Page 72 of Fever

“Whatever,” she said.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” I said. “I still love you.”

Those three words slipped off my tongue with ease, giving Santana and me both pause. For what seemed like minutes, we stared at each other both going through our own torrent of thoughts. Not soon after, Mrs. Summers had taken our attention to another set of photos, and I’d even been able to get a look at her bedroom, which had not been changed since Santana had left the house. When Santana’s father pulled me to the side, I knew this was the part where he threatened my life should I do anything to hurt his little girl. And he did not disappoint, going so far as to show me his collection of guns.

We stood in his backyard as Mr. Summers put a rifle against his shoulder and let off shots at a paper target.

“Pretty nice,” I said.

Mr. Summers looked at me. “Think you could do better?”

“I wouldn’t say better, but I’ll give it an ol’ try.”

He handed me the rifle, and I held it against my shoulder and fired twice. One bullet eased into the paper target’s abdomen while the other exited through the heart.

Mr. Summers turned to me. “That’s a kill shot, son. Who taught you how to shoot?”

My pride was on display as I responded, “My father.”

Mr. Summers nodded slowly. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“You will soon enough, sir.”

Mr. Summers glanced back to the porch and grunted.

“The ladies are watching,” he said.

I turned my attention and found Mrs. Summers with her arms crossed, rubbing her shoulders up and down. Santana stood next to her, looking like her younger version with a worrisome expression on her face.

“She thinks I’m taking you out to slaughter.” Mr. Summers chuckled.

“So did I,” I said, and we both gave a hearty laugh.

“Nah, you’re all right.” Mr. Summers patted me on the back, “Until you hurt my baby girl. Then you nor your daddy can save you.”

I agreed with a nod, knowing very well Mr. Summers would take me out if need be.

“I don’t plan to.”

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