I know everything. Do not try to get in touch with me.
Summer
Succinct, to the point, no unnecessary emotion. It was a note to make Diver proud.
21
Summer Returns
When the doorbell rang, he was already waiting, his left hand tightly clutching the arm of his wheelchair.
“Shall I, sir?” Stan, the butler, asked.
“Please.”
The door swung wide, and there she was: the long tanned legs, the hair like yellow silk.
“Summer,” he said.
Her face was drawn, pale. “Thank you for letting me come, Jared.”
She stepped inside. Stan took her bag.
“The west wing, sir?”
“What color do you like?” he asked Summer. “Blue, yellow, cream? Your pick.”
“I don’t care,” she said softly.
“Blue, then,” he said, and Stan headed upstairs.
He held out his good hand. “I’m glad you’ll be staying here with us,” he said. “It’ll be good to have you.”
She took his hand and nodded. Her eyes were glassy. She looked as though she weren’t quite sure where she was.
“I had a change of plans,” she said.
“I understand.”
Juanita came down the stairs. She glanced at Summer’s hand in his disapprovingly, but he held on a little longer.
“Well, this certainly is a surprise,” Juanita said. “But of course we’re pleased to have you join the staff. Will you be having dinner with us this evening?”
“I…no. I’m not hungry, thank you.”
“I wish you would,” he said.
Summer looked at him. “We’ll see,” she said.
“You’re all right?” Juanita asked. “You look a bit under the weather.”
“I had a, um, a situation I had to deal with.” Summer twisted the Kleenex she was carrying. “I’m okay, though.”
“Perhaps after you’re settled we can meet to discuss your duties,” Juanita suggested. “I thought a regular schedule might be easier for Jared—reading in the morning, time in the garden in the afternoon, things like that. Perhaps we can put together an activities list.”
“That would be fine.”
“Juanita,” he said, “let her rest. She just got here, and she’s obviously had a hard day.”
Juanita shrugged. “Fine. We’ll meet in the morning, then. Nine sharp?”
“Nine,” Summer said flatly.
“I’ll be in the kitchen, Jared, if you need me.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Summer and I will be fine.”
“All right, then. If you’re sure.” Juanita marched off.
Summer stood quietly in the foyer next to his chair. A shaft of light through the window made her seem to glow. Or maybe it was just his imagination seeing something that wasn’t really there.
“Why don’t we go out to the porch?” he suggested.
Summer blinked, momentarily confused, a stranger in a foreign land. “Oh,” she said, “all right.” She gestured toward the door. “After you.”
He guided his chair to the porch. She followed behind him.
When they got there, she went to the screened window and stared out at the ocean.
“So something happened,” he said, hoping he sounded gentle, not too prying.
She nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
She turned. “Don’t be. What happened…it’s nothing like what happened to you. A small thing, really.”
“Matters of the heart are never small.”
He said it in that flat, asthmatic way he could not avoid. The way an old man would talk, waging a battle in his throat to form each word. Talking made him terribly tired, but he so wanted to talk to her.
She sat beside him. He could smell her, an alive, sweet scent that made him ache for all he had lost.
“How did you know it was a matter of the heart?” she asked. She smiled a little when she said the word heart.
“I had a few…matters of my own, before.” Instantly he wished he hadn’t made reference to the time before. It sounded self-pitying. The last thing he wanted was Summer’s pity. “And I could tell. Your eyes look so sad.”
She glanced down as if she was embarrassed. “My boyfriend and my cousin. I found out they had a…relationship I didn’t know about.”
He looked away, too, letting it all sink in, word by word. The quiet seemed unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything.
“You must feel very betrayed.”
“I trusted them. I thought I was the one making all the mistakes, and then it turned out—” A catch in her voice made her stop—a sob, but not quite. “I’m sorry. To sit here, feeling sorry for myself, when you’ve gone through so much more…what a jerk I am.”
He tried to shrug, which was hard, and wished again for the simple ways people communicated—a wave of the hand, a wink, a nudge. All lost to him, at least for the time being.
“Physical pain is different. You can fight it more easily because it’s…” He didn’t know where to go. He hadn’t tried to talk about it before.
“I think I know what you mean,” Summer said. “Because it’s a thing outside yourself, in a way. Emotional pain is inside you. Is that it?”
He nodded. It was so good to talk to her. It was as though the electricity had gone off in a violent storm and now, in the space of a moment, the power was on again, the lights worked, the phone was connected. He was part of the world once more.
She was there in his house. There, after so long. After so much silence.
“For him to hurt you like this, he must have truly lost his way,” he said. “He must have forgotten what matters. It can happen. Even when you don’t mean to, it’s easy to lose track of what’s most important….”
He could see the look of confusion in her eyes. He was saying too much too fast. He was scaring her—with his words, but no doubt with his physical self as well. He sometimes forgot how frightening he was. He’d had all the mirrors removed long ago.
“I think maybe I need to lie down,” Summer said. “Would that be okay?”
“Of course. Your room is up the stairs, the first one on the right. If you need anything, ask one of the staff.”
“Maybe later I could read something to you,” Summer said shyly. “If you’d like.”
“You rest tonight. There’s plenty of time for that.”
“It might be good. It might take my mind off everything.” She stood. “No romances, though.”
He laughed, or at least tried to. It had been so long, his face didn’t remember how to laugh anymore.
“Well…I’ll go unpack.”
She paused at the door. She was looking at him with pity, he knew that, and yet it pleased him just to have such a beautiful woman looking at him at all.
“Have you read Huckleberry Finn?”
“Not in a long time.”
“Maybe we’ll start with that, Jared.”
He watched her slowly climb the stairs. For a moment he thought he could hear her voice lingering in the air, saying the other name, saying “Adam.”
It had been so long since he’d heard her say it.
Maybe someday, when he had the courage, he would ask her to say it again.
22
Diver Says Good-bye
Austin crossed the lawn wearily. His brain throbbed indignantly. After the abuse he’d heaped on it the night before, he couldn’t really blame it.
He was almost to the porch when Diver emerged from the apartment. His sleeping bag and backpack were slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, where are you off to?” Austin asked.
Diver looked uncomfortable. “Thought maybe I’d do a little camping for a couple of days,” he said. “You know, adjust my wa and all that.”
“Does your wa realize you just started a new job?”
“Yeah, well…the people at work, they’re cool with it.”
“You’re
not moving out because I made a drunken ass of myself in front of your sister last night, are you?”
Diver smiled. “No. I didn’t even know you’d made a drunken ass of yourself.”
“I have no idea what happened. I mean, I’m a rational guy. I’m not some slobbering, incoherent fool who’d crash a party and completely humiliate himself. Or so I thought.”
“I saw Summer a while ago. She didn’t even mention it, Austin.”
Austin couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. Hey, I gotta get going.”
“Far be it from me to interfere, but you’re okay, right, man?”
“Yeah. I just feel like taking a little break from the real world.” Diver strode away. At the curb he stopped. “If you see Summer—”
“That’s not too likely, I’m afraid.”
“Well, if you do, tell her something for me, okay?”
“Sure. You name it.”
“Tell her she was right about me all along.”
He was lucky. There was a Greyhound leaving at seven for Miami.
He took a seat near the back. The bus was almost empty: a couple of kids, a guy with tattoos weaving up his forearms, a grandmother type. The bus smelled of diesel fumes. The seat was sticky.
Diver felt right at home.
He’d done the dog a lot the last few years. Mostly he’d hitched, but every now and then he’d come into some cash and taken the high road. He liked the anonymous feel of the bus. People left you alone. They all had their problems—tearful departures, uncertain destinations, missed connections.
The bus growled to life, and the door squealed shut. They backed out onto the tiny main street that bisected Old Town. It was packed with tourists: families on rented bicycles, in-line skaters, couples strolling hand in hand and eating ice cream while they window-shopped.
It took Diver a minute to realize they were going to pass right by Marquez’s apartment. As it came into view he considered ducking. But the windows were tinted, and no one would expect to see him there.
Then he saw her.
She was standing in front of Jitters, her waitress apron over her shoulder, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was watching the crowds pass by.
For a moment she looked at the bus, taking it in without knowing. The breeze moved her hair. She pushed it back with a gesture both impatient and graceful.
Diver reached into his backpack. He found the note he’d written. It was long by his standards, even rambling. And it was full of passion, full of pleas for forgiveness.
As if he deserved any.
He crumpled it up. He was glad he hadn’t left it for her, and now he knew he wouldn’t ever send it.
This time he understood that no note could ever undo the pain he was causing.
This time he knew he could not be forgiven.
You didn’t walk out on the people you loved. You didn’t run when things got complicated.
Summer didn’t.
He did.
The bus turned, and he looked back one last time. The street was bathed in the orange light of sunset, erasing Marquez, blinding him.
The sky, he thought, looked as if it were on fire.
august
1
How Not to Dot Your I’s
It was a simple enough note. No question what it meant.
And yet as she held it, the paper shivering slightly between clamped fingers, Diana found herself recalling an article on handwriting analysis she’d read somewhere. One of her mom’s Cosmos, maybe, something with a title like “Love Letters: How to Read Between His Lines.”
Of course, this would technically come under the heading of a “hate letter.” And it wasn’t from a guy—it was from her cousin.
Diana studied the note again, as if the handful of words had been written in code:
Seth and Diana—I know everything. Do not try to get in touch with me.
Summer
The broad stroke across the t. The thick period, almost a dash, after the name. The sharp, hurried writing, nothing like Summer’s usual silly, feminine loops. Summer, who’d been known to dot her I’s with hearts. Yes, if the handwriting was any indication, Summer was most definitely furious.
That was, after all, what Diana had intended. It hadn’t surprised her to come home to the apartment and see Summer’s closet half emptied, her suitcase gone.
Everything was going according to plan.
Except for this note. Diana hadn’t expected it. The words on paper made everything so permanent and official. She’d felt this way when they’d handed over her driver’s license, the plastic coating still a little warm, the picture startled and not quite herself.
This was real. Diana had hurt her cousin in a way she could never take back. She’d wanted to hurt Summer, she’d had her reasons for hurting her, and yet now Diana couldn’t take her eyes off the note in her trembling hands.
She heard a key fumbling in the lock. Seth, Summer’s boyfriend, came in. He was carrying a package and a bouquet of roses.
“For me?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, right.” He tossed the roses aside. “Where’s Summer?”
“You tell me.” She held out the letter, vaguely noting the way it continued to flutter in her fingers like a trapped moth.
Seth grabbed the paper from her. She watched him take in the words, the permanent, official words, just as she had.
“You told her about us?”
“I have no idea how she found out,” Diana said, snatching back the note.
Unless, of course, it was the love letter I wrote you, she added silently. The one I left out so Summer would find it.
Seth sank against the counter. His lips worked at forming words, but none came. She imagined those lips on her mouth, her neck, remembered the sure and gentle way he had of kissing.
“But how?” Seth said at last. “How could she have found out?”
“The point is, she was going to find out eventually, Seth.”
“But not now, not when I finally thought we had things worked out….”
Diana turned toward the sink, away from Seth’s wounded eyes. “You’ve gotten through other stuff. Maybe she’ll forgive you for this.”
“She’ll never forgive either of us.”
“I know,” Diana admitted. It was a price she’d been willing to pay to win Seth for good. Lose a cousin, gain a cousin’s boyfriend. It had seemed like a reasonable exchange.
“Where do you think she went?” Seth asked.
“She left a note for Marquez. You could read it. Maybe it says something.”
Seth marched to Marquez’s bedroom. A moment later he returned. “Summer is at that new job of hers, taking care of that handicapped guy. I guess she’s staying at his house.” He gazed at the peach-colored roses on the counter. “You told her, didn’t you?”
Diana didn’t answer.
“I thought so.”
“She loves Austin, Seth. Why can’t you see that?”
“But she chose me.”
The catch in his voice made her reach for him. She was surprised when he didn’t push her away. She kissed him, hoping he might kiss her back, knowing he wouldn’t.
“I chose you too, Seth,” she whispered, pulling away.
“Then you chose wrong.” He rubbed his eyes. They were both silent. Through the French doors came the sound of the ocean, sighing again and again over some great, unspeakable loss.
“I was going to head back to California tomorrow,” Seth said. “But I can’t leave now, not with things like this.”
Diana stared at the note in her hand. Things with Summer, he meant. “What about things with…” With us, she wanted to say, but of course she didn’t.
“With what?”
Diana turned away. Slowly she tore the letter into long, neat strips. She stuffed them into the garbage disposal. She ran the water. With a flick of the switch the disposal chewed up the paper, growling purposefully.
Diana turned off the disposal. She watched the water run. The note was gone, but she could still see the letters in her mind, the tight scrawl, the scribbled signature of the cousin she’d lost forever.
2
“Betrayal” Is a Mighty Big Word
Summer woke from her nap in a room that was not her own. She blinked. For a brief, terrifying instant she had absolutely no idea where she was. She sat up, taking in the thick oriental rug, the deep blue wall-paper shimmering like satin, the Tiffany lamp sending jeweled patterns onto the ceiling.
Well, wherever she was, she’d clearly come into money.
Oh. She was at her job. Her brand-new, live-in companion job.
She was at her brand-new, live-in companion job because she couldn’t ever go home again.
It was amazing, the way you could go to sleep and leave your complicated life completely behind you. Of course, the waking up wasn’t much fun.
She walked to the wide pair of doors that opened onto the balcony. It was nearly dark, and the air had a touch of coolness in it. The ocean view was stunning, endless black against a sky of velvety twilight blue, but her eyes were drawn back across the inlet to Coconut Key. The lights along the coast glowed yellow. The old lighthouse at the north end of the key swept its single eye over the dark water.
Running here to Jared’s estate had made sense a few hours ago. It was the only place she knew of where she could avoid Seth and Diana indefinitely. And she was going to be working here every day, anyway. One whole wing was filled with assorted staff members.
But now, standing here on the balcony, it seemed crazy, almost pathetic. Summer had never felt quite so thoroughly alone. She was barely on speaking terms with her brother. Her best friend, Marquez, was caught up in her own problems. And Summer had just learned she’d been betrayed by her cousin and her fiancé.
Betrayal. It was a big, dramatic word, like something from her English class on Shakespeare. From the Cliff’s Notes, anyway.
She smiled, just a little. It was too much like a soap opera to be her life. Of course, in soap operas the main characters didn’t run off to hide and lick their wounds, not unless they were due to be killed off because the ratings were down.