Page 28 of When Summer Returns

“I’ll think about it,” Jessie promised, meaning it.

She continued her meandering exploration, eventually finding herself at the small public beach at the eastern edge of the marina. Children built elaborate sand castles at the water’s edge while parents watched from beneath colorful umbrellas. The scene was a postcard of summer perfection—exactly the image tourism boards liked to promote, and yet genuinely authentic in its simple pleasure.

“Jessie James! Get your butt over here!”

The shout came from a sturdy woman arranging chairs and umbrellas near a small rental kiosk. Her weathered face crinkled into a broad smile that revealed a gold tooth Jessie remembered from childhood. Dolores Ramirez was still the substantial presence she’d been in the classroom—a large woman who took up space unapologetically, her ample figure draped in a brightly patterned island dress that swirled around her calves.

Her gray-streaked black hair was pulled back in a practical bun, silver hoops dangling from her ears, and her deep brown skin glowed with the particular luster that came from decades under the island sun. Wide, capable hands with nails painted a cheerful coral gestured expressively as she waved Jessie over.

“Mrs. Ramirez?” Jessie approached, grinning at the sight of her former seventh-grade math teacher. “Is that really you?”

“In the flesh, honey. A little more of it than there used to be, but that’s life for you.” Dolores Ramirez enveloped her in a hug that smelled of coconut sunscreen and peppermint. “And it’s Dolores now. You’re not in my classroom anymore. Look at you! City life agrees with you.”

“I’m not sure about that. I think I’ve relaxed more in the past week than in the previous decade.”

“That’s the island magic.” Dolores gestured to a chair. “Sit. Tell me everything. I want to hear about the glamorous life you’ve been living.”

“Hardly glamorous. Just busy.”

“Same difference, these days.” Dolores settled her considerable frame into an adjacent chair, fanning herself with a rental agreement clipboard. “So, you and Luke Mallory, huh? That boy nearly drank himself to death after you left, you know.”

The bluntness of the statement caught Jessie off guard. “I didn’t know.”

“Course you didn’t. How could you?” Dolores’s expression softened. “That wasn’t an accusation, honey. Just a fact. Luke was in a bad way for a while there. Sheriff Biggs—before Reece took over—had to fish him out of more than one bar fight.”

“Luke? Fighting?” The image didn’t align with the focused, controlled man she’d come to know.

“Oh, honey. He was wild as a hurricane before he shipped off with the Coast Guard. And for the first year after he got back on island too.” Dolores shook her head at the memory. “Then one day he just…stopped. Straightened himself out. Never touched a drop since, far as anyone knows.”

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Luke’s complete avoidance of alcohol despite owning a bar. The way he mixed complicated cocktails with practiced ease but never sampled his creations.

“He never said anything.”

“Would you?” Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Island memories are long. Most folks have forgotten, or at least moved on, but Luke’s never struck me as the type to forgive himself easily.”

A pang of guilt twisted through Jessie’s chest. She’d been so focused on her own reasons for leaving, her own struggles, that she’d never fully considered what her abrupt disappearance might have done to Luke.

“Don’t look so stricken,” Dolores patted her knee. “That’s ancient history now. Water under the bridge, or over the dam, or whatever the saying is. The point is, you’re both adults now. Second chances don’t come along often, especially in places where the tide washes everything away eventually.”

“We’re just business partners,” Jessie said automatically.

“Mmhmm.” Dolores’s skepticism could have been detected from space. “And I’m just renting these chairs for the fun of it, not because my teacher’s pension barely covers my medication.”

“You always could see right through everyone’s excuses.”

“Thirty years of teaching middle school math gives you a sixth sense for nonsense.” Dolores winked. “Speaking of which, remember that time you and Tammy Simmons ‘borrowed’ that tourist’s boat for a midnight cruise?”

The memory surfaced with surprising clarity—a summer night much like the one before, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet, and the intoxicating rush of teenage rebellion. “We almost got caught.”

“Almost? Honey, everyone knew. That tourist reported his boat moved from its mooring, and Sheriff Biggs knew exactly who to question.” Dolores cackled. “You two thought you were so slick, but you left a trail of Twizzlers wrappers from the marina to Tammy’s back door.”

“Oh God.” Jessie covered her face, laughing despite her embarrassment. “I’d forgotten about the Twizzlers.”

“Never trust a criminal with a sweet tooth, that’s what I always say.”

Dolores’s expression shifted then, the humor fading into something more serious. She studied Jessie’s face for a long moment, her weathered hand reaching across to cover Jessie’s. “You know, I used to worry about you. More than the other students.”

Jessie’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

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