“He did?”
“You’re living in that trailer alone, and although the area is safe and Anita is nearby, we’re going to be careful.”
Her eyes soften. “I don’t think Mason worried about my safety, ever.”
“Mason’s a dick.”
“Thank you, for watching out for me.”
“Babe, you’re the most important thing in our lives. Don’t underestimate our desire to protect you.”
The door swings open, followed by Shay lowering her wide, black sunglasses down to her nose. I drop my arm and say, “So what time should I bring the photographs over to the store?”
“The uh, the store opens at ten. One of us will be there the rest of the day.”
“Perfect.”
“Oh, you’re talking about the photography exhibit during the party! It’s going to be fantastic. I can’t wait to see them.” Shay gushes, oblivious to our intimacy a moment before.
“The whole night is going to be amazing,” Summer adds.
“Do you think we could stop somewhere for a drink? It’s so dusty and hot out here.”
“Sure, there’s a café just down the road. Then we can swing by the crime scene and head back to Ocean Beach,” I say, taking over. Summer doesn’t just need to be protected from possible crime. She needs to be protected, buffered from this woman, and that is something I can definitely do.
37
Summer
After a long dayof walking Shay through Donald Gaskins’ mind, I feel like I need a shower to rinse away the horror. My shower is ridiculous though, tiny and my elbows hit the walls. Once Shay drops me off, I grab a bag of clothing and head over to Justin and Whit’s apartment. I locate the key under the wilted potted plant and let myself in.
I’m halfway to the bathroom when I hear a cough from one of the bedrooms. I know Justin’s at work, we texted earlier. Whit had a full day of surf school. I hear another cough, this time followed by a hard thump on the floor—then a groan. I drop my bag and run to the bedrooms. Justin’s is empty but Whit’s is ajar and I push it open.
His body is a lump on the floor. I fall to my knees and shake his shoulders. “Whit? What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“Summer?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” He’s lying on his back, shirtless, eyes closed.
He blinks. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes.”
“Oh.” His eyes are a little glassy. I feel his chest, then forehead. He’s burning up. “What am I doing on the floor?”
“Come on, let’s get you up.” Together we struggle to get his tall, big frame back on the mattress. Once he’s there he sighs from exhaustion. Dark circles ring his eyes and his flushed cheeks.
“I’m pretty sure you have a fever. How long have you been sick?”
“I felt a little weird all day at work yesterday, came home and crashed. I haven’t moved much since.”
“Did you take any medicine for the fever?”
He shakes his head.
“Let me find it.” I leave him in the bedroom and go for the shared bathroom off the main room. In the medicine cabinet I find most everything I need, including a clean washcloth. Grabbing a glass of cool water and soaking the rag, I re-enter the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.
I help him shift up and give him the pain medication and lay the cool cloth on his forehead. He links his fingers with mine and moans softly, eyes fluttering closed.
