The Summer House

by Lauren K. Denton

  She hadn’t noticed before, but now she saw that one of the people in the pool was Rawlins. He was in the deep end, treading water a few feet away from the diving board. Without his hat and with such an open, cheerful look on his face, she almost didn’t recognize him.

  From up on the board, Hazel peered down at her dad, her curls wet and sticking to her cheeks and forehead. She pulled the goggles down over her eyes and took the last step forward, so that her toes hung over the end of the board.

  Lily stood at the edge of the pool deck now, one hand on the gate, watching. From the water, Rawlins waved up at Hazel.

  “Don’t jump with your goggles,” he called. “They’ll hurt your face when you hit the water.”

  She pulled them off and tossed them to her dad, who caught them with an outstretched hand. “All right, little bug. Let’s see you jump.”

  Instead of jumping, Hazel took a step back. She looked down at the water, as if calculating how far it was to the surface and how far she’d have to drop before she reached it.

  “I’m right here,” Rawlins said.

  Hazel held up both hands, palms toward him. “Don’t move.”

  Lily smiled at the seriousness in her voice. In the water Rawlins was struggling to keep a straight face. “I promise. Not going anywhere. But you can do this. You know it.”

  Hazel fixed the strap of her bathing suit where it had fallen off her shoulder and took a small step back up to the edge. With a quick glance to the crowd of people watching her from the edge of the pool deck, she counted to three, loudly, and jumped. Her big splash belied her small size, and she came up spluttering and wiping water off her face. Her cheeks stretched into a giddy smile.

  Rawlins pulled himself through the water with two quick strokes until he was next to her. “Told you,” he said. She laughed and dropped back under the water and swam to the side. She hauled herself out and ran back to the board.

  “No running,” Rawlins called. “And you’ve got this, Haze. I’m going to sit on the side.”

  Watching this scene play out from her spot by the gate, Lily all of a sudden felt as if she’d been peering into a peephole, getting an inside look at something that wasn’t hers to watch. Something so tender it made her want to smile and cry at the same time.

  When Rawlins climbed the steps out of the shallow end, his eyes met hers. She looked away quickly, but not before she caught the look of surprise on his face.

  “Lily.” He called her name just as Hazel made another splash down into the water from the diving board.

  Caught, she stepped up onto the wooden boards of the pool deck. The gate slammed shut behind her with a metal clang.

  “You coming for a swim?” Rawlins pulled a beach towel from a red-and-white striped bag sitting on a chair next to the pool. A yellow snorkel tumbled from the bag with the towel. After shoving it back in the bag, he pressed the towel to his face, then rubbed it over the top of his head.

  “No, I was just . . . I just got here.” She gestured to the grass where there seemed to be even more people than there were just a few minutes ago. “I didn’t see anyone I knew out there, so . . .”

  She shrugged and her gaze slid down. As it did, she noticed a pink scar on his leg that started below his knee and traveled up the side of his thigh. It didn’t look like a recent wound, but it was still angry.

  He swiftly wrapped his towel around his waist, hiding the scar from her view. She looked back up at him and saw that he was watching her. It was a warm evening, and heat bloomed hotter in her cheeks. She reached up and pulled her hands through her hair, lifting it off her neck for a moment. “I figured it’d be easier to start with one familiar face.” She smiled. “Make that two.”

  He sat and gestured to the adjacent chair for her to do the same. “I’m glad you did. It makes it less obvious that I’m trying to avoid diving into the crowd over there.” He nodded his head toward the grass, where a woman in red cowboy boots was dancing with her arms outstretched. “Groups aren’t really my thing.” Hazel called him, asking him to watch her jump. He watched her, then gave her a thumbs-up. “She’s going to be hungry soon, though. Have you eaten?”

  Lily shook her head, all of a sudden unable to look at him in the face. Water droplets clinging to his hair and arms glittered in the sunlight, and his skin was a warm honey brown.

  “Coach makes good barbecue, if you like that. And there are enough desserts to sink a ship.”

  “Daddy! When are we gonna eat?” Hazel’s voice carried from the middle of the pool, her face full of expectation.

  Rawlins chuckled. “Talk about food within fifty feet of that girl and her stomach starts rumbling,” he said quietly, then lifted his head and called to her. “How about you jump three more times, and then we’ll go eat?”

  “How old is she?”

  “Five. She’ll be six in a few months.”

  Lily smiled. “She’s precious.”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. She is. She can be a handful too, but I guess that’s normal.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  He turned back to the pool where Hazel was pulling herself up on the side one more time. “She’s a good kid. I’m just glad her mom and I haven’t messed her up too much.”

  “She looks far from messed up.”

  They watched as she jumped off the diving board in a spin, twirling in the air before splashing down. She came to the surface in a frenzy of splashing and laughter.

  He watched his daughter as she paddled to the edge of the pool. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

  Hazel ran up to them, flinging water everywhere, and grabbed her towel. “I’m famished. Let’s eat.”

  Rawlins laughed and his face broke open into a big grin. “Famished, huh? That’s a big word for a little girl.” He stood and scooped Hazel up into his arms and nuzzled her neck with his face. “I’m famished too, and you look delicious.”

  Hazel squealed and wiggled. “Your prickles are poking me!”

  He set her down on her feet. “Hazel, this is Mrs. . . .” He hesitated. “I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

  “It’s—” Lily stopped. Bishop. Lily Bishop. Worth’s wife. The words usually rolled off her tongue, but today they dissipated into the hot evening air. She leaned down toward Hazel with her hands on her knees. “I’m Lily.”

  “Like the flower?”

  “Yep. Like the flower.”

  “Aunt Rosie is named after a flower too,” Hazel said. “Rose and Lily.” She said the words softly, then looked up and smiled. “Like a garden.”

  Rawlins handed Hazel her flip-flops. “Put these on, kiddo, and we can all go get some food.”

  Rawlins and Lily followed Hazel around the pool and to the grassy spread where people milled and talked, ate and danced. Rawlins pulled Hazel to the head of the first long table where paper plates were stacked several inches high. As he filled her plate and his, a variety of people came by and greeted him—men pounded on his back or shook his hand, causing him to have to juggle plates and cups, and women air-kissed his cheeks and ruffled Hazel’s hair. A few addressed Lily as well, mostly people who’d brought her food when she first moved in.

  “Do you live here?” Lily asked as she dolloped potato salad on her plate.

  “Me? Live here? No.” He shook his head. “No.”

  “So many people know you. I just assumed.”

  “No, I live on the other side of the island. I’m just here a lot.” He paused, then nodded his head toward a couple sitting a few tables away. “I built the Baxters a bookshelf for their living room last summer. Mona Edberg”—he nodded his head toward the lady in the red cowboy boots who was now tucking into a huge slice of chocolate cake—“has asked me to paint and repaint her bedroom so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve installed light fixtures and storm doors. I fix ceiling fans and leaky pipes.” He shrugged. “Little bit of everything. It’s a good way to make some extra money when I’m not out on
the boat. Plus, they usually tip me with food. That makes Hazel happy.”

  They finally made it to the end of the food line, their plates loaded with spoonfuls of every type of salad and dip imaginable, plus a couple she couldn’t identify. A round table in the corner of the tent was stocked with drinks and red Solo cups, and a woman stood next to it holding two ceramic pitchers. “Alabama Slammer or Hurricane?” she asked. “Both guaranteed to help you beat this heat.” Her forehead was damp with sweat, though she stood directly in front of a huge box fan set up at the edge of the tent.

  Rawlins smiled. “Just water for me, Ms. Baker.” He grabbed a juice box and a bottle of water off the table behind her, then nudged Hazel with his hip. “All right, kiddo, let’s find a spot to eat.”

  Hazel trotted out in front of him, searching for an open table or chair. Not wanting to intrude on their dinner together, Lily hung back by the food table. Scanning the crowd, she spotted Coach on the other side of the grass talking to Roberta from the café and a small, trim woman with dark hair styled into a 1950s wave. As the woman spoke to Coach and Roberta, she skipped her feet around as if she were dancing in place.

  Lily had almost decided to take her food back to the pool deck when Rawlins waved to her from a spot of grass on a small rise in front of the pool facing the bay. He’d laid his and Hazel’s towels on the ground. “Do you want to sit?” he asked when she walked over. “I’m sorry the towels are a little damp, but at least we’re out of the way.”

  Lily sat, tucking her knees to the side and finding a flat spot for her water bottle. Hazel had already started eating, shoveling in forkfuls of macaroni and cheese.

  “Slow down, Haze,” Rawlins said. “The food’s not going anywhere.”

  “But it’s so good.” She chewed thoughtfully a moment, then pointed out to the bay. “Is that one of Papa’s boats?”

  Rawlins turned his head toward the water where a shrimp boat was slowly making its way out into the bay. It had two black masts and a yellow flag at the top of the tallest one. “Nope, not one of ours.” He studied the boat as it slowly chugged farther out, leaving silver lines in the water behind it. Seagulls flew around the back of the boat, diving and swooping.

  “Do they feed the birds from back there?” Lily asked.

  “Nah. But when they’re sorting the catch, the birds know it. They come from miles away, looking for a meal.”

  Hazel slurped the last bit of juice from her juice box, then popped up off the towel. When she started off toward the band, Rawlins called to her.

  “I want to dance,” she said, her face holding such anguish that Rawlins laughed.

  “Just don’t go too far.”

  “I won’t!” Then she ran straight across the grass, not stopping until she stood directly in front of the tall man playing the bass. She spun in circles and jumped to the beat. Next to her a table full of ladies clapped and cheered at her arrival.

  Behind them in the bay, the boat with the yellow flag moved steadily away from shore. “I think I saw you yesterday,” Lily said. “Or at least your boat. It’s the Miss Stella, right? Green stripe?”

  “That’s right.” He shifted on the towel. “I repainted it last week.”

  She nodded. “I was out here at sunset yesterday. Someone was standing at the wheel, but I didn’t know if it was you or not.”

  “It was me. I wasn’t planning to go out last night, but . . . sometimes the water calls me. It’s nice to be out at the end of the day.” He stared out at the bay, slowly lapping the shore in front of them. “It’s the best way to forget your troubles.”

  She gave a small laugh. “Well, maybe I need to be out on a boat then.”

  He studied her a moment, then pulled his plate closer to him. “All right, it’s time.” He pulled apart the ribs on his plate. “You ready?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Ready for what?”

  He gestured to the barbecue on her plate. “You have to taste the ribs.”

  She picked one up and held it gingerly between two fingers.

  “You can’t be delicate. You have to just go for it.” He leaned down and took a big bite. Lily hesitated, then gave up her attempt to be ladylike. She took a bite, pulling the meat with her teeth. Her mouth filled with the tangy sweet sauce and smoky heat. Looking around for a napkin, she found none, so she licked her lips and did the same to her fingertips.

  “Look at you.” He grinned. “You’re a pro.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw Coach walking toward them with a woman on his arm, the same one who’d sat next to him on the golf cart a few days ago. Janelle had tucked a pink hibiscus behind one ear, and on her feet she wore pink rhinestone-studded kitten heels that caused her to walk unsteadily on the grass. Judging from how she clung to Coach’s arm for balance, Lily suspected Janelle wore them for that specific reason.

  “Roberta said she saw you two going through the food line, but then you disappeared,” Coach said.

  “We didn’t disappear,” Rawlins said with a half smile. “We’re just keeping out of the way.”

  “Smart move.” Coach gestured to where the band members were setting down their instruments. “They take a break and everyone makes a beeline for the drink table. That’s how I broke my finger last year.”

  “You broke your finger running for the drink table?” Lily laughed. “Sorry, it’s not funny.”

  “Well, it would be if that’s how I broke it. But no, Tiny Collins broke it when she stepped on my finger, trying to get to the last of the Hurricane punch.”

  Rawlins shook his head. “Good thing Peter used to be a doctor.”

  “Yep. He set it with a tongue depressor, wrapped it in gauze, and I was back in time for the last dance.”

  Next to him, Janelle patted his arm. “And now look at you. You’re in tip-top form.”

  “That’s me, tip-top.” Lily caught an edge of weariness in his voice, and over Janelle’s head, Coach’s eyes scanned the crowd.

  Janelle leaned down to Lily. “When do you open up shop, dear?”

  “Monday, I think.”

  “Perfect. I’ll need an appointment in the morning, around ten o’clock. How do I go about scheduling that?”

  “Um . . . Well, I guess you just did. I’ll plan to see you at ten.”

  “Wonderful. And I’ll be your first customer! I’m looking forward to it. My friend Patsy and I always get our hair cut together. Can you pencil her in as well? She’d be here to ask you herself but . . .” She swiveled her head side to side and cut her voice to a whisper. “Her hemorrhoids are acting up again.”

  Lily bit her lip and nodded. “Tell Patsy that’s just fine.”

  A moment later Coach took a small, almost unnoticeable step away from Janelle, and a slow smile spread across his face. Lily followed his gaze. Rose walked toward them, weaving through the grass around tables and blankets. Her mouth was set in a grim line, which Lily had decided must be her default setting.

  “If it isn’t the lovely Rose.” Coach’s smile grew even wider.

  Janelle slipped her arm from Coach’s elbow. “I think I’m due for another fruity drink. Need anything?” She looked up at Coach from under a fringe of dark lashes. When he shook his head, she leaned in close to him. “I’ve asked them to play a certain Shania Twain song for me. When it comes on, I’ll be looking for you.” She winked, then sauntered toward the drink table.

  In her wake, Rose snorted. She looked at Coach. “Lucky you.”

  “Lucky me nothing. I’m nervous is what I am.”

  “You’re late, Aunt Rose,” Rawlins said. “Where have you been?” He had a smudge of sauce on his bottom lip, and for a flash of a second Lily thought of reaching over and wiping it with her thumb.

  “I had to take care of some things at the office. Just took me a bit to finish it all up.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?” Coach asked. “I was looking for you earlier. I wanted to see if you’d tasted my barbecue.”

  “Well, I
think you found the right person to taste your barbecue. And anyway, I’m not very hungry.”

  Janelle was just stepping away from the drink table, headed back toward their small knot of people. She held a slim silver can in her manicured hand.

  “Quick, Rose,” Coach whispered, a touch of panic in his voice. “Come dance with me.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “No, I’m serious. Come out on the dance floor with me and you’ll save me from whatever Janelle has in store.”

  Rose laughed, then nipped it quickly. “It is not my job to save you. And I told you, I don’t dance. You’ll have to find someone else.”

  Just then Hazel ran up to the group and Coach leaned down. “Miss Hazel, may I take you for a spin on the dance floor?”

  “Yes!”

  He followed her across the grass toward the band.

  “That man is incorrigible,” Rose muttered. She turned to Rawlins. “He’s using your daughter to get himself out of an uncomfortable situation. Though he certainly didn’t look uncomfortable when he was walking around with her earlier.”

  Rawlins chuckled. “Cut him some slack. And anyway, how did you see them walking around together? I thought you just got here.”

  Rose crossed her arms.

  “Have you eaten?” Lily asked her. “The barbecue ribs really are good.”

  She sighed and glanced toward the tents. “I suppose I should go check the food tables. Make sure we’re not running low on anything.”

  Once Rose took off for the food tent, Lily and Rawlins sat in comfortable silence. Out on the dance floor, Coach twirled Hazel, then clapped to the beat. The music played, a light breeze blew off the bay and out toward the horizon, and the sky was the color of ripe peach skin.

  Next to her, Rawlins moved his plate to the side and leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him, the long scar she’d seen at the pool just barely visible. It was funny—Lily didn’t know him or Hazel any better than she knew anyone else in the village, but seeing the two of them at the pool when she first arrived had felt a little like an exhale. Relaxed on the grass, she was glad she’d come to the party rather than sit inside her cottage alone.