Page 18 of Summer People
Outside, I take a minute to focus on my surroundings. The view of the ocean, the birds flapping above me. I think they’re seagulls, but what do I know? Lord knows I’m not going to ask. Everywhere I turn, I exasperate someone, and on this tiny island, that’s a feat.
But I need bread. Cank’s offer of muffins was sweet, considering I had little food at the time. Not that they could be categorized as food. Maybe they were dog biscuits? Or perhaps they really were supposed to be that hard. Either way, I threw one into the yard to see if it would actually break when it hit the ground. That’s when the flock of birds swooped down. To avoid becoming their meal, I threw the rest of the muffins to them and darted into the house. They’ve been back every day since, looking for sustenance. And damn, can they eat. So I’ve been buying bread, tearing it into pieces, and sprinkling it in the yard. I’m not mean enough to feed them more muffins. Though maybe if I did, they’d leave me alone. Pretty sure those things have to be made of lead.
I was told that if I wanted any specialty items, I’d have to order from Doris by today. I brought over a list yesterday so I wasn’t showing up at the last minute, but from the sounds of the discussion going on when I walked in, they didn’t like my list anyway.
God, this is hard.
I push away from the store and begin my trek back to the house. It’s too quiet here. I’ve met exactly five people since arriving, and two of them are Fisher and Sutton. It’s clear that Doris doesn’t like me, but Cank and his wife, at least, have been kind.
I glance down at my list again and frown.
Straws, diet ginger ale, and sherbet.
The list may seem odd, but as a little girl, when I’d have a bad day, my mother would let me sip from her diet ginger ale—she drank it to help with her nausea—and she’d give me a scoop of the colorful ice cream. She said there was nothing a little sugar couldn’t fix.
At six, it was magic. I no longer believe in magic, but it can’t hurt, and the comfort the tradition brings would go a long, long way right now.
“Get outta the road!” a man yells as he whizzes by me on a golf cart.
Oh, a golf cart would be fun.
I wonder if they make them in pink.
“Summer people,” a woman grumbles from her porch.
I keep my focus fixed on the ground ahead of me. I’m not sure why they say it like it’s a bad thing. Summer people keep this island going. If not for tourists who visit during the four months out of the year this island is worth visiting, the residents wouldn’t be able to afford even these little shacks they have.
Also, there are no actual roads here, so screamingget out of the roadis slightly comical. The dirt paths are far smaller than a two-lane road and have patches of grass sprouting up like those little chia plants on late-night infomercials.
Do Chia Pets still exist? That’s the closest thing to a real pet I could keep alive. Does Amazon ship out here? Maybe I’ll order one. That would really spruce up the house. Maybe with flowers. I wonder if Chia Pets with flowers are a thing.
I make a note to order one but make sure I don’t inadvertently walk into theroadas I do. I’ve just stepped onto my property when another voice calls out, though this is a welcome one.
“Libby! Libby! I’ve got the bestest news!”
I spin to find the sweetest next-door neighbor waving at me as she runs up the hill, her face lit up in the brightest smile.
“Oh yeah?” I heave in a deep breath, exhausted just watching her hoof it uphill.
Sutton grasps my hand and tugs. “Yup. But we’ve got to go quick.”
“Go where?” I ask, laughing, though I let her lead me back down the hill.
“To the schoolhouse. Maggie, our teacher and the director of the play, said you can help.”
Oh, lucky me.
No, seriously. Lucky me. Finally someone actually wants me around.
Sutton drags me to the most adorable red schoolhouse I’ve ever seen. It’s the kind of building I imagined when I was a kid and my weird great-aunt would fold her hands together and say “Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple. Open the door and see all the people.”
As we approach the tiny building adorned with a high steeple with an open-air peak, a little boy darts across the grass and grabs the rope dangling from up high, and suddenly, the bell is moving. When the sound finally reaches us, the gong is loud and beautiful.
“It’s time!” Sutton screams.
Eyes wide, I take in the sight. Did that young kid really just pull on a rope to ring that bell?
I think he did.
