Page 25 of Summer Love

Evan nods, but he knows me too well to buy that.

Behind us, footsteps cross the deck boards, followed by the smell of a cigarette.

Noah crosses the bar toward the shared restrooms, a bucket in one hand, a mop in the other, a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He looks like hell—shoulders hunched, dark circles under his eyes, his coveralls rumpled like he slept in them. Maybe he did.

“Hey, Noah!” Evan calls.

My brother stops and turns his head.

“What?”

His voice is curt, but there’s no real bite to it. Noah’s just in a hurry, on edge. Then his eyes land on me. They harden, his jaw tightens. The usual wall.

My stomach twists. I don’t say anything.

“Guess who’s back,” Evan says.

Noah sets the bucket down and takes a drag off his cigarette.

“No idea, and I don’t have time, Evan.”

“Summer.”

The name hangs between us. Noah doesn’t move. His face doesn’t change—or barely. His eyelids flicker, nothing more.

“Great,” he says. “Since when?”

“Last night. She’s staying at the lodge.”

Two hundred yards from my trailer. Of course.

“Day off,” Noah says. “I wasn’t around yesterday.”

Technically, he was. Noah lives at the lodge. But he spends his days off shut in his cabin, sleeping or staring at the ceiling.

Evan doesn’t answer. I search for something to say to my brother, but I come up with nothing—like always.

Noah grabs his bucket and heads for the restrooms, smoke trailing behind him. His mop scrapes against the wood.

The unease stays, settled between Evan and me.

“One day he’s going to say hi to me. I still believe it,” Evan murmurs.

I don’t laugh. Neither does he.

Beyond the deck, the ocean is a dark line that blurs into the sky.

“What are you going to do?” Evan asks.

The question is simple. The answer isn’t.

I’m a guy who does things. I teach lessons, I fix boards, I drive the van, I take in abandoned dogs. I’m not a guy who waits.

And yet.

My beer’s warm. I finish it anyway and set the bottle down harder than necessary.

Six years… and now she shows up.