“Where do you want to start?” Aunt Tracy asks as we stand at the end of the second-floor hallway later that morning.

There are four paneled doors in front of us, like a choose-your-own-adventure of memories. My parents’ room, where William still sleeps; Sophie’s room, unused and as frozen in time as mine; Charlotte’s bedroom; and my mother’s day room.

The day room was her private sanctum, where she could retreat to read all night if she was having one of her bouts of insomnia, or to nap in the afternoon when she wasn’t feeling well. It was the first place we looked for her when we were kids and the last place I saw her before she died. I haven’t been inside in twenty years.

“I’m not ready for Mom’s room.”

Tracy hugs me from the side. “I don’t blame you. I don’t know if I could face it either.”

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