Song of Summer (28 page)

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” I say as I catch my breath. “I just signed to them! And they got so offended! But I don't really care. I really don't care.”

“You'll care when you get your tip,” Fannie says as I lose it again in the kitchen. “Forget my earlier wager. Now it's fifty cents. Tops.”

She's right.

I clear the table, collect my fifty cents, and clock out. Sitting at the counter, I reach in my apron to cash out my tips but come up holding the notebook. Right. I flip through it like a flipbook and stop only when I see new handwriting—it's not me, and it's not Carter. It's Barry: “So tell me about Jolene.”

I read their conversation slowly, my heart sinking with each word. What a jerk I was. To jump to conclusions. To sound off like that. To assume he was lying to me when he's practically incapable of lying. I'm not allowed to be mad that he didn't tell me his story—I didn't even give him a chance to try.

Embarrassed, I cradle my head in my hands, a thin sheen of grease covering the counter and my arms. A tear drips down my arm and onto the counter. I can't let Violet and Fannie see me like this. They'll ask what's wrong.

I slide off the stool and grab my purse. I can't even bear to look at the teak box containing the sweetest gift I never deserved. In my determination to keep from looking at it, my eyes land on the bulletin board. There, stuck between last week's specials and the number for the pest-control guy, is a list I'd almost forgotten about: “ROBIN'S PERFECT MAN.” I reach out a callused hand and tear it from its pushpin with a satisfying
snick
. The crying stops. I rip it top to bottom and my frown relaxes as I examine the two halves in my hands. With a smile on my lips, I ball them up and toss them in the trash can, and it's like I'm throwing the weight from my chest.
Nobody's perfect.

The bell dings, announcing my exit as it slams behind me. I walk down the sidewalk, past the big windows and the spent flowers to my beat-up Subaru. Just past the flowers I open the little notebook and read Carter's note one more time: “Look me up if you're ever in New York.” I will. I flip back a few pages to see nonsense half conversations from visits to his house and little notes or translations here and there. I skip reverently past Barry's conversation and giggle at the words “mint Moose Tracks.” After skipping back another chunk, I see,
“So this is a craft
fair?” and I smile. I'd held his hand and we ate pie and he asked me to his house for the first time.

The kiss.

I flip back another few pages:
“To protect your arms from all the bugs,” I read, and laugh out loud, feeling the weight of his jacket on my shoulders, then skip back a page to see him ask me on a date.

I know what's next. With eager fingers, I flip to the very first page.

“Hi, Robin,” I read, “I'm Carter.”

Thank you, first, to Uwe Stender at TriadaUS, for signing me, coaching me, and talking me down off a ledge. I hope this is the first of many ventures together. Thank you to Meredith Rich at Bloomsbury Spark, for loving the story I wrote and for helping to improve it so much.

Thank you to my family. Thank you to my parents, Don and Elaine Brautigam who have always supported me in everything I've chosen to do, from chicken-raising to stage acting to living as an urban missionary here in the middle of the city. Thank you to my sisters for setting hard-to-live-up-to examples, for seeing my shows and reading my books and telling me they're good. Thank you to my in-laws, the Andersons, whose unwavering enthusiasm and support are probably resulting in a party this very minute.

Thank you so much to Brittany LaPalme, who read my first book and kept her silly grammar to herself. Without her friendship, encouragement, and love I would not be half the person I am, much less be published. Thank you to CarrieAnn DiRisio for meeting me at Crazy Mocha on her lunch breaks and letting me take refuge from my stressors in her house and conversation. Her reminders that I am “a person, not just a mom,” are what keep me going on the hard days and her unflagging hard work and dedication to my book rival my own. I am truly blessed to have friends like these.

Thank you to Desiree Roosa, Patricia Miller, Elizabeth Keenan, and Erin Brady Pike; The Club. They were my first writer friends and their Critique Partnering skills are responsible for any editing skills I have. Thank you to Gab Cody, a genius playwright who, when I asked, “How do you ever finish anything?” answered, “I set very ridiculous, very public deadlines.” It's because of her that I did NaNoWriMo and wrote my first book. This book started life as a NaNoWriMo book too, so thank you to the Office of Letters and Light. Thank you to Ken Zeff and Crazy Mocha, behind whose counter I wrote much of this book. Thank you also to my Twitter writing buds who are quick with encouragement and slow to criticize.

Thank you to the Western Pennsylvania School for the Deaf, whose dedication to holistic education seeks to educate not only the students in their care but also the community at large. They taught me much more than a few sentences in ASL. Thank you, especially, to Kristi Mosholder whom I first met when I was a barista and she brought her little dog in with her to order coffee. Her kindness and help has been invaluable as I navigate a new culture. Thank you, also, to ASLpro.com and the many, many d/Deaf bloggers I have followed!

To the Village of Westfield and Chautauqua Institution- Thank you for my wonderful childhood. Thank you to every place mentioned in this book, and all the places which inspired some of the fictional places in this book. Thank you to Rose and Greta at Vine City for introducing me to the tribulations of milkshake machines and the joys of black pedal-pushers. Thank you to Jen, Jenn, and Jenny for filling my high school years with singing, sleepovers, and the sharing of our darkest secrets. What else could I name Robin's best friend? Thank you to all of my high school friends, whether we were close then or have re-connected over Facebook in our adult lives. Thank you to Kent and Nannette Knappenberger for introducing me to the music that Robin loves. Their love and guidance has left an indelible beauty mark on so many lives. There are not enough words.

Thank you immensely to Eric Anderson, who first told me that my high school journal was funny, then told me that my first book was awesome, and now tells me he'll watch the toddler so I can write. He has sacrificed time and money to turn my dreams into goals and reminds me, on the days I need it, that I am already a success. Thanks also to Rook for napping like a champ- those two or three hours are the lifeblood of my work.

To God and to the Lamb, I will sing.

Laura Lee Anderson
is a writer, actor, and urban youth mentor who grew up in Westfield, NY. She now lives with her husband, son, and dog in Pittsburgh, PA. Most of her time is spent Mom-ing, writing, and creating semi-professional Shakespeare shows with teens. Not enough of her time is spent drinking lattes or eating at Burgatory. Too much time is spent binge-watching Leverage or Suits. Tweet her at @LLAWrites or check out her website at
lauraleeanderson.wordpress.com
. This is her debut novel.

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

Copyright © 2015 by Laura Lee Anderson

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This electronic edition published in 2015 by Bloomsbury Publishing
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First published in July 2015

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ISBN: 978-1-61963-786-3

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