Page 51 of Hook, Line, and Summer

“I won’t.” I pulled back. “And the quirky quartet is coming to Ireland, so I’ll see you then.”

“You don’t think you’ll be home before November?”

Her eyes shifted in the direction of Summer’s house.

“I doubt it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I shook my head.

“We’re going to figure it out.”

“I hope so.”

Thankfully the car pulled into the driveway saving me from a conversation I can’t have right now. I’m barely keeping my shit together. Saying more than “we’re going to figure it out” is more than I can handle.

“I’ll let you know when I land,” I said and stepped back.

“Let me know when you get to the airport, and when you’re ready to take off, too.”

My father lurked in the doorway. I’d hoped things would have gotten better between us, but our relationship is just as strained as the day I got here.

“I’m sure you’re happy to have your right-hand man back with a working right arm,” I said with a smile.

“Having you on board wasn’t so bad,” he said. “You got the hang of it.”

That’s probably the nicest thing my father has said to me in more than a decade.

“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.”

He nodded, but before I could get a big head over his praise, he said, “I knew you weren’t meant to follow in my footsteps. You were always so smart. Until now.” He pointed toward Summer’s house. “If you leave that girl again, it’ll be the dumbest thing you’ll ever do.”

That bomb dropped, he walked into the living room, settled into the recline, and turned on the TV.

I clenched my jaw and blinked my mom into focus.

“He’s just upset you’re leaving,” she said.

“That may be the case, but he’s also right.” I kissed her cheek. “I’ll text when I get to the airport.”

I walked outside, taking one last look at my childhood home and Summer’s house. Before I totally broke down, I got into the back seat of the car and told the driver to go.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my pounding head against the headrest. Hopefully my headache will go away and the gut-punched feeling in my stomach subsides before takeoff. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long flight.

The ride to Portland seemed to take forever, but the car finally pulled up to the international flight terminal and I headed into the airport. I got through security and went directly to the club.

A drink might help my headache, but I don’t think my stomach would tolerate it. Instead, I ordered a club soda with lime and settled into a comfy chair in the corner. I should open my laptop and get caught up on emails, but I’m not in the right headspace to deal with work.

Instead, I just sat and replayed the past twenty-four hours in my mind. Most especially, my father’s last words to me. I don’t think I’m being dumb. Not totally anyway. Summer and I are going to make it work, I just need some time.

As I replayed what he said over and over in my mind, I started to feel indignant.

Since college, I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. Yes I’ve given up the stability of living in the same place, but each move equaled a promotion and a higher salary. I never planned on living in Ireland, but taking the job there bumped me to the level of vice-president, which put me in a whole new tax bracket. I have perks and bonuses I never imagined.

I’m thirty-four years old and have financial stability I didn’t think I’d acquire until well into my forties. I have status with most every airline, fly first class, and have access to every airport club.

I finished my club soda in one gulp, wishing it was something stronger. If my stomach behaves, once I board I’ll order something. It might help me sleep on the flight.

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