Summer Girl

by A. S. Green

  She blinks, then her face breaks into a wide grin. I check to make sure I don’t still have sauce on my face.

  “You are pretty damn fantastic, you know that?”

  I sit back and slip into arrogant asshole speak, “I might have heard that once or twice.”

  She throws her napkin at my face, and it falls into my lap. Just like she did. Just like this whole amazing summer did. Here I was, searching the world, and sheer perfection falls right into my fucking lap.

  She gets a funny look on her face, something between worry and irritation. “I don’t want people to think I’m switching schools just to chase after some guy.”

  I feign offense. “How is it that in fifteen seconds I’ve gone from ‘fantastic’ to just ‘some guy’? Katherine D’Arcy, you wound me.”

  She shakes her head at my joke. “I’m doing this because of you, but not for you. There’s a difference.”

  I’m not sure whom she’s trying to convince. “I know.”

  She starts packing all the brochures into the folder and pulls her soup bowl closer. “I need to see what I can be without having to answer to my mom, or to my friends, or to any of the things that are familiar to me. You’ve given me the space I need to figure it all out and the courage to put myself first now and then.”

  The waitress comes with our bill, and I drop a couple twenties on the table. Katherine picks up her bowl and drinks the rest of her soup.

  “Let’s walk,” I say, slipping out of the booth and taking Katherine’s hand.

  She gets up. “Where to now?”

  “I gotta burn off this sandwich, and you need to check out what commercial spaces are available for rent on Main Street.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “I do?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I lead her out the door into the sunshine. “You’re going to need a place to run your business, aren’t you?”

  “Eventually, yeah.” We start walking. New Porte is bustling with tourists today, and we dodge around people on the sidewalk. “Oh my gosh,” she says, her excitement bubbling up. “I’m really going to do this.”

  I give her hand a squeeze. “You’re the captain of your ship, baby. Look up to the stars and chart your course.”

  She stops short while I take another step. Her hand jerks me around, and she looks up at me in awe. “That’s what Macie said.”

  “Your friend in Tibet?”

  “Yeah,” she says quietly. Warmth skims down my arms as her eyes lock with mine. “I think she’d really, really like you.”

  I smile and lean in. “Then she’s got great taste in men.”

  She turns and hip checks me, making me step sideways and crack my elbow against the brick wall of a storefront. I would have joked around, maybe done the same to her, or pretended to put her in a headlock, or maybe pressed her up against the wall and kissed her for all the world to see. But I hear her murmur, “So do I,” and that puts a stop to all my joking.

  As we walk, her face gets scrunched up and serious. I can tell she’s already planning our future together. Knowing her, it’ll be mapped out by dinnertime, a great adventure leading to a watercolor horizon. And I’m not scared. Because I know, if I don’t screw this up, it’s gonna be beautiful.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Bennet

  “Jesus, D’Arcy.”

  She turns her head toward the sound of my voice as I exit her bedroom. She’s got a plastic container in one hand and her other hand on the front doorknob. It’s still dark, though dawn is starting to turn the sky from black to purple. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Did I wake you?”

  “Woke up and you weren’t in bed. Checked the bathroom, and you weren’t there. You scared me.”

  “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep,” she says, looking sheepish. She glances at her kitchen counters, and I am surprised to see they’re covered in egg cartons, flour, and a dusting of powdered sugar. The sink is stacked high with dirty dishes, and—now that I’m really looking at her—she has blue frosting smeared across her chin.

  “What the hell?” I ask, crossing the kitchen to her. I look down at the plastic container in her hand. She pops the lid to show me the contents. Inside, there have to be two-dozen cutout cookies in the shape of the ferryboat, all frosted in meticulous detail. “How on earth did I sleep through this?”

  “You’ve been working hard. You were tired, and after we…um…”

  “Did the business,” I say, grinning.

  She rolls her eyes. “Right. Well, I wasn’t tired after that.”

  “So you made these in the middle of the night?” Of course she did. The kitchen looks like a bakery exploded.

  She rolls her eyes as if she’s embarrassed by what she’s done. “I couldn’t sleep, and I got an idea, which meant that I really couldn’t sleep, so I got up and made a stencil in the shape of the ferry. Cut each one out by hand.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  She shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard.”

  I pick up one of the cookies to look at it more closely, then bring it toward my mouth. Katherine slaps my hand, and the cookie falls to the floor and breaks. She makes an exasperated sound in the back of her throat, sets the container on the table, and goes to get the broom.

  “What? I can’t have one?” I ask, incredulous. She’s stomping back to me with her lips pressed together, broom in one hand, dustpan in the other. “What’s the point if we can’t eat them?” I ask.

  “They’re for Doyle,” she says while sweeping up the broken cookie.

  “Wha-at?” I don’t know what’s funnier: Katherine making cookies for Doyle, or her frustration with me for having broken one. I bet she’s got an odd number now and that’s putting her on edge. She dumps the broken pieces into the garbage.

  “I told you. I got inspired, and…well, your boss is a tough nut to crack. He doesn’t even look at me when I’m down at the ferry dock. And on the rare occasion when he does, he glowers. He might even growl.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, trying to smother a laugh. The thought of anyone wanting to win Doyle over is hilarious, but I love that it matters so much to her.

  She puts the broom away and comes back to me. “You said Doyle has the early shift. I was going to bring them down. Hopefully brighten his day. Make friends with his stomach, if not with him.”

  I lean my hip against the counter and look down at her, taking her all in. I swipe the frosting off her chin with my finger and suck it into my mouth. She watches this maneuver then wipes the back of her hand over her face to make sure there isn’t any more. I lean down and touch my lips to hers. Sugar sweet.

  “You were planning to leave looking like this?” I ask when I pull back.

  She looks down at her clothes, then her eyes come up to mine. “Something wrong with this outfit?”

  “Not a thing, but you still got sex hair.”

  She raises one eyebrow at me in challenge. “Is that a problem?”

  I can’t hold back my laugh anymore, and that earns her another kiss, this one lasting longer. My eyes move over her hair then back to her eyes. “Tame that mane, babe, or people will think I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you, there’s no going back.”

  “Well, haven’t you?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  The laugh hits my eyes again, and the corners of my mouth tip up. “You’re right. No problem at all. You go ahead and spread that message far and wide.”

  I feel her body lock then teeter. She always reacts like that when she thinks I’m being sweet. It makes me sad that no one has ever loved her like I love her, and at the same time so very grateful, too.

  “Love ya, babe,” I say, and my voice sounds scratchy with emotion.

  “I…” Katherine says, her expression pleading.

  “What?”

  “Not ‘love ya,’ but ‘I love you.’ It means more with an I in front of it.”

  She’s right. There’s a difference. I won’t make that mistake
again. “I-love, I-you, I-forever.”

  “I-forever, too,” she says, then she snaps the lid back on the container, gives me another smile, and she’s out the door.

  Twelve hours later, I walk through the lighthouse door after a long day’s work, with an empty plastic container in my hand. I didn’t get a single cookie, but the crumbs tasted great.

  Katherine looks up from the floor where she’s reading her book. Her head is resting on Lucy’s body. Lucy lifts her head and looks at me expectantly, her nose twitching.

  “You’re back,” Katherine says with a smile. I want to come home to that smile every day from now until forever. I-forever.

  I put the container on the kitchen table, and the hollow thump of it says all that needs to be said.

  “He ate them,” she says, getting to her feet. Lucy follows.

  “Yep,” I say, and break into a wide, toothy smile.

  “All of them?” Katherine opens the empty container then looks up at me, mystified. “He took them from me without even a ‘Good morning.’ Did he say anything to you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well?”

  “Two things. He told me to tell you thanks. Then he told me to hold on tight.”

  A broad grin spreads over Katherine’s face. She raises her arm and we do a fist bump. She makes an explosive sound, and we straighten our fingers as we pull our hands away. “Mission accomplished,” she says.

  “Yeah, now get ready,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “To hold on tight.”

  She puts her hands on my shoulders and jumps up, wrapping her legs around my hips.

  Seriously. Is my woman amazing, or what?

  I walk us into the bedroom. The mattress bounces with our weight. My heart is beating loudly. I hope she can hear how steady it is. How much she can trust it. No matter what. Because, if we’re I-forevers, then tomorrow, after I figure out exactly how to say it, I’m going to come clean about Andrew. It’s time.

  “Remember this,” I say. “Tomorrow, remember how you’re feeling right now, in this moment. I want you this happy for the rest of your life.”

  She nods her head against my chest. I touch my fingertips to the underside of her jaw and tip her face up toward mine.

  “You can do that?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She swallows audibly, holding back a sob. As much as she feels, she’s still so unwilling to let herself cry.

  “Does that make you sad?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to be this happy.”

  I take my finger and draw her hair back behind her ear on one side and then the other. “You do. D’Arcy, you do. Because you’ve been giving me happy for months now. All my life I’ve been looking for it. I didn’t know what I was looking for, exactly. Only that I’d know it when I found it. You’re it. You’re my happily ever after.”

  With that, she raises her head and sucks my bottom lip into her warm mouth, tracing it with her tongue. I can’t control the groan that slips out of me, and I press my body down on hers. She pulls back her knees, opening herself to me, and tips her hips. An hour later, we’re both asleep, and nothing interrupts that peace except for dawn.

  Chapter Fifty

  Katherine

  It’s Saturday, August twelfth. The day of Summer Fest and my twenty-first birthday. Bennet had to be at work early, but I woke up to a bouquet of wild flowers and a note spelled out in Cheerios on the kitchen table: i love you, bday girl.

  I’m now heading to the coffeehouse in town to work on my admissions essay and financial aid applications for Bell Harbor. I stop at the ferry first, to say good morning to Bennet. If he kissed me good-bye (I was sure he had), I had been too unconscious to appreciate it.

  I park the Vega and get out, surprised to see Bennet talking to Natalie by the ticket booth. I’m close but too far away for them to have noticed me.

  Natalie has a thin bundle of mail in her hand, and she’s gesturing wildly. Her blue-streaked hair is electric, pulled haphazardly into a red scrunchie. Bennet, on the other hand, stands with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, his head down, nodding solemnly.

  Something about their postures makes me pause, and I don’t yell ahead to get their attention. Rather, I stop by a telephone pole and stand under a bear-warning poster, straining to hear bits of their conversation, which is masked by the gulls and the incessant clanging of the halyards against the sailboat masts.

  Bennet to Natalie: “When did you—clang—out?” Clang. Clang.

  Natalie shoves the bundle of letters into his hands and says: “Why…?” Clang. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? When—clang—did you—clang?”

  Bennet slips the letters into the back of his waistband and says, “I don’t…” Clang. Clang. “A month?”

  There is another angry burst from Natalie that is, regrettably, canceled out by Doyle’s untimely blast of the ferry horn—a signal to Bennet to get up to the bridge. I move forward from the spot where my feet have been rooted.

  “It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard of,” she says.

  Bennet is speaking quietly now, and if I hadn’t been moving steadily forward I wouldn’t be able to hear him at all.

  “Actually,” he says, “it’s probably the most unselfish thing I’ve ever done. I don’t expect you to understand that. Just please don’t say anything. I’ll tell her tonight.”

  By then I am within a few yards of them. “Tell her what?” I ask.

  They hadn’t noticed me coming, and they both jump as if they’ve been caught in the midst of some illicit drug transaction.

  “Whoa! Where did you come from? What are you doing up so early?” Bennet’s face lights up, changing from shame to surprise to joy to hunger in one single glorious second. My early rising has clearly been worth the effort. My heart accelerates at the sight of him.

  “Tell her what?” I ask again, teasing.

  He leans in to whisper. “Shhh. It’s a birthday surprise for you.”

  Natalie makes a sound of disgust, then heads back toward the post office, but not before shooting Bennet another stern look, which he ignores.

  “Are you taking the ferry to New Porte?” he asks. “You could sit up with me in the bridge. I don’t think Doyle would mind since it’s your birthday and all.”

  “Not today,” I say. “Too much to get ready. What’s with Natalie?” I ask, watching her storm up the street.

  “Stressing about the party, I think. This is her big moment-of-truth day.” He kisses me quickly. The last car is loading onto the ferry so he’s got to go.

  “See you at noon?” I confirm, grabbing his hand before he can get too far.

  “Noon,” he says. “I’ll wear my best barn-decorating outfit.”

  I give his hand a squeeze then let him go; it takes quite a bit of effort. I watch him walk away, completely confident, and sure of every step he takes. Never a moment’s apprehension. I am undeserving and altogether mystified at my good fortune.

  When he gets to the pier, he unties the heavy lines that keep the ferry at the dock, then raises his arm, either as a signal to Doyle or a wave to me. I’m not sure. He watches me for a bit, as the water churns noisily on their departure, then he disappears between the cars and climbs the stairs to the bridge.

  I consider following Natalie up to the post office. I’ve never heard her sound so upset before, but as I move in that direction, I decide I can wait. I’m going to see her in a couple hours when we start decorating the barn. Until then, I don’t need her bad mood to sour my good one.

  She’s obviously stressing out about the party. Nothing I do or say is going to help her there. She just needs to learn to keep the faith. Everything will work out like we planned. No party that I’ve had a hand in has ever ended in disaster.

  It’s not yet ten o’clock in the morning when I get to March’s barn, but there are already forty tables spread out across the grounds, each with one of our floral candleholders in the center and eig
ht folding chairs around the perimeter. Not enough seats for the whole town to eat at the same time, but close enough.

  A big banner that reads A Night at the Acropolis is strung over the barn door, and a long blue strip of plastic tarp is laid in front of the door, representing the River Styx.

  I close the barn door behind me and startle at the impressive rack of hunting rifles mounted on the wall to the left of the door. The whole rack is aimed in the direction of a long table where Liam, the ketchup-stained waiter from Paddy’s, is setting up the refreshments station.

  The table is covered in a blue plastic tablecloth and dozens of tall glass bottles. Liam wipes down the table around a large punch bowl with a placard that reads Aphrodite Punch. He looks up when he realizes I’m staring at him.

  “Am I supposed to report to Natalie?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes. “Keep your head low and your hands busy, and you should be fine.”

  “Right,” I say. I had that figured out already. Natalie has been a basket case all week worrying about tonight. Judging by her mood at the ferry dock this morning, I’m a little afraid to get in her way. Success or failure, I know she’ll take tonight personally. God forbid it should be the worst Summer Fest in the history of Little Bear. Natalie would “simply die of shame and take her mother with her.”

  I pick up a roll of blue crepe paper and a roll of duct tape and walk bravely to the foot of the ladder. “Hey, Natalie,” I say cautiously.

  She gives me a strange look—something close to pity that turns quickly to command. “Start on the far corner. At this rate we’ll still be at this tomorrow morning. We haven’t even got to the twinkle lights yet.”

  I salute, and she smiles apologetically. I secure the crepe paper to a post and toss the roll up over a low-hanging rafter, twisting it then tossing it again until it’s looped around the beam, festooning the dusty, cobwebby ceiling of the barn. On the highest rafters, there are still crepe paper remnants from last year’s party.

  Several minutes later, Natalie declares my corner of the barn “perfect” and directs the others to “see how Kate does it.” I laugh at myself, finally discovering my true artistic medium: Katherine D’Arcy, Crepe Paper Master.