Page 7 of The Summer of Us

I grabbed her, kissing her hard. “Yeah. All summer.”

* * *

I braced my foot against the bottom of the deck and pulled at the rotted stump. It finally gave way, and I fell back into the dirt with a groan. I pushed the offending mass of roots and wood off me and stood, dusty, hot, and happier than I had felt in ages. I pulled off my shirt and wiped my face.

A throat clearing made me look up. Gerry Braun stood, his arms folded over his chest, studying me. I had been at the camp for three days and worked my ass off. This was no cushy assistant’s job. This was a do-whatever-has-to-be-done job, and although I was sure my father thought he was punishing me, I loved it.

Gerry approached, holding out a bottle of water. I accepted and downed it in long swallows, then pushed the sweaty hair off my forehead.

Silently, he handed me a brown bag, and I looked inside, grateful to see a thick sandwich and an apple. I sat down on the steps and began eating. Gerry sat next to me, placing another bottle of water on the steps beside me.

“Stay hydrated.”

I grunted around a mouthful of ham. His wife was a stellar cook, and I was going to enjoy eating this summer. If all my work was like this, I would burn it off fast and my father would never know.

“I’m almost done here, then I’ll replace those rotted boards of the dock.” I wadded up the wax paper and pulled out the apple, taking a huge bite.

Gerry turned and faced me. “I owe you an apology, kid.”

I swallowed before answering him. “Sorry, sir?”

He chuckled gruffly, shaking his head. He pushed back his ball cap and wiped his forehead.

“The camp’s been struggling the last couple years. When your father made the offer to sponsor it and give us some money, I was suspicious.” He side-eyed me. “I know he wants this land.”

I didn’t deny it. My father had ordered me to keep my eyes open and “find the weaknesses” at the camp.

“I want to find out what he needs, what makes him vulnerable, and make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he instructed. “Find it and tell me.”

My father’s words hadn’t surprised me. He didn’t do anything out of generosity, so I knew he would have a hidden agenda for having me here. Aside from creating space between Sunny and me.

I shrugged. “I don’t plan on helping him with that goal, sir.”

He nudged my shoulder. “Knock it off with the sir shit. It’s Gerry.”

I finished my apple. “Okay, Gerry.” I relaxed back against the step, and he mimicked my action.

“I thought you were going to be a lazy, rich little SOB. A brat I was going to have to babysit who would spend the summer lying on the dock and bothering my counselors.”

I started to laugh. “I don’t blame you.”

“You’re all right, kid. You’re a hard worker.” He admitted. “The list I gave you were things I haven’t been able or wanted to do myself. Hard, messy shit that, frankly, should have taken you a week, if not more. You’ve knocked it out in three days, and not once have you complained.”

I looked around. “What’s to complain about? I get to work outside, your wife’s cooking is incredible, and I can eat all I want. I can swim in the lake or the pool and go to sleep when I feel like it.” I couldn’t help but tease him. “Although a bed would be more welcome than a cot in the office.”

He stared at me for a moment. “You sound as if you’re tired of being told what to do, kid.”

“I am. I like it here. I work and get rewarded.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, about that. Your father insisted I direct deposit your pay to an account he gave me.”

I wasn’t surprised. I had to account for every dollar I spent. Every week, I handed over my journal of expenses and receipts. My father would top up the cash I was allowed to have on hand and then give me back my credit card. I never had more than a hundred dollars in my pocket or less than twenty. It wasn’t that he felt I should have the money, but he kept up the image of being a good father and provider. That he cared for his son’s well-being and looked after him. He also refused to have his son look anything but well-off. It was all a sham, but I liked to spend his money. It was the one retribution I had.

Thank god my father thought I was an airhead who smoked dope (no such thing as a receipt for weed), got the munchies (explained all the bills from the diner and grocery store when I visited Sunny), and bought a lot of condoms (an easy cover for treats I got for the girls at the drugstore). Whatever extra I could skim went to much better use than sitting in his bank account. I slipped tens and fives into Sunny’s wallet and dropped twenties into drawers at her mother’s. I was sure they were onto me, but they let it alone. I think they knew how important it was to me to help look after them. They looked after me in return.

The bottom line was that my father didn’t give a flying fuck if I screwed half the town and liked weed. As long as I didn’t get caught, or get some girl pregnant, and I stayed away from him, it was fine. If he knew the cash went to help Sunny, however, the punishment would be severe. I had experienced that already.

“Nothing you can do, Gerry. My father is my father.”