The Truth About That Summer

fifty-four

I'm back in the car, glaring out the window at all of the tiny specks of pollen that have accumulated along the glass with disgust.

Knives rake the back of my throat, and it gets tighter and tighter until it's painful to breathe, the tears stinging my eyes as I fight to keep them at bay.

Mom and Dad slam their doors closed, making me jump and ripping me to the present. I blink quickly, shoving memories of celebratory cake and his high school graduation party deep down somewhere safe.

"Well." Mom says, buckling her seatbelt and glancing at me in the rear view with eyes that remind me so much of Casey it hurts. "That was just great. They're a nice family. They have a son just starting junior year this fall. They re-did the family room, you know. You should've come inside, Dylan."

I bite my tongue, my jaw clicking with frustration. I couldn't care less about the new family occupying those walls. I certainly don't want to hear about the renovations they've made. And I never want to hear about the boy taking up the space that is supposed to be my brothers.

Mom is still speaking, her voice serious as she pulls out of our - no, their, driveway.

"You keep avoiding-"

"Please stop." I interrupt her pathetic attempt at advice. "How does seeing someone else living in Casey's room help me at all? What is reminding me that he's gone going to do for me?"

We inch along the street and I feel the ache slowly lessening with the more distance we gain between us and the house.

"We just think you're having a hard time moving on." I feel her eyes on my face and I ignore them, scowling at every person I see on the sidewalk as we drive through town.

"Well excuse me." I roll my eyes. "How dare I still be grieving."

"Dylan." Mom's voice is sharper. "Grams said you refused to speak about counseling. Refused."

I open my mouth, some smart comment on the tip of my tongue, but snap it closed when I catch sight of two heads of hair so red they can only belong to Maya and Jordan Cooper, in line at the smoothie shop.

I close my eyes tightly, my fists clenching against my thighs.

Why did it have to be Casey?

"We really think you need to talk with someone. Get it all... off of your chest." Mom says the words like a sigh, like it's a burden she's been wanting to lift.

Like I'm a burden she's tired of bearing.

Her words, my memories, the clenching ache at the back of my throat, it's all too much. I shake my head, feeling strands of hair falling into my face, and resist the urge to cover my ears.

"Are you listening to me, Dylan Grace? I said I have a friend in private practice, she's agreed to see you every week..."

We're by the intersection - the stupid fucking intersection turning into the stupid private road that ruined every fucking thing, and I snap.

"Stop! Just stop!" I'm yelling, nearly hysterical.

Dad jumps in his seat, eyes wide as he turns slightly, not even looking at me fully before he resumes his usual non-reactivity.

Mom's saying something else now, but I'm not listening, hands struggling with the lock in my door.

Goddamn these stupid safety mechanisms.

"Stop the car, let me out." My voice is demanding in the same way as a tantruming toddlers.

Mom responds the way she would if that were the case, "Dylan Grace."

I meet her stern scowl in the rear view and speak over her.

"Stop the car or I'll get out anyway, I swear I will."

She must see something on my face that tells her I really will, because without another word, she hits her directional and the steady tick-tick is the only sound until she's pulled to the sidewalk, the beach just beyond the gravel.

"Dylan, what are you doing?"

I get out without an explanation, Mom's voice carrying after me once she's rolled down her window.

"Dylan!"

I ignore her, slipping out of my sandals and treading along through the sand, my feet knowing exactly where to go.

a short update because I had to break the chapter into weird halves 😂
next update should be up shortly after this one ♥️