Page 4 of Stolen Summer

My shift was almost over, and the last thing I needed was some asshole slapping my ass. I might have to accidentally drop a drink in his lap.

The last hour dragged, but I finally cashed out for the day, collecting my tips, not bothering to count them. It wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. But on the bright side, I hadn’t had to assault anyone today at work. I’d call that a win. Not that I made a habit of attacking the guests, but the diner was known to get a few rowdy assholes from time to time who needed to be reminded this wasn’t an establishment that came with a free show. The waitresses weren’t entertainment.

I stuffed the wad of cash into my front pockets, preferring to keep it on me until I got home. You never knew when someone more desperate than me would come by and try to swipe my bag on my way home.

“See you Friday,” I said to Mir who sat with her son in his usual reserved booth while she refilled the condiments. I set down a glass of chocolate milk in front of Ethan with a wink. Miranda’s son gave me a toothy grin before I unlaced my apron.

“Be careful,” she warned. “It drives me crazy you won’t take your car to work,” she added, raising her voice so I could hear her while I walked across the diner. Mir liked to mother me despite her only being ten years older. I didn’t mind, seeing as I grew up without one. It was nice to have someone worry about me even if unfounded.

I waved goodbye and stepped outside, the screen door slamming shut behind me.

Rubbing the back of my sweaty neck, I ventured into the scorching late afternoon sun, lifting my face to the sky. My skin, hair, and clothes reeked of grease, but after five years, it was like my signature scent. I still longed for a shower and the piece of Ann’s key lime pie I’d swiped from the kitchen even though it would be mush by the time I got home from the heat rising to unbearable temps.

The longer I walked in the sun, the more appealing a dip in the ocean became. Hell, what I wouldn’t give for a pool right now. We were one of the few houses on the Strand that didn’t have one. A fact I couldn’t fully wrap my head around. Not the not having a pool part but why everyone's house had one when the ocean lay only steps from our backyards.

The harbor bustled with activity and people, more so now that we were at the beginning of tourist season, which was really good for the shops and the town’s wallet but tiresome for me. All the extra people made me feel claustrophobic while I walked briskly down the harbor.

I had a twenty-minute walk, a hike I’d made a million times before. I didn’t mind the distance. It was the heat that made me regret leaving the car at home today. Well, there was also the little problem of the car being completely out of gas. This morning, I hadn’t had a dime to my name, and now my pockets were full of cash. Mostly ones, but it didn’t diminish how good it felt to have money, even a measly amount of cash that would be gone as quickly as I made it.

By the time I trekked over the rocky crest, my shirt was soaked and sticking to my back. Is it too much to hope for the sky to open with a downpour to offer relief from this unseasonal blistering heat?

I had a long, restless night ahead of me unless the ocean decided to bring relief. The breeze would help some. I’d either be sleeping with the windows and doors open tonight or I’d be sleeping under the stars.

Some nights it was better to crash on the beach than inside the house.

Growing up, I loved this place. I never cared how weathered the cedar shake on the exterior appeared, or that the white and blue trim was flecked and pealing. The toilet always ran. The washing machine only worked if you kicked it. There were more things wrong with this place than there were right.

And it showed.

The house looked sad as if the windows wept and the doors frowned. It had lost all its happiness.

I tried not to think how that might be a reflection of me. Had I lost all hope?

Dragging my feet up the few porch steps, I kicked my shoes off and stared at the front door. Did I want to go inside? Not really.

Not yet.

Once I stepped over the threshold, I couldn’t hide or pretend. The house was too small to force myself to believe it wasn’t in shambles, figuratively and metaphorically.

And honestly, I was too damn tired of playing that game.

I wasn’t okay.

My father wasn’t fine.

And my life was a fucking mess.

There. I admitted it. No need to spend money on a therapist when I could diagnose myself. I mean, I was going to school for psychology. Not sure if that made me the biggest joke.

Staying outside, I sat in the rickety wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to my grandma, a woman I saw very little of growing up. Like most things in our house, it was secondhand, but the shit was made to last. And nothing beat this view. When staring out into crystal blue waters with no end in sight, it mattered little how big or small the house behind me was.

I spooned a bite of melted key lime pie with the plastic utensil from the diner and watched the sun slowly sink into the horizon as I propped my aching feet up on the porch banister. The water frothed over the sandy shore, the waves ebbing and flowing in harmonious splashes. A pair of black skimmers yapped on the beach, looking for food, and tall beach grass blew in the wind.

I swallowed another bite of the sweet and tangy pie, my gaze drifting along the coast and eventually landing on the house next door. House wasn’t an appropriate word. Monstrosity was more fitting. It had to be one of the biggest, if not the biggest, on the Strand.

The Strand was a strip of homes along the ocean, and only a few original structures still stood, mine being one of them. Like the transitional colonial next door, the property had been sold, and the new owners tore down the smaller homes to be replaced with mansions worthy of being featured on TV.

A wealthy businessman bought the property next to ours five years ago. Roman Riley. I looked him up once out of curiosity. He had so many zeros behind his net worth I physically got sick. A finance guru who made millions on top of millions. He had three sons I’d never met, but I’d caught glimpses of them from my window and heard the stories circulating. I also didn’t put much stock into rumors seeing as I was constantly a topic of town gossip.

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