SUMMERTIME DREAM - Excerpt

The Fourth of July in Falk’s Bend, Missouri, made pretending nothing ever changed almost possible, Margie Olsson decided. All it took was a dollop of stiff determination and a generous application of wishful thinking.

Even the arguments remained the same.

“Told you we’d be late.” Her brother Joe wrenched open the hatch to their restaurant’s minivan, the tight muscle in his jaw sending his mustache twitching.

Most of the townsfolk had finished migrating from the parade route to River Edge Park and claimed their favorite picnic table or stretch of ground. Now they swarmed the softball field and concession stand, ready to enjoy the town’s 132nd annual Independence Day game.

Unperturbed at Joe’s grouching, Dad hefted the massive pan of beans. “Why rush to sit and stew in a long line of cars? It’s not like anyone would take our table. Plus, we can take our time unloading.” With that, he trundled off to the large brick grills.

Joe’s frown sharpened into a scowl that would do one of their Viking ancestors proud. “We could always try getting here early!” he growled at Dad’s back and dragged out the largest ice chest.

Margie choked off a laugh. Some things had remained absolute over her twenty-four years of life: Dad would never arrive early to any event and Joe would always fuss like a mother hen.

“At least you have a sunny day for the game.” She patted Joe’s shoulder. “Cooler than last week, don’t you think? I don’t think we’ve had a more sweltering end of June.”

Joe nodded woodenly. “I got the rest. Go on and find Grandma and Grandpa. Looks like Mom got them here on time.” He waved her off, as if she were still a preschooler tagging his heels. This, with his being ten years older, was a familiar feeling.

As soon as he turned his back, Margie scooped up the smallest ice chest and followed him to their table where Grandpa and Grandma Olsson’s wicker picnic basket waited.

Unfortunately, facts trumped determination and wishful thinking. Not everything in Falk’s Bend remained the same. The Heller family’s traditional table stood conspicuously empty, as did the Frost family’s table. Being spared the inevitable awkward encounters should be a relief, but the gossips would surely set to talking again, and the misery flashing over Joe’s face lodged a knot in her throat.

She fell in beside him as he returned for the next load. Should she ask now? The timing wasn’t perfect, but she had him alone. A glance over to Dad found him gabbing with the four elderly Mills brothers, who thrived on checkers and gossip while supervising the assorted dishes simmering on the grills. Over at the gate, a tall man in a white shirt paused, and rubbed the back of his neck as he scanned the confusion of tables, until Bert Mills hailed him over. They all shook hands like old friends, so maybe he was the grandnephew expected down from Montana.

Margie blew at her bangs. Cooler weather was debatable. The heavy air clung like a steamy second skin and the flags, bunting, and bows draped the park as perky as wet laundry.

“Hey, Joe, I was thinking, I’d really like to get back to work on Monday.” She winced at her blurt. Although Aunt Ida handled the staff schedules and Dad was the official boss, Joe ruled the family’s restaurant these days and he’d be the hardest nut to crack in her effort to return to normal life.

“Aw, Margie, we agreed you’d use the time to rest up and write and start when Amy headed back to school in August.”

“Come on. At least part time. I’m totally fine now. I miss working—” She stumbled over a rough grass tuft.

Joe steadied her, his face strained and gaze darting over her. “You all right, sweetie? Maybe you should just take it easy today.”

Oh, that snapped her last straw. “I’m fine! I’m weary to pieces with hearing ‘Take it easy.’ Dr. Saylor said no restrictions. I can do what I want. When I want. Anything!”

“Hey, Margie? Joe?” Her best friends Debi and Baxter strolled up beside Joe.

Joe planted his hands on his hips, another lecture looming. “Margie, I know, but—”

She crossed her arms against the chill surge of shame at losing her temper in public and her throat tightened. “No! Enough! You’ve got work to do. I’ll see you after the game.”

Grumbling under his breath, Joe stomped off.

Baxter dropped his bag on the table and stooped to kiss Debi quick and hard. “Hon, I’ll go on help Joe unload. See you at the bleachers.” He winked at Margie and loped after Joe.

Mirth sparkling in her blue eyes, Debi hugged Margie. “Well, well, there’s hope for you after all! I’ve never seen you back Joe down before.”

“He’s just...being Joe. I shouldn’t have snapped at him.” Margie groaned. The giddy spark at having stood up for herself fizzled. Thank goodness, her parents had missed her tantrum. Joe hadn’t been himself since breaking up with Stephanie and jumping down his throat was a dumb way to get his agreement.

“I’ve known you since the first day of kindergarten, and yeah, Joe means well, but let me tell you, that was one long overdue snap. I’m proud of you.”

“I just wish he’d stop hovering.” Margie peeked over her shoulder at the minivan. Baxter had Joe’s softball gear, and Joe hauled out the first large, food-laden hotbox.

“Maybe you ought to think about a place of your own. You need a change.”

“I’ve had enough change over the last year.”

Debi waved her hand in a stop-it motion. “A positive change. And, yes, I know all the reasons why you stay with them. Heck, I’d leave Baxter for your mom’s peach pancakes alone. But it’s something you should consider seriously.”

“I will. Someday.” Even moving out wouldn’t stop their loving, smothering concern.

“Why don’t we skip the game? I’ll crack open the pinot grigio and we can compare brotherly pet peeves.”

Margie laughed. “I think we’ve covered them all over the years. Go on. Catch up with Baxter. Let me jot some quick scene notes, then I’ll meet up with you all.” That was a complete fib, but her skin crawled with the need for some space.

Debi accepted her fib with a commiserating hug and headed for the ball field.

Margie escaped for her favorite place in the park, the huge old oak topping the low rise of land between the picnic area and the ball field, with a perfect view of the game and the lazy river. Oh, thank goodness, she had the shady homemade swing to herself. She settled against the swing’s thick rope, kicked off her sandals, and let out a heavy breath. Two sparrows squabbled and chased overhead through the shifting patterns of leafy shadow and sunlight. Drawing her bare feet up onto the heavy board polished smooth by years of bottoms and feet, she fluffed the skirt of her sundress over her knees. Determined to change her fib and mood around, she opened the story on her tablet and set to her note-making, resisting the urge to aimlessly edit.

Wild cheers jolted her attention to the game. Whoa. Seven innings already and tied at nine runs each. She sighed. Her missing the game would just give Joe one more thing to fuss over.

They all meant well, but when would Joe and everyone accept she was perfectly fine, better than ever, actually, and stop trying to keep her packed in cotton balls?

Patience, patience. All you can do is wait.

“Wait for what?” a quiet male voice answered. 

Jolted, she sat straight, straddling the board to keep from falling, her heart zipping. She’d spoken out loud?

Note: SUMMERTIME DREAM is available  on Amazon (all countries), and coming soon to Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, Diesel, Sony, and more.