Summer's Desire (27 page)
Authors: Olivia Lynde
"What did she take?" Greg
asks, more quietly now. I get it: unlike an accusation of stealing a boyfriend,
one of actual thievery can't be so easily swept aside.
"She took something important!"
says his daughter.
"What did she take, Jessica?"
Greg sounds as if he's losing all patience.
"She took something, doesn't matter
what—"
"Are you lying to me right now?! I
am taking you to task for what you did in Summer's room, so you're making false
claims to defend your behavior? Are you that far gone?"
Satisfied that I've heard enough, I
close my door, muffling their voices.
I look at my watch: thirty minutes have
passed since I arrived at the house, so Seth must be long gone by now,
unfortunately.
I start picking up the slashed clothes
and books from the floor, from the bed, and gather them in a neat pile beside
the closet. Then I take the now empty box of mementos from the floor and fill
it up with what's left of its former contents. In the process, I start crying
again.
A few minutes later, I hear a knock on
my door. I wipe my tears hurriedly and open the door. It's Greg, looking
awkward.
"I have talked to Jessica, but she
refuses to apologize to you." His lips are thin with displeasure. "Therefore,
I apologize on her behalf, and I assure you that she will take her punishment
for what she has caused here tonight." A lengthy pause follows this
pronouncement. He shuffles his feet. "You will need to replace the items that
were destroyed."
He sticks his hand out to me, and I see
that he's holding five hundred-dollar bills. Wow, he must feel really bad about
all this if he's offering that much. But even if he gave me ten times the
amount, it still wouldn't make up for what I've lost; my keepsakes were
irreplaceable. I stare at the bills, inwardly repulsed.
Then I look at Greg's sad eyes and sigh inwardly.
What Jessica did isn't his fault. He's a
good man who doesn't deserve for me to give him a hard time as well. And I do
need to buy new clothes seeing how I have nothing left besides what I'm wearing
right now. Pride won't clothe me, nor will it keep me warm.
So I force myself to take the money. I
even manage to choke out, "Thank you."
He nods and turns to leave. And I'm
struck by a burst of inspiration.
"Greg!" When he glances back
at me, I let my heartbreak rise to the surface, impossible for him to ignore.
"Greg, I keep seeing the image of all my stuff torn to shreds, and it
makes me
sick
. I don't think I can sleep in this room tonight... Please,
Greg, I'd like to call a friend and ask to spend the night at her place."
I need to be with Seth now, and I'm not above manipulating the situation to
achieve this.
My foster hesitates, but then his face
softens. "All right, Summer, if that is what you need to do."
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
I go to my bed, raise my knees to my
chest, and call Seth's number.
He answers on the first ring.
"Sunny?" His voice is anxious.
"Can you come pick me up at the
house?"
A sharply indrawn breath, then: "I'll
be there in ten minutes."
"Seth, please stop a couple of
houses down on the street. I don't want Greg to see you. Just give me a call
when you're here."
I hear a rushing sound in the phone, as
if he's already on the move. "Okay, Sunny. See you in ten minutes."
I hang up and get ready to meet him.
* * *
Seth has parked the car further down the
street like I asked him to, but when I walk to him, he isn't waiting for me in
his BMW. Instead, he's pacing restlessly outside.
The moment he sees me, he strides to me,
his left hand going instantly around my waist, the other one rising to my
cheek.
"What happened, Sunny?" He
sounds so apprehensive, so worried on my behalf.
And sweet Lord in heaven, but it feels
good
to know that there's someone in the world who cares what happens to me! That
Seth
cares.
"Let's get in the car and away from
here," I ask him. "I'll tell you everything on the way."
He nods and leads me to his car, opens
the door for me, and closes it after I take my seat. I've been clutching my
small memento box to my chest, but now I put it on my lap to fasten the
seatbelt.
It's a strange feeling, knowing that I'm
carrying all my possessions with me. The clothes on my back, of which the
hoodie isn't even mine, but Seth's. The box on my knees. The cell and the small
wallet in my pocket. In the wallet, I have my only remaining photo of a young
Seth—my favorite picture and hence my pick for carrying it with me at all
times. I also have my ID and birth certificate, money to the exact amount of 506
dollars and 78 cents—of which 500 dollars are from Greg—and the debit card to
my few savings accrued from part-time jobs over the past couple of years.
Seth gets in and starts the BMW. "Now
tell me what happened."
I take a deep breath. "Jessica figured
that I took my letters back. In revenge, she slashed all my stuff. Clothes, childhood
souvenirs, everything I owned is torn to pieces. All I have left is what you
see on me."
His hands tighten on the wheel. "I'm
so sorry, Sunny." His voice is suffused with sympathy, and also a deep underlying
anger.
"I know that my clothes weren't
much to look at... but they were
mine
." I try to explain my sense
of loss, falter. "Still, clothes can be replaced, I suppose. But my keepsakes...
Oh, Seth, she destroyed all my pictures of us! And those are irreplaceable."
I furiously dash a tear from my cheek.
He glances at me tenderly. "I'm truly
sorry, Sunny. But you're right, the clothes can be replaced. In fact, we'll go
shopping tomorrow at the mall in Grand Rapids. What do you say?"
What
can
I say? More than
anything else, the fact that Seth is trying so hard to cheer me up manages to
lift my spirits. I offer him a small grin. "That sounds good. Greg gave me
some conscience money, so I'm all set for shopping."
He frowns. "I have some money. You
don't need Greg Anderson's."
I just stare at him. God, this boy is
unreal! He's on his own, with no family to help him out with anything, and he's
working to support himself. I sure as heck am not about to let him spend his
hard-earned money on clothes for me! I already feel plenty guilty for letting
him pick up the tab when we go out together—not that there's anything I could actually
do to change
that
. Seth has always been protective of me and very proud,
and from past experience I know that he'd blow a gasket if I even suggested
that I pay my way.
But buying clothes is a whole other
kettle of fish.
I open my mouth to tell him so, but he's
already speaking again. "As for the photos... You forgot that we had two identical
sets of our childhood photos? When you left Rockford, you took one of them and
I kept the other."
A gasp escapes me. "You still have
your album?"
He gives me a sideways look, intended to
convey, apparently, that my question is very stupid indeed. "Of course I
have my album. So although
your
photos were destroyed,
we
still
own a complete set of them. Only problem is they really are irreplaceable now.
Hmm... maybe I should go and have them scanned in, just in case."
Having reached his apartment building, he
parks the car and smiles at me, lifting his hand to curl gently around my neck.
"So don't be sad anymore, okay Sunny?"
I smile back, this time with nothing
held back. Somehow, Seth always manages to turn the bleakest situations around
for me. In moments like this, his affection for me shines like a beacon through
the darkest night, chasing all my shadows away.
He truly cares about me, and I don't
deserve him. I mean, he's the complete package: gorgeous and smart and kind (even
if this last one only to me, as far as I've noticed). I don't know why he's
wasting his time with me... but dear God, I hope he won't change his mind about
being my friend.
I'm already on borrowed time with him as
it is.
We're in Seth's room, on his bed.
Seth is sitting in a relaxed position,
his back propped on a big pillow against the headboard, and I'm resting between
his strong legs, my back supported by his chest. His arms are wrapped around my
waist, and his left hand, having slipped below my T-shirt, is gliding in gentle
strokes on my skin and raising delicious goose bumps. I'm wearing the same
clothes that he gave me yesterday night for sleeping—the T-shirt and drawstring
pants—but he's only wearing a pair of sweatpants. Which means I'm in serious
trouble. His naked upper body encloses me like a furnace, melting me into him.
I'm holding on my lap Seth's photo
album, which looks a little frayed around the edges as if it's been handled a
lot. Just like Seth assured me, it contains all our childhood pictures.
I'm turning pages and we're looking
together at the photos: pointing them out individually, recounting the events
during which they were taken, and laughing when some of our funnier (in
retrospect) childhood mishaps are brought to mind. In other words, we're both laughing
a lot; we used to get into a lot of scrapes when we were younger—Seth
especially, but with me not far behind—and whenever one of us got in trouble,
the other would inevitably find themselves drawn in as well.
Double jeopardy indeed! I think with a
fond smile.
But when I turn another leaf, my eyes drop
to a certain picture
that-shall-not-be-named
, and my grin changes into a
grumpy pout. I try to move on quickly, but before I manage to do so, an agile
hand cuts in and resettles the page.
"Why so fast, Sunny? It couldn't possibly
be that you're trying to
hide
something, now could it?" His voice
is filled with glee as he innocently smoothes the folio right above the
mortifying image.
I groan. "You heartless pest! You
know how I loathe that photo!"
"But
why
?" He laughs.
"I think it's quite the masterpiece—and that's without even taking into
account the photographer's extraordinary daring in taking this one precious shot."
"Gee, Seth, you're modest!"
"Why be modest? I'm right. You don't
remember?" He chuckles as he leans over my shoulder, and his breath falls
hot on my neck. I fight to ignore the quiver surging through me.
"Trust me, Seth, the moment when I
saw you swinging on that darn rope outside my bedroom window, camera in hand,
is forever imprinted on my poor, traumatized mind!"
"That's very nice, but just in case
that you
do
forget, we're fortunate to have this lovely photo immortalizing
your expression at that exact moment." He's laughing so hard now that I
can actually feel his body vibrating against my own.
Helplessly, I feel my own lips curling
into a reluctant grin.
Lovely photo indeed! On that summer
afternoon many years ago, in that ill-fated instant when I gaped out the window
at a recklessly hovering Seth and he clicked his camera, my jaw was slack with
amazement at seeing him there and my eyes were practically bulging out of their
sockets. Not to mention that I was sporting an angry red rash that covered half
my face!
In fact, that awful rash was the reason
why I had holed up in my room in the first place, and why Seth had consequently
felt it crucial to do his Tarzan routine—of course, just climbing
up
to
my second-floor window via, say, a freaking ladder wouldn't have been exciting
enough; oh no, he had to climb
down
on a rope from the
attic
, of
all places, risking life and limb in the process!—just to reach me. Or rather,
to get the opportunity to take his precious shot. God, how he had laughed
himself sick at my misfortune!
"You know, Seth, I've always thought
it horribly unfair that it was me alone who got a nasty skin reaction that time.
After all, we had
both
frolicked in that wretched pond!"
"You're saying it was unfair?"
I sense the smile in his voice. "I'm saying it was flawless divine justice—seeing
how, of the two of us, only you'd entered the pond of your own free will."
"What?! Divine justice? Of my own
free will? Oh Seth, you phony! You were the one who dared me to enter—dared
me
,
an innocent, misguided eight-year-old! I was tricked by a master charlatan who
was well-versed in forever leading me astray!"
"I didn't think you would actually
take the dare." Now he sounds disgruntled. "I was just ribbing
you."
"Oh, please! Of course I took the
dare! I took all your dares! But ha! I got you good afterward, didn't I? 'Jesus
Christ, Sunny, try to stay afloat! I'm coming to get you! I'm so sorry, Sunny,
please hang on!'" My imitation of him is unfortunately not very good,
especially since it's interspersed with my hysterical giggles. Still, judging
by his dark frown and newly-rigid body, I think my little act has more than accomplished
its desired effect—which was to rile him.