One Summer

by Jenny Hale

  “You’re supposed to be helping,” she teased, the now familiar ease of being with him settling between them again. She couldn’t deny it. It wasn’t something she could control, it just was, like air or light or… love.

  “Right. Sorry.” Jack took another small piece of paper from the trunk, looked it over, and then marked his place in the magazine, setting it aside as if he’d return to it one day. Alice stared at it for a moment, trying to squash the silent wish that he would. Why was he getting to her like this? She’d never had such a hard time being rational before. She always stuck to her decisions with 100 percent accuracy. But she found herself constantly changing direction when it came to him. She couldn’t stand her ground. Jack reached over and took another few magazines, flipping through them and making a new stack.

  They continued looking through everything, and Alice was just starting to think they weren’t going to find anything when she noticed a folded piece of paper hidden under the last file folder. She opened it up and with every word she read, her skin felt prickly with apprehension.

  “What did you find?” Jack asked, concerned.

  “Something from Gramps…” She let her eyes run over Grace’s name.

  “Read it,” Jack urged her.

  She smoothed the paper on her leg and began, her hands shaking, the implications of what was about to come out of her mouth making her stomach hurt.

  To my dearest family,

  For Susie, I’ve set aside a trust fund, knowing how much she adores the west coast and would never leave it. And I already know what Alice should have, but I’ve always wanted to give something to Grace as well, because, over the years, I’ve missed out on showing her how I feel about her. And I love her. I love her just as much as I love Alice and Susie. She, too, is my granddaughter. After Annie’s death, I have been painfully aware of the limited days that I have, and I can’t help but think how I’d like to leave the shop and my remaining assets to both Grace and Alice—they can split my belongings down the middle. Please send them all my love.

  Paul Emerson

  “Who’s Annie?” Jack asked.

  “My grandma.” Alice looked back down at the letter. “I only own half the bike shop? Gramps signed his name, Paul Emerson, which makes it official. That can’t be right,” she whispered. Alice turned the paper over in her hand. “Does this have any bearing on my inheritance?”

  “It’s sort of a written will, but you have a signed, dated will that most likely was written after this, so I wouldn’t think it has any bearing at all.” He leaned over to look at it.

  “You’re right,” she said, more to reassure herself. “He wrote the will right before he passed away.”

  “Then I think you’re fine. The bike shop is yours.”

  But the pinch in her chest didn’t go away. She had a family member out there that she’d never known about. Why? Who was she? Had Gramps had an affair? Did she have other aunts or uncles out there with children? Or was Grace some hidden secret of her Aunt Claire’s or even her father? Had her father strayed from her mother? Never. That would be impossible. Any answer to those questions would be unthinkable. Her hands felt cold and clammy all of a sudden and she wiped them on her shorts. “Did Gramps tell you anything more about Grace?”

  “Like I said, not much. I do remember now that he said he hadn’t seen her in a long time. Sorry, I didn’t commit his exact words to memory because at the time it hadn’t meant anything to me. But he’d only mentioned her that one time anyway, so I don’t think I’d have a lot to tell you even if I had remembered it perfectly.”

  “I need to call my dad.” It didn’t matter that Jack was there with her. She stood up and pulled her phone from her pocket, then dialed her father’s number, her back to Jack. Through the years, her dad had shared everything with her. He’d always been completely honest. Did he know about Grace? She only had one aunt, and that was Aunt Claire, who seemed to know nothing about the person in the photo. If it was Gramps’s grandchild, then the baby would have to belong to either Claire or Alice’s father, unless Gramps had fathered other children and Alice had an aunt or uncle with a child she knew nothing about. None of it seemed feasible at all.

  The phone continued to pulse in her ear with no answer. She ended the call. When she turned around, Jack was facing the Seaside Sprinkles idea wall. “No luck?” he said, without taking his eyes off the board.

  “He’s probably with Henry.” She walked over and stood next to him, all the pieces of paper with her handwriting and Sasha’s almost taunting her, playing on her insecurities. She pinched the bridge of her nose to alleviate the ache that was forming. “I’m glad my dad’s busy. Henry’s been a mess since we lost Einstein, and I’ve pulled him away from everyone he knows except Sasha and me. I hope he’s having the time of his life.”

  Jack smiled sadly at her. “I’ve been looking for Einstein.”

  “I know. Butch told me.”

  “He asked if I’d bring you over again. I think you really brightened his day when we stopped by last time.” Jack met her gaze. “I’d like to.”

  The truth was, she enjoyed Butch’s company. He was such a friendly person that he made her feel like she belonged here, like it was home. But spending time with Butch would just make her feel worse about her choice to keep the shop and would confuse her feelings about Jack even more. And she didn’t know if she could cope with Jack leaving if she continued to spend time with him.

  “I don’t know,” she said, honestly.

  “He makes a cherry cobbler that’s out of this world.”

  That made her smile. “Are you trying to bribe me with desserts?”

  The corner of Jack’s mouth turned up in an adorable way. “If that’s what it takes.” Then seriousness took over his features. “Come tomorrow,” he said. “Then, maybe over pie, you’ll tell me why things have changed between us.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Alice arrived at Butch’s the next day, she noticed three rocking chairs on his small front porch and three Mason jars full of iced lemonade. The screen door creaked as Butch greeted her.

  “I was just setting up for us,” he said, his delight at her presence clear. “The heat from the oven is liable to reduce my years on this earth, given the temperature outside. No one needs a heatstroke over cherry cobbler. Jack told me he offered you some, so I figured I’d better get to baking.” Butch picked up one of the glasses and handed it to her as she reached the top step.

  “You didn’t have to,” Alice said.

  “What I didn’t have to do was make the lunch that we’re having before the cobbler, but I’m happy to.”

  The door squealed again as Jack walked through it. “Hi,” he said, that all-too-recognizable affection in his eyes making her reconsider how long she wanted to stay. He grabbed his Mason jar and took a sip of lemonade as he claimed one of the chairs, seemingly unbothered.

  Alice found his demeanor quite difficult to comprehend because she’d hemmed and hawed all morning about whether to actually show up, what to wear, how to treat Jack when she saw him… She’d been so angry at herself for the position she was in. She had made a decision not to see Jack anymore, yet he kept finding his way into her days. She had a ton of things to do to get Seaside Sprinkles ready if she wanted to open any time this year, and she really didn’t like leaving Sasha, even though she swore she was feeling better. But despite all of that, she had refilled Einstein’s bowls on the porch like she’d promised Henry she’d do, gotten ready, and found herself in the car, going down the bypass toward Butch’s house. On the way there she reasoned she was going because Butch was kind and deserved to have a friend if he wanted one. And he’d asked Jack to invite her. But it didn’t make her any less tense about how to act.

  Jack patted the rocking chair seat beside him, inviting her to sit. She sat down, leaning forward and holding her drink with two hands, the icy surface cooling her just slightly. Butch did the same.

  The three of them sipped their lemona
de, and Alice noted how quiet it was without the ocean at the back door. The humidity sat on her skin like a wet blanket, and she could feel it crawling down the back of her neck. Absent was the ocean, but also the coastal breeze this far inland. Exhaustion finally took over in the silence. She hadn’t slept well at all, thinking over everything and now about Grace as well. The truth was she had a relative out there to whom Gramps may have wanted to give the shop, and the unanswered question as to why he didn’t in the end kept going around in her mind all night. She felt like she couldn’t move forward without having some sort of answer.

  She’d tried to call her dad again but he only got out a few words in greeting before Henry called him, and she realized that that wasn’t the time to speak to him about it. She needed to see him, and she planned to have a talk with him once he came back to drop Henry home.

  “It’s stifling hot here in the woods, but you know, it’s the most serene place to live,” Butch said, tipping back in his rocker and taking a sip of his drink. “So much has built up around here… Not many places like this left.” He shot a worried glance over at Jack.

  “It is a nice spot,” Jack said, standing up abruptly. “What’s for lunch? Wanna go in and eat? I’m starving.” He opened the screen door as a request for the two of them to rise and go inside too.

  But they’d just sat down. Why was he so jumpy all of a sudden? Before she could find out, Butch had gotten up and tottered inside and Jack was fiddling with the thermostat, turning it colder to combat the heat.

  “Whatcha got for us today, Dad?”

  The tiny kitchen counter was full of dishes: bowls of potato salad and fresh vegetables, sliced chicken and wedges of cheese, homemade bread…

  “You outdid yourself,” Jack said, removing the cellophane from the top of one of the bowls.

  “In my next apartment, I’d like to have a bit more counter space,” Butch said, as he shifted a bowl to make room for their stack of plates. He looked over his shoulder to address Alice. “Jack’s finding me a new place to rent,” he explained.

  Alice tried to read Jack, wondering if he’d abandoned his idea of building something wonderful for his dad. He wouldn’t make eye contact with her, but she could see that Butch’s line of conversation wasn’t sitting well with him.

  “I wouldn’t mind staying here, but…” He shook his head. “We’d sold it already since it had started to require more upkeep than I could manage, and I was only renting until we could find something else. The buyers were very kind to let me do that, but they need to make a move on the changes. I was just told the land is being rezoned for commercial property. It seems like they need more beach chairs and towels, cups and key chains for the throngs of tourists that always seem to sit in my favorite chair at the coffee shop for three months of the year.”

  Besides the complete worry that Butch would be out of his home, Alice let another thought sink in: the locals felt displaced during the summer months when the tourists came into town. But their money was essential to the survival of the area. She wondered if she could have a wall of bookshelves at the ice cream shop where the locals could place their own books and newspapers, have a few chairs set aside on reserve for them… Just an idea.

  “Good property is hard to find!” He lumped a pile of potato salad on a plate for Alice that was so big she could eat from it for days, and handed it to her. “There just isn’t a lot out there and we’re in a crunch, aren’t we, Jack? I’ve got to find something else soon or I’m out on the streets.”

  “I won’t leave you on the streets,” Jack said quietly, peering down at his plate. He’d filled half of it with way too many vegetables and had a third spoonful ready, when he must have realized what he was doing and set the spoon back into the bowl. He still wouldn’t look up.

  “What will you do if you can’t find somewhere to live?” she asked Butch, while filling the rest of her plate. Jack had set his plate down on the table and topped off all three of their glasses of lemonade.

  “I have a spare room at my apartment in Chicago,” Jack said, his voice heavy.

  Butch stroked his beard thoughtfully before speaking. “You know, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m not at all, but that fancy glass box you’ve got overlooking the city isn’t exactly where I thought I’d spend my last years—I’ve told you that. I used up all the good years I was healthy chasing that very kind of thing, but now, I just want a small kitchen where I can bake my pies and a long front porch where I can sit and listen to the waves as they crash, just like they did the whole time I was so busy running the streets to make a million. I never made that million, but I sure missed a lot of waves. I don’t want to miss any more.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Jack said.

  “This is where I want to be. Jack’s right on one thing though: he and I should live closer to one another—although I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He offered a half smile at Jack, who was now sitting next to Alice and fiddling with his potato salad, jabbing it lightly with his fork but not eating it.

  Alice leaned into Jack’s view, commanding his attention. “When do you go back to Chicago?” she asked, the question tearing at her heart. She’d tried to protect herself from this very feeling but, in the end, she couldn’t.

  He met her eyes. “A couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks?” she said, his answer stunning her. She sat back in her chair, her fingers settling on top of her silverware. A couple of weeks. Yes. That was best. It was good that he was leaving sooner rather than later because this wasn’t going anywhere and they were both wasting their time.

  A light clatter of Jack’s fork onto his plate brought her out of her reverie.

  “Dad, do you mind if I talk to Alice outside for a second?”

  “Not at all.” Butch wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  Jack scooted his chair back and stood up, holding out his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  She followed him out, the screen door smacking its frame as she went through it.

  Jack was walking quickly, and she had to take two steps for every one of his to keep up. He marched out into the front yard and spun around, running his hand through his hair, his face crumpled in what looked like indecision.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked. His green eyes bored into her, his lips pressed together into a straight line, his shoulders tense. “It’s like we’re in the same place for just an instant and then you go cold and pull back.” He took a step toward her. “Alice, you said you didn’t know if you were doing the right thing. I just offered to take the shop off your hands and then everything changed between us. Why was that so bad?”

  She stood there frozen, a lightning bolt moment hitting her right then and causing her to clam up: in the past, she’d have said that the right person wouldn’t have offered to buy the shop, but instead would’ve offered to help her make the decision to open the ice cream shop; but now, as she stood in front of Jack, she realized that wasn’t right either. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was up to her to make it all work, not someone else to convince her. With Sasha being sick, she’d made the last few decisions herself and she could do it just fine. She didn’t need anyone helping her to figure it all out.

  “Why, Alice?”

  She stayed silent as she tried to get her thoughts straight.

  Then, while she was still sifting through her emotions, those eyes came into view. “I’m crazy about you,” Jack whispered.

  Frustration bubbled up into anger. She was angry that she could never seem to be in the right place in life for a relationship to work. She could never get it right. And Jack was amazing. As much as she tried to tell herself otherwise, she was just as crazy about him too. She loved every single minute she spent with him. But he was going back to Chicago. “Why are you telling me all this if you’re leaving in two weeks? You think that’s what I want for Henry? For me? We’re a nice diversion while you’re here, but then you’re going to leave
, just like you’re leaving your father. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.” Her last statement had been harsh, and she bit her lip, wishing she could retract it, but it was out there now.

  “What?”

  “I know the story,” she said. “I was told how you left your father to run off to Chicago and become a big-shot doctor.” She didn’t like the idea of him in that white coat. She liked how he was right now, in this moment, even though she was so upset. She loved the way he looked at her, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the slight scruff on his face.

  He rubbed his eyes in irritation, taking in a deep breath and then letting it out. “I did no such thing,” he said, his jaw set.

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “My father begged me to go. I wanted to stay here with him, but he told me that if I didn’t go, all those years he’d spent away from us would mean nothing because he’d worked to give us a life, to give us something better, and going to Chicago was my chance. He’d done all he could and now it was my turn to finish it. So I went.” He paced back and forth as if he were trying to keep his cool. Then he turned to her. “I went because I love him.”

  His last words danced in front of her, making her want to put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she said, the anger subsiding and an immense guilt washing over her, but the frustration about the situation still lurked under her skin. “I believed it to be true because here we are, and you’re telling me you have feelings for me, but you’re going back to Chicago in a couple of weeks. What were you planning to do?”