Page 46 of Summer Love

“Sometimes life decides otherwise.”

I slip off the other shoe and my dress, pull on an oversized T-shirt. Then I grab the Dani Heart book and start reading. The fan stirs the hot air. Outside, the waves roll out their white noise, steady, indifferent.

Tell me about it, Noah.

I’m on chapter sixteen when three knocks ring out.

I sit up. My phone reads 9:42 p.m. No one should be knocking at this hour.

I get up and cross the bungalow barefoot. The floorboards creak under my feet. I hesitate, hand on the doorknob, then open it. No one.

The path is empty. The solar lanterns throw pale circles of light on the gravel. Just the waves, the rustle of the palms, nothing else.

I look down.

A knotted freezer bag full of ice cubes sits in front of the door, on a folded dish towel laid right on the boards. The towel is clean—white, a little rough. It must be from the lodge kitchen.

I bend down, pick up the bag and the towel. The cold bites my fingers.

“Put ice on it if it swells.”

I look down the path one more time: no one. I go back in and lock the door. I sit back down on the bed, wrap the bag in the towel, and set it on my foot.

The cold is brutal for the first few seconds, almost painful. Then it settles in, numbs the throbbing. The pain ebbs.

The towel was folded with care. My throat tightens.

Noah was supposed to leave. Go to med school. Become someone else, somewhere else. He’s here, in coveralls, with a plunger and olive-green Crocs.

Jace was supposed to leave too. Pro surfing, the circuit, the sponsors. He’s here, in a trailer, in the surf school yard.

What happened to this family?

CHAPTER 17

Summer

WEDNESDAY

The dust has changed color.

Yesterday it was gray, thick, loaded with everything the house had collected in its sleep. Today, after another morning of opening, airing out, scrubbing, scraping, it’s finer, paler.

It’s almost enough to feel like progress.

I drag the back of my hand across my forehead. It’s hot. My T-shirt sticks between my shoulder blades and my Converse have turned a sandy color even the washer won’t get out. I emptied the first water jug two hours ago. I’ve already made a good dent in the second. The third I’m saving to drink.

Three jugs, hauled in by bike this morning. The cruiser was so heavy I almost had to put a foot down twice.

I’m prying a rotted baseboard loose with a crowbar when I hear footsteps in the hall.

“Knock, knock!” a woman’s voice says.

I look up. Maya’s in the living room doorway, two lodge cups in her hands, a big grin on her face.

“Latte,” she announces, holding one out. “Because you look like a girl who got no sleep.”

“Thanks.”