17. Summer
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.”
I don’t tell her she’s right. The cup is warm against my palm and the smell of coffee covers the mustiness.
Maya moves into the room, looks around. The open windows, the scratched floor, the boxes lined up along the wall, the old floral couch.
“It’s a beautiful house,” she murmurs. “It’s got a soul. You can feel it.”
It’s not a polite compliment. There’s a real surprise in her voice, like she was expecting worse.
She looks at the moldings, a little chipped above the windows. The kitchen tile, with its faded blue pattern. The hallway running toward the stairs, narrow, slightly crooked, like the house has shifted over time.
“It’s my grandparents’ place,” I say. “They lived here their whole lives.”
“Did you come here a lot?”
“Every summer. Well… part of it. My parents were divorced, joint custody. And my dad brought me here.”
Maya sits on the arm of the couch. Legs crossed, she sips her coffee.
“My dad’s a literature professor,” I go on. “Not exactly the outdoorsy type. He spent his days inside with his books and his research. Me… I met the local kids fast.”
Maya smiles.
“The Walkers, no?”
Noah, my best friend. And Jace, my first love.
I nod.
“They introduced me to their crew, and I spent every summer with them.”
“And your grandparents?”
“My grandfather fished. My grandmother cooked. They took me to the beach, we’d read on the deck, and at night we’d eat grilled fish while we watched the sunset. It was… simple.”
“That’s why the house has this energy,” Maya says. “You can tell happy people lived here.”
My throat tightens.
“My grandfather went first. Heart attack. And my grandmother… a few months later.”
I don’t say “of a broken heart.” Maya tilts her head, and I know she gets it.
“I was sixteen.”
My fingers close around the little gold wave.
“The next summer, I came back with my dad. Ten days in the empty house. We had to leave earlier than planned.”
“And after that?”
“After that, I didn’t come back.”
Maya watches me in silence.
“It was too hard,” she says at last.
It’s not a question.
“Yeah. And also…”
I take a sip of coffee. It’s lukewarm now.
Jace…
Maya doesn’t push.
“You’ve got work to do, but it’s a beautiful house, anyway.”
I manage a small smile.
“Did Jace tell you about it? The house, I mean.”
About me, I want to say. Maya shakes her head.
“He doesn’t talk much. Nada. If you want info on Jace Walker, you’re better off watching than asking.”
She’d know.
I turn the cup between my hands. I’ve wanted to know since Monday. Since I saw Maya put her hand on Jace’s shoulder and my brain filled in the blanks all by itself.
This girl is beautiful, funny, warm. And nice, on top of it. That’s almost worse.
“You and Jace… have you been together long?”
Maya stares at me, then bursts out laughing.
“Jace? My boyfriend? ?Estás loca?”
She’s still laughing. Her eyes shine.
“No, no, no. Jace is not my boyfriend.”
I breathe easier. Maya’s not his girlfriend.
She wipes the corner of her eye before going on.
“Two years ago, Jace helped me out. I was in deep shit. I needed a roof over my head, work, something steady. He gave me a job at the surf school and found me a place to stay. Kai was already there. Jace had helped him too. We both live at the lodge, in the long-term cabins.”
She takes another sip, then adds with a half-smile.
“Miles tells everyone Jace takes in stray dogs and busted-up people. Kai and me, we’re in the second category. Well, I hope so.”
It doesn’t square with the guy who told me “You’re not dead,” who cranks the volume the second he spots me.
“What happened between you two?” Maya asks gently.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t push. Her eyes slide to the water jugs lined up against the wall. The empty one on its side, and the other two partly drained.
“You still don’t have water,” she notes.
“No power, either. But I’m managing.”
“You know there’s a hose at the surf school? The one for rinsing the boards. You could fill your jugs there. Easier than hauling everything by bike.”
“I don’t think Jace would go for that.”
Maya opens her mouth, closes it.
“Anyway,” she says, getting up off the armrest, “don’t forget book club tomorrow night.
Tide I catch it just in time. I’m panting, sweating, cursing under my breath.
My revenge is sweet, but it cost me a detour and a sore wrist.
I climb onto the bike and pedal. The coastal wind pushes at my back. I smile.
Day four in Coral Bay. Score: one apiece.