Page 66 of The Summer of ’98

Dad probably had an entire past of choices he wasn’t proud of. The man was sixty-five. He’d lived a long life, especially before he had children. But it was hard to imagine him screwing up because he’d always been my hero and I didn’t want to ask him about his past because right now, hearing his cock-ups would make me feel better about mine. And I didn’t deserve that at the moment.

Mom stepped onto the deck then, her eyes red-rimmed, and I felt so damn awful. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Ellie’s flight is at eleven in the morning. She needs to be there two hours earlier than that to check in. You’ll need to leave here at about seven. Understood?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“The tickets will be waiting at the gate for you, it’s all arranged.”

“Thank you.”

She turned around and left again without another word.

“She’ll be okay,” Dad said when we could no longer hear her footsteps in the kitchen. “She’s just hurting and disappointed. Give her some time.”

“I don’t blame her. She has every right to be pissed off.”

Dad wore a small smile. “That’s right. She does.”

Ellie

It was dark when I woke up from a nap, one I hadn’t intended to take but must have needed. Even after hours of sleep, I still felt fatigued, my eyes swollen and sore and my head hammering. Crying never did me any favors—it was exhausting, physically and mentally. Instead of getting up to find Leroy, I lay there and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how devastated Eleanor looked when we told her the news. Even worse still when I told her that I wasn’t going to keep it.

It was obvious that she wanted to be a grandmother but the fact that she didn’t voice that or berate me or attempt to change my mind made me feel even worse. She knew what it meant to be a woman who’d had to fight for her rights. She might have understood me better than anyone. That didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting her—that thought alone threatened to push me over the edge of the pit I’d just barely climbed out of while I slept.

There was a tap on the door, and I lifted my head to see Leroy hovering at the entrance. I sat up and tried to smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not sure.”

That seemed to be an acceptable answer because he didn’t press me to elaborate. “Mom arranged the flight home. We have to be out of here at seven in the morning.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You hungry?”

“Not really,” I said, sitting up beside him. “I don’t have much of an appetite right now. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. There’s a plate for you in the fridge that I can heat up when you get hungry.”

“Would it be rude if I hung out in here for the rest of the night?”

Leroy slowly shook his head, as if he was unsure of his own answer. “Everyone is sort of scarce at the moment. No idea where Mom is. Dad is out at a friend’s place. Noah went to see Cass. You don’t have to hide out if you’re worried about bumping into people.”

“No, I’m just tired,” I lied. “I think I’ll sleep some more. After I pack.”

“Want a hand?”

“Sure.”

Leroy and I went through the drawers and we folded clothes in silence. His hands had a slight tremble that I noticed whenever he lowered something into my suitcase. The tension between us was killing me; it felt so unnatural, like neither of us knew how to behave.

“I haven’t even called Momma,” I said, an immediate knot of nerves forming in my stomach at the thought of having that conversation. “She’s going to want to know what happened, but I don’t think I should tell her over the phone.”

“It could give her time to swallow the news,” he suggested. “You know, give her time to get over that initial reaction before you have to see each other.”

“She’s going to lose it,” I said, feeling nauseated.

“I wish I could be there, Els. I feel like I should be there.”

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