A Summer Remade (6 page)

My parents only had this room carpeted due to my mother’s pet peeve of cold floors in the morning. Well, if she had the choice now, I’m sure she’d choose chilly feet over potty stains.

I yank the carpet corner back again—harder. By the ripping sound, you’d think I’d just peeled back an entire houseful of carpet. But, in truth, I’ve only managed to lift a few feet.

Carpet tack removal has to be a chore that originated in Hades.

Huffing as if I just ran the perimeter of the whole island, I lean against the wall. “There’s got to be an easier way.”

I stare at the mess: the furniture pushed to one side of the room, a quarter roll of carpet and pad uprooted and curled, and a few dozen tack strips (which I hadn’t realized were a part of this whole deal until after I started tugging) cling stubbornly to the floor’s perimeter.

“Time for Plan B.” I wipe my forehead with my sleeve, then tiptoe out of the room and close the door behind me. “Shopping.”

*

On my way
back to the cabin from Trash Or Treasure, my favorite little reuse and recycle shop in town, I stop off at the local hardware store—which is also a food mart and pharmacy—and pick up tonight’s grocery list.

And several rustic shades of paint.

Freshly painted frames lie drying on every surface of the house by late afternoon, and it’s safe to say the last half of the day has been highly productive. At least more productive than this morning. As I glance around the room at the rearrangement of furniture, my heart warms. I can’t wait to show Drew. I may not have the photos chosen yet, but these frames will look fantastic in the cabin. Fresh, inviting, homey.

I sweep a final stroke of Tiffany Blue onto a squared canvas I purchased for only three dollars and then hear a buzzing. Followed by a pop.

Lights! They’re on!

I throw open the front door to thank the person responsible, but all I see are the taillights of an old white service truck.

No matter. I wave and shout my gratitude anyway. I’ll take this unexpected turn of events as a sign I’m on the right track.

Back inside, I plug in all the box fans Drew brought over yesterday, prop them up on the windows sills and turn them on. The circulation of air not only adds a nice cross breeze to regulate the mid-eighties heat outside, it also blows in another fresh bout of motivation.

Soaking the wet paintbrushes in the sink, I dry my hands on the back of my jeans, and prepare my mind for yet another round of Joss vs. Carpet.

I’ve been in this bedroom for so long that I can’t even remember the last time I inhaled without carpet fibers filling my lungs. I’ve backed myself into a corner—literally. Pushing the queen size bed from one wall to another, it’s now propped on its side across the open doorway. My t-shirt sticks to my damp torso. I huff and pull my hair up into a messy bun. I’m pretty sure I could fill a swear jar with pennies for how many times I’ve sworn in the last few hours. My fingers are raw, my hands cramped, and my back? Don’t even get me started on my back.

I’m ready to quit.

“Joslyn? Are you here?”

Drew!
Never have I been happier to hear the voice of another human—especially when that human is Drew.

“I’m in the back bedroom.” I twirl around in a circle, as if magically my fairy godmother might swoop in and make this disaster disappear. And, while she’s at it, make me cute and presentable, too.

“How in the…” Drew stares from the other side of the mattress. He blinks, mouth open wide.

“I’ll slide the mattress over. Hang on.”

Easier said than done. The theme of my summer it seems.

I pull at the far end of the propped mattress until there’s space enough for a man-body to squeeze through.

Drew steps inside my little project from hell. He looks from me to the floor and then back again. A full five seconds of silence passes, and my skin itches to hear him say something. Anything.

“So, you must not have seen my note this morning.”

His note…his note.
Oh.
The one in my back pocket. The one that said
not
to do anything crazy today.

His lips twitch. “What part of this,”—he points to the floor or lack thereof—“doesn’t seem crazy to you?”

Avoiding a small pile of carpet tacks, I kick my foot to a successfully rolled heap of stinky carpet pad. “I just thought I could…”

No, if it doesn’t sound right in my head, I definitely shouldn’t speak it out loud. I slap my mouth shut and bat my eyelashes at him instead.

“Come on, let’s at least get the furniture out in the living room. We’ll roll this carpet properly, pull up the tack strips, and deal with the rest later. Fortunately, the hardwood looks to be in good shape.”

“I think you’re my favorite optimist.”

The dimple in his right cheek surfaces, and he shakes his head. “And I think you could use all the optimism you can get your hands on.”

Was that an invitation?

I grin to myself, grip the back of the mattress and allow Drew to guide us down the hallway.

‡

“S
ay it.” Drew
bumps my shoulder with his, and my feet swish frigid ocean water below the Culver’s dock.

“Fine. You were right.” I double roll my eyes and take a bite of my waffle cone. “This is way better than spaghetti.”

I’d wanted to make dinner for Drew tonight, at the cabin, to celebrate my—err, our—house transformation. But he had other ideas and, besides, the frames I painted earlier were still drying on every surface of the cabin. But, he’d made the right call. Ice cream cones at the dock were a perfect way to end such a productive day.

“Ya know,” I say, taking another bite, this one packed with a large chuck of Oreo cookie, “we could have our own show.”

“A show?”

My heart cartwheels at the sound of Drew’s amused tone. I turn my face to his and catch a reflection of the full moon in his eyes just before he blinks. “Like one of those house renovation shows—people watch those.”

“You should really come teach a business course at my school sometime. Your whole ‘people watch those’ approach could be a killer new marketing tactic.”

I can’t help but giggle as he air quotes my slogan.

I splash his leg with water, even though I know if Drew wanted to, he could soak me in less than three seconds. But something I’ve come to love about him is the gentle way he treats me, like I’m something special,
someone
special. And even if I managed to push him into the chilly water, Drew is not the kind to get even. He’s too much of a gentleman.

He pops the last of his cone into his mouth, then stretches out on the moonlit dock, his feet no longer submerged. Staring at the stars, we’re surrounded by serenity—a peace that rests on the water and soaks into our souls, and suddenly, I’m unsure if I should stay.

“Should I…”
Give you some privacy? Leave you alone? Go back to my own house?

He pats the space next to him; I need no further invitation.

Folding my arms underneath my head like a pretzel, I slide my legs next to his and stare at the heavens. The array of twinkling dots set on a backdrop of inky black, steal my next coherent thought, and the one after that, too. If I had the job of counting stars on Lopez Island, I would be happy for the rest of my life.

Beside me, Drew’s breathing becomes rhythmic, so much so that I wonder if he’s dozed off, but then, “What happens
after
you fix the cabin up? Get it just how you envision it?”

His question startles me, awakens the hibernating honesty I secretly hoped could remain dormant forever. I take a few seconds to replay his words in my mind, but still, I have no idea how to answer him.

“I…” How can I tell him what I haven’t even admitted to myself yet.

Drew turns his pensive, star-gazing eyes on me. “I peeled up your cat-pee carpet, Joslyn. I scrubbed your dirty fridge drawers and even pretended to be your father on the phone to that utility guy.” He nudges my knee with his. “And, if that’s not enough, I can still remember you with braces and bangs.”

I groan and close my eyes. If only I could evaporate into the waves.

“It’s pretty safe to conclude we’re passed the shyness stage,” he continues.

“Shyness stage?”

“You know what I mean.”

I do. I know exactly what he means, but…I turn my eyes back to the vast sky above and take a deep breath. On my exhale, my words rush out. “I guess I hope the cabin might help them change their minds—make them remember what life could be like again.”

“Who?” Drew studies my profile, his breathing no longer steady or consistent.

“My parents.”

I count the seconds. He doesn’t even make it to three.

“Their marriage in trouble?”

Understatement of all time. “Their marriage is a signature on a piece of paper held over an open flame.”

Every second Drew stays quiet, the sounds around me amplify. The chirp of a lonely cricket, the bubble-burp of a bullfrog, and the rapid
thump
,
thump
,
thump
of my pulse against my throat.

I expect him to say, “I’m sorry,” or “Most of my friends have divorced parents,” or “Just give it time, you’ll be okay.” But once again, Drew surprises me.

“How long has it been bad?”

I surprise myself even more when I don’t hesitate. “Since forever.” The knot in my stomach clenches as I recall the nights I lay awake in bed, listening to their arguments, feeling their claims of unhappiness like bone-deep bruises. I could hide the pain, but I couldn’t hide the life-limp their angry words created. “But it’s been a lot worse since I left for college.”

The knot in my gut morphs into a coil of barbed wire. I close my eyes, breathe, and replay the statement our family therapist made me repeat in her office last fall. “I am not responsible for my parents’ marriage.”

Only, repeating words you don’t believe is like trying to spend Monopoly money at the mall. No bank will back fake cash. And no heart will accept empty truth.

“Where do you go?” Drew’s soft voice brushes against my thoughts.

I open my eyes. “What?”

“When you close your eyes like that. Where do you go?”

“I…nowhere.”

“You do it a lot. Do you go to a place? Replay a memory? What?”

I sit up. Reflection time over. A few minutes ago I’d been worried I was over-crowding Drew. But now I’m the one who feels overcrowded. Planting my feet on the slatted dock, I reach for my sandals.

“Joss. Wait.”

It’s not his hand on my arm that stops me, I could easily break away from his grasp. It’s the name, the one I’ve asked him to use since we met. Everything inside me slams to a halt.

I stare at him, my chest rising and falling at a much quicker rate than normal. The heat of his hand radiates through my arm and, with another gentle tug, my shoes
plink
and
plunk
against the dock, and I sit back down beside him.

Drew’s face turns pensive, his voice smooth like the glassy water in the bay. “I hated the water when I was a kid. I was afraid of it. I knew
how
to swim, of course. My parents signed me up for lessons every summer until I was ten, but the fear of drowning, the fear of being fully submerged into something I couldn’t control, freaked me out.”

I dip my big toe back in the seawater and trace a circle, feeling the truth of his words beat against my chest. “How did you get over it?”

He stares into the dark abyss. “My grandpa bought a boat. Said he was gonna cure me.” He points to the ocean that fills the nearly secluded cove. “And he did. This place…this dock…is where I fell in love with the water.”

“But weren’t you still afraid to get in the boat? People drown in boating accidents all the time.”

Drew tilted his head to the side, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re not very good at glass half full are you?”

I shake my head. Not at all.

“I’d been a slave to my fear for years, but that day…” Drew sighs. “That day my love for what the water could give me finally outweighed what it could take from me.” His hand slides down my arm to my wrist and, in one slight move, he cradles my palm on his hand. Every muscle, joint, and tendon relaxes as he continues, “So, when I asked where you go…where you go when you close your eyes, I just wondered if you had a place like mine.”