“You’re incredible.” He pulls me in for a side hug before grabbing the camera to show the guys.
Savannah is gasping for breath as she walks up, tossing her board to the ground. “Has anyone seen my phone?”
Our bags are all piled onto a few sandy towels. I spot hers lying next to the sunscreen when it starts to ring. I bend down to grab it, handing it over to her.
She answers the call. “Hello?”
I turn back to Axel. “How was the video? Was the screen blurry again?”
My wetsuit is sticking to my skin. I prefer the ones that are just long sleeves and not full body, especially when the water is warm, like today. It’s mid-September, the perfect temperature for surfing and underwater photography.
“Looks good so far, but I wanna get home and put it on the computer to see it better. You ready to go?”
I nod, reaching down to grab my jute beach bag, stuffing my phone and sunscreen inside.
“Yeah, she’s standing right here.” Savannah looks at me, frowning as she holds her phone out. “It’s for you.”
I take it, assuming it’s someone from work asking about switching a class with me. Savannah and I instruct at the same yoga studio. I grab a towel to dry off my face.
“Hello?” I press the phone to my ear. “This is Summer.”
“Summer.”
The deep male voice on the other line sends a shiver up my spine. I can immediately tell by his tone that something is very wrong.
Dayton never calls me Summer. Dayton never calls me, period.
I almost didn’t recognize his voice. In the last ten years, I’ve only ever heard it when my mom had me on FaceTime and his dad had him on speaker.
There’s a rougher edge to it than I remember, much deeper than it was at eighteen. But he’s coming up on thirty years old, so I guess that makes sense.
“What do you want?” My voice is shaky.
He sighs. I can picture him on the other side of the country, staring out the window of his pretentious penthouse like an overlord surveying the dark city he plans to terrorize aftermidnight. He’s probably still dressed in a suit that costs more than my rent, which isn’t cheap, even after I split it with Axel.
It’s three hours later there, if he’s even in New York City. When I talked to my mom before she boarded her flight this morning, she said he’d been traveling a lot. I didn’t ask.
I’ve never heard him sound so … weak.
“It’s about your mom … and my dad.”
My vision blurs, and the beach spins.
No … no.
“They’re gone, Summer.”
chapter two
Summer
The funeral director, Isaac Moore, realizes almost immediately that Dayton and I donotget along. We argue about everything, down to the length of the eulogy, who should give it, and what song to play for the procession.
Our parents had thought ahead and already purchased two cemetery plots side by side. We were both pissed about that part.
My father’s body is in California. His wife should be buried next to him.
This is what she wanted. She chose Copeland over Sullivan.
