by Angel Lawson
“So what brings you down for the season?” he asks, and I start to wonder if he’s flirting (ew) but he seems genuine so I let it pass for the moment.
“My mom’s writing a book and I tagged along. We decided to go the scenic route and live with the locals rather than the tourists.”
“Sounds adventurous.”
I glance at my mother. “That’s my mom. Always up for a challenge. Have you met?”
His eyes shift to where my mother is animatedly telling a story of some kind. I swear I hear the name John Wayne Gacy. “We have.”
“Oh well, then you know. She’s the life of the party and all that.”
“She is that.” He gives me a sympathetic grin. “And you’re not?”
“Ha!” I laugh, tipsy. “Nah, I’m good. I just never desired to be the center of attention like she does, you know? She loves the drama and the fame her job provides. She loves digging around in the history of these murders, all the gore, but also revealing the personalities and people. I just kind of prefer not to be noticed.”
“Why’s that? You seem like a perfectly interesting young woman. Are you in college?”
“Vanderbilt. I start this fall.”
“What are you studying?” He leans against the railing of the dock. I notice his shoes are made from a soft, dark leather. Expensive.
“General studies right now. I haven’t picked a major.” I shrug. “I’m not all that together.” That is possibly the understatement of the year.
“You’ll figure it out.” A boat cruises by and Richard waves to the people inside. The water laps at the dock pilings. He tilts his head and raises his glass at me. “Nice to meet you, Summer. Hopefully we’ll see each other again.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “It was nice meeting you also.”
I watch him wander through the crowd of neighbors, stopping once to look at my mother, before disappearing between the campers. I turn to see the final traces of the sunset now by the edge of the waterway. The flaming pink and orange fireball dips over the horizon, leaving the world with a cotton candy sky. Unsteady on my feet, I spin in the direction of my camper and plow right into someone.
“Fuck,” the guy swears.
Two huge bags of ice drop to the ground. One splits and scatters cool wet cubes all over my feet.
“Ohmygod,” I say in a rush. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he replies, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Totally my fault. I wasn’t looking.”
I bend over and try to keep the ice from spilling. He squats, doing the same. He looks up at me with gray eyes and eyelashes a girl would pay big money to have. He looks close to my age, maybe a little older. Slim build but wide shoulders under a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt. His skin, like everyone else’s here, has a warm glow, and the breeze blowing off the water tousles his curly black hair. I wait for him to introduce himself but he doesn’t and I don’t trust my tongue due to the wine.
“I think I’ve got it,” he says, lifting both bags. A flurry of ice falls out of the ripped one and I lunge forward, stopping it with my hands. He smiles his thanks and shifts the bag so the tear is against his chest. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
His eyes sweep over me, like he’s really just noticed me. But I didn’t come down here for attention from cute boys. I came down here to escape. He opens his mouth to say something else but I bolt, skirting around him and not stopping until I’m behind the aluminum camper door.
Chapter 5
“You went to the cocktail hour?”
I shade my eyes and look at Anita, who has a huge grin on her face. “Yes, my mother made me go.”
She howls with laughter, even bending over to hold her stomach. “Oh. My. God. That’s the worst.”
“What, the fact I went at all or the fact I went with my mother?” I ask with disdain.
Still laughing, she says, “Both. They’re both terrible.”
“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“Don’t worry. Next Monday I’ll save you.” She stretches her legs out into the sand. The girls play by the edge of the water and JT works on the foundation of a castle. We’ve started meeting here, unscheduled, for the last couple of days.
“I’m holding you to that,” I tell her.
We sun in silence for a while. I’m definitely more diligent with the sunscreen, not wanting to repeat the terrible burn from my first day out. Right now I have big, flakey, peeling skin all over my chest. I look like a leper.
“So Summer,” Anita says. “You said you broke up with your boyfriend. Are you seeing anyone else?”
I keep my eyes closed and say, “No, definitely not.”
“Really? No prospects?”
“Back home? Zero.” I’d isolated myself too much for any guy to take notice. “And here? I don’t know anyone and I’m not interested.”
She clucks her tongue and I raise my eyebrows. Finally, she says, “Good luck keeping the guys away down here. They’ll definitely take notice.”
“Notice of what?”
“You, silly. You’re fun. New. Smart. You look great in that bathing suit, although you could show a little more skin.” My jaw drops. “What?” she asks. “I can’t help it. Your boobs are right there. I noticed.”
I sigh and sit up, adjusting my chair so I can see her better. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I’m really dating material right now. The breakup was pretty horrible. I can’t even imagine getting involved with someone else.”
Anita’s face falls. “Oh, I’m sorry. That sucks. Was it serious?”
“As serious as these things get, I guess.” This is a lie of course. My heart hurts just talking about it. Because it was great. And then it wasn’t.
“What happened?”
I make a face. “Too soon?” I beg. No way can I talk about this. Not now.
“Another time,” she says, and from the tiny smile on her face I know she means it.
“Deal.”
I’m about to close my eyes when she asks, “So did you meet anyone interesting at the cocktail party? What about Mrs. Graves? She’s the one with the tiny sherry glasses.”
“Yes! Those were adorable, but no one paid me much attention. They were all enthralled by Julia and her stories.”
“I told Bobby about the book she’s writing. I had to hold him off from coming over.”
I smile. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She loves talking to her fans and about dead people and stuff.”
“Good, he can talk to her and not me.”
I nod in agreement and then remember something. “I did meet this one other guy. Richard? He seemed nice.”
“Oh yeah, he’s Bobby’s uncle. Super-duper nice.”
“He’s from here?” I’m surprised. He seemed higher class than Anita and the other locals. His speech sounded less country. He dressed nicer, too. I hold back on those remarks.
“Yeah, he’s an attorney. He went to UNC for college and then Duke for law school. But he came back here to work and live.”
“He lives in the campground?”
“No,” she says. “He has a house off the waterway. He just comes down to the parties and stuff. He knows everyone down here.”
“Oh,” I say. I guess this is proof I shouldn’t judge books by their covers. That made me think of the other guy I met—well, crashed into the other night. “I forgot! I did manage to embarrass myself after I made my escape.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What did you do?
“I crashed into some guy carrying ice through the park. Slammed right into him.” I roll my eyes at myself. “He was cute, too. I’m sure he thought I was a spaz.”
“What did he look like?”
“Dark curly hair, gray eyes. Led Zeppelin shirt.”
“Eyelashes to kill for?”
“Yes!” I sat up. “You know him?”
“Sure. That’s Pete. He’s one of the guys. My mom hired him to do a lot of the maintenance work at the camp
ground. He’s handy. Did you talk to him?”
I shook my head. “Nope, ran away and hid in my trailer.”
Anita laughs and sits up, moving to pack her bag.
“Come on!” she yells at the kids, and they all scramble up the beach. “I’m gonna go in for lunch today. I didn’t feel like packing anything. Want to come?”
“I think I’ll just sit here for a while longer.”
“Okay, but cover up. Don’t burn again.”
“Okay, mom.”
“Ha ha. You’ve already got one of those around here.”
“Tell me about it,” I mumble and pull my hat down over my eyes and lie back in the sun.
Chapter 6
“He doesn’t look like a serial killer,” I say, holding up the photo. It’s a grainy copy of a black and white mug shot. He’s not attractive. Kind of hard looking, but it’s hard to tell with such a bad picture.
My mother keeps her eyes on the road, obviously already having seen the photo. “They never do. But this guy was bad. Really bad.”
I flip through the papers she gave me when we left the camper. “This guy seems a little more serious than some of your other subjects,” I note.
“How is one more serious than the other?”
“You know what I mean, this one is an old case and not nearly as sensationalized as some of the others you’ve written about recently. The ones with the high-profile divorces and crazy families in court. This says they think he killed over a hundred people!”
She shrugs. “I’m trying for something different this time. See how the publisher and readers like it. After seventeen books, I just needed a change.”
She pulls the car into the parking lot of a small brick building with block letters on the front that spell “Florence County Records”. We get out of the car and quickly walk to the door, hoping to move out of the heat as fast as possible. Summer in small town South Carolina is hot. By the ocean there’s a breeze, but an hour inland, things are blistering. For a fleeting moment I think of the French Alps and wonder what I’m doing here—how I can get back to the city to make my flight. There’s still time.
“I just want to gather everything we can from here. I know most everything is on the internet these days, but I feel better making sure I’ve connected all the dots. We may be able to find more details in the local papers or even police reports.”
“Right,” I say, following her inside. The cool air-conditioning hits my face and I take a deep breath. I wait in a hard, plastic chair while my mother talks to the lady behind the desk. My phone buzzes, letting me know I have a message, and I check and see it’s from Mason. Again. He’s been calling every day, saying the same things, trying to get me to go on the trip. For me to come back. For us to talk. I delete the message, knowing there is nothing to talk about that won’t lead us back down the same road.
“She said we can go to the back and look through the papers,” my mother says, waving me over to the counter. I follow her down the long, narrow hallway to a room with rows of filing cabinets. I’ve done this job with her before. Research, filing, organizing notes, it’s definitely not glamorous. “I want anything that mentions Gaskins.”
We work steadily for an hour, only stopping once to get a Pepsi from the vending machine. Pepsi, ugh. Welcome to this part of the south where you can’t find a Coke. I pop the top and lean back in my plastic molded chair and say, “So tell me more about this family you have around here. Why the big secret?”
We haven’t talked much about Cousin Jimmy since we got here, but my mother’s unspoken familiarity with the community is unnerving. She knows this area inside and out, taking back roads and mentioning long-gone places.
“No secret,” she says, pushing her glasses to the top of her head and rubbing her eyes. “I just grew up and grew apart from these people. When Mama and Daddy died I didn’t have a reason to visit. I had you and your father and this career…”
She trails off and she absently rubs her chest. I decide to probe a little further. “But now?”
“I remembered hearing the tales about Gaskins from the older cousins as a kid and I thought it would make an interesting story. There’s nothing sinister going on, Summer.”
“It’s weird finding out you have family I never knew about, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I know, and I just never thought it was a big deal. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just part of my life I’d moved away from.” She looks guilty enough admitting that, so I let it go.
We’re on the drive home when she says, “Speaking of secrets, when are you going to tell me what happened at the end of the school year?”
I look out the window at the passing fields and ramshackle farms. “There’s not much to tell. I just wanted a fresh start—get away from everyone after four years of same-old-same-old.”
“From France? You really expect me to believe that?” I glance at her but say nothing. “You worked so hard for that trip.”
Tears build in my eyes and I keep my face turned away. I did work hard for that trip. I had to apply for a scholarship through the school. I put together a presentation and wrote an essay. I babysat, worked weekends, and saved for the past three years. Unfortunately, even though I worked hard, I worked harder getting into a relationship with a totally-off-limits guy. I suck the tears back and say, “I know. I realized it was just too far away. I want to be here now. Maybe next year I’ll be ready.”
I barely get the words out. If my mother knew how deep I’d gotten in this relationship. If she knew who I’d gotten in a relationship with…
She can’t ever know. No one can.
My mother must sense my panic because she lets it go, neither of us ready to spill our secrets.
* * *
The gravel in the lot crunches beneath my tires and I pull the SUV into the empty lot. It’s early, barely after six, and I’d laid awake for an hour, unable to go back to sleep before finally changing into exercise clothes and driving over the bridge to the beach.
It’s cool out and I zip my hoodie mid-chest and walk down the path to the beach. The fresh air and isolated shore reenergize me. Not gonna lie, the cramped quarters of the camper had started to get to me and just feeling the sand between my toes and the salty breeze makes me feel better.
I set my sights on the pier, which I estimate is about a mile away and start walking, willing the thoughts that ran through my head all night to go away.
Here’s the thing, I’m eighteen, I’m allowed to make mistakes. I’m allowed to do stupid things like fall in love with the wrong guy, who I was convinced, at the time, was the perfect guy.
Mason’s smart. Wise. Talented. Handsome in a hipstery-geek kind of way. He likes good music. Good food. Artsy films. Everything every other boy in my school has zero interest in. He also has the gift of reaching out to people and making them feel good about themselves. He did this to me, and even now I don’t doubt his genuineness. From the first time I saw him I knew there was a spark. I didn’t care if he was off limits. Or that we were playing with fire. He made me feel good and at that point, feeling good about myself was important. Because most of the time I felt like crap.
Having a famous mother is hard. Having an absentee father is worse. It was well known that Summer, the mature, responsible daughter would do the right thing. People loved to discuss my maturity. The fact I could talk to adults. That I was polite and gracious and helpful. I could cook my own dinner, do my own laundry. Pay for my own trip to France.
I was also lost. Struggling. Lonely.
But Mason? Mason made that better.
He was there for me…until he wasn’t.
He was my rock…until he slipped away like quicksand.
And I miss him. God, I miss him but there’s no way I could stay back home. No freaking way I could go on that trip and be so close to him but not be with him.
I wipe the tears off my face and step onto the boardwalk that leads to the pier. I’ve walked this whole way, wallowing in my misery
. I pad down the wooden slats, passing the edge of the sandy beach until I’m walking over the crashing waves and then on to the deeper water. Out here it’s quiet, away from the waves pounding on sand, just the rolling dark water and the sun peeking over the edge of the water. I spot a cluster of surfers way out past the pier and think how nice it would be to be that free.
At the end, I lean over the railing and let the wind dry the tears on my face. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I came on this trip to forget about him. To move on. Not cry like a baby every damn day.
“Hey,” a deep voice says next to me. “You okay?”
I look over at the man next to me. He’s a mix, really, part boy and part man, his face innocent, but his body large and muscular—an athlete’s build. His nose is a golden brown and it matches the rest of his skin. He has no hair, it’s shorn close to his head. Bright green eyes watch me carefully.
“I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to talk to anyone, much less a stranger. “I’m just, you know, having a pity-party of one over here.”
I notice the camera hanging around his neck. He holds it up and takes a few shots of the sunrise, then the surfers, before lowering it again.
“I find it hard to be depressed when I come out here.”
I stare at the sun inching up. The water sparkles in a line from here to the horizon. “It’s beautiful.”
His jaw tightens and he lifts the camera again, taking a few more shots, moving wider. I step out of the frame. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want me in the photo.”
“Why not? I’m out here taking pictures of beautiful things. I’m pretty sure you count.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay sure. I’ve got red eyes, a runny nose and my hair looks like it lost a fight with a tiger.”
He shrugs. “Haven’t you ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes a few steps back down the pier. I try to ignore him but can’t help taking a final look over my shoulder. I catch him angling the camera to his eye and taking one last shot before walking away for good.
