How to Survive a Summer Romance (or Two)

by Ann Herrick

  "You can let go now," I said, trying to make a joke of it. "I won't try to escape."

  Troy laughed, and slowly released me from his grip. "Come on. I'll race you out to that rock."

  Almost before I could see where he was pointing, Troy started swimming. What he didn't know was that I was one of the best swimmers in my P.E. class. In a few strokes, I caught up to him. He looked surprised when my hand touched the rock just inches ahead of his.

  Troy made a point of scrambling onto the rock first and giving me a hand up. "You're a good swimmer."

  "Thanks."

  For a while we sat quietly, watching the blue water ripple gently toward shore. I enjoyed the combination of a cool breeze and warm sunshine. An innocent enough situation.

  Then Troy broke the silence. "Ever since you moved in next door I've been watching you."

  I tried not to be flattered and responded ever-so-casually. "Oh?"

  "I couldn't take my eyes off those great legs of yours when I saw you on the porch this morning."

  "Oh?" I said again, only more interested this time. Troy was probably just handing me a line he'd used a thousand times. But one of my major faults is that I can't resist a compliment, sincere or not.

  "Yeah …" Suddenly Troy put his arms around me and pulled me close. The next thing I knew he was kissing me. And I wasn't stopping him. Even though the kiss struck me as something Troy had carefully perfected through plenty of practice, I couldn't deny the excitement that shot through me. No one, not even Brian, had ever kissed me like that. And I'd so never reacted as strongly.

  I didn't want to stop. But something told me I'd better. Finally, after a few more seconds, I pushed Troy away and whispered, "No."

  "What's the matter?" Troy cocked his head to one side. "I thought you liked it."

  "I did. I mean, I shouldn't. That is, I‑I hardly know you."

  "What better way to get acquainted?" Troy offered me such an appealing smile that I almost started to relax.

  "Talking is a good way to get to know someone."

  "So … what should we talk about? Wait! I know." Troy's smile widened into a grin. "Your beautiful green eyes."

  Troy was smooth. No doubt about it. I was going to have to be on guard constantly. "Oh, no, no, no." I pretended to dismiss his compliment with the wave of my hand, even though I'd liked what he said. With exaggerated enthusiasm I said, "Let's talk about your eyes. I've never seen such a true, clear blue."

  Troy fluttered his lashes and we both laughed. The tension floated out of me, thank goodness. Why the sudden takeover by a Major Biological Urge, or whatever, anyway? Especially with a guy I just met. I figured I'd better put a little distance between us, just in case Troy was thinking of an encore.

  "Last one in is a rotten egg!" I dove into the water.

  "Hey!" Troy dove in after me.

  But I'd gotten enough of a head start to beat him to the shore. By the time he caught up with me I'd already climbed into the boat and put on my life jacket. I figured it would cover up whatever trace of sex appeal I might have, if I actually had any.

  "It's been a great afternoon," I said quickly. "But I think we should go now."

  "I didn't mean to scare you off back there." Troy pointed in the direction of the rock.

  "What? Ha, ha. Oh, no. Of course not. Not at all." I was babbling, but I couldn't help it.

  "Good." Troy's smile revealed an air of confidence, as if he'd just been assured of a repeat performance.

  I didn't say anything, because I didn't know what to say. I so wasn't planning on kissing him again. But then, I hadn't planned on kissing him the first time.

  Why had my body chosen this day to have a Hormone Attack?

  Chapter Six

  Troy and I pulled into the cove just as my mom and his dad were docking the sailboat. I'd forgotten all about them! Some chaperone I was.

  I watched intently as Mr. Daly helped Mom out of the sailboat, then draped his arm around her neck in that letting‑his‑hand‑dangle‑over‑but‑not‑touching‑her‑right‑boob way. They ran, laughing, toward the path. Worried that they were headed for the seclusion of the Daly's cottage, I urged Troy to hurry.

  "What's the rush?" he asked. "I don't bite."

  "Not yet, anyway," I said. "Actually, I want to go to your place." When I saw his eyes light up, I quickly added, "I think I left my, um, bracelet there."

  "Okay. But cool it." Troy put a firm hand on my arm as I almost capsized the boat trying to get out before we were completely docked. "Your bracelet's not going anywhere."

  "Right." I forced a phony laugh and tried not to race up the hill to Troy's cottage.

  Once there, I couldn't help running up the steps of the front porch and trying the door. "It's locked!" I gasped. There was no reason for the door to be locked, unless … Shudder!

  "Hold it." Troy pulled a key out of a minuscule pocket in his swimsuit. "Dad never leaves the place unlocked."

  I'll just bet, I thought as I burst inside ahead of Troy. But there was no one in sight. I listened carefully. Not a squeak of bedsprings. Not a murmur of lust. Okay, maybe they weren't there. Still, I headed for the stairs, just to make sure.

  "Kaysie, where are you going?" Troy asked. "Your bracelet wouldn't be upstairs."

  "Oh. Um. The bathroom." I said quickly. "I, uh, really have to go." I dashed up the stairs as if it was urgent. Once up there, I quietly tiptoed around. Since all the doors were open, it was easy to peek into each room. Relief. They were all empty.

  I was surprised to see the place looking so neat, since two guys lived there. Beautiful old quilts smoothed over the beds were a real surprise. Okay, don't make sexist assumptions, I reminded myself.

  I ducked into the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror, as long as I was up there. I ran my fingers through my hair and flicked my bangs into place.

  When I was done, I noticed that the bathroom smelled fresh and that clean, fluffy towels were folded and hung with care. Dad had a tendency to drop wet towels on the floor, so this was another gender‑related surprise.

  "Everything okay?"

  I nearly jumped out of my swimsuit. "Troy, you startled me!"

  He leaned against the doorway. "C'mon. I'll give you a tour of the upstairs."

  A tour? What did that mean? I'd already had a good look. Of course, I couldn't tell Troy that. I managed to shrug and say, "Okay."

  Troy took my hand and led me into the biggest bedroom. "This is my parents … uh, I mean, my Dad's room. My grandfather made that dresser and my grandmother made the quilt. The quilts have been in the family longer than this house has."

  "So you come here every summer?"

  "No. The last few years we rented it out. But after my folks divorced, Dad decided to spend the summer here again. He said he wanted to have some time away from home after the divorce, and I felt pretty much the same way …" Troy's voice drifted off.

  "Oh," I said sympathetically. But what caught my attention was that the cottage had been rented out. Maybe Mom wouldn't have guessed that the Dalys would be here this year. On the other hand, it wasn't until he was divorced that Mr. Daly suddenly decided he wanted to come here again. Was it really just coincidence that Mom insisted on coming to the lake this summer?

  Troy led me to another room. "This is Mark's … I mean, just kind of a guest room now. I think one of my great aunts made the quilt on this bed."

  He whisked me down the hall. "This," he said, guiding me through the doorway with his hand on my back, "is my room." He sat on the bed and patted the space next to him. "My great‑grandmother made this quilt."

  "It's beautiful." I fingered the edge, but didn't sit down.

  Troy placed his hand on mine and gave me that great big smile of his.

  "Hi, there!" Mr. Daly seemed to appear out of nowhere. "How was your boat ride?"

  I was glad he didn't find us together on the bed. But he didn't seem particularly surprised that I was there at all. Funny, but I was struck by his presence. N
ot just because I was embarrassed about being in Troy's room, but because how great looking he was, even though he was old enough to be Troy's father. Of course, he was Troy's father. So naturally, he'd be old enough to … yikes! I was mentally jabbering, and he wasn't even my former summer romance! So what affect did he have on Mom?

  "Our ride was great." Troy hopped up from the bed.

  That snapped me out of my blathering trance. "How was your afternoon, Mr. Daly," I asked. "The sailing, I mean."

  "Grea‑a‑at!" Mr. Daly raised his hands and spread them wide. "Kaysie, your mother is still one terrific sailor."

  "Oh?" I wondered what else he thought she was still terrific at. And where was Mom, anyway?

  As if he read my mind, Mr. Daly said, "I just walked your mother home. She said if I saw you to tell you she planned an early supper."

  "Oh. Well." I looked at Troy and shrugged. "Guess I'd better get going."

  "I'll walk you back." Troy cupped his hand on my elbow.

  "That's okay," I started to say. "I‑‑"

  "A gentleman always walks a lady home," Mr. Daly said. "And Troy has been raised to be a gentleman."

  I couldn't very well refuse Troy's offer after that. I just hoped that Mr. Daly meant "gentleman" in every sense of the word. Not that Troy had been rude. I just wasn't sure his kiss was totally what you'd call gentlemanly. And maybe Mr. Daly's definition of "gentleman" was more like "player." I decided that I ought to do a little investigating and see if I could figure out Mr. Daly's intentions concerning my mother.

  As soon as we were outside and out of earshot, I said to Troy, "Has your father been, um, lonely since the divorce?" I knew that was kind of personal. But if Mr. Daly was trying to hit on Mom, he was being personal to the extreme!

  "Lonely?" Troy shrugged. "It's hard to say. I don't think things were right between him and my mother for a long time. Still, the divorce has been hard on both of them. On all of us. But I'm not sure if he's lonely."

  Troy's willingness to answer gave me the courage to go on. "Has he dated since the divorce?"

  Troy shook his head. "The divorce wasn't final until just before we left for New Hampshire. Both my parents said they considered themselves married until they were officially divorced. So neither one dated anybody."

  Uh, oh. Had Mr. Daly been saving himself for my mother? I shook the thought out of my head. Speculation wasn't good enough. I needed facts. "Why did you and your father come here for the summer?"

  "As I said, Dad wanted to get out of Philadelphia and away from all the reminders of home. Plus, he's always worked long hours and he decided this was a good time for him to take an extended vacation and spend more time with me." He grinned. "You can understand why someone would want to spend more time with me, can't you?"

  I sure could. But I wasn't going to tell him that. I didn't really want to admit it to myself. I gave Troy a noncommittal smile.

  He insisted on walking me up the porch steps, right to the back door. "Hey," he said, spotting my boxes of books. "Are these yours?"

  "Yes. I plan to spend the whole month reading them."

  "Hmm," said Troy. "That doesn't give you any time to do anything else."

  "No. It won't," I said pointedly.

  "Good thing I'm a book‑nerd too then." Troy pawed through one of the boxes. "Got any science fiction in here?"

  "In that other box …" I caught myself. "I don't think so."

  "Hey!" Suddenly Troy swiveled around. "Didn't you say your last name was Crawford?"

  "Yes." I was surprised, and, I hate to admit, flattered, that Troy remembered.

  "You wouldn't by any chance be related to Robert Crawford who writes all those great detective novels, would you?"

  "He's my father."

  "No way!" Troy's eyebrows shot up in utter surprise.

  "Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, that's who he is." I was so used to everyone back home knowing about Dad that Troy's reaction caught me off guard.

  "I can't believe it!" Troy grabbed my shoulders. "Your father created Kent Quinn, who solves cases by chipping away at the details with his encyclopedic mind?" Troy sounded like a blurb off the back of one of Dad's books. "He's really that Robert Crawford?"

  "Yes. He's really that Robert Crawford."

  "I've read every single one of his books!" In his excitement, Troy was shaking me.

  "S‑s‑so have I." I peeled Troy's hands of my shoulders and clasped them together in front of me before my teeth fell out.

  "Oh. Sorry," Troy said, realizing what he'd been doing.

  "No problem. My spine needed to be realigned anyway."

  "Kaysie!" Dad shouted, as he flung open the screen door, almost hitting me and Troy. "Oh. Here you are. Mom asked me to call you to supper." He chuckled. "That's a switch, isn't it?"

  Troy gasped. He lost all cool. "It's really him!"

  For a half‑second I wondered how Troy recognized Dad. Then it occurred to me that Dad's picture was on the back of all his books.

  "Dad!" I realized I was still holding Troy's hands, and quickly released them. "This is Troy Daly. Troy, this is‑‑"

  "Robert Crawford." Troy shook Dad's outstretched hand until I thought it would fall off. "I love your books. They're all great!"

  "Why, thank you." Dad didn't usually show a lot of emotion, but I could tell by his smile that he was pleased. He's so busy writing that he doesn't get out and meet his fans very often. So I wasn't too surprised that Troy's praise also made Dad blush slightly.

  But I was worried that all the fuss would attract Mom's attention. I so wanted to get Troy out of there before she noticed him and did something totally embarrassing, like invite him to supper. I felt guilty enough about having spent the entire afternoon with him. "Well, Troy," I said, "thanks for the boat ride." I shook his hand as sort of a send off.

  "Oh. Sure." Troy tore himself away from Dad. "See you soon," he called as I hurried Dad into the house.

  "Finally," Mom said when she saw us come in. "Supper's ready."

  I noticed we were having just soup. No bread or salad or cheese. Oh, well. I figured Mom's soup was always good and there was nothing wrong with an extra light supper for a change.

  As Mom leaned over the table to ladle out servings of minestrone, I noticed a flower in her hair. I suppose she could've picked it coming up the path to our house. There were several kinds of wildflowers scattered along there. But what if she and Mr. Daly had stopped on one of the islands? I wish I could remember if that flower had been there when I saw her at the dock.

  "That Troy Daly seems like a nice young man," Dad said.

  "He's okay." I didn't want to think about Troy, never mind talk about him. For one thing, I had to put our kiss out of my mind, completely. "Hey," I said, noticing the empty chair. "Where's Gwen?"

  "She's over at Mikel's," Dad said. "They invited her for supper."

  "Oh. How was their canoe ride?" I asked, determined to keep the conversation off Troy.

  "They had a great time," said Mom. "And speaking of boat rides! Robert, you should have come this afternoon. We had a wonderful time. You would've had a lot of fun."

  I tried to read Mom's face. Did she mean that? Or was she secretly pleased Dad had insisted on working?

  "Sorry I missed it," Dad said. "But I have so much work. Glad you had a good time, though."

  "You know what they say about all work and no play, Dad." I wanted to warn him. If he was too dull and Mr. Daly was all fun and games there could be big trouble. Of course, I couldn't say that out loud. One, I didn't want to insult Dad. And two, I wasn't sure anything was going on between Mom and Mr. Daly.

  "Well, my work is hard, but it's fun too," Dad said. "So don't worry about me."

  Yeah, right.

  We sailed through the rest of dinner without any further discussion of Troy or his father. The only blech moment came when it was decided it was my turn to do the dishes.

  The thing with menial chores was that they gave me too much time to think. Since
I was trying to blot Troy … I mean, Mr. Nameless out of my mind, I tried to concentrate on the long letter I was going to write to Brian as soon as I washed and dried the last dish.

  Just as I was cleaning the sink, there was a knock at the door. Dad was upstairs working and it sounded as if Mom was in the shower. In an extra‑loud voice, I yelled, "I'll get it," up the stairs, just in case it was one of those horror‑movie moments when innocent-teen-girl-opens-door‑to‑crazed‑killer.

  I opened the door to find Troy standing there in a white T‑shirt and kaleidoscope shorts, holding out a bunch of wildflowers. "Hi, Kaysie." He placed the flowers in my hand. "These are for you."

  "Uh, thanks." I stood there wondering what to do next.

  "They're partly to make up for your bracelet."

  "My bracelet?"

  "I looked all over for it. Couldn't find it anywhere."

  "Oh. Yes. My bracelet. Sorry. I … um … found it. It was here all the time."

  "Ah, good." Troy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Hey, maybe we should put those flowers in water."

  "Oh. Right." Reluctantly, I went inside with Troy right behind me. I searched the cabinets and found a pitcher that would do as a vase. I filled it with water, arranged the flowers, set them on the kitchen table and wondered what to do next.

  "There's another reason for the flowers, besides making up for your bracelet," Troy said.

  "Oh?" I really didn't want to get into a discussion about the flowers. I wanted Troy to leave, so I could write to Brian.

  "I think someone as pretty as you deserves pretty things." Troy leaned across the kitchen table and looked into my eyes.

  He was good. He sounded so slick I could almost believe he meant what he said. Almost, but not quite. I wondered how many times he'd used that routine. Even so, my face betrayed me. I blushed, poked at a couple of the daisies and mumbled my thanks.

  "How 'bout going for a walk or something?" Troy asked.

  Stall. Make an excuse. Think. Ah! Parents! The perfect all‑around excuse. "Um, I don't think my‑‑"

  "Well, hi Troy." Mom swirled down the stairs, her hair slightly damp. But she looked fresh and glowing in a white cotton dress. "How was your boat ride?"