Chapter Sixteen
Sommer
Monday
Sommer had been driving home from a run to the hardware store when she spotted an antique hutch standing forlorn next to a neighbor’s garbage bin. In her mind’s eye, she saw it refurbished and filling the empty space at the end of her hall.
And it was free, which was within her budget.
“One man’s junk,” Sommer said aloud as she pulled over. “Is Sommer’s treasure.”
After testing the drawers to make sure they were still functional, Sommer popped her hatch.
Antique meant solid wood and heavy, but after putting down her back seat, Sommer was still able to shove it in the back of her SUV. “Gym power!” She congratulated herself as she used a pair of hiking liner socks from the bag of stuff she needed to bring into the house to tie the hatch down.
Still, she’d have to drive slowly. Any sudden stops and it would shoot out the back.
It wasn’t that far.
Once she got home, though, some of the shiny-new-object excitement wore off when she called her sister Sloane on video call. “Ta-da!”
“Don’t bring that into your house,” Sloane said. “What if it has rodent feces on it and you get the hantavirus?”
“Good point,” Sommer said. “I guess I’ll need a hot shower and to fumigate these clothes after I get it into the garage.
I’ll scrub it down out there. I’m thinking I’ll paint it pink and maybe line it with some pretty fabric—gingham maybe, so I can put things in there with florals—teacups.
” Sommer walked over to sit on her steps to rest up before she attempted to wrangle the hutch to the garage.
Maybe she should look on a community marketplace and try to find a dolly if she planned to do this kind of hobby. “Tell me what you’re up to.”
“Watching true crime and putting my feet up,” Sloane said. “Bed rest sucks!”
Sommer’s phone beeped. “Sloane, can I call you back? That’s Abbie on the other line. We’re getting ready to go on that backcountry camping trip tomorrow. She may need me for something.”
“Go, you’re interrupting my hearing all the evidence anyway.”
Sommer switched the video call over and reached up to rub her eye when she remembered what Sloane had said about hantavirus. She’d have to wipe her phone down with alcohol when she went in. Next time, she’d use a pair of gloves. “Hey.”
Abbie was in her car. She launched in with, “Do you want to hear some shit?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you back without the video since you’re driving.”
“I’m sitting in a long-assed line for a coffee and some fat and sugar. Me and everyone else in Northern Virginia. This is going to be a while.”
“Okay, so what’s the shit?”
“My ex called. Someone went to his place of business and repossessed his truck in front of everyone—his boss in particular. And he lit into me about it.”
“You?” Sommer moved to her cushioned porch swing and snuggled comfortably into the pillows.
“I told him I didn’t do anything about his truck.
Turns out that because I took care of the finances when we were married, he apparently hadn’t realized there was a loan with a monthly payment.
He also didn’t realize he should update his bank loan to his new address.
So I guess the bank ended up tracking him down to his office. ”
“That was what? A year ago you split? The bank was being generous.” Sommer pressed her toe onto the painted boards to make the swing sway.
“I handled things until the divorce papers were signed and filed because I didn’t want any of his stupidity to blow back on my credit score. So six months of non-payment.”
“Still,” Sommer said.
“So I said, ‘We’re divorced. You’re going to have to figure all that stuff out on your own.’”
“And he apologized?” A breeze brushed past the rose bush that stood taller than Sommer’s head, laden with magenta shore roses.
The scent was romantic and old-fashioned, and she closed her eyes to focus on the magic of it.
Had she been with her own ex, Michael, she’d have missed out on moments like these. What she didn’t miss was Michael.
“Hardly,” Abbie said. “He goes, ‘Okay, but my head hurts, and my migraine prescription ran out.”
“What?” Sommer asked. “Why would you care?”
“Because I always handled that, too. I put it on my planner when all the medications needed to be called in for refills. I told him to go talk to the pharmacist. And honestly, I swore to myself that this was the last time I’d answer a call like this.
So then I told him that the only reason I wasn’t blocking his number was that Gramps is in the hospital, and I answered the call because I thought he was letting me know what was going on.
He said, ‘Gramps is in the hospital? Why?’ So I hung up. ”
“Are you blocking his number?” Sommer asked.
“I love Gramps.”
“Everyone loves Gramps. But if he didn’t know his own grandfather was having issues, and he can’t keep track of his meds and his truck, do you think he’d have his shit together enough to call you?”
“Fair point. I’ll block his number.”
“Oh, hey, I have some new Goth-hound footage if you want to come by my place while I’m at work. I was singing a new song.”
“I can do that,” Abbie said. “Equally sad?”
“Heart-wrenching. Purcell’s Dido’s Lament. I set up the tripod and went ahead and sang that section on video.”
“Okay, I don’t remember that one. But I’ll hear it when I get there.”
“Yeah, and Abbie, this is probably the last time I want to do this.”
“Is there a story behind that, or are you just getting bored?”
“I woke up early and decided to take advantage of the day. I was in the mood to check things off my to-do list. I got in the shower and did my vocal warm-ups.”
“Because who doesn’t love to sing in the shower?” Abbie asked.
“When I got out, I began my song. I wrapped myself in a towel and went to get my clothes when I heard Goth-hound.”
“Interesting. What time was it?”
“Maybe five? It was still pretty dark outside. The streetlamps were still on. And I know this because the howls sounded closer, so I had gone to my window to look out. Usually, Graves stops at the stop sign just on the edge of what my doorbell camera can pick up. But today, he and Goth-hound walked up my street, looking at the church.”
“No!”
“I didn’t know what to do, Abbie. I was worried that he’d come up my walk and knock on my door to introduce himself. So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of: I stopped singing.”
“Good plan.”
“He got all the way up to the church, then turned and stared at my house. Luckily, I only had my bathroom light on. From the street, the house would still look sleepy. I’m standing there behind the curtains, wrapped in my towel—”
“Wait, you saw him?” Abbie’s brows went up to her hairline. “What does he look like? How old is he?”
“Are you kidding? I jumped back from that window so fast. It might be on the doorbell camera though because he got close enough to set off my motion sensor lights.”
“Are those new?” Abbie asked.
“I got them to dissuade the raccoons from digging in my garbage cans when I set them out for collection.”
“And you didn’t check the camera?” Abbie turned her attention to the front window as she inched up with the line.
“No, I don’t want to know who he is. We live in the same neighborhood, and if I’m at the grocery stores, I don’t want to know if I’m walking by him with a cart full of tampons.”
“Cartful is a lot.” Abbie shot her a wry grin.
“You get my meaning,” Sommer said. “But that wigged me out. And I’m done.”
“That’s fine. But now that I’ve been working on this project, I want to get my own witchy cottage in the woods. I’d play opera on the radio and see if I couldn’t attract in my own Graves and the Goth-hound.”
“For what reason?” Sommer asked.
“A quick roll in the hay then out the door.”
“Not my hay.”
“Obviously not your hay.” Abbie wrinkled her nose. “He’s your Graves. I just need to set up similar conditions and hope for a similar outcome.”
“He’s not now, nor has he ever been ‘my Graves.’” Sommer said.
“And you know, I agreed to this back in the beginning because I was feeling petty and angry. I thought he walked the dog up to the corner to stop me from enjoying signing. And I’ve come to the conclusion that he probably thinks of it in the opposite direction.
He’s trying to take his dog for a peaceful walk, and there it is sitting by the stop sign, howling.
It is what it is. Live and let live, right? ”
“Agreed. But, still a shame,” Abbie said. “You’re getting outlandish amounts of attention on the socials of late.”
“Am I?”
“Lots of likes and comments. The checks would probably get bigger if you stayed in the game.”
“Honestly, I just want to take my dream trip to the beach where I can risk skin cancer under the hot Caribbean sun, drinking girly drinks without the pressure of making content.”
“Where the local men can take care of your girly needs?” Abbie laughed.
“You seem to be caught in a rut with this kind of thinking.”
“It’s been a while,” Abbie said with a sigh.
“I get you. For me too.”
“Bad transition in conversation topics, but how’s your sister doing?”
“Her office is being super good to her about letting her work from home. The doctors put Sloane on modified bed rest. But it’s hard on her to lie down because everything aches. The twins like to wrestle around under her stretched-to-the-max skin, and it’s getting to be a lot.”
“She’s painful to look at, swollen the way she is.
The office might all be happy she’s staying home.
” Abbie frowned. “Don’t look at me that way.
I saw her the other day at the store. She’s as big as a house, and she was clutching her belly like her life depended on it.
It made me really uncomfortable, and I’ve known her most of my life.
Imagine a random dude at the office having to navigate around that giant stomach of hers.
How long now until the babies are out?” Abbie asked. “Hang on.”
Abbie rolled down her window and called out her order.
Sommer waited for the window to go up and Abbie to inch herself forward before answering. “Fingers crossed she can keep them in for another month, so they don’t have to hang out in the NICU.”
“A month? Poor thing.”
At least hubby isn’t saying ‘we’re doing’ like he’s pulling half the load. I hate when men do that. I know they’re trying to seem inclusive, but really what are they doing besides bringing home the craving du jour on his way back from the office?
“Foot rubs,” Abbie said. “Which can’t be discounted. Sometimes they go on for hours.”
“So I hung up on Sloane because I thought you might have something about our backpacking trip this weekend.”
“I was going to make my own meals and dehydrate them, but I’m not feeling excited about the prospect. After I pay for my coffee, I’m headed to the outdoors store to buy some freeze-dried stuff. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”
“Let me think about it,” Sommer said. “I’ll text you in the next hour if I need anything. Oh, hey, Jen had to back out.”
“She needs to find a different job. They treat her so badly.”
“I agree. You heard about Diane?” Sommer asked.
“That she twisted her ankle? Yeah. I was there. Personally, I think something’s broken. But I’m not a nurse. She is, and she’s insisting on a twist.”
“I guess it’s going to be you, me, and Marna. It’ll be a good time. A strenuous hike, but well worth it for those views.”
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Abbie asked.
“An anti-hantavirus shower.”
“What now?” Abbie laughed.
Sommer walked over to her driveway to show Abbie the hutch and tell her what Sloane said about the mouse poop.
“So cute,” Abbie said. “I can see your vision.”
“Not today though. Today, shower, food, put my feet up for a bit. I have night shift.”
“Sommer—”
“Don’t say it.” Sommer’s voice was stern.
“It has to be said,” Abbie countered. “Tonight is a full moon.”