One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Meghan sighs dramatically. “So handsome and yet, he chooses to hide it.”

  I hear Chad’s sneakers hit the landing and he enters the kitchen as I’m standing up. “Dad, I need to stay after today. Until five.”

  “Detention?” I joke.

  “No, sir. Debate team.”

  “What about your sisters?”

  “Can Gilly and Meghan go to after-care today?”

  Gillian groans. The girls don’t love spending two hours in the elementary school cafeteria after school, but it’s a helpful, low-cost childcare option when I’m working, and Chad has an after-school activity. Luckily the elementary school is halfway between the middle school and our house, so their brother can pick them up when debate team is finished practicing.

  “You’ll grab them up at five and walk them home?”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” he says, nodding at me.

  “All right, then. Debate away.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” he says. “I saw the chicken legs in the fridge. I can start dinner too.”

  “I appreciate that, son.”

  “I hate after-care,” whines Gillian. “We didn’t used to have to go there, before...”

  “Shhh!” hisses Chad. He turns to Meghan, pulling out her chair. “Put your bowl in the sink and get your backpack.”

  Used to.

  Before.

  My wife of fourteen years died two years ago when her car hit a slick of ice and skated into a fuel truck. The collision resulted in a massive explosion which killed Wendy and the truck driver almost immediately and left me a widower with three young kids. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. Not one. And I miss her so much sometimes, it takes my breath away.

  “Daddy, why can’t Aunt Bonnie pick us up?” Gillian demands as I grab my jacket and hat off the rack by the front door.

  “’Cause she works,” answers Chad, shrugging into his raincoat before helping Meghan zip hers. “She’s not your personal taxi service, Gilly.”

  “Are you my daddy?” she asks her brother, giving him a sour look before turning to me. “We hate after-care. Why can’t she come get us?”

  “Yeah. We love Aunt Bonnie better’n after-care,” adds Meghan.

  “I can’t ask Bonnie to drop everything and pick you up. Not when you’ll be safe and sound and looked-after until Chad can fetch you and bring you home,” I say firmly.

  I’ve made a concerted effort not to ask my sister to play the role of mama for my kids. She has a husband, home, part-time job and twin babies to look after. She never says no when I ask for help, but there are inevitable times that I do and will need her. I can’t wear out my welcome by pestering her for the little things.

  “She doesn’t miiiiind,” whines Gilly. “I can even help her with the twins. I’m finishing fifth grade! I’m old enough to babysit!”

  “Quit moaning,” advises Chad, grabbing Meghan’s hand and leading her through the door to my SUV. “I’ll get Meg buckled in.”

  Gilly stands in the foyer, staring down at her sneakers, her small body dwarfed by the cheerful pink backpack on her slim form. She looks so little, I’m reminded that her efforts to act like a teenager are just that: an act. She’s closer to babyhood than adulthood, and her bravado has got to be exhausting sometimes.

  “Gilly? Come on, honey.”

  That’s when I notice the slight shaking of her shoulders, which tells me she’s crying. I squat down before her.

  “Hey, Gilly-bean,” I say gently, looking up at her to find fat tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I know it’s not perfect, but I’m doing my—”

  “I miss mommy!” she cries, throwing herself against me, her forehead landing on my uniformed shoulder.

  My heart clenches as I draw her into my arms.

  This is what hurts the most.

  I loved Wendy and I miss her like crazy, but the worst of it is seeing my kids suffer. It tears my heart apart.

  My youngest, Meghan, doesn’t have many memories of Wendy: she was only three years old when her mother died. There must be a deep chasm in her life where a mother should be, but she doesn’t necessarily know what she’s missing. She doesn’t complain much. She’s agreeable and young, and mostly just rolls with the punches.

  My oldest, Chad, keeps his sorrow bottled up, trying to help me in every way he can: looking after the girls, getting dinner started, tucking Meghan in on the nights I need to work late. He cried at his mother’s funeral, but he’s been a rock since, and even though I’m grateful for his help, it worries me too. A thirteen-year-old kid shouldn’t have this many responsibilities; he should be more carefree, biking around town with his friends after school, not babysitting for his sisters and cooking dinner. I know it’s wrong to lean on him as much as I do, but sometimes I feel too overwhelmed to turn down his help.

  As for my middle kid? Gillian? She’s the most emotional of the three. At least once a month she has these desperately unhappy moments when she cries about her mother, mourning Wendy’s loss in such a real way that it flattens me on the inside while I force myself to stay strong for her on the outside.

  “I know you do,” I say softly. “I do too.”

  “She would’ve p-picked me up every d-day. She would’ve b-been here when I got home.”

  “I know it.”

  “I h-hate it that she’s gone,” she sobs near my ear. “I w-want her back.”

  “Can’t help you there, bean,” I say, squeezing her tighter. “I wish I could.”

  As she cries, her sweet, sobby-breath falls softly on my throat, and my mind speeds up to two or four or six years from now when Gillian is going to need a lot more than a big hug from her father when her hormones are going crazy and she’s trying to become a young woman without the guidance of a mother. I know that Bonnie will do anything possible to be sure that Gilly and Meg have a positive female figure in their lives, but Bonnie will have her hands full with her own kids, her own concerns. Who will be there for my girls? It’s a question that plagues me in quiet moments, but I’m not interested in meeting someone new. My sister has tried throwing eligible women in my path, but I’m not ready to get back out there yet.

  “I tell you what,” I say, pushing her back a little and reaching forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, “when I get home tonight, how about we watch a movie together? You, me, Meg and Chad?”

  “With p-popcorn?” she asks, sniffling.

  “Sure. Real buttery too.”

  She nods. “Okay. I’ll go to stupid after-care.”

  “And go easy on Chad, huh? He’s just trying to help me out.”

  “I know,” she says, taking a deep, wobbly breath before looking up at me with glassy eyes. “Sorry I got sad. Love you, Daddy,” she adds, heading out the door.

  When I look up at the SUV, I see Chad standing by the passenger door, opening his arms to give Gilly a hug before she gets in the backseat beside her little sister.

  They’re good kids, I think, feeling my chest tighten with pride. They would have made you so darn proud, Wendy.

  Standing in the front doorway, I watch them for a moment, knowing that they need more than me, that we can’t continue on like this forever.

  I just don’t know where to start, or how to make it better.

  As a sergeant, and the second-in-command, at the Department of Public Safety Academy in Sitka, Alaska, I work with State Trooper recruits all day every day. They undertake an eighteen-week, live-in course at my school, and I, in conjunction with other commissioned officers and civilian instructors, teach them how to serve the great state of Alaska.

  When my phone rings mid-morning, I glance at it to see who’s interrupting a class on weapon safety, then turn the class over to another officer when I realize it’s the nurse at Gillian and Meghan’s elementary school.

  “Hello?”

  “Sergeant Kingston?”

  “Yes, this is Luke Kingston.”

  “I’m sorry to say that we have Gilly in the nurs
e’s office today. She’s running a low-grade fever.”

  “How low?”

  “Ninety-nine point three.”

  “That’s barely a fever,” I note.

  “I’m under obligation to call you,” she answers, her tone a little frostier. “Her cheeks are red, and her eyes are glassy. I believe she’s coming down with something.”

  I sigh. This also explains her outburst in the kitchen this morning. Gilly’s always more sensitive when she’s getting a cold.

  Here’s the thing about being a single parent, though: in moments like this, you are truly alone. My parents have passed away. Wendy’s parents are great, and take the kids for two weeks every summer, but they live down in San Francisco. Although I occasionally employ a babysitter, I can’t really afford the expense of a full-time care-giver; besides, one of my kids is old enough to look after the other two, so it hasn’t been a necessity.

  In situations like these, I only have one option: Bonnie.

  “I’ll call my sister to come pick up Gillian.”

  “Very good,” says the nurse, and hangs up.

  I sigh, annoyed that I’m spread so thin, and dial my sister’s number.

  “Luke?”

  “Hey, Bonnie,” I say. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  I am blessed when it comes to Bonnie. My parents, God rest their souls, were good, decent people, but my little sister is the best. She never says no if it’s even remotely possible for her to say yes. I am endlessly grateful to her.

  “Just got a call from Gilly’s school. She’s in the nurses’ office. Low-grade fever.”

  “I’m on it,” says Bonnie, shuffling papers in the background. “I’ll keep her here until you can get her after work.”

  “Sounds like you’re working yourself.”

  Bonnie has an at-home accounting business and manages to fit her workday in around the twins’ napping and sleeping schedule.

  “Nothing that can’t keep until the kids are asleep later.”

  I wince because picking up my daughter and caring for her this afternoon means my sister will be working tonight when she should be relaxing.

  “Sorry, Bonnie. I wouldn’t ask if—”

  “I know,” she says. “And by the way, I’m not complaining, Luke. I’m glad to help...”

  I feel a but coming in three, two, one—

  “But can I ask you something?”

  Here we go…

  “Of course.”

  “Have you given anymore thought to your long-term plan?”

  “Yes, I have. And I promise I’ll find a babysitter who can—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” says Bonnie. “You need to get back out there and meet someone. Someone who could be a partner to you…a mother to your kids.”

  This is well-trod ground between me and my sister and I roll my eyes but hold my tongue. Bonnie waited a year before getting on my case about dating, but now that she’s got it in her mind that I need to meet someone? She’s relentless.

  “It’s not that simple, Bonnie.”

  “Well, Luke, it’s not that hard either. Don’t you miss having someone?”

  “I miss Wendy,” I answer honestly, but it’s only a partial truth.

  I do miss Wendy specifically, but I also miss having someone.

  My bed is so empty, cold and lonely, I’ve considered getting a twin-sized instead. I haven’t sought out any “female” companionship since my wife’s passing. At first, I wasn’t interested, my natural instincts tamped down by grief. I can’t say that’s true anymore, though. I miss a woman’s touch, her voice, her smile, even her things in the bathroom. But loving someone again just to lose them? No, thank you.

  “Of course you do. I miss Wendy. The kids miss Wendy. I hate it that the twins will never know her…but, Luke. You’ve got to be lonely. You need someone.”

  I’m standing in the hallway, just outside the classroom where I was teaching, and I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back and my eyes close as I confess, “I’d rather be lonely than lose someone else all over again.”

  “What happened to Wendy was terrible, Luke. But it was an accident. A freak accident.”

  “Yeah, well, it happened to me. To me, Bonnie, and however long it takes me to start moving again—to—to want to get involved with someone else again—”

  “What if it takes another year? What if it takes forever?”

  “Then I guess it takes forever,” I snap back, my eyes blinking open.

  “It doesn’t have to!” She sighs, lowering her voice back to normal. “Your attitude sucks.”

  I don’t reply because deep inside I feel that as long as my kids are fed and clothed and I get my ass to work on time every day, I’m entitled to a shitty attitude. I was dealt a raw hand. I’m still sad. I’m still angry. And no matter what Bonnie thinks, I’m not ready to meet someone.

  “I can live with that,” I say, hoping this conversation topic is spent. “I’ll come and get Gilly from you after—”

  “Well, Luke…I can’t.”

  “You…can’t what?”

  “I can’t live with you like this…which is why I…well, I…”

  “Bonnie Jean.” The hairs on my arm stand up. “What did you do?”

  “Well, I could see that you weren’t getting anywhere on your own—Let mama buckle you in, honey. There we go!—so, I...” The twins are fussing in the background because my sister’s trying to get them settled in the car, so she can drive over to the school to get my daughter. My hackles go down. Whatever she did, I’ll deal with it.

  “Did you set me up on another date, Bonnie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because I really can’t take another lonely widow talking about her dead husband. It’s too depressing.”

  “I know that. Besides, Sitka’s small and you know everyone. If there was anyone you were interested in, you’d have already made a move…”

  Phew. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “…so I put an ad in The Odds Are Good magazine.”

  I step away from the wall, my eyes widening, my fist balling at my side. “You…what?”

  I hear her car ignition start. “You needed a push.”

  Lord love her, I’m going to kill her.

  The Odds Are Good magazine is well-known in Alaska. It’s an on-line beefcake rag promoted to lonely-hearts in the lower-48.

  Meet a hot mountain man!

  Your true love might be this lonely fisherman!

  Gatherer seeks hunter? Look no further!

  And that horrible tagline: The goods are odd, but the odds are good. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I am not…odd.

  “Back up, Bonnie Jean. What did you do?”

  “Well…you were just—I mean, you’re stuck, Luke. You’re lonely and you need someone and so do your kids. You won’t date anyone up here. I just—what’s a caring sister to do?”

  “Stay out of it!” I bark, thinking that fratricide sounds pretty good right about now. “Stop caring!”

  “Too late!” she barks back. “The responses are already pouring in.”

  “Responses? Dang it, Bonnie Jean—”

  “The reception’s bad, Luke…” She makes a hissing-slash-crackling noise into the phone that is so phony, there’s no doubt it’s her. “I think I’m losing you.”

  “You’re not losing anything except your danged mind if you think I’m going to go out with some random—”

  “—oh, there it goes again!” More fake hissing. “Talk later?”

  “Dang it! Bonnie! Don’t you dare—” The line goes dead. “—hang up.”

  One of my recruits opens the classroom door and peeks out at me. “Everything okay, Sarg?”

  “No!” I yell. “Get back in that classroom, recruit!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” he answers, and the door slams shut.

  I pocket my phone and unclench my jaw by degrees.

  A personal ad? In The Odds Ar
e Good?

  Kill me now.

  Damn my meddling, interfering sister anyway.

  The responses are already pouring in.

  Well, that’s all well and good, but I won’t be dating a one of them. Not a single one. Bonnie placed the ad, so she can deal with all the dang women who respond.

  It’s not my problem.

  You can’t kill your own sister. You can’t kill your own sister.

  I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head until my heart slows down. Then I take a deep breath and let it go slowly before re-entering the classroom fixed to murder the next recruit who asks me an idiotic question.

  3

  Amanda

  “What about your skinny jeans?” asks Leigh, who is helping me pack. “The ones from Old Navy? The ones you wear whenever…”

  I turn from my closet, where I’ve been pulling out clothes by the handfuls, and look at her. “Whenever what?”

  “You know,” she says coyly, leaning back on my bed to re-fold an already neatly-folded sweater. “Whenever you want to get lucky-in-the-nucky.”

  “Lucky-in-the—?” I scoff. “Ha! My luck ran out in the conference room of the Seattle Sentinel yesterday.”

  My plane ticket to Sitka’s been purchased and I rented a short-term apartment for the next two weeks in downtown Sitka. Luckily, there is an actual “bear problem” in Sitka. Over the past month one dog was killed and a family of four was intimidated when a bear approached them on a well-trodden hiking path outside of town.

  “Maybe,” says Leigh thoughtfully, “this is just what you need.”

  “How so?”

  “Come on, girl. I see you reading those ads.” She grins, but it’s not mean-spirited. “Hot Alaskan Hunk Seeks Cosmo Cutie? Single in Sitka?”

  “Ugh,” I groan. “I thought I was being covert.”

  “You tried. I’m just too nosy for your feeble efforts.” She sighs. “Bryce checked out two months ago and you haven’t gone on a date since. Maybe a trip to Alaska is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “That’s one crazy doctor.”

  She tries a different tact. “You know that Frumplestein’s got it out for us. He’d love to get rid of us and give our column to Kim. Well, we’re not going to give him that chance. Steve is ga-ga for this idea. We’re going to make it work, Manda.”