That Certain Summer: A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  His tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious. She lifted her chin a fraction, trying not to be distracted by the way his jeans hugged his lean hips or the impressive biceps beneath the sleeves of his black golf shirt. “I said I’d come, and I always keep my promises.”

  “I believe that.” He gave her a long look, then reached for the music and set it on the stand. After sliding the bench back into position, he took his seat. “Ready?”

  “No. But I’m here, so I guess I’ll try it. Could you . . . would you sing through it with me once?”

  “Sure. Let’s do some scales first, to warm up.”

  They ran through a few vocal exercises, and despite the presence of Kristen and Steven, by the time they moved on to the piece, Karen wasn’t nearly as nervous as she’d been the first time she’d sung it.

  As the last note died away, Scott gave an approving nod. “Nice. Now try it on your own.”

  Her nerves spiked, but when she checked out Kristen and Steven, they were involved in an animated conversation, oblivious to the rehearsal.

  So much for her audience.

  For the next few minutes, Scott played through the piece several times, and with each rendition, her voice grew stronger and more confident. He began to offer suggestions on interpretation and dynamics, and she forgot to be nervous as she concentrated on his instructions.

  “Okay. Let’s do it once more, and try to focus on all the things we’ve talked about.” Scott flipped back to the first page.

  As he began to play, Karen closed her eyes, letting the music filter into her soul as her mind processed and implemented all of his suggestions.

  The last notes died away and the church went silent—until the sound of clapping filled it. Karen opened her eyes to find Kristen, Steven, and Scott beaming at her.

  “Wow, Mom! I had no idea you could sing like that!” Kristen bounded over.

  “Me neither, Mrs. Butler.” Steven wheeled up behind her daughter. “You should sing solo stuff more often.”

  The accolades of the young people were gratifying, but she valued Scott’s opinion more. Summoning up her courage, she looked at him. His approving smile told her all she needed to know, but his words were the icing on the cake.

  “I second that.”

  Karen was saved from having to respond by the arrival of Martha Ramsey, but as they all exchanged a few pleasantries, her heart continued to glow.

  Only after Martha and Steven disappeared out the door and Kristen spoke to her did she come back to earth. “Are we still going to Mr. Frank’s?”

  “What’s Mr. Frank’s?” Scott closed the cover over the piano keys.

  “You’ve been in Washington all summer and you haven’t been to Mr. Frank’s?” Kristen’s eyes widened.

  “No. What is it?”

  “Just the best frozen custard in the world! Mom, he should come with us.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I’ve already taken up far too much of his time. We’ve been here forty minutes.”

  “Actually, I don’t have any solid plans for the rest of the day.” Scott leaned against the piano and slid his hands in his pockets.

  “Awesome! Come on.” Kristen took her mother’s hand and hauled her toward the door.

  “Give me a minute to lock up and I’ll follow you. Is this okay with you, Karen?”

  Before she could answer, Kristen chimed in.

  “Of course it’s okay.” Her daughter gave another tug on her arm. “Everybody goes to Mr. Frank’s. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

  Karen shot Kristen a narrow-eyed look. Leave it to her daughter to throw that word in.

  Kristen ignored her.

  Doing her best not to appear flustered, she answered Scott’s question herself. “You’re welcome to join us. Mr. Frank’s is definitely worth a trip.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you in the lot in just a minute.”

  She waited until they were outside to confront Kristen. “What was with the date reference?”

  Her daughter gave her a look of feigned innocence. “I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you?”

  “This has nothing to do with being embarrassed.” Not much, anyway. “You know I don’t date, and I don’t want Scott to think I do.”

  “Why do you care what he thinks?”

  She hit the automatic car lock on her key chain. “Because.”

  “Because you like him?”

  “I’m not discussing this, Kristen.” She slid into the car.

  Kristen joined her a moment later. “You need to chill, Mom.” She watched as Scott exited and started for his car. “Man, he is one hot dude, even if he’s old.”

  Old?

  Karen eyed Scott’s lean, muscular physique as he strode toward his car.

  Hardly.

  Rather than respond, however, she put the car in gear and changed the subject. “You and Steven seemed to hit it off.”

  “Yeah.” Kristen settled back in her seat. “I never talked to him much at school. He was older, and the big football hero and all. Out of my league, you know? But he’s cool. He thinks about stuff most kids don’t. Heavy stuff. Like, about life and what’s important.”

  She paused, and Karen took a quick peek at her. Kristen’s expression was pensive.

  “Being stuck in that chair has to be really hard. But he says he figures God must have something better than football in store for him. That’s a pretty awesome attitude.” Kristen hesitated, playing with the buckle on her seat belt. “He asked me to go to a movie with him.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I told him you don’t let me date.”

  “I’d let you go with Steven. He’s a good kid.”

  Kristen scowled at her. “And Gary isn’t?”

  Uh-oh. Careful, careful.

  “It’s just that I’ve known the Ramseys my whole life, and all of them have solid values. I don’t know Gary very well.” But enough to suspect he had questionable morals, at best. “Do you want to go with him?”

  Thankfully, her daughter let the subject of Gary drop.

  “Part of me does, but . . . I mean, I don’t know how to relate to a guy who . . . who’s in a wheelchair.”

  “He’s the same guy he was before the accident in every way that counts, and I’m sure he’d like to be treated the same.”

  “But, like, who’s supposed to get the popcorn? Usually guys do that. And how would we get there? He can’t drive. And what if he has to, you know, go to the bathroom? I mean, it’s kind of awkward.”

  “That’s true—especially for him. He’s had to learn to do everything in a new way. But you know what? People cope. They figure it out. They adjust—often through trial and error. The important thing is to keep trying and not to treat every challenge as if it’s life or death. If an awkward situation comes up, talk it through. You’ll be amazed how a simple conversation can smooth things out.”

  “Does that mean you think I should go?”

  “It’s up to you, honey. Go if you enjoy being with Steven—but don’t go out of pity. That won’t do anyone any good.”

  “I guess I’ll think about it.”

  Kristen lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, but she perked up when they pulled into the parking lot at Mr. Frank’s a few minutes later. Hopping out of the car, she waved Scott into a spot farther down. The place was already crowded at eleven in the morning.

  “I can vouch for the chocolate chip concrete, but they’re all good,” Kristen told Scott as he joined them.

  “I’ll go with your recommendation. Karen, what will you have?”

  He started to retrieve his wallet, but she held out a hand to restrain him. “Uh-uh. Your first visit is our treat. Maybe you can find us a seat—although the prospects don’t look too good.” She scanned the scene. The few scattered benches were already occupied.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  By the time Karen and Kristen inched their way through the order line, Kristen had greeted several frie
nds who’d also paid an early visit to the popular spot.

  “Can I go talk to Erin while we eat, Mom?”

  “Yes, but we’re not going to stay long. I have to do some weeding before I go grocery shopping with Val.”

  “Okay. Wave at me when you’re ready to leave.”

  As Kristen headed for her friends, Karen stepped away from the counter and searched the throng for Scott. To her surprise, he’d found a vacant bench.

  Striking off in his direction, she surveyed the crowd as she grew close. “I can’t believe you found a seat. This place is always packed.”

  “I could attribute it to good karma, but you’d discover the truth soon enough.” He gestured to the wood plank beside him. A good third of it was covered with tree sap.

  Lifting her head, Karen found the source. A large branch had broken off the pine tree above.

  “I tried to clean it off, but all I got for my trouble was sticky fingers. We’ll have to share this end.”

  Karen gave the bench a dubious scan. Two months and twenty-two pounds ago, there was no way she’d have fit in the spot reserved for her. Now, she would—but not unless she got cozy with Scott.

  Tilting his head, he held out his hand and gave her a quizzical look. “So do I get to sample that before it melts?”

  “Sorry.” Karen thrust the cup of custard toward him.

  He took it from her, hesitated, then moved over as much as he could without falling off the edge. “Join me?”

  Wonderful. He’d picked up on her nervousness.

  Telling herself to stop acting like an adolescent, Karen perched on the bench, keeping as much distance between them as possible. But unless she wanted to go home with tree sap all over her slacks, she had to sit too close for comfort. Close enough to smell the distinctive musky scent of his aftershave. To see the speck of chocolate that clung to his lips after he took a bite of his custard. To notice the tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes.

  “This is great.” He took another bite, but his attention was on her, not the custard. “I’ll endorse Kristen’s recommendation any day.”

  Was he talking about the custard flavor—or her daughter’s suggestion that he join them? Hard to tell from his expression, but for safety’s sake, she’d assume it was the former.

  “She likes Mr. Frank’s a lot. Her dad and I used to bring her here, and they still come here once in a while when they get together.”

  Frowning, she poked at her custard. That was stretching the truth. Michael had rarely accompanied them on their trips to Mr. Frank’s. Was mentioning her ex some sort of a subliminal defensive measure? A way to keep Scott at arm’s length while she figured out what role romance might play in her future?

  “My mom told me you were divorced. I’m sorry.”

  She spooned up a bite of custard, hoping the creamy treat would work its usual soothing, comfort-food magic. But when the sweet confection melted on her tongue, it left a bitter aftertaste instead.

  The silence lengthened, and Scott spoke again. “I guess I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Separation and divorce are very sad—and very hard, even after a year and a half. I appreciate your empathy.” She watched the custard dissolving in her cup.

  “Is there any chance you two might get back together?”

  “No.”

  “I guess there are some hurts that can’t be overcome.”

  His gentle, empathetic tone soothed her—and encouraged confidences. Somehow she sensed that this man could be trusted with secrets, that he would respond with understanding and kindness.

  Dare she open up a bit about her divorce? About Michael’s infidelity?

  Brow furrowed, she swirled the tip of her spoon through her custard. Strange. Those subjects had always been too painful—and demeaning—to discuss in depth with anyone. Yet for whatever reason, she wanted to tell this man more. To explain how devastated she had been by her husband’s betrayal. To be affirmed in her refusal to agree to a reconciliation.

  Maybe he wouldn’t want to hear all that garbage, though. Maybe he’d back off if she opened up.

  Still . . . she’d taken other risks lately—and been rewarded.

  Why stop now?

  As Karen stared at the dissolving custard in her cup, Scott debated his next move. She struck him as a very private person who might resent personal questions. Yet he wanted to know what had happened. Wanted to know what kind of idiot would dump such a strong, caring woman for a fling with a coed.

  And Karen was strong, whether she realized it or not. According to his mother, she’d shouldered the burden of Margaret’s demands for years, gone back to work when her husband walked out on her, and was now raising her teenage daughter alone. That took guts. And grit. And determination.

  This was another woman who took the lemons life dealt her and made lemonade.

  He was still struggling to come up with a diplomatic way to ferret out some information when she surprised him with a tentative, quiet overture.

  “My husband and I weren’t a good match from the beginning.”

  He latched on to the opening. “How so?”

  She ran her plastic spoon round and round the custard, watching as it left soft trails in its wake. “He was a lot older than me, and I was flattered by his attention. You’ve met Val. Imagine what it was like growing up in her shadow. She was the popular and pretty sister. The boys never noticed me. So Michael’s attention was great for my ego, and my acquiescence was great for his. But that wasn’t enough to sustain a marriage. Especially after he . . . strayed. More than once, as I learned not long ago.”

  Her plastic spoon snapped in two with a loud crack, and she set the almost untouched custard on the bench beside her, folding her hands in her lap.

  Scott studied her profile. The sun highlighted the soft auburn strands of her hair as they curved over her high cheekbones. Yet the harsh noonday light was also merciless, drawing attention to the shadows beneath her eyes and the creases at their corners—evidence of long-term stress and fatigue and tension more than age, he suspected.

  Out of the blue, an overpowering urge to punch out the man who’d hurt her swept over him.

  He frowned. How weird was that, considering he was usually repulsed by violence?

  She slanted him a look, reminding him he owed her a response.

  “It’s hard to forgive a betrayal like that.”

  The faint parallel grooves on her forehead deepened. “I have to admit I’m still working on that. He’s told me he’s sorry. Even suggested we give it another try.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll get to forgiveness eventually, but that doesn’t mean I have to put myself back into a bad situation. I’d rather live alone than return to a relationship where I’m not an equal partner.”

  “Maybe you’ll marry again.” Scott toyed with his own spoon, watching her.

  “I don’t know. I’ve always believed the vows we took before God were for life, no matter what Michael did. But I’ve been doing some praying about it lately . . . I guess I’ll see where that leads.”

  “I doubt God wants you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

  “Some people stay single.” She studied him. “You’ve never married, have you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind.” Oddly enough, he didn’t, even though he’d never talked much about his personal life with anyone but family. “No, I’ve never married. I was on the road too much, and I didn’t have time for anything but my music. Now that I’ve been away from it, though, I don’t think I could ever go back to that nomadic existence.”

  “What will you do instead?”

  “Good question. I wish I had the answer.” Lifting his left hand, he tried to flex the fingers. “A lot depends on this.”

  “Have you seen any improvement?”

  “A little, maybe. Not enough to be noticeable to anyone else.”

  “Well, despite that liability, you’re doing a great job as music direct
or. And you’ve already demonstrated you can teach music.”

  “But the saxophone was my main instrument, and performance was my passion.”

  “Those things may still be in your future. You just have to be patient.”

  “Reverend Richards gave me the same advice—but patience isn’t my strong suit.”

  “I don’t know. You’re pretty patient these days with a very mediocre choir. One member in particular.”

  He looked straight into her eyes. “In that particular area, I don’t find it at all difficult to be patient.”

  “Hey, Mom, I need to get home and change.”

  As Kristen drew up beside them, Karen moistened her lips and checked her watch. “Wow! I had no idea we’d been here so long. We need to get going.”

  Kristen examined Scott’s empty cup. “Did you like the custard?”

  “It was amazing. I think I’ll be visiting Mr. Frank’s on a regular basis.”

  “So you’re glad you came with us?”

  “Absolutely.” His gaze flickered to Karen, and an endearing blush crept across her cheeks.

  “Cool. Come on, Mom.” Without waiting for a response, Kristen started toward the car.

  “I guess duty calls.” Karen rose and took a step back.

  “Yeah. For me too. I need to check out the gym at the Y. I’ll see you tomorrow at the service.” He reached over and plucked the custard cup from her fingers. “I’ll get rid of these.”

  “Thanks. Well . . . until tomorrow.”

  Scott remained where he was as she set off for her car. Waited as she backed out. Waved as she disappeared from sight down the road.

  But as he slid into his own car and buckled his seat belt, he had a feeling that a certain auburn-haired soprano wasn’t going to disappear as quickly from his thoughts.

  And that could be dangerous.

  Because a woman with unresolved issues about her marital status—and who was also fast making inroads on his heart—could be a recipe for disaster.

  18