The Truth About That Summer

eighty

"Are you sure you've got it covered?" I ask, already gathering my things to leave, but still watching Annie warily. Jade's fingers, covered in sticky, home-made bubbles, fly dangerously close to Annie's just-straightened-for-the-Bash hair.

It's been a rough morning at the center.

Many of the kiddos are going to the Bash tonight, or rather, they'll be going during the early evening when the night is still appropriate for the young ones. It's enough to have sent them into a frenzy, all of them buzzing off the walls, excited for the party once their parents pick them up.

And the icecream truck that comes to the Bash every year.

As they've reminded us at least one thousand times since eight o'clock this morning. Yeah, it's probably the icecream.

"Go, go," Annie waves me off, rocking to and fro and gently rubbing Jade's back as the young girl screams louder than a banshee, "Erica will be helping out once she's done with lunch. Go take care of the Bash stuff. Make it the best one yet."

Her excited grin is infectious.

"Thanks." I smile gratefully at her, liking her far more than I did at the start of the summer.

Not quite enough to tell her that the half-day is less about Bash prep and more about getting home in time to greet Mom and Dad, and then pretending there's tons left to do so that I can avoid going with them and go with Luke and Brynn instead.

But still.

"I owe you one," I call over my shoulder, giving some of the kids hugs goodbye before leaving. The goodbyes are quick though, since Finn stayed home with Laura and his dad today, and the other kids don't quite like me as much as he does.

By the time I walk down Grams street and see my parents car already in the driveway, I'm even more grateful for the fast exit. My shoulders tense immediately, a swarm of nerves bubbling in my gut.

But there's something else, too, something I'm not used to feeling around my parents. Something like hope, maybe, if I had to pinpoint it.

Pushing my key into the lock, I try to squash it a bit, knowing there's no one quite like my mother to ruin something good.

"Dylan!" Her voice fills my ears before I'm even fully through the door. "Good, you're here! I was just reminding your grandmother about the first summer we spent here, do you remember?"

She's perched on the couch, looking too formal for Grams little cottage, in her linen white pants and wide brimmed sun hat. I almost tell her that she's indoors and doesn't need it.

Almost.

I lean beside Grams instead, dumping my bag to the floor and crouching low to kiss the top of her head. She grabs my wrist lightly in response, kissing the soft inner side.

"Hi, Mom." Not the conversation I expected to walk into. Maybe one about my future plans, or school, or getting Dylan to see a shrink, but not reminiscing about our first summer here. "Of course I do."

I think about that first summer a lot. Sometimes I wonder, if we never moved here at all... would Casey still be gone? A painful sting courses through my veins.

"That was the summer Casey decided to be a professional surfer, his dreams of being a doctor some day be damned." Mom surprises me by smiling slightly. It makes sense - the rare occurrences only ever happen when she thinks of him. "You wanted to be a paleontologist."

Ah. Now I see where this is going. What does Dylan want to be when she grows up, now?

I steer the conversation away, focusing on my brother instead. "Well, it was the summer we met Luke. The boys spent day after day on the beach, watching the older guys riding the waves."