Page 16 of 15 Summers Later

She didn’t feel as if she had many options, though.

“How are you feeling?” Sylvia’s brusque, down-to-business New York accent softened.

“Better,” she said. She didn’t want to lie to yet one more person in her life. Fortunately, Sylvia couldn’t see her over the phone.

“Oh, I’m glad. Maybe a few weeks of rest are exactly what you need.”

“Yes. Maybe.”

“I have more fun news. Looks likeGhost Lakeis on the short list for several of the big book-club picks. My prediction is that, at this rate, you’re going to stay on the bestseller lists all summer long and into the fall. So maybe August is good timing for a tour after all.”

“Great news,” Ava said, even as her stomach protested.

“It’s so exciting. There’s nothing I love more than when one of my clients writes a phenomenal book that the world adores as much as I do.”

They spoke for a few more moments about print runs and sell-throughs, before Ava was able to end the call with more vague promises.

She turned her phone to silent, moved a few more boxes off the bed and lay down for a moment, staring at the ceiling and wondering how she would endure the summer when she felt so physically and emotionally wretched.

6

The scars on our bodies may have faded, but the wounds on our hearts remain tender, a constant reminder of the price we paid for freedom.

—Ghost Lakeby Ava Howell Brooks

Madison

She loved the Burning Tree on a June Friday night, especially when a band she loved was playing.

Live music, good friends, cold drinks and a new crop of summer guys.

What more did she need?

She adjusted her skirt—a tad shorter than she was comfortable in—and shifted in the booth she and Nicki favored. It gave them a great view of the small stage inside the tavern as well as of the front door, so they could check out any new arrivals.

Jamie Keller, a friend who went to school with them, brought over their drink order.

“Sorry that took so long,” she said, brushing away a strand of auburn hair that had slipped out of her ponytail. “We are hopping tonight.”

“Looks like it.” Across from Madi, Nicki took a healthy sip from her rum and Diet Coke, the same drink she always ordered.

“Good for business, though,” Madi said. Jamie’s husband, Mark, had taken over running the place from his father. Mark and Jamie owned it now and over the past few years had turned it from a rather disreputable roadhouse to a happening night spot that drew people from several neighboring towns.

Jamie blew out a breath. “A bit too good. I wish I could sit down with you and catch up, but we’re down two servers tonight, so that’s not happening. Grab me if you need another round.”

“We will,” Nicki said.

Nicki usually had two drinks, but Madi’s guilty secret was that she didn’t particularly care for alcohol or any other substances that could impair her thinking. Since that long-ago summer when she was injured, she had spent entirely too much time feeling a vague disconnect between her brain and the rest of her body. Why voluntarily sign up for something else that might impair her cognitive abilities when she already had a brain injury that sometimes did that all on its own?

So on the nights when she and Nicki came to the Burning Tree, she would order one drink and nurse it all night, mixing it up with sparkling water or a Dirty Diet Coke if she needed a little caffeine jolt.

She was glad she had come. For weeks, she had been pouring every ounce of her energy into her final days at the vet clinic and going through all the necessary steps to make the animal rescue operational.

She loved what she did, but sometimes a girl only needed to kick back with her friends and enjoy being young, relatively healthy and completely unattached.

“What about those two over there?” Nicole gestured to two athletically built blond guys a few years younger than they were, with the tanned faces and raccoon eyes that proclaimed to the world that they spent most of their days outside wearing sunglasses or ski goggles.

“I don’t know. They seem kind of self-absorbed. The shorter one keeps checking himself out in the mirror above the bar.”

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