20. Summer
Summer
I fumed all day over what happened. It wasn’t his unwillingness to talk to me about his dad. It was how I was wrong.
Sure, for twenty minutes after he dropped me off, I was annoyed with him for being short with me. But once I cooled down, I realized he was right. I did the same thing to him the night before. Verbatim. We took turns with our little tantrums, but we both had them for various reasons.
Once again, it was proof that I didn’t need this kind of complication in my life. Seeing Cory had set something off in me.
I liked the way Van was protective of me, but at the end of the day, he wouldn’t understand my choices. And if he ever found out, he wouldn’t accept it. Who would?
I was being silly, but my pride couldn’t admit it.
I would make amends with Van soon.
After seeing how upset Cory was, I knew I made the right choice in sending the proof of his cheating alongside the embezzlement evidence. It had only been a few days since I had sent it in, but maybe justice would be served quickly.
In a few hours, I was expected at my dad’s for dinner.
At the grocery store, I swung by the coffee shop inside, grabbing their biggest iced pink energy drink spritzer.
Waiting on the side for his drink, Nico Evjen hovered around the counter.
Taking my place beside him, I bumped him with my shoulder.
He was surprised but gave me a wide smile. We chatted for a few minutes as he got his tall dark drip—a boring choice, but whatever—and I got my drink.
He scrunched up his nose, grimacing. “Those things are full of chemicals.”
“So is everything else in the world.” I took a big long drink from the straw and moaned. “Mmmm, tastes so good.”
He snorted, then grew serious. “I was actually hoping to bump into you.”
“Oh, no, last time you said that, I spiraled all night and ended up barfing up neon red shots.”
He furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “I’ve been hearing complaints from that Cory guy. Turns out someone out there is making his life miserable. I guess some gal he was chatting with online messaged his fiancée with proof of him cheating, and she moved out this morning. His phone is going off all the time from people asking for cows and landscaping. And something about lost keys. He said someone posted that he kidnapped a dog, even. So, now, none of his neighbors will talk to him.”
I stuck out my bottom lip in false sympathy. “Sucks to be him. Karma is a bitch, isn’t she?”
Nico tapped the rim of his coffee lid. “I would hope if a single person was behind all this, they covered their tracks well. Maybe used a VPN and a different email address, stuff like that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, but I’m sure they did.”
Nico clapped me on the shoulder in a reassuring, brotherly way. “Glad to hear it. I got to head back to work. Tell everyone hi.”
“You could tell them yourself if you come to trivia tonight at the Skol House. I’m dragging Autumn out with me.”
Unlike Wren, Devin, and me, Autumn never let go of her crush on him, and while he wasn’t the guy for me, maybe I could set him up with my sweet cousin.
Something passed over his face, and his eyes softened. “Man, I haven’t seen Autumn in almost a decade. She was just a kid. I wish I could, but I have to get going. We’ll have to all get together some other time.”
“Enjoy your lame coffee.”
Walking away, he waved at me.
Well, that was better news than I was expecting. Karma was working fast for me.
After placing my twenty-four-ounce bright pink drink in my cart’s cupholder, I steered it to the produce section with a spring in my step.
The front door was unlocked. No matter how many times I had reminded him to lock the dead bolt, my father refused.
Walking into the small rambler where I was raised, the house was eerily quiet.
I called around before ominous clanging rang from the garage.
Flinging the door open, I found the man standing on the concrete floor in his coveralls, a greasy rag in his hand. Pungent oil wafting in the air caused my stomach to turn, and a twinge of pain jolted in my head.
“Dad, what the fuck. You’re not supposed to be getting up and down on that knee.” I motioned to his body and pointed at the car lifted on a jack, a silver pan underneath it.
“I’m fine.”
“The doctor said you have a torn meniscus.”
He flicked his wrist at me. “That pansy? I can manage just fine.”
“Until you blow your knee out and can’t walk.” Crossing my arms, I glared at him. “What’s so important that you need to climb under that old car?”
“It needed an oil change.”
“An oil change? Dad! I would pay for someone else to do that.”
“Pay for some pimply nineteen-year-old to change my oil? I’d rather die. Now, bring your car around. I know it’s due soon.”
“It’s not.”
He flung the rag onto his tidy workbench.
Growing up, our house wasn’t always kept in the most organized condition, but his massive toolbox was always pristine, with its wrenches, screwdrivers, and ratchets lined up.
“Summer Louise Townsend, I taught you better than that. At least tell me you took it to a reputable shop and not some hack job place that doesn’t know the difference between motor oil and transmission fluid.”
“I didn’t take it to a shop. A friend did it.” I waved in front of me, suddenly feeling overheated.
Dad narrowed his eyes. “What friend? Not that bitch-boy you were seeing a while back—yes, I know all about him. Autumn told her mom, and Lorelle told Victor, who told me.”
“This family is the worst bunch of gossips I’ve ever seen,” I grumbled, fanning myself. “No, it’s a new friend.”
“Is that all you’re gonna tell your old man?”
“Yeah, sure is.” I pointed at the car. “Finish up. I expect a gourmet dinner tonight.”
By the time Dad placed the tater tot casserole in front of me, my stomach clenched.
I hadn’t eaten much all day, and the comfort food of my childhood was a welcoming balm. Never offering the healthiest option, with green options rarely making an appearance, my dad tried his best while raising me. He could do a passable French braid and took me to all my activities. He had a few items he could cook—well, aside from the manly art of grilling, of course. But he was proud of keeping me fed.
A few bites in, I put my fork down and studied him across the small round pine table. “When’s the last time you heard from Cheryl?”
I wasn’t sure when I had stopped calling her mom, but it was a young enough age. On the rare occasions, she’d appear in my life and didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Or was smart enough that she had little room to ask for an honorific after deserting me and Dad.
Dad leaned back in his chair, his fork still in one hand. “Been, oh, I don’t know, ’bout seven years now.”
“And you never thought about dating again?”
He shrugged, shoveling a bite into his mouth. “Not really. You know, it gets lonely, but who’s out there for an old fogey like me.”
“Lots of people, Dad.”
He raised a brow, looking at my phone, nodding. “Hmm. Well, I don’t know ’bout that.”
His words were dismissive, but I saw a spark of interest in his eyes.
“You can’t let your regrets about her stop you from moving on.”
“I’ll never regret Cheryl. She gave me you. I wasn’t going to have kids. You were a surprise, for sure. At my old age, I thought there was no way. I loved her, something fierce, but I never could trust her. She wasn’t good for you. For a while there, I thought a girl needs a mother, but by the time she left, it was good riddance. You had your Aunt Lorelle and Autumn, and we got on okay, didn’t we?”
“We did.” I patted his hand.
He was never much for physical affection, so he allowed it for a moment before pulling his hand away.
“Where’s all this coming from? You’ve never asked me about me and your mother.”
“Just curious, I guess.” I took another bite of the casserole, even though my stomach was hurting more, my fork slick between my clammy fingers.
“Nah, I don’t think so. It’s this friend giving you ideas, huh? What’s his name.”
“Van, but it’s not like that, Dad.”
With a dismissive look, he grumbled in disagreement. “You might fool those other schmucks, but I got your number.”
This conversation was making my head pound. Hard.
Pinching my lips together, I rubbed a hand over my face. “Can we talk about this later?”
Dad frowned, worry creasing his weather-worn face. “Pumpkin, I don’t like the look of you. Why don’t you go lay down in your old room?”
Picturing my old room made my stomach roll harder. The Tiffany-blue walls I had decided were so chic and the posters of artsy movies I never understood were once thought to seem sophisticated.
“I’m fine, just—”
My stomach heaved, and I barely made it to the bathroom before puking.
Dad followed me down the short hall and brushed my hair back from my face.
“Gross,” I mumbled. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Pumpkin, I’ve had you spew on me .”
Resting my forehead on the cold seat, I groaned. “I must have eaten something bad.”
“Couldn’t be my casserole. I made it the same way . . .”
“No, I’m sure it was something else.”
“You sure you don’t need to stay here tonight? I can run to the store and get you that alphabet chicken soup you like.”
The one I last had when I was eight.
“No, I’m okay, Dad. It’s only a few minutes back to my place. I’m sure if I lay down for twenty, I’ll feel better.”
With my stomach empty, I was able to make the trek from the bathroom to the car and up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.
I set my bag on my counter and got myself a glass of water. I sent a quick message to Dad that I was alive and safe in my apartment.
All day, I felt a little dizzy and sweaty, my throat burning. I swallowed water down and then refilled it and swallowed all that as well.
My head began to pound, and I rested it against my hand. On my phone was the last text from Van.
Van: Trivia, special theme tonight. 80’s movies. See you there?
Van: I’m sorry I was a dick. Truly.
I started a reply but stopped.
Guilt piling on top of my pounding head, I was in no condition to go to the bar.
I’d take a nap and see how I felt.
Collapsing on my bed, my hand missed the bedside table, making my phone fall on the floor, where it would remain for the next twenty-two hours.