Chapter 3
Opinion: If you tempt death, make sure you’re prayed-up and wearing clean undies.
—Delilah Dune, opinion writer
L yla cracked open an eye and sat up stiffly, and scanned her surroundings, which were far short of Heaven. Presumably that meant she was alive. The green 7-Up bottle caught her eye, resting on the deck, masking tape side up. Ignoring the pain and the surreal suspicion that she’d survived a second lightning strike, she reached until her fingers touched the cap. Then she rolled the bottle to her, steadied it between her thighs, and began to peel away the old masking tape.
“Hey!” a voice came out of nowhere.
Lyla startled and turned to see Allison stepping through the fence’s gate. “Oh, hi.”
Allison didn’t wait to be invited. She continued toward Lyla, talking cheerily as she walked. “You didn’t answer the doorbell, so I thought I’d walk around back. I hope that’s okay.” She finally stopped and furrowed her brows as she seemed to see Lyla for the first time.
“Are you okay? Why are you lying on the deck steps? And—oh my heavens, you’re soaking wet? What happened?”
Lyla didn’t want to set off Allison’s alarm bells by telling the truth. “I guess I fell.” She shifted stiffly, her body protesting any movement. Something told her that she’d have a few dark bruises tomorrow and maybe some exit wounds on the soles of her feet. “The neighbor’s dog must have tripped me as I ran away from the storm.” Lyla lifted a hand to cradle her suddenly aching chin, wondering if she’d knocked it on the deck step in her fall.
Allison’s expression pinched with worry as she sat beside her on the steps. “Believe it or not, I understand exactly what you’re going through right now, friend.”
Since when were she and Allison Wilkerson friends?
“I get it,” Allison said.
Lyla blinked. “You do?”
“I didn’t know which way was up or which was down when Ernie and I parted ways.”
“Oh.” Lyla shook her head. Allison had this situation all wrong. “That’s not what’s going on at all.”
“It’s okay. If anyone understands, it’s me.” Allison patted Lyla’s thigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Lyla really didn’t. She wasn’t even sure what was going on right now. Her breakup with Joe had been rough, but that was three months ago. Her unstable job and home life were more the issue, but she didn’t even want to admit to herself how bad things were right now.
“What’s that?” Allison pointed at the soda bottle in Lyla’s hand.
“This? It’s just a time capsule. Do you remember how Ms. Davis suggested we all make one? At the end of our senior year.”
Allison shook her head. “Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention in her class. I was too busy making eyes at the football players.” The way Allison made that remark sounded almost self-deprecating, like she wasn’t proud of who she’d been. “I only had eyes for football players—with one exception. Travis Painter.” Allison laughed quietly. “Wow, I haven’t thought about him in years.” There was a touch of nostalgia in her voice. She tipped her face up to the sun, closing her eyes momentarily. “I probably would have done better marrying him than Ernie.”
“Ernie Maddox?” Ernie had been the star football player at Echo Cove High, and he’d been a first-class jerk in Lyla’s unpopular opinion. Lyla and Ernie sat next to each other in algebra class one year, and Lyla swore he dropped his pencil ten times a class just to check out all the girls’ legs. She’d always made sure to wear jeans that semester, not that he would ever be interested in her. She hadn’t been unpopular with the guys necessarily, just not popular enough for the likes of Ernie.
Allison rolled her eyes. “I thought I was so lucky snagging the most popular guy in school, but it turns out, he was the worst decision of my life.” She blew out a breath. The look on her face raised a lot of questions, but they weren’t friendly enough for Lyla to pry. And Lyla wouldn’t be sticking around in Echo Cove long enough to remedy that. Still, the writer in her wanted to know the story. Ernie probably dropped too many pencils and checked out too many legs that didn’t belong to Allison.
Whatever Ernie had done, Allison hadn’t deserved it. Yes, she was the stereotypical cheerleader in the popular crowd, but she’d always been nice. Allison wasn’t one of the mean girls who gossiped or picked on the kids with dirty or off-brand clothes. Instead, she always made a point of talking to those kids. Lyla was in the journalism club, so it was her job to watch the goings-on in school, and every time she watched Allison, admittedly looking for something to hate about the cheerleader, all she’d ever seen was sweetness. “Sorry about your marriage,” Lyla said quietly, meaning it.
Allison put on a smile that reminded Lyla of their high school days. It was bright and perfect. And one hundred percent fake. Lyla now recognized that Allison’s cheery expression was just a shield to hide whatever storm was brewing on the inside. For the first time, maybe ever, Lyla could relate to Allison Wilkerson.
“So, what’s Travis up to these days?” Allison asked. “He moved away not long after you.” She scratched the side of her face absently. “His sister, Bailey, had that scandal, if you recall.”
It wasn’t much of a scandal in Lyla’s opinion. Bailey had gotten pregnant out of wedlock and Pastor Painter had an adult version of a temper tantrum. The pregnancy was supposed to be a secret, but everyone knew. It was Echo Cove, after all. He’d demanded that Bailey marry the baby’s father, and the wedding had been the talk to the town. Then Bailey pulled a runaway bride. She didn’t stay gone long enough for anyone to worry, though. Just long enough for folks to talk.
Lyla shrugged. “I haven’t seen or heard from Travis since I went away to college.”
Allison seemed surprised by this. “You two were so close.” She shook her head. “It’s such a shame when people lose touch.”
“Yeah.” Lyla hugged the 7-Up bottle closer to her.
“I was surprised that Travis was the one to leave instead of Bailey. After all that drama. I guess all families have their drama though, don’t they?” Allison looked over, something sad flashing in her gaze. There and gone.
“You never told me what brought you over this morning,” Lyla said.
“Right.” Allison folded her hands in her lap. “Well, I wanted to see if you would like to come to my house on Friday night for a little Dinnerware Party.”
“Dinnerware?”
“Mm-hmm. I sell it. It’s my side hustle.” She let out a high-pitched giggle. “A lot of the old crowd from high school will be there,” she said, as if that was a sure sell on the invitation. Allison’s old crowd was not made up of Lyla’s former friends, though.
Lyla grimaced slightly. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.”
“Well, I’ll have free food, even if you don’t buy anything. And more wine from The Sippy Cup.”
Something vulnerable flashed in Allison’s eyes as she looked at Lyla eagerly. It made Lyla hesitate to turn her down, even though that’s exactly what she wanted to do. “I’ll think about it.”
“Perfect.” Allison stood. “Well, I’m on my way to the grocery store to buy snacks and such for Friday night. Need anything?”
“No, thanks. And thank you for the invitation. It’s nice of you to consider me.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of not inviting you. Everyone will be so happy to catch up. If you come,” she added, vulnerability creeping into her expression again. That was something Lyla never thought she’d see on Allison Wilkerson’s face.
“I’ll try.” And some part of Lyla believed she actually might. Who knows? Maybe boy-obsessed teenagers turned into interesting adults. People did change after all, and not always for the worse. Lyla had penned that opinion article about two years ago, and her readers had been divided right down the middle on whether they agreed.
“Great. I’ll call you.” Allison headed back toward the fence’s gate. “It’s so great catching up with you. Seems just like old times.”
If by old times, she meant times that had never happened.
Once Allison had gone, Lyla took the 7-Up bottle inside and placed it on the kitchen counter. Then she used her nails to peel the masking tape that closed the flap that Lyla had once cut into the bottle. What was she going to find inside? She could barely remember the girl she’d been when she’d sealed this thing, full of hope and nerves and a million dreams that had yet to come true.
Here goes nothing . She reached inside until her fingers hit something hard and pulled it out. A green-colored whistle. She had no idea where it had come from and what its significance was. Well, that’s disappointing. She reached into the bottle again and pulled out a brightly colored hair scrunchie. This she remembered! Before college, she’d gone to a salon with a picture of what she wanted. The stylist had an Edward Scissorhands technique, though, and Lyla had left her appointment with hair too short to even pull back into a ponytail. That was the day Lyla learned you can’t just go to any old place for a cut and style—not if you wanted to keep the hair on your head.
Lyla moved the silk scrunchie around with her fingers, admiring the purple-and-yellow zebra print, far from any fashion statement she’d want to make these days.
Reaching inside the bottle again, her fingers brushed against a thin piece of paper, and she felt a subtle ache in her chest. The memory of what was written on this paper blew around like a tumbleweed in her mind. The list.
Her hands shook as she unfolded the paper and took in her once neat handwriting. The paper was one of her and Travis’s summer bucket lists. They created one every year, checking off things they wanted to do. It was bad luck not to have completed all the things come August, when school started back. At least, that was Travis’s superstition.
Lyla focused her eyes and began to read.
Summer Bucket List for Lyla and Travis’s
Last Summer Together
She ran her gaze over the items, bullet-pointed with hand-drawn flowers. She and Travis had nearly completed all of them, but there were still a few items unchecked. The summer had wound down unexpectedly fast, and it was time for Lyla to leave for college. She was supposed to stay two more weeks, but she’d sped up that timeline herself, feeling a sudden urgency to get out of Echo Cove, afraid that if she didn’t, the ground would turn to quicksand, sucking her in and refusing to let her leave.
“The list,” Travis had insisted, watching her pack up the back of her car. “It’s bad luck not to check all the items off by August.”
“I’ll be back next weekend,” she’d promised, knowing full well she wouldn’t. It was the first time she’d ever lied to Travis. He was her best friend. She told him everything—until pesky little feelings started to evolve, making her want more than friendship. Quicksand.
Lyla didn’t reach inside the bottle again. Instead, she set the bottle down, grabbed the zebra-print scrunchie, and pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail. As she draped the plastic whistle around her neck, the story of it came back to her. She used to wear it when she rode her bike through town. It was her version of a horn to get someone’s attention or blow off steam when someone rode her off the road.
I wonder if my old bike is still in the garage . . .
The thought had Lyla walking toward the garage, mostly empty—except for her beloved bicycle. Her parents must have wanted Lyla to decide what to do with it, as well. She wasn’t sure about the long run, but she knew exactly what she wanted to do with it now.
She pressed the automatic garage door opener and then rolled her light purple beach cruiser, complete with lavender handlebar tassels and a wire basket with plastic daisies attached, toward the end of the driveway. When she was younger, she used to ride this thing all over town.
Swinging a leg over the middle bar of the old bike, Lyla sat on the worn leather seat, practically feeling the springs pressing up into her backside. She tossed her cell phone in the wire basket and pushed the front pedal forward, coasting down the driveway and racing into the wind.
The feeling of freedom was familiar. And also distant. When she’d been younger, her bike was the only way to get space from her parents. She remembered how much she’d loved this bicycle. In a town like Echo Cove, her bike was enough to get her anywhere she needed to go.
Woof! Woof!
The little dog from next door darted toward her bike, yapping with his front teeth bared. Lyla pedaled harder, remembering how Sonny used to do the same. He had two different personalities, and a person on a bike didn’t want to be caught by one of them. If he could catch a bike, he could set his teeth into a back tire.
“Not you too!”
Lyla’s thighs burned as she raced, the little dog barking after her. He finally dropped off halfway across town, and she slowed down as her adrenaline plummeted. Now that the tiny crisis was out of the way, she realized it was becoming harder to propel the wheels. Maybe I should have checked the air pressure in these tires. The last summer she’d ridden this bike, she’d blown the back one. Right in the midst of a torrential downpour.
Thank God Travis pulled up in his dad’s old pickup to rescue me.
Lyla slowed her bike almost to a stop to swipe a bead of sweat from her brow, realizing she was at the old movie theater. She looked up at the yellowed marquee to read the current offerings written in black block letters. S LEEPLESS IN S EATTLE.
Her brain short-circuited and she stopped. No way. No freaking way the same movie from her last summer here was playing now.
Something sparkled in her peripheral— Another firefly? Seriously, what was in Bernadette’s coffee this morning?
As she stood there in wonder, something wet hit her shoulder. She assumed it was sweat, but then another drop hit her cheek. Another storm? Seriously?
Centering her body over the bike’s middle bar, she pushed one foot forward on the pedal in a mad dash back to her parents’ home. She wasn’t trying to get struck by lightning a third time in her life. Drops of rain blurred her vision, making it difficult to see the road ahead as she raced. She needed to at least find shelter between here and home, which was still three miles away.
Then the bike seemed to jump as a jagged rock passed underneath her front tire. The front tire took the hit, but the back tire popped and skidded across the pavement, the sudden motion tossing Lyla into a shallow ditch on her right.
Okay, Echo Cove. Two strikes of lightning and two falls. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her to get out while she still could. She had always learned her lessons the hard way, though, needing a third strike to get the point across.
She stood up, making sure nothing was broken, and collected her bike as the rain pelted her skin. No other choice in sight, she started rolling the bike forward. If she had Allison’s number, she could ask for a lift. Then again, Allison probably didn’t have the kind of vehicle that would fit a huge beach cruiser.
Opinion: If a car can’t fit a person’s bike, it’s useless.
Her opinions these days were falling as flat as her back tire. A horn honked behind her, and she stepped off the edge of the road as a blue pickup truck passed. Its brake lights lit up and the truck slowed to a stop in front of her, presumably to offer a ride. Was it safer to let a stranger drive her home or risk being struck by lightning again?
Opinion: Trusting the kindness of strangers is only foolish when the sun is shining.
Finally, a valid opinion.
Lyla blinked through the rain, watching as a man stepped out of the truck. He wore a dark raincoat with the hood pulled over his face, making him look mysterious and intimidating. Perhaps trusting the kindness of strangers was also foolish in a thunderstorm.
“It’s okay!” Lyla called to him, feeling more uneasy the closer he got. Being raised in a small town, she was hardwired to think everyone had good intentions, but she watched the nightly news. Even small towns weren’t immune. “I’m fine! I don’t need help!” She was cold and wet, and she didn’t think she could run fast enough to get away.
The man didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even slow his pace as she protested not needing help. Instead, he continued forward until he was standing only a couple feet away.
Fight, flight, or freeze? She already knew she was the latter. She’d had her “freeze” moment on the Pirate’s Plank at Memory Lake when she was fifteen, and it hadn’t ended well.
She stood there, her feet cemented to the road. Was he going to force her into his truck? What should she do? Even if she knew the appropriate action to take, she felt paralyzed by her sudden fear. She should have taken those self-defense classes her college roommate had attempted to drag her to. Lyla had been too focused on her journalism classes, though. Too bad for her. Learning proper grammar wouldn’t get her out of a potential kidnapping.
The man pulled off his raincoat and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the hood up to shelter her head. “Hey, Ly.”
She blinked past her wet lashes and then blinked again, because this was more unbelievable than fireflies in the daytime. Was she also seeing ghosts now?
“Travis?”