Page 5 of Rebel Summer

So far, avoiding conversation had gone swimmingly.

A trail of sweat left its mark down my neck as I drained half a bottle of Coke. For all the money this fancy resort probably made in one night, you’d think they’d be able to afford decent weather—or at least a temperature less muggy.

A warm hand smacked my right shoulder.

“Did you get him?” I asked, turning to smile at my lifelong childhood friend, Cat. The blonde bombshell, who looked absolutely stunning in her blush-pink midi dress, checked her hand before wiping the remnants of the mosquito on her cocktail napkin.

“He’s very dead.”

“Great. Ten hundred thousand million left to go.”

“For a math whiz, your calculation skills are questionable,” Cat said, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

“It’s a talent.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to quiet the uproar inside my head for a moment before glancing around at the wedding party still going strong.

After a staggering number of flight delays and re-routes—thank you, summer storm—I finally made it from Nashville to Florida late this afternoon. I caught the ferry to the island in the nick of time, throwing back a Tylenol and an energy drink.

With ten minutes to spare, I made it to the bride’s room at the Belacourt Resort just before the actual ceremony took place. My aunt stuffed me into a bridesmaid’s dress much too roomy in the chest before taking a disheartened look at my hair in all its glory. After thirty hours of airports and no sleep, it was a sight to say the least. Within seconds, a gaggle of women I didn’t know, bathed in floral perfume and tan lines, went to work giving life back to my limp brown curls and bland complexion.

Once deemed passable, I was hustled from the room to take my place in line to walk down the aisle.

My cousin, Mariah, hadn’t grown up on the island, but she had spent many summers here with me and my family. So, when she decided on Sunset Harbor as her preferred wedding venue, nobody blinked an eye. When she called, insisting that I be a bridesmaid, nobody blinked an eye. When she set her wedding date in June on our beautiful but hot and muggy island off the west coast of Florida…well, several of us were blinking our eyes to keep out the sweat—and swatting approximately ten thousand mosquitoes.

Combine all of that with the fact that it was, once again, campaign season with my local senator of a dad, and it was like all the money I’d invested in therapy since leaving the island had gone right out the window.

The twinkle lights at the top deck of the resort shimmered beautifully as I excused myself to grab another Coke, praying this time the caffeine would actually make a difference in my mental state.

“Ivy.” My dad, officially on the prowl for votes, grabbed my arm as I passed by and motioned around to the group of party-goers he was standing with. “Friends, this is my daughter, Ivy. She’s here visiting for the weekend. She’s a mathematics professor at Vanderbilt.”

Professor at Vanderbilt. That did sound nice. If I said the words enough times in a row, would it actually happen? Something to think about.

My dad wasn’t a tall, imposing man, for as much consternation his presence bestowed upon me. Maybe a few inches taller than my own five foot seven. He kept himself trim for the spotlight and, with the help of hair professionals, had a full head of brown locks. Though, unlike me, he worked hard to keep the curl out. His mid-fifties had been kind to him. Add to that a winning smile that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and he was a poster boy for a politician.

Having been well-trained for moments like these my entire life, it was almost comical how I could summon up my beam of a smile toward the men and their wives looking at me curiously.

“Hi! So nice to see you all.”

“Vanderbilt?” One of the men chuckled as he leaned across the circle to shake my hand. “No surprise your dad swayed you to Vandy. If you would have talked to me first, I would have put in a good word for you over at Auburn.”

My dad’s politician laugh was loud and boisterous, like he was telling some great joke at the same time he was selling you the latest and greatest carpet cleaner at your front door. A master salesman. But I could detect the false note in his laughter, and it always surprised me how nobody else seemed to notice.

He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me into his side. “I wouldn’t let her come back to visit if she came home wearing blue and orange.”

The group laughed, and I joined in. Painful memories of my family suddenly becoming the Brady Bunch for these occasions came flying into my mind. Deep breaths. My exit strategy would be employed in T-minus 60 hours.

I could handle it all for one weekend.

“You’re a little young to be a professor, right?” A blonde woman in a floral dress standing next to me smiled. “That’s impressive.”

My dad wouldn’t have made this distinction, but I felt it was important. “It’s actually a postdoctoral fellowship position, which is mainly a lot of research, but I will be teaching a block class later this summer.” I smiled at her and the group. “So, not technically a professor, but I’m hoping to get hired in another year.”

Actually, I and the entire country of post-doctorate graduates in mathematics were all hoping for the same thing, but no need to go into the numbers on that.

“She’s still teaching the class.” My dad shrugged and laughed like my distinction had been unnecessary to voice, and he moved the conversation forward.

“Nice to meet you all,” I whispered to the crowd while another man was talking, and I slinked away and out from under my dad’s arm. My dad’s wife, Angela, attached to his other arm, shot me a timid smile and a wave at my exit. I summoned all the grown-up kindness I could and gave her a nod and a smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I told Cat, after I made my way back to her. When I raced off to college immediately after high school ten years earlier, Cat, who stayed on the island, was my collateral damage. Our phone calls, text threads and video chats were the lifeblood that got me through years of deadlines, research, dissertations, my parents’ divorce, and now…postdocs.

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