The Summer I Found You

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Dahlia Newberry glanced out her car window and watched as her past faded into the Connecticut coastline.

As she drove, she leaned her face into the familiar breeze of the Long Island Sound.

Rich blue lagoons flanked both sides of the sandy road, and the remnants of low tide hung in the air.

A white heron gracefully disappeared into the wetlands.

She smiled wistfully, inhaling every last particle of North Fork air. This was a moment she’d anticipated for fifteen years but never had the guts to leap blindly into until now. After Aunt Lil’s passing, another day of pretending would feel like another death, this time her own.

Dahlia firmly gripped the steering wheel as if it would anchor her to the decision.

The truth was, she didn’t need an anchor this time; she had never been more certain of anything.

No longer could she embrace a life that had never belonged to her.

She didn’t care about most of the things she was leaving behind in Greenwich, yet her white farmhouse overlooking the tranquil stream tugged at her heart.

It wasn’t because it was big and newly renovated; it was because Aunt Lil took her last breath in that house.

Despite all the nonsense with Spence through the years, there were memories that took root.

It was a good house, despite how hard it had been after Lil moved in with her, with them.

Seeing someone slowly wilt away before your eyes was like watching a beautiful garden be starved of water.

She drove through a puddle and heard Lil’s labored last words move through her mind like a fast-moving storm. “Promise me you’ll spend the summer at my house, Dahlia. It’s crucial.”

What was so important, Dahlia wondered, besides selling the house? She inhaled deeply, trying her best to override the heaviness in her chest. Thinking about Lil and the last three months without her still made her heart ache. It was that fresh and raw.

Harry lifted his head and let out a long moan.

“We’ll be to Lil’s soon. Then you can run free,” Dahlia said into the rearview mirror.

There would be an unlimited amount of seagull chasing, which he loved.

The heat? Now that was another story, but at least he would have the bay in his backyard, something he didn’t have at their Connecticut house.

And once they moved south after the summer, the heat would only be that much worse.

But there’d be other things to love in Charleston, she justified, glancing back at him.

“You’ll be happy there, I promise, boy.”

He let out a piercing bark, which made Dahlia laugh.

“You like that, huh?” Her voice dropped as she realized it would just be them this time.

No Lil to nudge him off the couch, make his sweet potato chips, or take him for long walks on the beach.

This visit was going to be different, there was no doubt about that.

But was she ready for that? Deep down, she knew she was a loner, but being lonely was entirely different.

She had enough loneliness to last a lifetime.

“We need some music,” Dahlia mumbled. It was way too quiet and her thoughts had the potential to run away on her like a stampede of mustangs.

She turned the sticky radio knob, a testament to the car’s age.

The changing of the stations felt like her brain, staticky and cluttered.

When “Every Day Is a Winding Road” echoed through the dusty stereo panel, her stomach swooped, not knowing if it wanted to fly or fall.

She couldn’t help but think about that last trip to Lil’s and Gran’s when she was thirteen and still full of wonder, before everything changed.

“Dahl girl, put that teenybopper magazine down. You’ll get carsick again,” her father said, scanning the radio in his tropical shirt, ready for the vacation ahead.

He turned his head so she could see his ear and the graying scruff that peppered his square jawline.

“And don’t be so boy-crazy. There’s more to life than the opposite sex. Like getting a good education.”

“Okay, Professor Pete,” Dahlia playfully snickered, laying her Teen Beat down on her suitcase covered in Backstreet Boys stickers.

“Cheeky girl. Stealing my line.” Dahlia’s mother, Rose, laughed, grabbing her hand over the seat.

Her face sparkled in the sunlight. The blush highlighted her high cheekbones and porcelain skin.

Dahlia smiled, pushing up her sunglasses, hoping someday she’d be that pretty.

“Oh, turn this up, hon, I love Sheryl Crow,” her mother sweetly demanded as she belted the lyrics to her father.

He responded with his famous air guitar move.

Dahlia watched them with both embarrassment and awe, giggling discreetly at their silly banter.

Now, her eyes began to burn as she weaved around the trademark Long Island puddles.

Already, this trip was rekindling old memories, but maybe that’s exactly what she needed.

Enough time had passed since her parents’ deaths that she could compartmentalize her grief.

She’d survived a quarter of a century without them, though it didn’t stop her from imagining what life would look like if they hadn’t gone to dinner that night.

She knew that as quickly as the tide rolled in, it would move back out again.

Dahlia was good at navigating the murky waters of debilitating pain and loss.

It was her superpower. She knew if she could get through losing her parents the way she had so young, followed by Gran, Pop, and now Lil, she could get through anything, including her divorce from Spence.

Harry stood with his front paws on the center console and licked her cheek.

With that simple gesture, she knew she wasn’t alone.

No, it wasn’t the same as being with a person, but often Dahlia enjoyed the company of animals more than people.

Animals love you just as you are, rarely stray, and are fiercely loyal, unlike husbands.

Although her marriage was anything but conventional, Dahlia tried.

She tried for fifteen long years, but a person can only take so many betrayals and words that cut like a freshly sharpened blade.

One thing was for sure, though: Dahlia had played enough of her adult life like Monica from Friends.

Now she wanted to feel like Rachel, spontaneous and free.

She hoped the happy-go-lucky girl from her youth was still in there.

Goosebumps ran across her chest as if she glimpsed a whisper of her adventure ahead.

Her intuition was in overdrive. Her circumstances were about to change; she could feel it in the wind.

Dahlia sipped her iced coffee from the ferry, which was now watered-down muck.

Every house, every business, every road, and every beach she passed reminded her of the summer visits with Gran and Lil after her parents died.

They’d do their weekly shop after church, and they’d bicker over something or someone—usually produce.

While Lil was the flower expert, Gran considered herself the Produce Queen.

No one stood a chance in an argument with her over peaches or pineapples.

Aunt Lil tried a few times but was met with a pushiness that could only come from a grandmother’s well-earned life experience.

As she was about to take another sip, her cell rang.

It was her cousin Kara, who was more like a sister, given that Dahlia was sent to live with Aunt Cathy, her dad’s sister, shortly after her parents died.

Kara and Dahlia were raised together after that.

Despite being the same age, Kara was the hipper of the pair.

Dahlia often thought Kara was a twenty-something trapped in a thirty-something body.

And Kara embraced that theory with all she had.

She pulled into the grocery store parking lot and answered it on the last ring. “Hey, Cuz.”

“You made it? How was the ferry ride over?” Kara asked with a distinctively perky tone. “I figured you would have called with an update by now.”

Dahlia knew Kara worried about her. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking for a spot. “It was fine. Ugh, where did all these people come from?”

“Did you take Betty?” Kara asked.

“Of course. Why?” Dahlia pulled the old hatchback Saab into a parking spot.

“Because I can hear her,” Kara said with wit.

“Oh, stop. No, you can’t.” Dahlia’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Can you?” She immediately turned the car off.

“You know how much this car means to me,” Dahlia said, glancing over at the empty back seat beside Harry, where the indentations in the leather made her smile.

“How could I not bring her? Hoping she’ll make it to Charleston too. ”

“Now that’s where I draw the line. Why wouldn’t you take the new car?”

“Because it’s his,” Dahlia said flatly, inviting no further discussion.

“What if you break down?” Kara asked. “You have absolutely no one there besides Lil’s handyman.”

“Betty won’t break down. She’s reliable and trustworthy, unlike some people I know.

” Dahlia was reminded that she still hadn’t heard back from Hank, the handyman.

She stared into the parking lot, making a mental note to text him again after the quick shop.

As she snapped out of her daze, her eyes locked on a tall guy in a leather jacket mounting his motorcycle.

“Still there?”

“Ah … yeah.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror and pulled back in horror.

She tried to fix her tangled honey locks, tucking a loose wave behind her ear and wiping the morning residue of mascara from her eyes.

She didn’t feel her best, but after Lil died, she’d found herself coasting.

Yet another reason she needed this summer in Southold.

“So I was thinking …” Kara began.

“About?” Dahlia put in her earbuds and kissed Harry on his pink-speckled nose as her eyes trailed the mystery man exiting onto the main road. “Be good,” Dahlia whispered, but she didn’t know if that was meant for Harry or a reminder to herself.

“You should make this your hot girl summer,” blurted Kara. “Date a little, maybe get laid.”

Dahlia coughed. “Are you crazy? I could be kidnapped.” She passed an older white-haired man pushing his grocery cart and nodded, hoping he couldn’t hear their conversation.

“You watch too much Dateline and listen to too many true-crime podcasts,” Kara snickered.

“And you watch too much reality TV. The only action my bed will see is sleep.”

Kara audibly yawned.

Dahlia laughed as she pushed through the thick crowd of people whispering and grinning about something she wasn’t privy to.

“You need to get your mojo back! This quiet, good-girl thing is boring me. How on earth am I supposed to live vicariously through your single life if you don’t embrace it? Come on, Dahlia. This mama of three needs some excitement!”

Dahlia heard her phone vibrate and looked at the screen. It was Hank the handyman, thank God. “Can I call you back? This is important.”

“I suppose. Don’t forget to call me as soon as—”

And with that, Dahlia accepted the other call. “Hello, Hank?”

“Hi, Dahlia, this is Jean, Hank’s wife. I have some unfortunate news.” She got eerily quiet. “Hank’s had a heart attack. He’s still in the hospital. I’m sorry no one called you sooner.”

“Oh my God,” Dahlia muttered, pausing mid-aisle, her heart racing. “Please don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t give the house another thought. I’ll figure something out.”

“He went to Lil’s last week. He took the sheets off the furniture and turned on the water. A few appliances weren’t working, so he ordered some parts. When they come in, I’ll reach out.”

“Thank you. I’ll be praying for him,” Dahlia said, feeling her neck stiffen.

“Thank you, dear.”

Dahlia hung up as she leaned against the canned vegetables. Poor Hank. What was she going to do? She shook her head in disbelief. She hoped it wasn’t the refrigerator that was broken. She needed a fridge. That was a nonnegotiable.

What was she going to do without a handyperson?

Lil’s house had been vacant for two years; it was going to need a lot of work.

Dahlia fanned her face with the store circular, hoping her cheeks would stop burning.

The smell of deli meat turned her stomach, a reminder of another uncertain time in her life.

She needed to get to the house as soon as possible.

She ran through the store, throwing in just the necessities, and bolted onto the line.

Kara was right—Dahlia didn’t know anyone here anymore. She could feel beads of sweat lace the crease of her cleavage. She didn’t know the first thing about fixing up houses; being without a handyperson was like having a boat with no captain.

“Hello.” Dahlia gave a weak smile to the grocery clerk.

The teen girl texted feverishly, snapping a bubble.

Dahlia loaded the groceries onto the belt. “Oh, I have bags.”

The girl looked up. “Okay.” And then she returned to typing.

Dahlia tapped her foot. “I’m sorry, but I have a dog in the car. Could we move this along?”

“Oh, sure. I’m sorry. I’m just excited. That stud from Hamptons House just came in.”

Dahlia shrugged. “Hamptons House?”

“The reality show? It’s filmed out here—well, in the Hamptons.

Every summer, a group of young, creative singles—who also happen to be gorgeous—fix up an old house for the summer and live there while they do it.

” She finally started to scan. “He was so nice. Noah, I mean. Taller than I imagined. And what a smile, it could melt an iceberg.” Another snap of the gum, and Dahlia involuntarily recoiled.

“Cool,” Dahlia said, realizing Noah was probably the guy on the motorcycle.

But she needed to focus, despite her momentary lapse in the parking lot.

No men this summer, under any circumstance.

Dahlia knew the plan and was determined to stick to it.

She would fix Lil’s house and get it ready to sell before she took the gallery job in Charleston.

And she’d try to find some peace and quiet in the process—it was the only way to find out if the old Dahlia was still in there.

After paying, she caught a glimpse of the community wall by the exit.

Dahlia knew this wall had been Lil’s favorite place to scout for furniture and local happenings.

Being the small town it was, this was the hub of action, where people connected on everything from animals to tools and help wanted.

She slung the grocery bag over her shoulder and walked past, knowing if a miracle didn’t land in her lap by tomorrow she’d be back to scour the classifieds for a replacement handyman.