The Summer I Dared: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  “I didn’t ask Dad for money. I used my bank card. Dad doesn’t know I’m here. I just showered, packed a bag, and left.”

  Julia’s unease returned. She wondered if there was more Molly wasn’t saying. “Did he see you leave?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t talk.”

  “Didn’t he ask where you were going?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t answer.”

  “He’s probably worried sick,” Julia said.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Molly leaned against the truck. With her short hair, three earrings per lobe, and the angry look on her face, she seemed uncharacteristically rebellious. “Because he has a busy life, and that life revolves around him. It always did. Remember the time he was supposed to be looking at colleges with us? Or the time he was supposed to be vacationing in Washington, D.C., with us? Or the time he was supposed to be chaperoning my senior prom? Or the time—”

  Julia put her fingers to Molly’s mouth to stop the flow. “We’ve been through this before. But he loves you. I’ll call him as soon as we get back to Zoe’s.” She looked again at that hair; it was going to take some getting used to. “I’m sorry about the job. It sounded like such a good opportunity—and you were getting academic credits for it. What’ll you do now?”

  “Go back to New York with you and look for something else,” she said. “I know it’s late. But I can talk my way into things.”

  “You certainly can.” The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Molly might have Julia’s sensitivity, but she had Monte’s drive—and his tongue. “Only I may stay here a little longer,” she added. The idea of extending her stay had been a germ, floating around without concrete form until now.

  Molly frowned. “I thought the deal was for two weeks. One’s gone.”

  “Deal?” Julia echoed with a puzzled smile.

  “Plan.”

  “It was. Then the accident happened. I haven’t done much of what I thought I’d do.”

  “Like photography? But if your equipment is lost, how can you do it at all?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure things out. It’s been an emotional week,” she said with a glance up the hill.

  “Not much fun? Nor for Aunt Zoe. She looked pretty stressed when I saw her. I mean, I couldn’t believe she was there at the dock when the ferry pulled in. I saw our car back on the mainland, only I didn’t have the keys, and then I stepped off the boat at this end, and there she was. I thought, like, she just… had a vision of my coming. Then she explained that she was meeting someone else.” Her voice lowered, taking on greater weight. “Mom, the guy who died wasn’t much older than me.”

  “I know.”

  “And his brother wasn’t much older than him. Zoe borrowed another truck and made me take hers. She told me you were here.” She glanced up at the cemetery, much as Julia had just done. “Can we leave now? This place freaks me out. Besides, you need to call Grandpa. I talked with him while I was at the bus station. He said he was waiting for you to call.”

  Yes. There had been that order at the end of his email. There hadn’t been another email since, though there had been emails from Charlotte, Donna, and Jane. There had been calls from Julia’s brother Jerry and from the wife of her brother Mark, but nothing from either Janet or George in the days that had passed between then and now. If Julia’s parents felt any of the concern that had brought Molly home from France, Julia saw no evidence of it. Not in them, and not in Monte. Forget concern. If Monte even missed her, Julia saw no evidence of it at all.

  Chapter 5

  Back at Zoe’s, the first call Julia made was to Monte. He picked up with a terse, “Yes,” but she was grateful he picked up at all. He didn’t always do that—not for clients, not for family.

  “Hey,” she said, as chipper as could be. “It’s me.” She smiled at Molly, who stood nearby, chewing on a fingernail.

  “I’ve been trying you all day,” he replied, sounding put out. “What’s with the new cell phone?”

  “I left it at Zoe’s. I’ve been at funerals all day.”

  “It’d help if you checked for messages once in a while. Molly’s back.”

  “I know,” Julia said. “She’s up here now.”

  “There? How in the hell did she get there?”

  “She flew to Portland and took a bus to the ferry.”

  “He’ll love that,” Molly muttered.

  “A bus?” Monte exclaimed. “Do you know the kinds of scuzzbags who take buses up there?”

  “Are they any different from the scuzzbags who take buses down there?”

  Molly snickered. Julia held up a warning hand.

  “Ah,” said Monte. “We’re in a mood today, are we? Well, let me tell you, Molly was almost incoherent when she walked in here last night. I don’t know whether it was exhaustion or whether she was on something she got in France, but she wasn’t making any sense. What did she say to you?”

  Julia didn’t for a minute think that Molly had been “on something.” She knew her daughter. They were far closer than many a mother and daughter, for which Julia was particularly grateful now. If Molly had behaved badly, it was either from exhaustion—or from Monte. “She says you two had a fight. She says you’re upset that she came home early.”

  There was a heartbeat’s silence, then an arch, “Well, aren’t you? It was a good internship.”

  “She didn’t think so.”

  “She’s twenty years old. What does she know?”

  Julia bridled on Molly’s behalf. Turning away from the girl, she told Monte with a vehemence she didn’t often use, “If she was male, and we were at war, she’d be old enough to use lethal weapons. Let’s give her a little credit. We weren’t in Paris. We didn’t see what was going on. She felt that the internship wasn’t going to give her the experience she was there to get. She also felt that it would mean a lot to me for her to come here and make sure I was okay. And it has.”

  “You’re okay,” Monte said lightly. “You’re always okay. So you did get the package I sent? It might have been nice if you’d called and told me it arrived.”

  Julia bit her tongue. Monte knew it had arrived. He had FedExed it from work, just like he did all the other important papers in his life. To hear him talk, which he usually did, he would trust FedEx with his life.

  “Thank you,” she said obediently.

  “You got the credit card, and the cash?”

  “Yes. It was all in the package. Thank you.”

  “And the car keys? Have you brought the car over?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? I thought the whole idea was to have it there so you wouldn’t have to drive Zoe’s truck.”

  That was true. She didn’t know how to handle a manual transmission any more than Molly did, and she wasn’t as daring as Molly. “I’ve been driving an old car that a friend gave Zoe, but I haven’t gone far. Lately it’s been to funerals. They just held the fourth one in two days.”

  Remember the accident? she wanted to ask. How can you carry on about cell phones and car keys when nine people are dead?

  Monte was oblivious. “If you weren’t going to be needing our car, I could have used it here.”

  To go where? she wondered. Monte had insisted—and more than once—that he wasn’t leaving the city during the two weeks she planned to be gone, and that cabs would do him fine. But pointing that out would only invite argument, and she rarely won. Monte was a master at verbal jousting.

  She, on the other hand, was a master at suppression. Though part of her simmered, her voice was calm. “I’ll go get the car,” she assured him. “Especially now that Molly’s here, I have reason to do it.”

  “She’s staying with you, then? She should. There’s no sense in her coming back here. She won’t find another job now. She might as well stay there for another week.”

  Julia wasn’t going into the possibility of staying longer, herself. “Yes.”

  “I wou
ldn’t be able to keep an eye on her here. There’s too much going on. She can help you spend the money I sent. Did I tell you that our insurance will cover the camera equipment? See if you can replace it somewhere up there. That fellow will know where to go. Himmel.”

  “Hammel.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “I’ll see.”

  “Why the doubt? You loved that equipment. Learn how to use it, and you’ll have an artistic outlet. That’s what it’s for.”

  Julia could just as easily have found an artistic outlet using a simple point-and-shoot camera.

  Monte went on. “By the way, call your father, will you? He called here yesterday wanting to know what’s wrong with you that you haven’t returned his call.”

  “He never called,” Julia said, mildly annoyed.

  “Maybe he did, only you weren’t answering your cell. Do me a favor, Julia. Keep it with you, please? I don’t care whether cell phones are politically correct or not up there, but it’d be nice for the people in your life to be able to reach you. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She ended the call, simmering now at the condescension in his voice, and accessed her voicemail, but other than three increasingly irritated messages left earlier by Monte, there was nothing from her father. She had no doubt that he had tried the line, but he hadn’t bothered to leave a message. That only added to the hurt she felt.

  She was of half a mind to turn off the cell and wait until later to call. But the annoyance that remained from her conversation with Monte gave her the backbone to call now—not to mention the fact that with Molly still standing close, watching and listening, she would have to explain herself if she put it off.

  Still, old habits died hard. Her stomach was jumping as the phone rang. It got even worse when her mother’s voice came on. “Hello?”

  “Mom, hi.” There was silence on the other end. Quickly, hopefully, she said, “Talk to me, Mom. Please talk to me.”

  But George came right on. “Julia? We’ve been trying to reach you. Why haven’t you called?”

  Julia was deflated. “Things have been a little busy.”

  “Busy? Up there?”

  He might have spoken neutrally, but the words hit her wrong. Every bit of the annoyance she had felt talking with Monte was back, and then some. Yes, she was a whiz at self-control, but she couldn’t let the jibe pass.

  Curbing anger, she said, “There was an accident, Dad. Nine people died. There are eight children, two wives, one fiancée, and dozens of parents and siblings and friends who have lost people they love. When I haven’t been at funerals, I’ve been making meals for families of the ones we’ve buried, and when I haven’t been doing that, I’ve been helping Zoe out, because her assistant died on the ferry. Yes, it’s been busy up here.”

  Despite her efforts to stay calm, her voice had risen. Uncharacteristic? Definitely. Even Molly looked startled.

  Her father must have been startled as well, because he immediately backed off. “I understand, Julia. It’s just that we’ve been waiting for your call. We’re your parents. We worry.”

  “Mom, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why she handed the phone off to you?”

  “Julia.”

  “If you were worried, why didn’t you call me yourself?”

  George didn’t reply, and Julia felt instantly contrite. She wasn’t accustomed to talking back to anyone, much less her father.

  “I’m sorry, Dad, but we’ve had a difficult time here. This wasn’t just another car crash on the Beltway. Big Sawyer’s a small place. Everyone knows everyone else. When nine people die, it is felt.”

  “I can imagine,” he said quietly, sincerely. “How many more funerals are there?”

  “None here. The rest are on the mainland.”

  His voice brightened. “You’re coming home, then?”

  “Not yet.”

  There was a pause, then a surprised, “Why not? It’s been a week.” Julia heard murmuring in the background—surely her mother’s voice—though she couldn’t make out the words.

  Determined not to wither, she said, “I had initially planned on two weeks. Besides, I can be a help here. There are still things to do.”

  “What does Monte say?”

  “He’s all for it. He’s about as much into the ferry accident as you and Mom are.” The words were so laden with sarcasm that Julia surprised even herself. But she didn’t take them back. Nor did she make any effort to fill the ensuing silence.

  Finally, kindly but tactfully, with Janet clearly standing nearby, George said, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

  Julia didn’t hesitate to explain. She didn’t care that Molly was standing right there. Molly was an adult. She should know what her mother was feeling.

  “I’m saying that the accident was about as traumatic an experience as I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know why you and Mom are having so much trouble understanding that. I could easily have been one of the ones who died.”

  Molly cried, “Don’t say that!”

  “Don’t say that,” her grandfather said with the greater gravity of his age. “You didn’t die. That’s all that counts.”

  “No. You see, it isn’t,” Julia went on, struggling now to express herself. “I didn’t die. But I could have. So why didn’t I? There has to be a reason.”

  “No reason. Just sheer luck.”

  “There’s a reason,” she said with conviction. “I just haven’t figured out what it is. And anyway, even aside from that, I’m looking at things differently now.”

  “Differently how?”

  “Differently… like, who I am and what I am doing with my life and what people will say when I die.”

  “Mom!” Molly squealed.

  Julia angled the phone away from her mouth. “Someday, Molly. I’m not planning on doing it any time soon. That’s the whole point.”

  “What’s the whole point?” George asked when she returned to the phone.

  “I’m forty,” she said, holding Molly’s gaze. “God willing, I’ll have another forty years. I need to make the most of them.”

  “Are you doubting the first forty?” George said over more background murmuring and aimed an impatient “Shhh” away from the phone.

  “No,” Julia said, but caught herself. If the point was to be honest— saying what she felt, rather than saying what the listener wanted to hear—she had to change that. “Make that yes. Some parts. I wouldn’t change a thing about others.”

  George said something muffled to Janet. His tone sounded less indulgent than before.

  “If Mom has something to say,” Julia invited, “why doesn’t she pick up the phone?”

  “Why doesn’t she?” Molly asked. “Why won’t she talk with you?”

  “You know why,” George muttered on his end of the line.

  “Actually, I don’t,” Julia said. “We all know that she and Zoe had a falling-out, but I’m not sure what it was about. To carry the grudge all this time is absurd. Zoe’s her only sister, and she lives up here totally alone.”

  “By choice,” George reminded her.

  “Has Mom invited her to live in Baltimore? Has Mom ever expressed an interest in having her closer? Has Mom ever picked up the phone and called her?”

  “Julia,” he cautioned.

  But Julia was on a roll. “Zoe has friends but no family, and there Mom is, head of a charitable foundation. Her specialty is supposed to be communicating with people, but she won’t talk with Zoe and now, because I’m here visiting Zoe, she won’t talk with me. Charity begins at home, doesn’t it? If forgiveness is part of charity, why can’t Mom forgive Zoe? What did she do that was so terrible?”

  “Ask Zoe.”

  Zoe chose that moment to walk in the door.

  Holding her gaze, Julia said, “Zoe won’t say.” When Zoe arched her brows, Julia mouthed, Dad.

  Molly went to Zoe and slipped an arm around her waist.

&
nbsp; George sighed, sounding tired. “Julia, this has nothing to do with you and your life.”

  “It does,” Julia insisted. “It has to do with honesty. That’s one of the things I’m feeling different about.”

  “You’ve had a shock. It’s understandable. Give yourself a little time. Things will return to normal.” There was more background murmuring. This time, though, George raised his voice enough so that Julia could hear. “Be still, Janet, and let me talk. Yes. Yes. Here, do you want to tell her that?”

  Of course, Janet didn’t. But Julia was intrigued by the thought that her father might be standing up for her.

  Moments later, though, in a purely perfunctory way, George repeated what Julia was sure Janet had said. “You have to move on now.”

  She straightened her spine and smiled. “I am.”

  “Come home. We’ll talk more once you’re back in New York.”

  “Fine.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t you think it’d be better if you got back into your usual routine? You don’t sound like yourself at all.”

  Julia didn’t doubt it. She didn’t usually challenge her parents. She didn’t usually challenge her husband. She was, after all, obedient. “That might be good.”

  “I’m worried, Julia,” George said.

  She softened immediately. Her father wasn’t the problem. In many regards, he was a victim himself. What Julia said to him was aimed at Janet. “I’m not asking you to worry. I’d just like you to try to understand what I’ve been through and what I might be feeling.”

  “Yes. I’ll try,” he said, but in an inattentive way that indicated he was done with talk.

  Julia ached. No, George wasn’t the root of the problem. Nor, though, should he act like a robot. He was a man, with the ability to think and feel. And he was her father. No matter how cowed he was by his wife, he could have emailed Julia again or called her from work, and Janet would never have known.