The Summer the World Ended

by Matthew S. Cox

  Riley stumbled into the kitchen, t-shirt pulled up enough to scratch her stomach, ignoring the suited white-haired man talking to Dad. Most of their conversation sailed over her head, but she caught enough to assume they were discussing the sale of the house. She hoped her sullen glower would be enough to keep her out of the conversation, and went for a box of Special K. Riley hovered at the counter with her back to the men, picking the cereal out of the bowl with her fingers and eating it dry.

  “One moment.” Dad walked up alongside her. “Morning, kiddo. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hung over.”

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  “At some point today, we need to load whatever of your furniture you want to keep, except the bed.”

  “‘Kay.”

  “I’m sorry, Riley. I am… I just.”

  “Can’t afford New Jersey. I know.” Crunch. She let out a long breath. “No choice, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  She tried to give him an ‘it’s okay, I understand’ face, but wasn’t sure if the message made it―or if she believed that. Dad returned to his discussion about setting up a ‘trust’ account for her and directed the house be sold at a reasonable price. There was no rush. Riley deserved a fair price for the place.

  Riley walked out with her cereal bowl, leaving the box open on the counter, not wanting to hear them talk. It felt as traitorous as if she eavesdropped on people plotting Mom’s death. Soon, she found herself in her room, disassembling her electronics and tossing things into boxes between flakes of cereal.

  Dad knocked on the doorjamb about an hour later. “Riley?”

  “What?”

  “There’s someone at the door for you.”

  Who’d come to see me? She chucked a game DVD at a box half filled with old ones she hadn’t played in a year and looked up at him. “Is it Mina?”

  “No… it’s some little black girl. Okay, maybe not little… your age.”

  “Amber?” Riley’s hand flew to her chest, at the base of her throat. Oh, shit.

  She jumped up, ran past him, and raced down the stairs. Her best (only) friend, Amber Nelson, waited on the porch in a purple string tee, shorts, and flip-flops. A giant smile faded to a look of worry as Riley pulled the door to behind her, and sat on the top step. Amber’s toenails were the same shade of hot pink as her shorts, and a plastic clip kept her thick, straight hair back.

  “Damn, Rile… Dubya-tee-eff. You look like the walking dead.” Amber looked over her at the door, sat next to her, and whispered. “We landed late last night. I couldn’t wait to get over here. Who’s that creepy dude?”

  “My dad.”

  “Oh, damn. Didn’t know you had one. How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s―” Tears rolled out of her eyes. Riley swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Real sick?”

  Riley shook her head. “She died.”

  “No… no…” Amber grabbed her shoulders. “Fuck, Riley… I’m so sorry.”

  They clung to each other, crying for a few minutes.

  Amber spoke first. “How’d it happen?”

  Riley sniffled. “Aneurysm.”

  “Oh… Those are usually sudden. People don’t last―”

  “No.” Riley stared guilt into the step between her feet. “She died that night. They said she didn’t feel anything.”

  “You bitch!” Amber shoved her shoulder. “When I texted you… you knew! That’s messed up! I’ve known you since fourth grade, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me? Holy shit, Rile… I’m on the beach livin’ it up, and your mama’s dead?”

  “It’s not like that!” Riley yelled. “I… you were on vacation. I couldn’t tell you something like that with a stupid text.” Her voice fell to a faint, leaky whisper. “I’m still not sure I even believe it happened.”

  “I didn’t even wanna be there.” Amber fell seated again with a huff. “I could’ve handled it. We could’ve talked it out. Don’t look like you handlin’ it.”

  “I’m not. I gotta go live with Dad in New Mexico.”

  Amber squeezed her hand. “Tell him you can’t go. You can sleep over at my place.”

  “That didn’t work so hot when I invited you over.”

  “Yeah…”

  “I should’ve told you.”

  Amber slapped her across the back of the head, a little too hard to be playful. “Yeah, you shoulda.”

  “How was Puerto Vallarta?”

  “How can you talk about…?” Amber gasped, stared for a moment, and got an ‘ohh’ look in her eyes. “It was okay. Hot. Sandy. Full of tourists. The hotel had a nice pool, but the beach was better. I’m so sick of bottled water. Mom let me wear a bikini. Purple. Dad almost passed out. They’re probably still yelling at each other over that whenever I’m out of range.”

  Riley grinned for a moment, before getting somber again. “We’re leaving tomorrow. They’re gonna sell the house.”

  “Sorry. I can’t believe your Mom died.”

  So much for the greatest summer of all. “And I’m getting dragged across the country, and I won’t be able to hang with you at all.”

  “We can still blast noobs. We hang out online as much as in person anyway… and you can come back for like holidays and shit if your Dad’s okay with it. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Water leaked out of Riley’s eyes, though she worked on, at least, looking stoic.

  “We got today, right? We can hang out… scrape as much time as we can.”

  That’s what I said the night Mom died. “‘Kay, I gotta pack my room first.”

  “Lemme help?”

  “Dad’s gonna order pizza tonight, can you eat over?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t call your parents to ask.”

  Amber shook her head while raising a defiant, waving finger. “I don’t care what they say. This is your last night home. I’m sleepin’ over.”

  iles of highway passed in awkward silence. Riley aimed her eyes out the window but didn’t really look at anything. The road, guardrails, grass, and trees all blurred into a meaningless haze. It didn’t help that she’d stayed up until something like three in the morning. For a few glorious hours with her best friend, she’d forgotten all about everything. Amber’s parents showed up at 7:30 a.m., and insisted on taking them all out for breakfast. She wondered what everyone at Perkins must’ve thought when she and Amber sobbed all over each other in the parking lot.

  Riley’s head wobbled. She caught herself fading.

  “Go ahead and sleep if you want. We got a long ride,” said Dad.

  She drifted in and out, losing an hour here and there. A bump knocked her awake as Dad pulled in to a Motel 6 parking lot. Riley sat up and stretched out a yawn, frowning at the dark sky.

  “Where are we? What time is it?”

  Dad opened his door. “About fifteen miles over the Illinois border. Twenty hundred ten local time, but twenty one hundred ten eastern.”

  “What?”

  “Uh… we crossed a time zone.” Dad climbed out. “Be right back.”

  He walked past the nose at a brisk stride and headed for the office. Riley pulled the iPhone out of her pocket, which said 9:11 p.m. Illinois. A lump tightened in her throat. Already so far from home, so far from Mom’s grave, her friend, her life.

  She sulked at the dashboard, spacing out for about ten minutes. Dad returned, climbing back in without a word. He drove around to the back of the building and parked by a row of doors. She didn’t feel like moving, sitting listless as he retrieved a backpack from the rear bench seat and went into one of the rooms. It felt like they’d betrayed Mom by selling the house she’d loved. That’s where Riley wanted to be, not some lame motel. She let her forehead rest on her knees, and shut her eyes.

  Dad opened her door, letting a wash of chilly air in. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I can’t let you sleep in the truck. You’re gonna be in it
all day tomorrow too.”

  She spun a quarter turn to her right, slid off the seat, and jumped down. Her flip-flops hit the pavement with a loud echoing slap.

  “Do you own any real shoes, or just those foam things?” Dad pushed the door closed. The truck chirped and locked.

  “They’re packed.” Riley trudged to the room.

  “You should bring something to sleep in, and a change of clothes.”

  “Packed.” She shoved the door out of her way, halting in the space between a pair of twin beds.

  “Toothbrush?” Dad pulled the door shut behind him and locked the deadbolt and chain.

  “Packed.”

  Riley sat on the bed farther from the window, staring at her frayed jean shorts and Garfield t-shirt. The last time she’d worn them, Mom was still alive. Dad sifted through the vertical blinds on the window, looking at the sill. He pulled the chain to close them and turned. The beginnings of a smile fell away to a momentary look of concern.

  “What?” She blinked.

  “Oh. I was… I usually don’t like to sleep near windows. Drafts.”

  “Whatevs.” Riley stood.

  Dad cupped a hand over his chin, rubbing. “No, it’s okay. Pick whichever one you want. This trip isn’t fun for you.”

  “It’s fine.” She flopped onto the other bed.

  Dad rummaged through papers on the table by the window. “Wanna order Chinese? Pizza? I think I saw a fried chicken place across the street.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “You need to eat something, Riley. There’s nothing to you.”

  Riley rolled over to face him. “You should talk. I don’t have an eating disorder. I get enough crap at school. I don’t need it from you.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t trying to pick on you, hon. Half a sandwich for lunch, and you barely touched your omelet this morning. You need to eat. I’m worried.”

  “Sorry.” She shifted flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. “Why does everyone care so much what I look like?”

  “It’s not about body image. It’s about not starving to death. I know you’re upset about Mom, but rushing into the grave next to her isn’t a good idea.”

  “Oh, my God, Dad. You are such a drama queen.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just let me be sad? Fine. Chicken Lo Mein… small.”

  “Coke?”

  “Mom said there’s too much sugar in soda. Get me a water.”

  Dad put a hand on her forehead. “Hmm. Doesn’t feel hot.”

  She shifted her gaze to his face, flashing an unamused smirk.

  “That’s fever talk for a fourteen year old. Don’t like soda?”

  “Mom said it’s all poison and chemicals.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Alright then. Water it is.”

  Riley sat up as he walked away, headed for the phone. “What do you drink?”

  Dad swiveled to smile at her. “Water.”

  The ceiling wasn’t any more interesting at two in the morning than it was for the hour and change Dad watched some ancient movie after their feast of Chinese food. She had zero interest in it and tried to text Amber, but kept getting ‘network error’ on the top of the screen. At ten thirty on the dot, Dad killed the light and went right to sleep.

  Riley grumbled and shifted onto her left side. The pillows were lumpy and dense, the mattress hard as a board. The sheet-blanket was so tight to the foot end of the bed, she had to twist herself into an Egyptian hieroglyph not to hurt her toes. Under the covers, she sweat buckets. Without them, she was too cold to sleep. She thought about ditching her tee and shorts, but sharing a room with Dad in her underwear would be way too awkward. Granted, her long-legged pajamas would’ve been even warmer.

  Do they have, like, focus groups searching for the most uncomfortable crap to make motel beds out of?

  She rolled on her right side. An irritatingly well-placed outside light found a gap in the blinds near the top of the window to leak through. Riley pushed the blankets down to her waist, leaving her legs covered, and fanned her chest. I wonder what Amber’s doing now? Probably just going to bed. She rolled away from the window and the annoying light, curling into a fetal position. Amber’s in her own bed. Hers was in the trailer outside, but would it still feel like hers inside an alien room?

  Mom’s final look filled her thoughts, the red hemorrhagic eyes staring at Riley without a trace of awareness. How much of Mom was left inside her at that moment?

  She curled up tighter, crying without making a sound.

  The next thing she knew, the sun blared through the open blinds. The uncomfortable bed tricked her mind into thinking she was still at the women’s shelter until Dad’s gentle hand prodded her on the shoulder.

  “Morning, Riley. It’s nine hundred hours. I wanted to get going earlier, but… you looked like you needed the sleep.”

  “Dad…” She sat up, grabbing his arm.

  “What’s wrong?” He clasped a hand over hers. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

  “Thanks. For getting me out of that shelter.”

  “There was no choice involved. You are my daughter. I’d do anything for you.”

  She smiled. “Like beat up a guy at a wake?”

  “Jackass,” he muttered. “He had no right to upset you like that.”

  “He’s just an idiot.” Riley staggered to her feet. The over-warm bed left her feeling stiff and sticky, and wanting a shower. She wandered to the bathroom. “Gonna shower, you need to use the room?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She locked the door, stripped, and found herself staring at a confusing disc on the white tile wall. Miscalculating the meaning of the large, round fixture resulted in a blast of freezing water. Fully awake in an instant, she screamed, leapt away from the stream, and shut it off with a few feeble kicks. She shivered in place for a few seconds, water dripping from her chin.

  “You okay?” Dad’s voice came through the door.

  “C-cold…”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, it got me too.”

  After figuring out how to get hot water, drying off, and putting the same clothes back on, she wrapped her hair in a towel and sat on the foot of the torturous bed. Dad huddled over the little table, muttering on the phone.

  “Bit less than halfway back. Almost there. Yes, I’ll be able to fix it by Thursday.” He nodded twice, and went pale. “The Russians did what?” Fingers drummed on the table. “That’s not good. Especially not with the Korea situation.”

  “What’s not good?” asked Riley.

  “Yes, it is.” Dad covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked over his shoulder at her. “Colonel Bering says hello. He’s sorry about Mom.”

  Riley forced a lackluster smile. “Thanks.”

  Crescents of clean, new toenail peeked above the polish, an inexorable marker of time. She scooted her feet back and forth over the thin carpet while Dad muttered a series of ‘yes sirs’ at the phone.

  He hung up and fished her flip-flops out from under the table. “Ready?”

  “No, but… Yeah.” She stepped into her flops, tapped the tips on the floor to seat the thongs between her toes, and meandered outside. It wasn’t even eleven yet, and the air felt hot and muggy. “Blech.”

  She leaned against the passenger-side door while Dad paced around the motel room in a circle, three times. He walked outside, patted down his pockets, and re-entered the room to do another circuit. The second time he approached the exit, he backed out and pulled the door closed. He hit the button on the key fob to unlock the truck and jogged over.

  “What the hell was that?” Riley pulled herself up into the seat and closed the door.

  “I wanted to make sure we didn’t forget anything. Never know what you can leave behind that seems inconsequential, but someone can use to, uh… steal your identity.”

  “Right…” She let her head thud against the seat back, and closed her eyes.

  The engine started. Dad backed up, turned, and dr
ove. She swayed with a turn onto a larger road and tried to get comfortable. Motion and bumps jostled her for a few minutes, though sleep wasn’t in reach. Riley shot upright and opened her eyes when the truck went over a stiff bump. What can I say to make him turn around?

  They swung through the drive-through of a Dunkin Donuts.

  Dad grinned. “Breakfast time.”

  “Coffee,” said Riley, earning a raised eyebrow. “And one of those croissant things with the egg on it.”

  The scent of coffee and eggs lingered in the cab for an hour and change after the last trace of either was long gone. No one said a word. Dad focused on the road, tapping a finger on the wheel as if worried about something. Riley tried to think about anything other than Mom, but everything she called to mind eventually traced back to her old life. She didn’t feel like crying any more, and sank into an implosion of blah.

  A few minutes past noon, Dad chuckled out of the blue.

  She glanced sideways at him.

  “You remember why we nicknamed you Squirrel?”

  Her face reddened. “Dad. I’m not a little kid anymore. Don’t call me that.”

  “When you were three, you got a hold of a muffin and held it in both hands like a―”

  “Squirrel with an acorn,” droned Riley.

  “You didn’t forget.” He took his eyes off the road for two seconds to grin at her.

  It seemed different from the last time he smiled, somehow more genuine.

  She made a sour face at the door. “I didn’t forget.”

  You used to call me that, and then you left. Her hands clenched to fists. I hated everyone that still had a dad. The corners of her eyes burned as overworked tear-makers struggled to find moisture. Riley gritted her teeth. Why does he have to keep calling me that? It made her angry with Dad all over again for leaving. It made her angry with herself for lashing out at her mother for using it.