Page 53 of Summer's Echo
But Teresa Knight? She was determined tobreak the generational curse. She shared her own experiences and regretsopenly, especially with us girls, never shying away from the hard truths. Mama was adamant that not only her daughters, butmy brother, OJ, too, would have a different path, comehell or high water.
My mother wastraditionalabout arbitrary things like wearing skirts and pantyhose to church, but when it came tolife lessons? No topic was off the table, especiallysex. Because in theKnight household, getting pregnant wasn’t an option. Period. I remembered the night I overheard my parents talking about Echo—about the time I spent with him, about whether it was becoming too much. Our house was small and cozy, but the walls, they were paper-thin. Even though they were trying to whisper, I could hear everything from my bedroom.
“I thinkthat girl is spending too much time with that boy. I think we need to—”
“Tee,” my father interrupted, histone soothing. “That boy is harmless. He seems like agood kid. Now, Summer says he’s just her friend, so I believe her.”
Mama let out a frustrated huff, her voice sharp. “You would let that li’l girldo whatever she wants. She’s got you tied upand wrapped around her little finger.” A pause. Then cameher final warning, each word stressed like she was layingdown the law. “Let her come up in here witha baby, and you’re gonna be the pappy babysittingbecause I am not.”
Daddy just chuckled, his voice light, completely unbothered. “Now you sound like your mama.” I couldhear the tease in his tone, the easygoing way hetried to diffuse her frustration. “And besides, Summer wouldn’tdisappoint me like that.”
Silence. Then, Mama’s begrudging sigh. “Whatever you say,pappy.” Her footsteps faded as she walkedout of the room.
I stared at myself in the mirror, my father’s wordsechoing in my head, looping like a quiet warning.“Summer wouldn’t disappoint me…”He was right. At least, Ididn’t wantto disappoint him—them. I had spent my entire life making sure of that. Good grades. Honest. Following the rules—well, most of them. Going to church. Praying. Being the daughter they could trust. It was all part of theunspoken agreement I had made with myself—the silent promise tonever be the reason my parents lost faith in me. I had never been the kind of kid to risk a whooping just to prove a point. But the truth was, it wasn’t punishment that scared me. It wasthe look in their eyes. That quiet, heavy weight ofdisappointment, of knowing I had somehow let them down. That feelingcut deeper than any scolding, any lecture, any grounding ever could.
To me, their approval wasn’t just aboutstaying out of trouble. It was aboutthe love and respect I had for them. Making them proud had always beenmy way of showing I cared, of proving that their sacrifices, their lessons, their expectations weren’t in vain. The thought oflosing that, even for a moment, sent a sharp ache through my chest. A lump formed in my throat, my vision blurring astears threatened to spill. Becausedisappointment didn’t just sting—it lingered. Itchangedthings. And I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to face that kind ofshift.
Istartled, even though the tapping at my bedroom door was light. Closing my eyes, Iinhaled deeply, calming myself before finally looking in the mirror one last time. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to face thedismay, the disappointmentthat had settled over the house like a dark cloud, thick and smothering. But when I opened the door, my daddy stood there, hispained, forced smilea clear indication that he wasn’t ready either. He nodded a silent question, asking if I was prepared. I wasn’t. But I nodded back anyway.
I was grateful that the first face I saw when I stepped into the hallway wasEcho’s. He was seated on the edge of the couch, fingersintertwined, his headhanging low. At the creak of the floorboard, he lifted his head, his eyes finding mine instantly. He tried to mask it, to brighten his expression, but I could see through it. Hisweek had been just as hellish as mine. We hadn’t talked. At all. And that made everythingten times worse. Every time I called his house, his mother said he wasbusy. His fatherflat-out refusedto let me speak to him. Echo hadn’t called me either, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if his father had stripped his room of everymeans of communicationandbanned him from leaving the housealtogether. But if hecouldhave gotten to me, I knewhe would have.
I smiledwhen our eyes met, needing that one sliver of comfort, but it quickly faltered when I noticed his parents’ scowls. His mother’s expression wassofter than his father’s but still creased withworry and disappointment. My mother, whosefair skin was slowly turning beet red, did not look happy. And I wasn’t sure if herfrustrationwas directed at me, at Echo, at his parents, or justthe entire situation unraveling in front of us.
Choosing not to speak to anyone, I moved to the chair on theopposite side of the living room from Echo. His mother sat beside him on the couch. My mother perched stiffly on thearm of my chair. And the fathers? They stood onseparate sides of the room, arms crossed, each looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here. Thetension in the air was pungent enough to choke on. Then,Mr. Abara’s voice cut through it, harsh like the blade of a dull knife.
“This is exactly what we were afraid of.” His words sent ajolt of icedown my spine. “Our son has worked his ass off to get into college. He has a full ride, afuture. And now this? This could ruin everything.”
Istole a glance to my left, watching my fatherpush off the wall, his entire posture shifting. Then, Idarted my gaze right, watching my mother sit up straighter, her spine stiff, her expression unreadable, but her silence deadly.
“You think our daughter doesn’t have a future?”my father challenged. His eyes werenarrowed, burning into Mr. Abara.
My mother’s tone was cool, but beneath it lay thecutting edge of her infamous nice-nastiness. “Our daughter has a scholarship to Spelman College. She,too, has a future.”
The room feltlike a battlefield, the strain between our parents like an invisible tug-of-war. Then,Mrs. Abara spoke, her exhaustion bleeding through her voice.
“That is not what my husband is saying at all.” Her tone wasmeasured, tired, like she’d spent the last few days having this same conversation behind closed doors. “We’re not happy about this either. But what’s done is done. Now, we need to figure out what comes next—for both of them.”
Echo and Istole a glance at each other, somethingunspoken but understoodpassing between us. While our parents sat there talking over us, debating ourfutures as if we weren’t even in the room, neither of us had been given the chance to saywhat we really wanted. Mr. Abara looked at his wifeincredulously, shaking his head, his frustration boiling over.
“What comes next? What comes next is our son losingeverythinghe’s worked for. This girl—your daughter—has completely derailed his life,” he scoffed, tossing his hands up in exasperation.
Astunned silencefilled the room for all of half a second before my parents’ voiceserupted in unison. “Excuseme?”
My body went rigid, mynarrowed eyes locking on to him.How darehe put this all onme? I shot a glance at Echo,hoping, needing him to say something, and sure enough, he was alreadyglowering at his father.
“Wait just one damn minute.”My father’s tone wasedgy, unwavering.“You are going to respect my daughter in my house. And let’s be clear, our daughter didn’t get here on her own. Your son holds some responsibility here, too.” His voiceheld no room for argument, and from the way his fists clenched, I knew that if he weren’t trying to remain civil, he’d have already escorted Mr. Abara to the door.
“Yeah, Dad. Chill,”Echo muttered.
Mr. Abara shot daggers at his son, and for a second, I thought he was going tosmack Echo upside the head. His glare turned venomous.
“Iknewthey were more than just friends. This—”Mr. Abara gestured wildly at both of us. “This so-calledfriendshiphas been unhealthy since day one.”
My parentsdidn’t even argue with himon that point.
Echo turned to me, and when our gazes met,we both had the same tear-filled eyes, the same silent, aching question: How did we get here?
And then suddenly,all hell broke loose. Both sets of parents were on their feet,arguing over what was best fortheirchild. Mr. Abara was practicallyready to have me burned at the stake. Mrs. Abara kept talking aboutadoption.
