“And no slapping the water with your hands. You’ll be calling the dolphins soon,” she said, demonstrating how Lily’s hands should scoop the water.
When Lily surfaced after another lap, Cricket smiled. “Not perfect, but better. Keep at it. The water is a very forgiving teacher. More so than I am.”
Since then Cricket and Lily had swam together a couple more times, and each time Lily’s strokes and lung capacity grew stronger. She loved the feeling she had in the water—the sensation of weight dissipating, of all noise fading away except the sound of the water rushing past her face.
Today, with a full hour before her next appointment, she lost herself in the water yet again, propelling herself with arms and legs stronger than they were mere weeks ago. As she swam, she thought of Worth. Of how little he would approve of this place. Senior citizens in brightly colored bathing suits, dancing, escorted by tiny dogs on glittery leashes? Golf carts draped with flowered leis and boozy Sunday afternoons? Everything about Safe Harbor Village screamed Not Worth. Yet the longer she was here, the more she allowed herself to sink into its rhythms and ways, the more she felt like she belonged. She hadn’t felt as purposeful and as . . . settled . . . as she had since Fox Hill, when she worked with her mother in the hub of the community.
Bubbles of laughter rose around her as she thought of what her mother would say if she could see her now—on her own but doing work that felt good and right, at home in this waterside community far removed from her old world of too much and never enough.
This is so much better.
Lily had just finished up and was resting with her arms propped on the edge of the pool when she heard Hazel’s voice. “Lily! Over here!”
She turned to see Rawlins’s truck rolling to a stop outside the pool, Hazel’s head sticking out of the back window. She waved and climbed out of the pool. By the time she’d squeezed the water from her hair and wrapped herself in her towel, Rawlins was walking toward the pool several steps behind Hazel.
The sight of his smiling face sent a quiver of nervousness through her stomach like tiny butterfly wings. Memories of the night at the Land flooded her mind—their easy conversation, the comfortable silence, the lack of all pretense. His arms around her as they danced.
“Do you remember you said you’d show me how to do a cartwheel?” Hazel stood in front of Lily, face upturned, squinting in the sunlight.
“I remember. And I’ll do it.”
“Now?”
“Hang on, Haze,” Rawlins said as the gate swung closed behind him. He tapped Hazel’s shoulder. “We’re here to work, remember?”
Hazel turned back to Lily. “We’re going to work on your house.”
“You are?” Lily looked up at Rawlins, eyebrows lifted.
“I was just up at Rose’s and she mentioned something about your AC not working well.”
“My AC? It’s working fine. But . . . well, I guess it could be blowing a little cooler. Yesterday Janelle said she was beginning to glow.”
He chuckled. “Anything to keep Janelle happy.” He paused a moment. “So Rose has a new hairstyle.”
“She does. What do you think?”
“I think she looks great. It’s a big change. I’ve never known her to wear her hair in any way except that knot thing at the back of her head.”
“It’s called a bun.” Lily laughed. “And change can be a good thing, right?”
“I think she looks like a model,” Hazel said, stretching her arms out to the sides and wiggling her fingers.
Lily laughed. “Did you tell her that?”
Hazel nodded. “She said I was full of poppycock.”
Rawlins glanced back at Lily. “Is it okay if we swing by? I just want to see if it’s an easy fix or if I need to call someone to come out.”
“No problem. I have an appointment at four, but that’s it.”
“I’ll be out of your hair by then. Can we give you a ride back?”
“Oh . . . well, sure. That’d be great.”
Rawlins let Hazel sit up front between him and Lily on the short jaunt up the road to Lily’s cottage. Hazel was a blur of movement the whole way, pushing buttons, twisting around to peer behind them, reaching over Lily to roll down her window.
“Easy,” Rawlins said when Lily got a knee in the belly.
“It’s fine,” Lily said. Hazel’s curls had mostly escaped from the brightly colored barrettes pinned here and there on her head. Lily lifted her hand and reached out to touch a curl. It was just as cloud-soft as she expected.
Back at the cottage, Lily ran upstairs to put on clothes and pull up her hair while Rawlins checked the unit in the closet. When she returned, the air filter in his hand nearly sagged under the weight of layers of dust and dirt. “I think I found the culprit.”
“Ugh. I’d say so. I guess I need a new one, huh?” She checked her watch: 3:40. Not enough time to get out and buy a new one before Edna showed up for her twice-weekly wash and curl. But Rawlins was already on his way to the front door.
“Don’t worry about it. I think I have one in my truck. All these units use the same size.”
With the new filter in place, it was only a few minutes before the AC was pumping frigid air.
“That should keep Janelle happy. No more glowing while she’s sitting under that helmet.” He gestured at the hooded dryer.
“Thank you.” Lily stretched her arms out to the side in the cool air. “I didn’t realize how warm it had been in here until now. This feels great.”
Rawlins shifted, peered out the window to where Hazel sat on the porch swing, then stuck one hand in his pocket and jangled his keys. He didn’t make a move to leave, but he wasn’t speaking either.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just have to ask . . . Are you married?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Under normal circumstances there would be only one way to answer that question, but these days circumstances were far from normal. With her divorce papers signed but still residing in her bedside table, she had a foot in two different worlds.
She nodded slowly. “Technically yes.”
He took off his hat, then set it back down. “Okay. Well, I was going to see if you wanted to come to the house tonight and have dinner with me and Hazel. As friends. But . . .” His cheeks reddened as he sought the right words. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what the deal was with your . . . husband and . . .” He shrugged. “Hazel keeps on me about you showing her this cartwheel.” He smiled, then shook his head. “But if you . . . I mean, I’m not—” He held up his hands.
“I understand,” Lily said. “The situation with Worth is . . . unfinished.” She paused, evaluating the words she wanted to say. “But what if I told you he’s gone? And that it’d be nice to have a friend? Or two,” she added when Hazel called to her dad from the porch.
“I’d say meet Hazel in my backyard at six thirty.”
Twenty-Three
As soon as she opened the car door that evening, Lily smelled the heady scent of a charcoal grill. Rawlins had written down his address before he left her house, though he could have just said, “Turn left, then another left, then follow your nose.” The scent held the memory of childhood summer evenings.
Before Lily could unlatch her seat belt, Hazel was standing by the car, tapping on the window.
“Are you ready?” she asked as soon as Lily opened the door. Hazel wore a purple sundress with white flowers at the neck and hem. Her feet were bare, with each little toenail painted bright pink.
“Ready for dinner?” Lily asked.
“No, silly. Ready for cartwheels!”
Lily laughed. “Sure. Let me just find your dad and tell him I’m here.”
Hazel led the way around the side of their house to a brick patio where Rawlins stood in front of the grill, his back to them. Music floated from somewhere, and a breeze off the river blew the scent of fresh, briny water through the trees.
“Daddy, she’s here!”
Raw
lins turned, a smile already on his face.
“This is . . .” She looked around, taking it all in. “This is so great.”
The weathered cedar house was up on stilts, with a screened porch up a set of stairs. Twinkle lights were strung all along the ceiling of the porch. Down below the house, two hammocks and a wooden swing hung from the rafters. On the other side of the patio, grass stretched all the way to the water and a short dock. As she watched, a brown pelican glided to a stop and perched on top of one of the posts. She laughed. “It doesn’t get more picturesque than this.”
He chuckled. “It’s not much, but I guess you did get it on a good night.” He closed the lid of the grill. “Can I get you something to drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine right now.”
Hazel tugged on her hand. “Ready?”
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
“It’s why I’m here.”
“Hazel, your hot dog will be ready in a few minutes,” he called as Hazel dragged Lily out to the center of the grass.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Hazel said, propping her hands on her hips.
Lily waited, but Hazel was clearly waiting for Lily to do something. “Why don’t you show me what you know?”
Hazel took a deep breath, then set her hands on the ground in front of her and kicked her feet up in the air like a bucking bronco. When they came back down, she added a forward roll as a finishing touch.
“That’s a great start. Let’s try this next.” Lily showed Hazel how to stand with one leg pointed in front of her, then plant both hands next to each other on the ground.
“Now you just kick both legs around.” Lily demonstrated, whirling her legs around, stretching her body its full length and surprising herself with her slow control, before setting her feet back down, one at a time.
Behind her, Rawlins let out a cheer. “Look at you go!”
She laughed. “I haven’t done one of those in a very long time.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She took Hazel’s hands and showed her how far apart to place them, then helped her kick her legs over, one at a time. “That’s it,” Lily encouraged. “Let’s try again.”
This time Hazel got both legs around and stomped them back down on the ground together.
“You’re getting it!” Lily turned to glance back to where Rawlins stood at the grill. “Maybe we should get your dad out here to try one.”
“I don’t think he can do it because of his bad leg.”
“His bad leg?”
“Yeah.” She twirled, then pointed her toe, ready for another cartwheel. “From the war.”
The casual way she said it made the skin on the back of Lily’s neck prickle with heat. She thought of the scar she’d noticed on Rawlins’s leg the night of the party, the pink slashes on his tan skin. She wanted to ask more, but Hazel raised her arms and turned back to Lily. “Are you watching?”
After several more attempts and another demonstration by Lily, Rawlins called Hazel upstairs to the porch for her dinner.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he set Hazel’s milk cup next to her plate of hot dog, carrot sticks, and watermelon chunks. “I wanted to go ahead and feed her so she can get to bed. Then you and I can eat.”
Lily sat across the pine table from Hazel while Rawlins retreated into the kitchen, appearing a moment later with a plate of hummus and crackers.
He sat and popped a cracker in his mouth, then pointed at Hazel. “You’re becoming quite a little gymnast.”
She grinned. A spot of ketchup wobbled at the corner of her mouth. Rawlins grabbed a napkin and dabbed it. “Can I do gymnastics?” she asked. “I like the cartwheels.”
“Sure, we can talk about it.”
As Rawlins and Hazel chatted about gymnastics and how badly she wanted a puppy, Lily listened, acutely aware of the longing rising up in her. She always thought she’d have a child by this point in her life. It was almost an actual pain—like something sharp had wormed its way into the crevices of her heart. But there alongside the pain was a wisp of hope. An acknowledgment that maybe she could still one day experience something like the sweetness between this father and daughter.
When Hazel finished her dinner and a strawberry Popsicle, Rawlins proclaimed it time for bed.
“Wait! Daddy, we forgot the sign!” Hazel hopped up off her seat and ran inside.
Lily looked at Rawlins. “Sign?”
Rawlins chuckled. “Just wait. She’s really proud of this.”
A moment later Hazel came out of the house with her hands behind her back. “Close your eyes,” she directed in a singsong voice.
Lily obeyed, and she felt the weight of something in her lap. She opened her eyes and inhaled. “Oh, Hazel. You did this?”
Hazel stuck her hands on her hips, satisfaction lighting up her face. On a piece of poster board, she’d carefully written the words Lily’s Place in blue-and-green crayon. Underneath the words she’d drawn all manner of hair salon accessories—curlers, hair dryers, brushes, and shampoo bottles. To one side she’d drawn a picture of a girl with a perky pink bow in her hair standing behind a chair holding a very large pair of scissors.
“Is this you?”
“No, it’s you! You’re about to cut Aunt Rose’s hair.”
“Hazel, I love this. My mom had a hair salon too. Do you know what it was called?”
Hazel shook her head.
“It was Lillian’s Place.” Hazel’s eyes widened and Lily laughed. “I don’t think you could have picked a better name.”
Hazel beamed, and Rawlins stood and scooped her up, holding her upside down until she erupted in giggles. “You forgot to tell her how I helped you,” he said in her ear before setting her back down again.
“Oh yeah. He told me how to spell the words.”
She glanced at Rawlins. “You did a very good job too.”
“Thanks. And the pink bow there in your hair really adds something. Maybe you should try one.”
She patted her hair. “Maybe I will.”
“Will you hang it in your salon?” Hazel asked.
“I’ll do it tonight.”
After several goodbye hugs and promises of more cartwheels, Hazel waved to Lily and disappeared into the house. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” he said to Lily.
“Take your time.”
He nodded. “I’ll get her settled, then I’ll get our dinner going.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Well . . .” He gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen where several bell peppers and onions sat on a cutting board. “If you don’t mind chopping these up, it’ll save me some time later. I’m going to skewer them with shrimp and sausage. I hope that’s good with you. I should have asked.”
“Are you kidding? That sounds wonderful.”
He showed her where the knives were, then followed Hazel’s path down the hallway, and she got to work, rinsing the vegetables and drying them on a dish towel. Rawlins’s kitchen was small but neat, and she got the impression he had cleaned and straightened up before she came. The wood countertop bore the hatches and marks of years of use, and a small terra-cotta pot of rosemary sat on the window ledge over the sink. The fridge was covered in Magic Marker artwork and a few photos and wedding invitations. Next to the door handle was a piece of paper with the words Where Hazel Sleeps written at the top. Below was a chart showing which nights she’d be with Rawlins and which ones she’d spend with her mom. Hazel had decorated the edges of the page with hearts and smiley faces.
The kitchen opened to a small living area with a TV, a couch, and a couple chairs. A set of shelves against one wall was full of picture frames and books, some of which spilled over onto the floor and the coffee table in the center of the room.
She finished cutting the vegetables and put them all in a glass bowl he’d set out, then dried her hands. A burst of laughter and a quiet admonishment from a back bedroom told her Miss Hazel was not giving up the day e
asily.
Lily walked to the bookshelves and turned her head to the side so she could scan the titles. A mix of classics—The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies, 1984—sat alongside everything from Ken Follett to Cormac McCarthy to Tom Franklin. The bottom two shelves were full of kids’ books—Dr. Seuss, Shel Silverstein, and an assortment of thick board books. Lily reached down and pulled a book from the shelf: a well-loved copy of Pat the Bunny, the familiar peach-colored cover partially torn. She opened the cover, her fingers finding the page with the cotton-soft bunny, then noticed a small silver picture frame lying on the floor partially under the shelf. Assuming it had fallen over, she picked it up to set it back on a shelf.
As she turned it over to prop it up, she saw that it was a photo of Rawlins in military fatigues. His face was much younger than it was now, his cheeks and chin pale, his hair buzzed extremely short. Just as she peered closer, she heard Rawlins’s footsteps behind her. She set the photo on a shelf and turned around. His gaze fell to the photo, then to the book in her hands. “Pat the Bunny?”
She turned the book over. “Yeah. I had this when I was little. I still have it. Somewhere.”
“It was one of Hazel’s favorites when she was younger. She still pulls it out sometimes and runs her finger over the dad’s sandpaper sideburns.”
Lily smiled and replaced the book, glancing one last time at the military photo he obviously wasn’t going to mention.
Back in the kitchen, they threaded shrimp, sausage, and vegetables onto skewers and stacked them up on a small tray before heading downstairs. Rawlins set the kebabs on the grill and closed the lid, motioning for her to take one of the black wrought iron chairs at the patio table. In the center of the table sat a small pot of geraniums. Yellow handprints decorated the outside of the pot.
Lily pulled a chair out and sat. “When we were at the Land and I told you about my mom’s salon, did I say anything about it being called Lillian’s Place?”
“No, you didn’t. And Hazel came up with that name on her own.”
“That’s . . .” Lily shook her head. “Well, it’s pretty special. I’m going to hang it on my door when I get home.”
The Summer House Page 23
