Page 12 of Summer People
Spiders? At least they’ll keep the bugs away.
The grump next door? A challenge. She’d find a way to make the man smile.
I grin at that, head tipped back. Even long gone, she can still make me smile. She’d have liked Sutton too.
She liked everyone.
Scratch that. Almost everyone.
She wouldn’t have liked Brad.
The mere thought of him sobers me. I really do need to turn on my phone.
I powered it down yesterday. Otherwise my publicist and father and everyone else in LA would be hounding me.
Renee is convinced she could fix this if I let her. My father doesn’t understand why I won’t fight back.
But Brad? Brad Fedder will destroy every last shred of goodwill I’ve earned in my lifetime if I don’t stay quiet. And ifthat happens, the world will question why I stayed quiet for so long.
And not one of them would believe me. I can all but guarantee it.
Thatis why I ran.
That’s why I’m here.
I push myself off the counter and head upstairs to change. My mother is right. The lack of coffee is an excellent reason to go explore. And an excellent excuse not to turn on my phone.
At least not yet.
I could really use that second suitcase this morning. My pink hoodie is too thin to protect from the cold wind—just like Fisher warned me about yesterday.
Arms crossed to hold in as much warmth as I can, I head down the dirty path I followed to get here yesterday. The island is tiny, and the paths are deeply traveled, making it nearly impossible to get lost. Within minutes, I make it down the hill. I pass several small homes and a sprinkling of businesses. There’s no downtown, per se. It’s more like a pathway with signs that direct visitors to more paths.
Grocery This Way.
Lobster Rolls Here.
Best Clam Chowder Down the Path!
Ice Cream Up the Hill.
A sign for a brewery piques my interest.
It’s not a champagne bar on the ocean, but alcohol is alcohol, and I’m sure I’ll need a glass or two after another day with no hot water.
I make a mental note of the brewery’s location, then continue on.
Before I left the house, I gave in and turned my phone on, but only to call my father. It’s still early in LA, just barely six a.m. but he’s a workaholic, so like I knew he would be, he was up and showered and ready for the day.
I made him promise—again—to keep my whereabouts a secret and assured him that I’m fine. I swore the house was exactly as I remember—a fib, for sure—that the island has everything I need—clearly a lie—and that I’m going to enjoy this much needed break.A half-truth at best.
This is a much-needed break I’m just not so sure I’ll enjoy it.
Like my father, I’m a workaholic. Since childhood, I’ve been a working actress. By some stroke of luck, I landed a movie deal at just four. Outside the year my mother died, I’ve never slowed down.
The call to my dad was the only one I made. I didn’t even look at the messages from my publicist or my agent.
And I definitely did not reply to Brad.
