Last Summer

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  “Are you nervous?” I ask him, noticing his leg bouncing up and down.

  “A little.”

  “Don’t be,” I say. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to get you out of this mess once and for all.”

  Marcie returns a little while later, looking refreshed. “Your father is on his way home, and Lucas should be here soon. Sally’s pulling the boys out of practice early. He doesn’t know yet that you’re here.”

  “He’s in for a big surprise,” says Logan.

  Logan, Marcie, and I chat about what our summer has been like, how the heat is unbearable this season, and how Logan’s family has been getting by without him present. I think it’s good for Logan to hear that his family is still hurting with him gone; it lets him know he’s needed. All this time, I’ve pinned them for the type of people who don’t care what happens to their family, who take advantage of how good life is. But I was wrong. It’s blatantly obvious that Marcie cares very much for the well-being of her children, and she and Logan’s dad have been concerned from the start.

  A young boy, who I can only assume is Lucas, walks through the front door. Sally and her boys aren’t far behind him.

  “Hey, Mom, I’m home!” Lucas yells. He sees me and stops. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Chloe.”

  “Oh. Are you my mom’s friend?”

  “No, I’m Logan’s friend.”

  His eyes light up at the mention of his brother. “Logan?”

  I nod.

  As soon as he enters the living room and sees Logan, he freezes. He takes in the sight of his long-lost brother, like this is all a dream. A very real dream. “Logan!” he shrieks, running over to his older brother with outstretched arms. Logan picks him up and swings him around and around, like he weighs nothing at all.

  “I missed you, Luke. I missed you so much.” Logan sets Lucas down, but Lucas won’t let go. His arms remain circled around Logan’s waist. He buries his face in Logan’s shirt, maybe embarrassed that we see him crying. Logan bends over and whispers in Lucas’s ear. Lucas nods.

  “It’s good to see you again, Logan,” says Sally.

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hardy.”

  “We should have a barbeque at my house this weekend. There’s plenty of room for the boys to play,” she says.

  Marcie nods her head in agreement. “That’s sounds lovely. I’ll be in touch. And, Sally, thank you again.”

  Sally smiles at Marcie, Logan and Lucas, and then at me before she grabs her boys and leaves.

  Lucas sits down next to Logan on the couch, snuggling up against his brother. Marcie sits on the other side, wiping the tears from her eyes, and wraps her arms around both of her boys. I feel like an outsider, watching this small family reunited. But then I pinch myself, because I helped. I did this. I brought Logan here.

  A smile of satisfaction curves my lips. Never in my life have I felt as accomplished as I do now. It’s a good sentiment.

  The doorbell rings, breaking us out of our pensive trances. Marcie stands up and fixes her hair, then strides to the foyer. On the other side of the door is a girl, about my age, with long, black hair, tanned skin, and the brightest aqua-colored eyes I’ve ever seen. Marcie welcomes her inside and leads her to the living room. The girl eyes me for a moment, but then her focus is intent on Logan, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  “Hey, Logan. I’ve missed you.” She waits, and then adds, “We’ve all missed you.”

  Seconds roll by, and the room is so tense I can puncture the air with a knife.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

  “Logan,” Marcie pipes up, “is that any way to act towards Audrey? I thought things were good between you two.”

  Say what? Okay, so my gut is right: they have a past. Or had a past, I should say. I haven’t seen this girl patrolling the streets of Sandy Shores, searching for him.

  “We were good, once upon a time, and then she dumped me right after you guys kicked me out.”

  Audrey rolls her eyes and plops down in the recliner next to the couch. “Oh, please. I never broke up with you. You were the one who pushed me away because you thought I couldn’t handle your addiction. But we never broke up.”

  Why do I have the feeling that last part was directed at me? If what she says is true, this means Logan has had a girlfriend the entire time we’ve been together. It means we never really meant a thing; we were a lie.

  Suddenly, I’m suffocating. The weight of the room literally feels like it’s crashing down on my chest. The walls are closing in. I can’t breathe. Oh, God help me, I can’t breathe.

  “So,” I begin, catching what little air I can, “you’re his girlfriend?”

  Audrey gives me a smug look. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for him. He’s very convincing with his hugs and kisses and empty, broken promises. He always has been. And trust me—if there’s anyone who knows this, it’s me. But yes, for the record, I am his girlfriend.”

  I catch the last bit as I exit through the front door, somehow making it to the sidewalk before I throw up.

  Sixteen • Logan

  “Chloe! Chloe, stop!” She’s not listening to me, though. Through a fit of tears, she runs around to the driver’s side and jumps in. Tires squeal as she takes off down the road and out of sight. I just stand there, dumbfounded, wishing she would’ve believed me over Audrey, wishing she would’ve at least listened to what I had to say.

  Audrey and I haven’t been together for six months now. I don’t care what she says. The girl broke up with me because she couldn’t handle my addiction problems. Never once did I see her looking for me. If anything, the bitch was probably spreading rumors and lies about how I overdosed and died, left her for another girl, or ran away from everyone and everything this town had to offer. Why can’t anyone just tell the truth these days?

  “That’s too bad,” Audrey says behind me. “I hope you didn’t actually have feelings for her.”

  I whip around to face her, trying to keep my rage in check. “First of all, you are not my fucking girlfriend. And even if you were, you’re a shitty one. How many times did you look for me, Audrey?” I might as well have slapped her, but her expression morphs back into her typical, sour face. “Tell me how many!”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “Well, there was this one time I thought about—”

  “You thought about it, but you never actually went through with the idea, did you?” I snort. “Like I said, shitty girlfriend. Not that you were ever a good one, anyway. You sucked at keeping our private life private, you sucked at kissing, you sucked in bed, and you sucked because you made me feel like a piece of shit in front of all our friends. You were always picking on me, embarrassing me—and for what? To make you look and feel better? Chloe isn’t any of those things; she’s twice the person you’ll ever be.”

  Audrey rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Logan. You’re just pissed because I ruined what little affection there was between you two, if there was any. She looked like one of those brainiacs who only care about homework, and who stay in on weekends because they don’t have any friends. Please. You could do so much better.”

  “Chloe is better. Better than you, better than anyone I’ve met. She may keep her nose stuck in books, but at least that means she’s smarter than you’ll ever be. At least that means she’ll get somewhere in life and won’t rely on her daddy’s money.” I glare at her.

  “Oh, whatever! I won’t rely on my dad’s money my entire life. In case you were wondering—”

  “I’m not.”

  “—I have a few colleges lined up in the fall. Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth. You get the idea. I bet your precious Chloe won’t ever get into any place that nice, will she?” She smiles, and it sends a chill down my spine.

  “Oh, please. The only reason you’re getting into any of those places is because your dad is rich and made a large donation to one of the three. My
guess is Harvard, since that’s where he graduated from.” She opens her mouth to interrupt, but I cut her off. “And if you tell me I’m wrong, that means you’ve probably slept around with some of the head honchos just so you could get on a list, which doesn’t guarantee you’ll get in. So, if the former is true, that means you’ll still be depending on your dad’s money for years to come. If the latter is true, that means you’re more of a slut than I thought you were.”

  Leaving Audrey standing in the driveway with a dropped jaw, I stomp inside, slamming the front door behind me and locking it.

  “And you!” I shout, pointing at my mom. “Why the hell did you call Audrey to come over?”

  Mom gasps and quickly covers Lucas’s ears. “Logan, please control your language around Lucas.” She removes her hands. “Lucas, honey, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit? I need to talk to your brother.”

  Lucas’s eyes dart between Mom and me, but he never says anything, dutifully walking upstairs to his bedroom.

  Mom turns to me. “Logan, I didn’t know. I honestly thought you two were still together. Audrey asked me several times if I had heard anything from you. She even came over after you . . . after you were . . . gone.”

  I exhale loudly, rubbing my face and combing my fingers through my hair. “I have to go to her, Mom. Even if she never wants to see me again, I have to tell her the truth.”

  Mom nods a few times, then says, “Take my keys and drive carefully.” She motions toward the small table by the front door, where a bowl filled with car keys, loose change, and peppermints rests. “I’ll notify your father. Don’t leave us waiting this time, Logan. We’re all ecstatic to see you again.”

  “I won’t.”

  She quickly hugs me before I dart out the front door. Thank God Audrey took the hint and left. I hope I never have to see her again. What she did to Chloe is unacceptable, and I hope I can alter Chloe’s opinion of me before it’s too late.

  It’s amazing how, when you’re with someone, the world seems right. The stars align, or whatever. But if you make one small mistake, they never forget. They lug your problems around, rubbing them in your face when necessary—whenever they want to hurt you and cause major damage. That’s not love. Love is more than just a pretty face with a nice personality. Love is knowing your significant other’s heart for what it is, both good and bad, and seeing what they’re worth. When they have problems, you don’t drag them through the mud and muck; you help them to their feet and walk beside them every step of the way.

  That’s what Chloe did for me. So, is that love? I don’t know, but I intend to find out. My heart beats rapidly every time I think about her. Is that love? I still adore the way she scrunches her nose without thinking; it makes her look years younger. Cuter, even. Is that love? She’s polite and selfless and the most beautiful person I know inside and out. I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be with her every second of every day, and my heart literally aches when we’re not together. Is that love? Probably.

  “Ugh, Chloe. What have you done to me?” I say aloud in the car. It’ll be another thirty minutes or so before I reach Chloe’s house, and even then, I don’t know that she’ll be there.

  But I have an idea where she might be.

  ~~~

  I park along the curb of Chloe’s street exactly thirty-three minutes later. No way did she run inside, crying for her mom to see. My theory? She’s at the cottage, or somewhere by the lake near the cottage.

  It takes me some time to find her, and it definitely wasn’t an easy search. She was in the water, swimming. I stand at the shore and shout, “Come talk to me!” She pretends like she didn’t hear as she floats atop the water, arms outstretched. “Don’t make me come out there,” I warn. Reluctantly, she stops floating and swims toward shore.

  As soon as her foot touches land, I reach out, but she sidesteps me and wiggles away from my grasp.

  “Just . . . listen to me, Chloe,” I say. “Audrey lied to you. She and I aren’t together.”

  Chloe doesn’t respond as she tugs on her dry clothes.

  “Okay, so, you’re pissed,” I continue. “I get it. I’d be pissed, too. But you have to believe me. I wouldn’t do this to you.”

  She finishes buttoning her shirt, slips her feet into her flip-flops, and walks back toward her house.

  “Chloe, please talk to me. Say something. Anything. Tell me I’m a lazy, good-for-nothing bastard who has shitty priorities.” I catch up to her, but she won’t look me in the eyes. I’ve never felt so invisible in my life. “I’m sorry, okay? But I’m hurt, too.”

  She stops, frowns, and then asks, “Why?”

  “Because you believe Audrey over me, which means you don’t trust me.”

  She sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you, but it’s a little too obvious that you two still have feelings for each other. I should’ve paid attention to the signs, anyway.” She resumes walking.

  “What signs? I swear to God there’s nothing between her and me.”

  “Oh, please.” She huffs. “The sexual tension I felt between you two in the span of five minutes is more than anything I’ve felt between us.”

  I grab her shoulder, forcing her to stop walking. “Is that what this is about? Because I have a sexual past with Audrey and haven’t done anything with you?”

  “No, it’s not like—”

  I back away, running my fingers through my hair, laughing at the sky. “Oh, my God.”

  “Logan, I swear that’s not what I—”

  “Then, enlighten me, because that’s exactly what it sounds like.”

  She inhales and exhales slowly. “Okay. So . . . I just meant that there was something stronger between you two, stronger than what you and I have, so when she said you guys were still together, I panicked because I could feel she wasn’t lying. She truly believed you two were a couple. And since you two already had a past, it might be easier to revert to your old ways.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I say. “You think just because she and I dated, I’ll go running back when she calls?”

  Chloe hesitates, shifting weight to her right leg, then answers, “Maybe.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not her little bitch—I’m not anybody’s little bitch—and I sure as hell won’t be going back to her. She treated me like shit, and I was tired of it.”

  “I don’t know, Logan . . . You can stand here and say these nice things and make up stories, but the truth is you went running when heroin called. So, how is that any different than Audrey?”

  Without a response, I just stand there like an idiot. Like she just slapped my brain out of my skull and I can’t think. I watch her turn and stroll off, and yet I don’t do anything. Go after her, Logan! Go! My legs aren’t listening to my head, though. Make her believe you!

  Finally, my mind connects with my legs. “Chloe, wait.” She doesn’t listen, so I yell, “WAIT!”

  Now she stops. Turning around, she looks annoyed. “Make it quick.”

  I amble over to where she stands. “Just tell me what you want,” I whisper. “I’ve stopped using. I’ve tried working things out with my parents. I’m not dating Audrey, or anyone else. I don’t know what else I can do to make you happy.” Reaching out, I grasp her by the shoulders, forcing her to look me in the eyes. Say something—say anything—damn it. I can’t stand to see her like this.

  She shrugs out of my grip. “All I want is for you to get your life back on track. I want you to be happy.”

  “Done. See? Not so bad.”

  Shaking her head, she articulates, “That’s not what I meant, Logan, and you know it.”

  I snort. “Whatever. I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Her delicate features crease in so many different places. “I think, if you had the chance, you’d pick up the habit again.”

  WHAT? “Wow. Way to have some fucking faith in me.” She moves to touch my arms, but I step bac
kward a few feet, out of reach.

  She licks her lips nervously. “Just . . . hear me out, okay? The truth is that I care a lot about you, but I don’t completely trust those feelings, or you—not yet, anyway, but I’m trying.”

  “Want to know what I think?” Her baby blues stare up at me; anticipation and worry perform the tango in their depths. “I think you started this by throwing a pity party. ‘Oh, God, the poor, homeless boy with a horrible life. I must help him.’ But that quickly turned into some fucked-up feelings, and then you realized that if you help me, if they help me”—I gesture wildly to the millions of random people surrounding us in the world—“if anyone helps me, it would be a good thing . . . for me. But for you? That’s a totally different story. Because the truth is you have a fucked-up life like me, you see yourself in me, and you can’t fix your own problems, so you’re trying to fix mine.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it just as fast.

  “But who’s going to be the one to help you, Chloe?” I reach out to cup her face in my hands, my thumb gently sweeping over her bottom lip. “Nobody, then?” She shakes her head. “So I guess that leaves me.”

  She nods and sniffs. “I guess.”

  “I’ll take care of you, baby. It might be a while, but I will.”

  “You can’t,” she murmurs, on the verge of tears.

  “Why not?” I lift her chin, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “Tell me.”

  She just shakes her head, unable to reply.

  “Well, since we’re getting things off our chests,” I say, “now might be a good time to tell you that I’m fucking crazy about you. There was never a point in my life where I cared so much about anything—not football, not my home life, none of it. I’ve never met anyone who has a heart like yours; you’re so willing to give it all away to those who need it most, even if it means losing some of the pieces forever. You’re the most infuriating, selfless, beautiful person I’ve ever known, and I thank the universe every day that I met you.”