8. Summer
Just a naive little bunny, hopping around, like an idiot.
You’ve got no clue what’s going on.
Yah, no shit, Sherlock.I sat at the dining room table, replaying the argument with the mysterious stranger in my mind. Shaking my head and mimicking in an exaggerated high voice, Just sell all your stuff and move away, stupid little bunny.
Wishing I’d thought of the perfect retort in the moment, instead of a million after the fact.
Why don’t you go away? Angry, bitter wolf.
And why did he have to be so handsome?
I didn”t trust men like him.
To those kind of men, I was expendable, a toy to be used then discarded when broken.
And yet, his dark gaze had made my heart pound in my chest. His touch, a shiver up my spine.
The way he’d gripped my chin—not chastising me like a child, but more… possessive. Like he’d wanted to hold me still so I wouldn’t run away.
Then the way he’d pressed into me, gripping me by my hair…I’d wanted to find out exactly how a man like him would use me. I’d wanted to kiss him and punch his face in at the same time and it was?—
Iwas stupid, I knew it. I’d acted like the dumb girl in the movies, but my body didn’t get the memo that we went through a whole phase in history where women had rights, now. We didn’t have to swoon and pant over a man anymore.
Especially jerks like him.
Dumb little, stupid sexy man.
“Happy birthday sweet cheeks!” Callie interrupted my obsessive thoughts.
I was in the formal dining room, waiting for both her and our lawyer.
Now that I was eighteen, I would have full access to the estate. In the short week I’d been here, the bills were piling up. I was anxious to settle the affairs.
Besides, I’d decided to revive mom’s garden, and was eager to get started. I needed to buy new tools and other things.
Callie’d bound into the room, bringing with her a whirlwind of energy. She was wearing too big sweatpants that hung low on her hips and an orange tank top smudged with paint. Her hair was in a loose bun on top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re so old. You’ll be a boomer in no time.”
Brushing away thoughts of the mysterious stranger, I gave her a pompous stare—mimicking Mrs. Stetson, whom I loathed. “That’s right, bitch. Respect the elderly.”
“Ha,” she plopped down into the chair across from me, tossing a large, bright yellow envelope onto the table between us.
“Want some?” I gestured towards a mug, the smell of rich coffee infiltrating the air. She was rubbing her eyes, smearing her old mascara.
I’d given her my favorite mug — with a drawn picture of a raven that said, With feathers black as starless night, I am as the raven who takes its winged flight. It somehow seemed fitting. Our lives were on the brink of a transformation – one that we weren”t prepared for.
”You have no idea.” She grabbed it and took a gulp. Then clamped her hand over her mouth, just in time to keep coffee from spraying all over the table. “Shit, this is hot.”
“Sorry.”
Sitting crisscross apple-sauce in my chair, I took a sip of my own coffee—cooled from all the cream I’d added—cheering to myself when I kept it from spilling on my shirt. My own mug said, I used to have a handle on life, but then it broke off.
”Stay up late again?” I asked her.
She peeked at me through one halfway lidded eye. ”You keeping tabs on my schedule now?”
“Yup.” I took another sip, relaxing.
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m your daddy now.” I sniffed, trying not to crack a smile. I distracted myself by picking up my phone to text my best friend, Amara. She’d sent me a drunken ‘happy birthday’ text at midnight.
“Don’t you mean, mommy?”
”No,” I tossed my phone back on the table, my smile finally breaking through, “I mean daddy.”
She crooked a black smudged eyebrow upward, “Is this your way of telling me you”re an enby now?”
”I”m telling you that I now have privileges, bitch. As your newly appointed daddy, I get to be the bossy-boss of your cute face.”
”Is that so?”
”Yup.”
“You’re going to take care of me?”
“Yes.”
“Then how bout you tell that to your shirt?”
“You’ll have to do—“ I just now realized that I, somehow had managed to spill coffee on my shirt. I made a face, “This has nothing to do with being the boss.”
“Woah,” her cup shook, splashing coffee all over her face and her own shirt. ”I”m Summer. I think I’m the boss, even though I can’t even not spill stuff or trip over everything.”
“Hey! I”m not clumsy. Things just get in my way.”
“I’m Summer,” she continued to mimic me. “Floors hate me, chairs are bullies, and tables jump in my way.”
“Shut up, brat.” I threw a pen at her.
She grinned at me, not bothering to wipe the coffee now dripping down her chin, and I sucked in a breath, staring at her.
Her first smile since daddy died.
In the same moment, she seemed to realize it, too.
It slowly died, replaced by watery eyes.
“It”s okay, you know,” I reached out a hand. ”To joke.”
”I know.” She clasped my hand, squeezing it. ”And it”s okay to not be a daddy dick, too.”
I laughed, surprising myself. ”I”ll try not to.”
”Bah,” she let out a breath, letting go of my hand, and wiping her chin with her tank top. ”You can barely fix a sandwich, how are you going to be my dad?”
”I can make macaroni and cheese,” I stated stubbornly. ”And not out of the box.” Our mom had taught me — it was the only meal I could remember from her. ”It”s a perfectly acceptable dinner.”
“It’s not an acceptable dinner, it’s the perfect dinner.” A small smile was back, and we just stared at each other stupidly, though my heart was pounding.
Seriously. How was I going to parent her?
After my conversation with that rude stranger at my father”s wake, I”d begun to doubt…well…fucking everything.
What if he was right?
There were definitely things that didn”t add up, starting with the night my mother died and ending with dad’s closed-lipped policy on some things. As soon as things were settled with the estate, I was going to dig through anything I could find.
“Let’s just agree that we don’t need a new dad, but that we’ll take care of each other,” I conceded.
She nodded, her face in her mug, “Sounds good to me.”
”Sorry I”m late,” Terrance Stokes burst into the room, brushing a tanned hand through his black and grey speckled hair. ”I rarely meet face to face with clients anymore.”
”You don’t?” Callie asked, as both of us watched him bustle around the table, pulling out the chair at the head, and sitting briskly down.
”Not usually. We live in the era of electronics, my dear. Makes my job easier.” He checked his phone, tapping it a few times, then deliberately placed it face down. ”Now,” he straightened his black leather portfolio. ”Shall we begin?”
He glanced upwards, faltering when he saw Callie. Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes now even darker. She had her cup to her mouth but wasn”t drinking. Just holding it there, frozen. ”Have I done something wrong?”
”It”s just that...” I cleared my throat. ”That was dad”s chair. He always sat--”
”Say no more.” With a wink, Mr. Stokes was already to his feet, the chair making a hard screech on the hardwood flooring. “I’m more than happy to accommodate.” He sat next to me, organizing his phone and portfolio on the table once more. ”Will this suffice?”
There was a pregnant pause as I readjusted myself to face him. Callie was staring down at the table, tracing a finger over the rim of her mug.
”Yes,” I answered him. ”I”m sorry. It was just weird seeing someone else sit there.”
”No need to apologize,” he pat my hand reassuringly, thick gold rings glinting from his fingers. ”It will be an adjustment. It always is. I know I felt that way after my parents died. And after,” his voice had grown warbled, “Emily.”
At this, I remembered that one of his daughters died last year. I think she was only fourteen.
There was an uncomfortable silence, then he shot from his chair once more. ”Where”s Benson? I need him here. He should hear this, too.”
”He was in the kitchen, last time I saw him.”
Within a few moments, they”d both returned, with Benson’s limp pronounced as he slowly followed Mr. Stokes. He gave us a soft smile before settling next to Callie without a word.
”Now,” Mr. Stokes opened his portfolio and placed a certificate in front of me. “This is your high school diploma. There were no problems getting it issued, as well as an exception for your finals. Neither of you have to return to school this year.” In other words, he had connections. “Unless,” he added, “Callie wants to return for her art internship. The principal told me all about it.”
“Thank you,” I said, barely glancing at it. I was sure Callie would return, but it was her choice. It didn’t start for a couple weeks, anyhow. She had a little time to decide.
“Also, thank you for waiting to go over your father”s estate. As you know, you turn eighteen today. Happy birthday.”
”Thanks,” I clutched my mug to my chest, feeling overwhelmed. I had a lot of responsibilities on my shoulders now, and I had no idea how to begin. Hopefully, Mr. Stokes would stay on and help me navigate them.
”And…” He paused, staring down at the stack of papers, straightening the edges then cleared his throat. “Though, the news I have for you is not easy to relay. Unfortunately, there”s not much to say.” He stopped fidgeting with the papers and moved on to his gold tie, re-straightening the knot.
”Mr. Stokes,” I began, totally confused.
”Please, call me Terrance,” he interrupted. “You two are both old enough to call me by my first name.”
“Terrance. What”s going on?” I asked.
”Yeah, you”re freaking me the eff out, here,” Callie piped in.
”I think it would be better--” Benson spoke up, but faltered when Terrance shot him a look.
”I hate to be the bearer of such bad news, but… sometimes, this is part of the job. So, I”m going to get right to it.” He fixed his gaze on the portfolio once more. ”I won”t read everything out loud, as that would be both mind numbing and time-consuming. However, I”ll leave it here and email you copies, for when you want to go over it.”
“Okay,” I nodded, wishing he would get to it already.
“Now,” he cleared his throat and made eye contact with me, ”As I”m sure you”ve assumed, you will have legal guardianship over your sister.” He glanced at her. “Callie, do you have any objections to Summer’s guardianship over you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Okay, that’s settled, then. There is still some paperwork to sort out, and I’ve highlighted where you need to sign, Summer.” He pulled some papers from the top, and passed them over to me. “I’ll give you time to go through them, and have my assistant pick them up when you’re done. But, call the office if you have any questions, okay?”
I nodded, my eyes glazing over at the legal language. I now understood why he didn’t want to read through them with us.
Terrance continued, “Darkmoor Manor is fully paid off, and its value will be split in half. Fifty percent to you, Summer,” he nodded in my direction, ”and fifty percent to Callie.” He paused, took a deep breath, then, “Regrettably, there isn”t anything else left.”
* * *
”Wait, wait,”I interrupted him, ”Did you just say, there isn”t anything else?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Giving me a sympathetic look, he squeezed my hand in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. ”Your father was sick for the past year and, in that time, he made some....bad judgements. Bad investments. He lost most of his—of your—money.”
Silence cut through the air.
I sat, frozen in my seat. Callie had gone pale.
Benson shuffled, his eyes glued to the table. His glasses were now perched on the edge of his nose, his signature polka dot bow tie askew.
It was raining outside--I could tell because there was a ping of water dripping through the roof and onto the hardwood floor.
”What do you mean,” I repeated, “Are you saying we’re broke?”
”There is a trust fund that will pay out Callie”s school fees, until she graduates. Other than that, you have a total of exactly,” Mr. Stokes shuffled his papers, ”five thousand, twenty three dollars and some change.”
”Welp, this sucks,” Callie said.
”Wait, wait—“ I felt like a broken record. Even though he”d made our financial position very clear—I wasn”t quite absorbing it. “Dad lost all our—his—money?”
”Unfortunately,” he adjusted his gold tie, looking down at the table, “yes.”
”But what are we going to do?” I spread out my hands.
“I’d assume that you would sell Darkmoor Manor. That would give you a substantial amount. I can refer a real estate agent, if you wish.”
His words echoed in my ears, a heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach. He couldn’t be serious. “No wait. Can’t you—I’m sure there’s something…” The ground beneath me gave way, leaving me suspended in a surreal and disorienting state. “Please. You have to help us.”
“Of course, I’m here. Doug—your father, was my client for a long time. I will help you as much as possible. Unfortunately, however, there isn’t much I can do.”
”B-but,” I stuttered, not knowing what to say or think. How were we going to live? I had barely just graduated from high school.
Five thousand wouldn’t last us long. Panic and anxiety crept up my spine as I contemplated how to make this money stretch—I wasn’t even sure it would cover the bills already piled up. The electricity bill alone for this house was insane.
The worry and stress came flooding back, pushing against my chest with a heaviness in my chest.
I mean, at least the house was paid for, that was something, but weren’t there taxes or something? I had to get a job! Could we even live off of minimum wage?
”Maybe someone in your office could hire me,” I rushed, “I’m pretty much a professional multitasker?—”
”Sweetheart, look.” He squirmed to the edge of his seat, his back straight, his portfolio and phone in his hand. He was clearly done with this conversation and ready to move on. ”My suggestion? Sell the house. You”ll get enough from that to pay for both yours and Callie”s college. You”ll have enough to live off of for a while.”
“But I... I don”t even know how to do that.”
”It”s okay,” he smiled at me. ”I”ve given you the name of a trusted real estate agent.” He pat the stack of papers on the table, ”His card”s right here, when you”re ready, okay?”
I stared dazedly at the pile of papers that was all that was left of my father”s estate.
I was empty inside, hollowed out.
Everything was gone?
”I know it”s a shock. And I hate to do this to you, on your most important birthday, too.”
The uncomfortable silence stretched. He began to fidget with the papers again, re-reading the first few pages and I…maybe there was something there. Something he’d missed. I waited, tight with anticipation.
Something…
“I wish I had better news for you,” he repeated, closing the portfolio.
I met Callie’s eyes, apprehension making my throat dry and my stomach churn. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, her own eyes wide.
Standing, he put his hand on my shoulder, “I know this is hard, but you will get through it,” he squeezed tight, ”I promise.” There was a flash of something dark in his gaze, anger or resentment and suddenly, my response caught in my throat.
I thought of his daughter. How it must feel to lose a child.
I could understand the anger that came with death sometimes.
So much of it swirling around inside me.
Why didn’t dad tell me he was sick?
Why didn”t he trust me with the truth?
”Are you going to be okay?” he asked, glancing towards the door. ”Or should I stay longer? I can go over everything with you, but really, there is nothing much else to say.”
”No, it”s okay.” Standing, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and shook his extended hand. ”I”ll call you if I have any questions.”
“Then I will say goodbye. I wish I had better news for you girls. Your father was always good to me, and he was so sick in the end... I couldn”t break his heart by telling him about all this. I wanted him to have a peaceful death. I hope you understand.”
Callie didn”t answer him, but stared at the table, her teeth sunken in to her lower lip, keeping her own emotions at bay.
”Of course,” I said, if only to get him out of the room, shaking his extended hand once more.
”Well, again please call if you have any questions,” he said, walking towards the door, and then he was gone, and the sound of his footsteps down the hallway the only sound for a long time.
And in the silence, I suddenly realized that everything was down to me now. What the hell was I going to do?
After a long while, Callie spoke. “Your birthday sucks.” She pushed the envelope forward, “Here, this was supposed to be something special, but…well…happy birthday.”
Pulling it out, I stared in awe at the painting—colors that suspiciously matched the paint splattered on her tank top. She must’ve stayed up finishing it. “Oh shit, Callie. This is amazing.” She’d painted an exact replica of a picture of her and me when we were kids. We had our arms slung around each other. I was missing a tooth.
”I know,” she snarked, though it was empty of humor. Callie was a natural at painting, incredibly talented. ”But don”t let it go to your head. It”s not like I spent weeks obsessing over every brushstroke or anything.” She rolled her eyes.
“I love it. Thank you.” I touched the edges. “Did you just finish it? How is it already dry?”
“Umm, hair dryer. Duh.”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“I too, have something for you.” Benson said, pulling a small box from his pocket, adorned with a red ribbon.
Curious, I opened the lid, my mouth dropping as I pulled out a large diamond necklace. “Benson, I… How…” I was stunned speechless.
”It was your mother”s,” Benson said gently, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and nostalgia. ”She wanted you to have it for your eighteenth birthday.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I clasped the necklace to my chest. ”Thank you,” I whispered, my voice filled with emotion. Benson nodded, winking at me.
“Can I see?” Callie’s hand was to her neck, her palm covering the heart-shaped necklace mom had given to her when she was really little. Passing the necklace to her, Callie studied it.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. I’m glad you saved it,” she said to Benson. “It’s like a piece of our family”s history right here.” She carefully handed it back to me, then the room grew silent once more.
The question of our future loomed in the air, bringing a somber tone to the room. Callie broke the silence, her voice cautious, “Soooo… Are you going to sell the house?”
I didn”t answer, taking my time to think carefully. ”I don”t want to.”
”But. You can’t.”
“Callie,” I rubbed my eyes, “how are you going to eat? That trust only covers tuition.” I knew because dad sent us monthly allotments.
”I can earn money tutoring. You know I can charge a bajillion dollars to those spoiled brats.”
”Yeah, and those spoiled brats can also just buy their grades.”
”I”ll figure out a way to make it work. And I don”t need much. You know I don”t care about new clothes and stuff.”
”But you do care about your friends. You like hanging out with them.”
”And if they”re my true friends, they”ll pay for me.”
“Do you really want to be under their thumb like that?”
She raised a shoulder. ”I”d rather keep the things that remind me of dad.” There was a low tremble to her voice and I knew she was on the verge of crying. Shit.
”I know.” I stared at the table again. “Benson? You’re being quiet over there. I don’t think we can afford to keep you on.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
I stared up at him. “Benson, you can’t stay on without pay.”
“I have everything I need,” he insisted, straightening his glasses. “As long as you’ll continue to let me live in the guest house.”
“Of course, but?—”
“But, nothing. I’ve lived here a long time, Miss Duvall. And no one is going to chase me away now.”
I bit down my smile. Benson was just as stubborn as my dad had been.
“You have enough to worry about,” he insisted, “Don’t bother with an old man like me.”
“Besides,” Callie said, “We don’t need you?—”
“Callie!” I hissed. Benson had old school beliefs. Telling him we didn’t need him would offend him, even if it was true.
“I just mean—we’re older now. I think you can see this as a retirement.”
“If you want,” I rushed to interject. “I think that’s a fair trade. You continue to live in the guest house. That will always be yours—if we don’t sell—and you can use your time as your own.”
Benson didn’t speak for a long while, then he nodded. “I think that’s a fair arrangement. Though I am always at your disposal, as usual.”
“Benson! We aren’t little kids anymore,” Callie sighed loudly. “It’s not like we need you to blow our noses, or something?—”
“But we still appreciate you,” I interrupted, reaching to kick Callie under the table. She scowled at me, sticking her tongue out. “Really. And you’re always welcome in the house, anytime you want to visit. Of course.”
“Of course!” Callie agreed.
“Thank you,” Benson nodded.
“Now, that’s settled,” Callie said, “I’ll tutor my friends at school, and you can get a job. We’ll make things work.”
“I agree,” Benson said, “I think you can find a way to make it work. Your father always did.”
Except, I had no idea how.I loved their optimism, but…
I blew out a frustrated breath, again wishing my father had opened up to me more. Taught me how to do things. I had no idea what I was doing.
“Please, Summer.” Callie could sense my hesitation. “It…I…It’s just,” she spread out her hands, her throat bobbing, “it’s dad.”
“You know that selling the house won”t take away all the good things he did for us. He wouldn”t want us to struggle. He-”
”I know,” she cut me off, and I heard the panic in her voice, felt the fear bubbling up inside her. I swallowed down my protest.
I took a deep breath and gave in. ”Okay, I”ll only sell the house—if we end up having to choose between us and living on the street.”
She nodded, sure. ”We”ll make it work,” she insisted. “We’ll find a way.”