Page 10 of Summer People
I take in the house. It looks nothing like I remember. The magical space where I spent my last summer with my mother is drab. The white couch with the bright blue and teal throw pillows has gone a bit yellow. The dark shiplap floor lacks shine. The windows are cloudy. With any luck, it’s from age, not spiderwebs, but I can’t risk looking too closely. I should have agreed when my father suggested sending a cleaning crew out here first. But I was in a rush to get here, and now I’ve got to live with the consequences. The last thing I want to do is prove my dad right.
In general, the last thing I want to do is call my dad, period. Every time I do, I risk uttering the truth in one long-winded confession.
And if I give in and do that, then keeping all these secrets for the last few years will have been for nothing. I’ll destroy the only family we have left. And worse, Dad could end up in jail. Then I’ll really be alone.
Or—and maybe this is what I’m most concerned about—he won’t believe me.
This is a no-win situation. Better I just keep my mouth shut and smile, like I always do.
I steel my spine, pull my shoulders back, and do just that. “It’s charming.”
Sutton’s lips lift in a wide smile. “Fisher says people say things are charming rather than calling them old.”
I snort.
“Or junk.”
This time I let out a full laugh. “Well, he’s not wrong.”
She rocks back and forth on her pink and white Nike Court Boroughs. “Are you staying here the whole summer?”
I nod. “Yes.” Maybe if I say it loud enough, I’ll come to terms with that truth.
“Then you have to do the summer play with us. It’sGreasethis year. You would make the best Sandy!”
“You have a town play?”
How adorable. I haven’t done theater in a very long time, but god, the idea of it sets my pulse racing. Working in television is nothing like live theater. It’s hours and hours on set just to film a single scene. It’s makeup touch-ups and constant fluffing of hair.Directors who yell because they like the sound of their own voice and costars who stand just a bit too close and then…
“Yup!” Sutton bounces on her toes, her excitement pulling me back from the dark past I’m running from. “So will you do it?”
“Do what?” Fisher booms as he saunters back into the living room.
I turn to him, giving him a hopeful smile. “You took care of all the spiders?”
Hands on hips, he assesses me, his expression fixed into one that probably should look like annoyance but is more like a smolder. “They don’t call me the spider whisperer for nothing.”
Sutton scratches her head. “I’ve never heard anyone call you that.”
The man huffs and lumbers toward the door. “Come on. It’s time for dinner.”
“Have you got something to eat?” Sutton asks, her blue eyes hopeful.
I don’t have to look at Fisher to feel his disapproving glare. I don’t actually have anything to eat, but if I tell them that, he’ll probably make some comment about how this is only further proof that I can’t take care of myself. Then she’ll strong-arm him into inviting me over. Which will lead to spending the night being glared at and judged. No thank you. I’ve spent enough time with disapproving men already. I’ve met my quota for the year. Hell, I’ve met the quota for a lifetime.
“Yup. And it’s been a long day. I left California last night, and I still haven’t slept or showered.”
She scrunches her nose.
Yeah, I agree. I can practically feel the dirt collecting on my skin.
“Say good night, Sutton,” Fisher growls.
“Good night, Sutton,” she singsongs.
I hold back a giggle. “Thank you for getting rid of the spiders.” I rub at my arms as I follow them to the door.
Fisher surveys me, his brown eyes narrowing on my bare arms like they offend him. “I’ll drop off a jacket in the morning,” he grumbles.
