Page 85 of Summer After Summer

I can’t tell you what we do every day. The days bleed into one another, one overlapping the next. We explore more—each other and Long Island. My rib repairs itself, and I get back on court, slowly at first, Matt taking it easy on me for the first time ever. Fred and I talk a lot about the future, but not the immediate one—what will happen when Fred and I go back to school in the fall. Instead, we dance around the topic, not quite going back to our old habit of detailed plans, more talking about places we want to go, things we want to see together.

I never end up reading the card my mother gave me for my birthday. Instead, I prop it on my vanity, so her handwriting greets me every morning. I’m not sure why I avoid the inside, only it feels like the last time I’ll ever hear from her, and I want to postpone that day as long as I can.

And now it’s late August. The days are getting shorter, imperceptibly at first, but our time out by the summer house each night is more in the dark than twilight. It’s colder too. We’ve taken to bringing a blanket and wrapping ourselves in it, our lovemaking creating the heat we need to stay out there as late as we want. We don’t talk about what the colder weather means, just push past it, like our breath that appears in a mist as the night encroaches, then disappears in an instant. Tomorrow, we’re both thinking. Tomorrow we’ll talk about the fall.

The weekend before Labor Day I interrupt a tense conversation between Aunt Tracy, my father, and Charlotte. Something about the housing market and some bad investments my father made. This isn’t the first time we’ve had issues with money, but it was always shrugged off before. This time, I can tell from Tracy’s tone, and even Charlotte’s, it’s more serious.

“Olivia, can you come in here?” Tracy asks.

I walk into William’s study feeling nervous. He hasn’t said that much to me about Fred, but I can tell he disapproves. It’s nothing he says—more what he doesn’t. How he looks at Fred sometimes at the dinner table like he’s confused that he’s still around.

“What’s up?”

“We wanted to talk to you,” Tracy says.

“What about?”

“This fall. And whether you can get an additional scholarship for school,” Charlotte says, then mouths, “Sorry.”

I sit down slowly in one of the chairs in front of William’s desk. I’m already on a full sports scholarship, but it doesn’t cover a lot of my expenses. Rent, books, food, travel for competitions … these are all extras I’ve paid for in part through work-study but have mostly been covered by William. “There’s nothing more I can get. Not now.”

William’s mouth turns down, and for once he seems focused. “I’m sorry, dear, but there isn’t any money for school.”

I feel sick and confused. “What do you mean?”

“Surely,” Tracy says, “you’ve been following the news?”

I haven’t. Some of the big stories have filtered through: the Beijing Olympics, Obama’s run for the White House, but mostly we were in our bubble. Clearly, I should’ve been paying attention.

“What’s going on?”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “The housing crisis? The markets?”

“Okay.”

“The point is, dear,” Aunt Tracy says gently, “your father’s in a bit of a financial crunch, and we’re going to have to retrench.”

“Retrench?”

“Like in a war.”

“We’re at war?”

“It’s an expression, Olivia,” Charlotte says. “Keep up.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Can you defer?” Aunt Tracy asks. “For a year while we sort this out?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should call your school. Your coach. See if there’s something …”

I bite my lip. I want to cry. All the plans I’ve been building in my head, the path … this isn’t how this is supposed to go. “I’ll turn pro.”

“What?” my father says.

“I’ll join the tour … I can get paid sponsorships then. Make some money. I won’t be a burden.”

---