The Dead of Summer

by Heather Balog

  “Are you sure you got it all?” I asked, eying her suspiciously. That freezer had to be pretty full; I had only gone to the market two weeks ago.

  “Absolutely certain,” Mama told me. “So go lie down, read a book, and I’ll bring you some of that sweet tea that Mrs. Harris brought over.”

  Ah, my mama sure knew how to tempt me. Mrs. Harris was about the only other living soul Mama let through that front door. Mrs. Harris was different from the neighborhood busybodies, and my mama sensed that straight away.

  Mrs. Harris had lost her own husband—quite a long time ago though—when her children were still small. She had raised three kids by herself in the seventies, when that was a lot more difficult than it was today. There was a lot more stigma attached with being a single parent then, too, even if your spouse had dropped dead from lung cancer at a ripe old age of thirty-two.

  Mama and Mrs. Harris bonded over recipes and the agony of raising children by themselves. All of Mrs. Harris’s children had moved to far-off places like Florida and California, and one even lived in Canada. She didn’t get to see her kids much and her grandbabies even less. In fact, I overheard Mrs. Harris telling Mama once that she and one of her daughters were estranged because the daughter didn’t like Mrs. Harris and blamed her for all the troubles she had gotten into in high school. I think the place she lived at in Florida was for drug or alcohol rehab, but I wasn’t a hundred percent positive.

  I personally liked Mrs. Harris. She was a teeny little thing, getting wrinkled and shriveled up, and I couldn’t imagine that she could be responsible for her daughter being a booze head druggie. Hell, if I could be somewhat normal with my mama as wacky as she was, well, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Harris had been a fine mother who had done the best she could and her daughter was simply an ungrateful brat. I had overheard Mama mutter something like that after Mrs. Harris had left one day.

  But anyway, Mrs. Harris made the best sweet tea I had ever tasted (she had grown up in Georgia, the land of the sweet tea) and Mama knew I would just about forget anything for a glass of that delicious stuff. So I headed to the bedroom on the second floor of our small house, but when I was halfway up the steps, I turned around to ask what was for dinner. Mama was standing off to the side of the big picture window in the living room, just staring at the street, nervously chewing at her fingernails. Half wondering what had gotten into her and half not caring, I turned on my heel without another word and went upstairs to the cool air.

  FIVE

  The next morning, right after breakfast, there was a gentle tapping on my front door. I glanced up at the ceiling and heard Mama bustling around in the bathroom, the sound of the shower doors being slid open, and the shower turning on.

  I parted the curtains in the living room to catch a glimpse of who could possibly be rapping on our door this early in the morning. Even though it was after nine o’clock, didn’t think Lindy would be out and about yet. Her morning beauty regiment took quite a long time. And even if she was ready, she certainly wouldn’t be tapping timidly on the front door. More likely she would send me a text along the lines of, hA btch Im w8N outside. And she’d be waiting in the car with her driver standing outside the door while she buffed her nails in the backseat.

  My heart almost fell to my knees when I saw who was standing on the front porch. With his unruly hair tucked under a baseball cap, Carson held Colt on a leash as he curiously sniffed the bushes in the front of the house. Colt sniffed. Not Carson.

  Crap! I glanced down at the pair of ratty pajama shorts I had slept in and tank-top I had layered over them. It would have been okay except for the fact I had no bra on and it was quite obvious. My hair was piled onto my head in a messy bun and slumping to one side. I could probably get away with it if I quickly gathered it up and. . .

  Damn, my breath! Oh dear Lord, my breath. I cupped my hand around my mouth and exhaled; a noxious odor assaulted me. Plus, there was yellow gunk at the edge of my lips from my breakfast cereal. I rubbed at it feverishly with my hand as Carson tapped on the door once more. At the same time, I heard Mama slide back the shower doors and the water turn off.

  Christ, is she going for a world record or something? Mama had never taken a shower so quickly. But today she was all hover-y and didn’t want to leave my side even when I told her to go shower so I could get ready. Ugh, she probably wants to have one of her infamous mother-daughter days today. No, we wouldn’t go for pedicures and then high tea at the palace; our mother-daughter days usually consisted of mama making me sit next to her on the couch and watch videos of puppies falling down and eating baked goods all day. I was definitely not in the mood for that.

  “I’ll be right there!” I shouted to Carson as my eyes darted around furtively, searching for A, something to cover myself with and B, something to rid myself of the morning breath I was clearly suffering from. I threw open the hall closet just as I heard Mama pad into her bedroom. She’d be down in no time flat and nothing says lonely teenager who will never have a boyfriend until she’s forty, like a nosy mom.

  Desperate, I grabbed a hoodie that had been flung into the closet a few months ago. I slipped it over my head and opened the front door.

  There stood Carson, beaming and looking sheepish at the same time.

  “Um, hi,” I mumbled, shoving a wayward strand of hair up into my bun as I stepped onto the porch.

  “Hi yourself,” he remarked, still smiling in that cockeyed way.

  “What are you, um. . .doing here?” I was also wondering how the hell he knew where I lived. It seemed stalkerish. Not that I would mind in the least if Carson Tyler was stalking me. He was definitely not like Jerry Newman who stalked every girl in my grade with his humpback, nostril hairs, and unibrow.

  “Waiting for you to show me the town,” Carson said, eyebrow cocked.

  “Show you the town?” I tried to prevent my voice from sounding like a trumpeter swan, but I failed miserably.

  “Yeah,” he replied with a cocky smile. “You promised me yesterday that you’d show me around.”

  I did? I couldn’t remember this particular statement on my part. Maybe it was when I was blubbering like a fool in front of him. Oh wait, that was the entire time I was with him yesterday.

  “Um, sure,” I replied, shoving my hands inside my hoodie. For some reason, they were suddenly ice cold, like my blood had stopped pumping through my body. It was an almost welcome feeling after the constant flushing I had been doing in front of Carson for the past twenty-four hours or so. I couldn’t imagine what menopause would be like. I don’t remember a ton about Mama Grace, but I do remember her flapping about in her housecoat, fanning her arms around (her great big bat wings), and tittering on that those “damn hot flashes will be the death of me”.

  “Colt can get his walk in, too,” Carson said.

  At the mention of his name, Colt perked up his ears, his neck snapping to attention. I could have sworn he even made a Scooby-Doo-like noise.

  “Kennedy!” I heard my mama calling from inside the house. “Is there someone at the door, Kennedy?”

  Crap! She’d be down here in no time, dying to know who Carson was and acting all overprotective and everything.

  Without even thinking, I shoved Carson off the porch and stuck my head inside the house. “No one, Mama!”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her footfalls rapidly descending on the stairs. “I could have sworn I heard someone tapping on the front door.”

  In the shower? What is she? A bat?

  Carson was staring at me with a questioning expression on his face. I shook my head slightly at him. Now was not the time to introduce him to Mama, patron saint of crazy shut-ins.

  “It’s just Lindy, Mama,” I called, pulling the heavy door shut behind me. “I’m going out,” I added as an afterthought. I shooed Carson down the sidewalk with my hands. “Go!” I whispered loudly.

  He tugged on the leash for Colt to follow him, and I shuffled down the front walk quickly in my flip flops, praying Mama would
take my Lindy excuse and settle down with her laptop without checking on me.

  I gently pushed Carson toward the line of hedges at the end of our property and then dropped to the ground, pulling on his arm. He collapsed in a heap next to me on the grass. I knelt down and poked my head ever so slightly over the top of the hedge.

  “Are we spies?” Carson whispered in a joking tone.

  “No, I…” And then I realized that I would have to explain what an oddball my mama was. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my brain racing to come up with an excuse. “My mama doesn’t want me talking to boys.”

  How lame, Kennedy. But I was gonna have to take lame over My mama is a nutball recluse who would fire off questions at you like you were being interviewed for a job with the FBI, and then make you stay for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  Carson accepted my explanation with a shrug. “Oh. Well, I’m not an axe murderer or anything if that makes her feel any better.”

  I laughed, snorting what just might have been orange juice, out my nose. Quickly, I covered my nose and mouth with my hand.

  “Excuse me,” I said sheepishly, wiping the moisture up with the back of my hand. Awesome, Kennedy. You’re a real charmer.

  Carson leaned his back against the shrubbery. Colt took it as his cue to drop to the ground and start nibbling on his paws. They both looked comfy.

  I stared at them, aghast. “We can’t stay here!”

  “I know,” Carson said. “I thought we were going for a walk.”

  “Um, yeah, of course. We are,” I said.

  “I was just wait for you to be done spying,” Carson said, that delicious grin covering his face once again.

  “Um, I am,” I stammered.

  Careful not to stand erect, I waddled to the edges of the bushes in a squatting position until I reached the sidewalk in front of the neighbor’s house. I’m certain I looked like a duck, but given the choice being embarrassed by Carson watching me walk like a moron, to the absolute mortification of Carson meeting Mama, I choose the moronic walk.

  As I stood to my full height, I turned my head to see Carson and Colt still sitting in front of the hedge. Staring at me. Both of them. I swear Colt’s tongue was lolling out of his mouth in disbelief.

  “What?” I asked, tucking another escaped curl into my bun.

  “Can we stand up or do we have to army crawl over to you?” Carson asked with a smirk.

  I blushed. “You can stand up.”

  He rose to his feet, tugging at Colt’s leash to get him to also stand. Colt appeared quite put out by the thought of moving from the soft, cool grass to the heat of the day, but rose reluctantly.

  When Carson joined me in front of the Yardley family’s house (thank goodness everyone was at work or summer camp or else the annoying Yardley brats would be pressing their runny noses up against the glass, staring at me and Carson), he pointed to my sweatshirt.

  “You do know it’s going to be over a hundred again today, right? Maybe you want to leave the sweatshirt at home?”

  I blushed, remembering the braless tank-top that I had underneath there. No way was I taking the hoodie off. My oversized girls could not go unsupported like that. They’d likely flop out right in front of Carson. And that would suck because then I’d have to go dig a hole to China to throw myself into.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, pulling my arms closer to my body as if to demonstrate that, despite the insane humidity and debilitating heat, I was cold. Which, of course, I wasn’t.

  “Suit yourself,” Carson said with a shrug, eyes still hovering over my sweatshirt. I felt like he could see my braless boobs through the material of the sweatshirt like Superman or Spider-Man or whatever comic book hero had X-Ray vision. My cheeks flaming, I wrapped my arms around my body tighter.

  “Um, so…” I wasn’t sure what my next move was supposed to be.

  Carson was wearing that cute-boy face, making me feel really self-conscious. I grazed my hand across my cheeks, making sure I didn’t have any more remnants of my breakfast on my face. When I felt that I was in the clear, I closed my mouth and ran my tongue over my teeth.

  “What?” I asked, still self-conscious.

  “Aren’t we gonna go?” He nodded in the direction of downtown.

  “Oh. . .yeah.” I tucked my head to my chest and charged ahead. When I was a few paces in front of Carson, it occurred to me, maybe I should slow down so we can look at each other and talk. Then, I thought for a second—looking at each other while walking would probably be a bad idea. I’d probably trip over an imaginary crack in the sidewalk and go flailing face first into the grass. Or more likely, the sidewalk itself. I was feeling at quite a loss without Lindy to guide me; I realized I had no idea how to walk next to a boy alone.

  “So where are you taking me?” Carson asked, a note of breathlessness in his voice. I was obviously walking too fast. Feeling like an idiot, I slowed down.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Where do you want to go?” I glanced at him briefly, making sure I had one eye on the pesky sidewalk at all times.

  He returned my shrug. “That’s why you’re showing me around, silly.”

  “Well, um, I don’t know what you’d like to do,” I managed to croak out. Why are you being so difficult, Kennedy? He’s going to leave you standing here on Main Street looking like a bag lady, and go find someone else to show him around town. Someone who isn’t tongued tied and blubbery. And wearing a hoodie in June.

  Carson stopped in front of Hilda Henderson’s house and leaned all casual-like against the massive oak out front. I sucked in my breath as I instantly saw the curtain part on the second floor. Hilda was one of Novella’s biggest busybodies. If she could figure out her computer, I’m sure she’d have an e-newsletter that went out every hour on the hour.

  “What’s the matter?” Carson asked, eyebrow arched inquisitively.

  What’s the matter, Kennedy? Scared to be seen with a boy? What are you afraid of? Mama finding out that you weren’t really with Lindy?

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to sound breezy and casual. So what if Mrs. Henderson told everyone in town that I was talking to a boy. It’s not like Mama would find out.

  But Lindy might find out. And that would be bad.

  Well, it’s not really like you’re going out with him, Kennedy. He just wants you to show him around the town. Think of yourself as that helper the teacher calls on to show the new kid around school. It’s the same thing. No more romantic than bringing a classmate to the guidance office.

  “So what kind of things do you like to do?” I asked while staring down at the ground.

  “I’m pretty flexible,” he said, evading the question. “What kind of things do you like to do? What’s your favorite place in town?” he asked, dimple dancing on his cheek.

  My throat was a pile of sandbox sand, scratchy and dry. I was afraid to speak, knowing my voice wouldn’t be audible. How was I supposed to tell this gorgeous, older guy that my favorite place was a ninety-year-old pile of bricks we called a library in this backassward town?

  “Bab’s Beauty Barn?” I lied as I pointed to the store a few paces up the block. Bab’s was the place in town where all the girls went for their mani pedis and beauty supplies. I had actually only set foot in that place once—with Lindy, of course. It reeked of acrylic paint and I spent the afternoon dry heaving in the bin behind the store.

  “You don’t sound too confident,” Carson teased as we walked in that direction. “And you don’t strike me like the beauty barn type.”

  I halted and crossed my arms over my chest. What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m butt ugly and obviously don’t care about my looks?

  “Why not? You don’t know me,” I snapped. The second the words were out of my mouth I wished I could reel them back through the air like a fish on a hook. Shut up, Kennedy! You’re gonna ruin it with this guy!

  He stepped closer to me and grinned. The air between us was actually crackling. “I can tell. I’m good at read
ing people. You’re not the superficial type. You’re the kind of girl who wants people to know you for who you are and not what you look like.” His eyes appraised me appreciatively and then suddenly he turned shy.

  My mouth hung open. I still don’t know—is he calling me ugly?

  “Well I usually don’t look like this,” I stammered, glancing down at my hideous attire. I starting walking again. “I just woke up, you know.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying you look bad,” Carson quickly said, following me. “You just didn’t strike me as the kind that gets her nails done and worries about flat-ironing her hair and having the latest clothes. I thought maybe you were more the kind that likes to read and go for walks.”

  That’s exactly the kind of girl I am. But is that the kind of girl you’re looking for?

  I was about to answer when Carson asked, “What’s that pain in the ass friend of yours up to today? What’s her name? Lindsay?”

  “It’s Lindy,” I mumbled, despondent despite the fact he called Lindy a pain in the ass. Of course. Every boy wanted to know what Lindy was up to.

  “Whatever,” he shrugged. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl you’d be friends with. She’s really superficial, isn’t she?”

  Confused and slightly annoyed, I asked, “What do you mean? You only met us yesterday. You don’t know how we are.”

  Carson’s cheeks prickled with red spots as sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’ve seen you guys around,” he mumbled, suddenly fascinated with the weeds growing out of the sidewalk cracks.

  Instantly, it became clear. The shadow I thought I saw in the woods the day before and how Carson knew where I lived. He had been following us! Or rather, he had been following Lindy. That was much more likely. Immediately, I felt like an idiot. Of course he’s only talking to you to find out more about Lindy. He’s just like every other guy. A classic get-to-Lindy move. Duh. Why would you think he was interested in you? Sometimes you’re a real moron, Kennedy.

  “Oh, well then. I’ve got to go. Lindy should be home if you’d like to go talk to her. You know where she lives.” And then I had the urge to hurt his feelings. “But I wouldn’t bother. She doesn’t like you anyway.” I pivoted on my heel, intending to march away, but Carson grabbed my arm before I could have my drama queen moment.