25. Summer
Summer
“Picked these up for you,” Addie says, dropping a wad of envelopes onto my marble countertop with a dull thump.
She sips her venti latte and places my Americano in front of me. Like a fly to a turd, I lunge for the cup, taking a hurried sip of liquid gold.
“Thanks,” I say, tipping my head back and reveling in the coffee goodness.
“You’re welcome. Now.” She spins to face me and plants a hand on her hip. “Are you planning on getting dressed today?”
I look down at my pajamas. “What’s wrong with this?”
She assesses me, from my messy bun down to my socked feet, twisting her mouth to the side.
I roll my eyes.
She points at me. “Uh-uh! Don’t give me any of that attitude. You need a shower. It’s been three days since I dropped you home after the bar. I FaceTimed you yesterday afternoon and you were in those same PJ’s. You need to get off your butt and make a decision, sooner or later.”
“I know. But I figure that if I stay in the same clothes, it’s the same day, and therefore I don’t need to make any decisions.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
Her glare is enough to have me shifting positions.
Groaning, I set my coffee down and meet her head-on. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
She throws her free hand in the air. “Summer, seriously! I know you don’t want to go to the funeral—that’s fine. But whatever it is you’ve been doing all weekend—which, by the looks of it, is nothing—you aren’t accomplishing anything.”
“So …”
“So? You have a deadline looming over you, and moping around your apartment in three-day-old pajamas isn’t going to help you hit it. Have you even touched your notebook?”
“I’m processing.”
She cocks a brow. “Didn’t think there was anything for you to process, remember?”
I huff but don’t argue. She’s right.
Addie sighs, collects the pile of mail, and hands it to me. “At least go through these. Some of them look important. Please? For me?”
I take the stack and flip through it lazily. Electricity bill. Credit card offer. Walmart pamphlet. Fan mail forwarded from my label. Then—
A chill slips down my spine and I still.
Attorneys at Law. Ocean Grove.
“What is it?” Addie asks, perching next to me.
I stare at the envelope.
“Sum?”
“Lawyers.”
I tear it open and scan through the legal jargon until I land on the information I’m looking for: Soul beneficiary. Property. Signature required. Presence requested.
Oh God.
Addie’s eyes widen. “Sum?”
I slap a hand over my mouth, shaking my head as I push the pile to the floor and rush to the bathroom. Cool tiles bite into me as I drop to my knees in front of the toilet. I manage to pry the lid open just in time to empty last night’s takeout into the bowl.
Tears slip down my cheeks and bile burns my esophagus as I heave until there’s nothing left.
Addie gathers my hair in a ponytail and rubs soothing circles over my back until I slump into a heap on the floor, my head pounding. She says nothing as she sits beside me, cross-legged, her hand never leaving my back.
“Addie,” I croak, tears still spilling.
“I’m right here.”
“He l-left me the h-house.”
“What?”
I nod against the bathmat, the words scraping out of me. “He b-beats me for f-four years … then l-leaves me the h-house.”
“Jesus.” She blows out a breath.
We sit like this for a long time, Addie comforting me as I mourn the father I never had.
Eventually, Addie speaks in a low whisper. “I can handle it remotely for you. I’ll organize a lawyer to deal with the paperwork. Hire a team to sort out the house. You never have to set foot in Ocean Grove or that house ever again.”
I close my eyes, shivering.
“Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,” she adds.
“I’m o-okay,” I manage.
She’s the best friend ever.
“Have you spoken to Dr. Kularatne recently?” she asks, her voice tender.
I sniffle, managing a nod. “T-two days ago.”
She rubs my back. “Would you like me to arrange another session with her? Do you feel that might be helpful?”
I shake my head no. “I’ll talk to her in a couple weeks. I’m just r-reacting.” I drag in a breath. “I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”
She keeps her palm moving in slow, steady strokes up and down my spine until the trembling subsides.
Her other hand reaches for mine, giving it three squeezes. We’re okay.
Addie gets to her feet, offering help to pull me up. I take it. Slowly, I rise.
“Better?” she asks.
“Yeah. Much. Thanks.”
She brushes wayward strands of hair off my face, giving me a sad smile. “Well. Now you really need to shower. I love you, but you smell like a gluten-intolerance fart.”
Ew.
That earns her a laugh and I nod. “I can smell myself.”
“Yeah, love.” She wrinkles her nose. “I think it’s time.”
She leaves me to clean myself up. I run a brush through my long hair before stepping into the shower. The scalding water pounds against my back. I close my eyes and take four deep breaths.
If I go back, I’ll have to see the house. That room where he—
Another breath.
I think of Mom’s piano. Her old guitar. Will they still be there?
My hand goes to the base of my throat, where her old necklace used to rest against my skin. I didn’t get the chance to take it with me before I left.
I wonder if any of her will still be there, and the reckless part of me needs to know. If there’s anything left of her in that house—if there’s a chance I can keep pieces of her—I need to go.
After washing away the panic, I step out from the spray, feeling a little lighter.
Toweling off, I throw on my bathrobe and find Addie in my spot on the couch, letter in hand.
She peers up at me over the paper. “Better?”
“Much,” I say, moving toward her.
She lowers the page. “So, what do you think?”
I nibble on my bottom lip. “I’m not going to the funeral … but Mom’s piano. Her guitar.”
Addie’s brows shoot up, expectantly.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “If there’s anything left of her in that house, I have to know. I need to know.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, her tone gentle.
I nod. “I think so.”
She stands. “I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No.” Her expression leaves no room for argument. “You’re not doing this alone.”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling like I’m finally able to breathe again. “We’re doing this.”
* * *
Four days later, we touch down at Monterey Regional Airport, just seven miles from Ocean Grove, and my stomach feels like it’s about to fall out my asshole.
Sucking in a deep breath, I try to temper my racing pulse by splashing my face with cold water. It doesn’t help. My reflection in the small, shitty airplane restroom stares back at me. I’m pale, hollow-eyed, and my cheekbones appear more pronounced.
I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and step off the plane.
We’re in the thick of winter, and even though I’ve grown accustomed to New York’s freezing temperatures, it’s pouring outside. Rain slashes sideways as the wind whips the ends of my hair furiously. The cold hits me like a crashing wave.
I can’t believe I’m back.
Dipping my chin to my chest, I race down the stairs toward Rhonda’s waiting SUV.
I haven’t seen her in over a year, and I think this might be the first time I’ve smiled all day.
Addie and I have lived together in Manhattan since she graduated from Harvard Business School six years ago and I hired her as my manager.
I’ve been so swept up with touring, recording, and media events that I missed Rhonda’s annual visit.
It wasn’t intentional—the albums took off and life simply got in the way.
I’ve never told Addie this, but seeing Rhonda means thinking about Ocean Grove, and thinking about Ocean Grove means thinking about everything I left behind.
I swing open the car door and slide in behind the driver’s seat. Addie rides shotgun, leaning over to kiss her mom’s cheek.
Rhonda turns in her seat, her warm eyes finding mine. “Summer, love. It’s so good to see you.”
The corner of my lips twitch. “It’s good to see you too.”
She reaches back and squeezes my knee. “Look at you. All grown up and famous.” She shakes her head, eyes now glistening. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
My airway constricts, but I manage a nod.
Rhonda and Mom were in the same mothers’ group. I always loved being around Rhonda after Mom passed because it felt nice to be near someone who knew her the way I did.
“Now,” she turns back. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to stay with us? We’ve got plenty of room. Addie’s old bedroom has been sitting there collecting dust. We’ve got the spare mattress under the bed. Joanna’s little one still cries for her bottle through the night, but she—”
Addie cuts her off. “Mom. I already told you. She doesn’t want to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I rush, and Rhonda’s eyes latch onto mine in the rearview mirror. “I just …” I sigh. “I want this to be over as soon as possible so I can move on with my life.”
It might sound insane, but I figured if I’m cleaning out my parents’ estate, I might as well stay there.
If anything, it’ll motivate me to work faster and clear out sooner.
The earlier I can get it on the market, the better.
And who knows? Maybe being back in that environment, back with Mom’s instruments, might spark some creativity.
Rhonda’s expression softens. “I understand, angel. I do.” She pauses, pulling out of the airport.
“But after you left, that house wasn’t maintained for a long time.
I made sure the power’s connected for you, but it’s going to be cold and dusty.
The yard is a mess. I thought when the weekend comes, I could gather some folks. Start a working bee.”
“Mom, she literally just landed,” Addie cuts in. “Can we let her breathe before you start organizing a neighborhood intervention? Besides, if she wanted any of that stuff done, she can just pay for it.” She waves her hand.
“It’s not an intervention, Addison. It’s called being neighborly.
” She shoots Addie an I know what I’m talking about look before glancing at me in the mirror.
“I just meant if you need help clearing things out—lifting furniture, packing boxes and what-have-you—you don’t have to do it alone. You let me know and I’ll see to it.”
My chest tightens. “That’s so kind, Rhonda. Thank you.” I hesitate. “I’m not sure I want a bunch of people going through our private belongings.”
That feels way too personal.
“Of course, it’s your call. Just know the offer’s there if you change your mind.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Addie swivels in her seat to face me. “Now. I didn’t want to say anything before we left New York—”
My eyes turn to saucers. “Addie,” I warn.
“—as I was saying. I just want you to know that some people are still around … like, from back then.”
“Addison,” Rhonda hisses.
“What?” She holds up her hands in surrender. “She deserves to know before she runs into someone at the grocery store.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“Addison,” Rhonda repeats in the same tone.
“She needs to know!” she fires back, then fixes her attention on me. “Chase didn’t go to UCLA, Summer.”
What? The blood drains from my face as my limbs turn heavy.
Rhonda throws up a hand and shakes her head.
I blink, pulse racing.
Addie’s expression turns. “I’m sorry. When you left Ocean Grove, you asked me not to tell you anything, so I didn’t. I just … I didn’t know if you’d ever come back. I didn’t think you needed to hear it.”
Her words register and I simply nod.
“For God’s sake, Addison. Go easy on her.”
“I’m sorry, Sum.”
“It’s okay,” I reply quietly. “I get it. Thanks for telling me.”
Rhonda’s hand snakes back and I take it.
“One thing at a time,” she whispers.
The rest of the drive passes in silence and I press my forehead to the cold glass, watching the town I escaped creep back into view, trying not to think about what else I left behind.