Summer's End Page 17

  I turn around, facing Lane with the glasses of milk, avoiding her gaze. “We were just getting something to eat first.” Lane is leaning against the counter, staring at me when I hand him the glass of milk. He immediately takes a drink, turning toward my mom, almost chugging it.

  “Bring your food on out to the patio and eat with us. Would you bring the pitcher of tea, too, please?”

  “Sure, Mom.” I take a drink, too, trying to hide my discomfort.

  “Yes, ma'am.” Lane puts down his empty glass. I stifle a giggle at the milk mustache left above his lip. He reaches for the fridge, and Mom stands there for a moment, eyes trying to decipher something her intuition is hinting at, and then goes back outside. As soon as the door shuts, Lane shuts the fridge door and puts the tea on the counter. His eyes are sparkling. Dimples frame his milk-mustache smile, face glowing.

  I lean back against the counter, gripping it as if my knees are going to buckle. I shake my head. “That was too close.”

  He steps toward me and leans over, leveling his eyes with mine, bracing himself with his hands on either side of mine on the edge of the counter top. “We could just tell them.”

  I reach over for a paper towel and wipe off his milk mustache. “No, let’s not.”

  He stands tall and rubs his lips together. “Let's get out of here, then, before they come back in looking for us—again.”

  The rest of the day is surprisingly fun. Both his parents and my parents jumped off the cliffs, once. It was hilarious. They acted like it wasn't their first time. It feels more like July than August today, with the temperature reaching the upper nineties, but the water keeps us cool. Lane and I race up the side of the cliff, jump off, and swim the length of the pond. When we’re too tired to do anything more, we float around on rafts.

  Everyone else leaves to get cleaned up for our evening meal, but we linger behind, soaking up the late-day vitamin D, floating in the middle of the giant water-filled hole.

  “Lane?”

  “Hmm?” He’s in somewhat of a slumber.

  I want to ask him about the future, ask him if he will follow me to the coast. “Do you think I'm crazy for wanting to become a Marine Scientist?”

  “Why would I think that? You've been dreaming about it for a long time.”

  “Just checking.” He's forgotten all about asking me what I've been keeping to myself, what I keep in my head. We're having such a good time, no weirdness, no pretending to be more or less than we are, just us. Maybe this is the way we should be. “How can we make this day last?”

  He turns his head, chin resting on the raft, and peers through squinted eyes into mine. “Make it last or make it memorable?”

  “Both.” I pull my float closer to his and move my hand from his raft and touch his scraggly damp hair, combing through it with my fingertips.

  His eyes automatically close, and he lays his head back down. “That feels good.”

  I continue the hypnotic endearment. “I don't want this summer to end.” It's a faint sound, but it echoes in the small space between us.

  After a few moments, he agrees. “Me either.” His lids open halfway, speculating, then leans up on his arm, the other sliding off with a splash.

  “Oh!” Right in my face.

  “Sorry,” he laughs. “I didn't mean to splash you.” He tries to wipe the water away with an already wet hand. “Really, I didn't.”

  I prop up on my forearms, deciding whether that’s true or not.

  Suddenly, his eyes round with excitement and just as quickly soften to a dreamy squint. His mouth follows suit from dimples to ornery grin. “Speaking of sorry.” He pauses, holding on to the front of my raft. “I think it's time to pay the restitution you owe me from Friday night. Don't you?”

  Butterflies make a flash appearance in my stomach. “You aren't going to forgive me?” An innocent expression covers my face. I knew he wouldn't forget that.

  “Oh, I forgive you, but there are still consequences for your actions.” He pulls us closer. His aquatic eyes hold my focus, neither of us able to look away.

  It's going to happen again, anyway. It's just us, the way we are. Kiss him. I lean closer. My heart begins to palpitate, the butterflies kick up a notch, beating against my chest, and heat spreads from my core up my chest, neck, and to my cheeks shading my skin like a thermometer. His eyes dance in anticipation but never leave mine.

  Inching closer I touch the tip of my nose to his. “Kiss me already,” he pleads softly. His eyes are so pretty. I hear a rumble of an oncoming vehicle interrupting my growing eagerness. In a flash, I roll off the raft into the water and swim away, sobering my thoughts. When I come back up, I'm ten feet away, and the truck rolls slowly by. I'm relieved we're not close together. After the scathing pictures with Cameron, I can imagine what could’ve happened with an actual kiss. That's all I need, more gossip floating around about me.

  When I look back at Lane, he's sitting up with his arms folded in front of him, legs hanging off either side of the raft, and a sour look on his face. “Are you pouting?” I can't help but laugh at the sight of him.

  “Every time, well, except for the first time,” he smiles wryly, “someone or something interrupts us.” He maneuvers back to his stomach on the raft and starts swimming toward the shore. My heart skips a beat. He looks like a surfer on his board paddling to catch a wave. I swim back for my raft and follow him. He's drying off when I reach the bank. I try to hide a smirk as I walk to the truck, dripping wet. He reaches in his truck for my towel, swapping it for my raft to toss in the bed, and throws his towel over the tailgate. And then he just stands there, watching me.

  Without our family around, I'm able to really look at him. Disheveled hair, no shirt, no shoes, eyes I never grow weary of, his faith, kindness—he is the whole package–the guy you search your whole life for. Dried off as much as possible, I traipse over to him. “What's the restitution for being sorry three times?”

  He puts his shirt on and grabs for my towel. “Hold still.” He gently wipes under my eyes to remove remnants of the unfamiliar mascara.

  “Thanks.” I consider reaching up for him, to kiss him, but hug him instead. His shirt gets wet in the process.

  “Sorry three times in three days? I'm gonna have to give that some thought.” He presses against my wet hair with his lips. “You may not like the price.” I hear the smile in his low voice, and goose bumps pop up as if he whispered icy breath down my skin. I chuckle. “See, we can do us without being weird or wrong.” He squeezes me and I squeeze him back. “It’s better. Us to the second power.” I'm amused at his choice of words and smile, nodding in agreement. He pulls away and clasps my hand. “Let's go, unless you prefer the Cary-Stone inquisition?” He opens the door and guides me in.

  15

  Despite Dad's disregard for my privacy, rummaging through my bag and perusing my notebook Sunday, I continue adding details to my preferred College list in between volleyball today. For his benefit, though, I start a new page in my notebook with a couple universities in Illinois and majors I have no interest in. I want to write a title on the top, “Crap Future”, but feel that might destroy the whole misconception of it all. I really don't like misleading my dad, but if I don't do what he wants, he's going to make my life miserable. He doesn't seem to understand how important this is to me.

  The doodle of Lane's eyes on my page has me daydreaming. When he’s around now, since that day he kissed me, my body seems to flood with flutters and excitement. Access to the internet would keep my focus on college better. It's the twenty-first century, and internet access is still not possible out in the boonies. Even cell reception around my house is sketchy. I usually use Tobi's computer when I need something, but she's out of town this week.

  When I come home from practice this evening, I'm thinking I'm halfway through the week. I can handle volleyball without Tobi a couple more days. Dad hears me come in.

  “Regan, come in here please.”

  “Be right there. Getting
a drink.” His voice sounds off. Maybe he’s going to apologize for his dream killing spree he went on the other night. He used to be fun when my brother and I were kids … fishing and swimming and walking through the woods. I sigh and walk into the living room downing a tall glass of water.

  He folds his paper on his lap, gesturing for me to sit down. “I had an interesting phone call this evening.” His eyes are bright and there’s a curve to his lips. “A young man called to ask permission to take you out on a date.”

  “What?” I choke on my water, coughing, trying to catch my breath. “Who” Cough, cough. “Would do that?” As soon as it’s out my mouth, my body stiffens. My jaw clamps tight. I know who would—Lane. If Lane told my parents or his parents about us being more than friends, I'm going to strangle him.

  “Why are you upset? It's refreshing to see a young man ask permission to take a man's daughter out.” My dad's old-fashioned in some ways, and this is one of them.

  All the muscles in my body have seized into a tight mess, including my hand which is now balled into a fist in my lap. “Who?” My voice is full of hurt from the betrayal. Just say it! I'm screaming on the inside.

  Dad quirks his eyebrow up for a second, reacting to my behavior. It doesn’t last long, and he’s all smiles again. “Paul Frak.” My jaw drops. “Bill and Darla’s boy, from church,” he says, as if our church is so big we don't know the people we see every week.

  I stand and sneer at his name. “I know who he is, Dad.”

  “I invited him over Friday evening, to get to know him better before I let you go out with him.”

  My stomach twists and I gasp, out loud. “What? I am not going out with Paul Frak!” I lean forward and point at him. “Call him back and un-invite him.” I bat my lids a few times, trying to wake up, hoping I’m having a nightmare.

  Dad lowers his chin. “I most certainly will not.” The paper smacks loudly against his leg from his slap. “He has the respect to ask my permission. I will not go back on my invitation.” He stares me down, his eyes narrow, face stern. And that is my final word.

  Dad has my chest in a vice, tightening. I can barely breathe. “The gang is having a party for Lane on Friday. I already have plans. Besides that, Paul asked me out on Sunday, and I said no. I told him no already.”

  Dad’s chest is puffed out like a proud peacock. “You should give him a chance. How many boys these days have the manners to do such a thing?”

  Another twist of my stomach causes my brows to draw closer together. My face must show the pain I’m in. “He already asked me out before he asked your permission. How's that for manners?” Dad sits there, stone-faced, without waver. “Fine, I'll call him back and tell him to forget it.”

  “He is coming here for dinner on Friday, and you will be here eating dinner with us.”

  “Where's Mom?” She knows all about my plans for Friday. I cross the room and look down the hallway.

  “Your mother isn't here.”

  Obviously. I slam my lids shut. Calm down, Regan. Dad doesn't react well to hotheadedness, even if this is totally ridiculous. I open my eyes and look at him, but the fire inside me is getting out of control. I storm out of the room before I do or say something that’s going to get me grounded. Though, I’d do whatever it took to get out of having Paul Frak over for dinner, I could be on my deathbed and Dad would still have him come over, at this point. What am I going to do?

  If Lane comes over tomorrow, I'll tell him what Dad did, and what Paul did. Otherwise, I'll have to call him. Either way, Lane is not going to be happy. At. All. I say my prayers as I lie down in bed, adding a request for help with my dad, and drift off into a restless sleep.

  I hurry in the morning and don’t find a chance to talk to Mom before I leave. On the way home from practice I rehearse the spiel I plan on giving her, thinking about the points of (a) I already have plans, (b) Paul didn't ask Dad first, and (c) I have no interest in Paul whatsoever.

  She practically runs out the door with her tote of fabric when I pull in the drive. Mom makes alterations and dresses or gowns for people. It looks like she has someone in a panic for her. Whatever—I'm in a panic for her, too.

  “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

  She grabs the keys out of my hand. “Not right now sweetie, I’m sorry. I have to go.” She opens the hatch of the Jeep, puts her bags of dresses in, and turns toward me. “Can we talk later? This is a last-minute change on these bridesmaid dresses, and the wedding is this weekend.” Her arm swings up in the air dislodging her hair from behind her ear. My chest tightens. I know she needs to go, but … My shoulders drop, and I nod, accepting the situation. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She gets in the Jeep and takes off. I stand in the driveway, hopeless, as I watch her leave.

  My tennis shoes have turned into concrete boots. I trudge inside and drop my bag at the door of my room and flop onto my bed. I try to have hope, but …. It hurts to even breathe. My whole body is heavy.

  I peel myself off my bed. After my shower, I’ll call Lane—but I'm scared of what he’s going to say or want to do. I’m a chicken. I can't help what my dad did—is doing. Mom has enough sense to stop this idea of his, but she’s gone. Ugh! I'll just call Lane now and get it over with.

  “This is Lane, leave a message.”

  Argh. I hang up. I don't want to leave a message. What would I say? Hey Lane, Paul asked my dad's permission to take me out on a date, so Dad invited Paul over for dinner Friday night. Sorry, I can't go to your going away party. See ya.

  I'll call again; maybe he'll answer this time. My thumb dials his number.

  Ring.

  I bounce impatiently up and down.

  Ring.

  Come on, Lane.

  Ring.

  Pick up.

  Ring.

  Pick up.

  “This is Lane. Leave a message.”

  Argh. At the beep, I leave a message. “Lane, it’s Regan. Call me when you get this message. I'll try your house, too.” I dial his home number. No luck there either. His mom tells me he went to get supplies for his dorm room. I ask her to leave a message for him to call me when he gets home. It would be best if Mom came home before Lane calls back.

  After my shower, I take my lunch and my book out to the patio to eat and get some fresh air. I’m so tired. I yawn. I could use a nap too. After last night’s fiasco, I didn't sleep the greatest.

  I'm flipping through the pages of my book, and the next thing I know, I’m walking down a set of railroad tracks, alone. There’s no openness, no houses, and no roads. There’s a rumble, and I look behind me. A train’s coming. I move off the tracks to the side and decide if it's not going too fast, I'll jump on and ride the train to the coast. The train's horn goes off as it gets closer. It sounds again. Huh. A train horn that sounds like a phone. I look back again. My surroundings go dark. But the ringing phone sounds again. I sit up, startled and realize I'm sleeping. My book and feet hit the ground at the same time. The phone rings again. I look around, heart pounding.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  “Hello?” I’m out of breath. My eyes glance over my surrounding. The daylight has become soft.

  “You're still home?” Lane's voice speaks to me through the phone. He sounds surprised.

  “Uh, yeah. I fell asleep. You woke me up. What time is it?” My throat is dry and scratchy. I start to drink what's left of my glass of water.

  “It's six o'clock, Regan. Don't you have open gym?”

  My breath catches. “Crap! Six?” I look out to the shed. “Mom isn't home yet. Arghhh.” I growl. “She hasn't called or anything. How am I going to get to the gym? She has the car.”

  “I'll run you in. You'll be late, but …”

  “Thanks, I'll be ready when you get here.”

  When Lane pulls up, he doesn't even make a complete stop before I open the door and jump in.

  “Thanks so much for taking me. I owe you.” I put on my seat belt and lean my head
back, sighing as he pulls out of the drive. “Do you mind speeding? I'd like to shorten my late arrival as much as possible. I don't know why they call it open gym. It's not really open as in, you can come if you want but you don't have to. It's more like, be there or else you can forget about starting.”

  He gives a crooked semi-smile. “I'll drive a little faster for you. Where are your parents?”

  “Mom went in town for sizing’s or something when I got home this morning. Dad? I have no idea. He's usually home by four or four-thirty.” My foot taps nervously on the floorboard of Lane’s truck. This has been a crap day. At least I got a little nap.

  We're on the main road now, speeding along. “I missed your call earlier. Forgot my phone at home in my bedroom. Sorry.”

  I shrug. This conversation needs to wait until later. We don't have time to have it now.

  “So …” He glances over at me. “What did you want?”

  “I was just bored.” I lie through my teeth. Talking on the phone isn't my thing.

  He snorts. “You never call without a reason.” He waits for me to explain, but I don’t say anything.

  We’re halfway there, but his speed’s too fast now. “You’re driving is a little too fast, don't you think?” I'm gripping my seat belt.

  His mouth twists to the side. “No. What's going on?” He speeds up a little more. I don't say anything so he changes tactics, slowing down to a crawl.

  I glare over at him. “I'm already late. Please speed up.”

  “Which is it? I'm driving too fast or too slow?” He flips on the turn signal like he's making a right turn.

  “Fine! Speed up, and I'll talk.” I wait for him to speed back up before I open my mouth again.

  “What’s going on?” He knows I have something important to say but he has no idea what's coming.

  “Dad got a call from a—” I hold my hands up and move my fingers for the quotation marks— “gentleman” asking his permission to take me out on a date.”

  “What?” he shouts, loud enough to hurt my ears. With bulging eyes, he looks at me and then back at the road. His fingers grip the steering wheel tighter and our speed increases. The muscles along his jaw flex. “Who?”