Summer Girl: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Happily Forever)

by A. S. Green

  My body revolts against the cold—shaking me into spasms as the numbness wicks up my body. My limbs are heavy and impossible to locate. Even as I try to tread water, my body sinks lower. I tip my head back, face to the air. My vision distorts; my ears ring with a strange tinniness.

  This is it for me. I have nothing left to give. This is how it ends. It’s over. The water laps over my face once, then again. Only the tip of my nose breaks the surface, then not even that.

  There’s no panic left in me as my hand slips lower and lower down the face of the rock. I’m too exhausted. Instead, it’s a strangely smooth sensation, like being pulled slowly from below, like ribbon from a spool. Mom, I think as the sky disappears. It’s not a name, or a face, but a concept. A last thought.

  A dark shape robs me of the fading light. I cry out for it, and the water rushes into my lungs. My eyelids close just as I am suddenly yanked upward.

  “Dammit!” a low voice exclaims amid the sounds of dogs barking.

  Hands catch me by the elbow. Both the rescuer and I are like disembodied parts—arms, feet, elbows, and chattering teeth. Fingers grip me by my belt loops and drag me out of the water, depositing me on the rock like a beached seal, wet and covered in grit. There is pressure on my chest and water spews out of my lungs like a fountain.

  A curse word. There’s a rush of air. Something warm and soft envelopes me, then a weight presses me into the rock, rubbing my arms vigorously. My heart beats unevenly in my chest.

  “L-Lucy fell in,” I say. I can’t open my eyes, but I don’t want the voice to be mad. I need to explain. “S-s-save her. Is sh-she all r-r-r-ight?”

  “Lucy?” asks the voice, which still sounds rough and course, like gravel underfoot. “What about you?”

  “I-I’m o-okay.” My body convulses, so out of control I still can’t open my eyes no matter how hard I try.

  “You’re not,” the voice croaks out, still rubbing my arms. Blood sizzles through my veins like cold water on a hot skillet.

  “What were you thinking?” The voice is still angry.

  I have a sense of people arriving. More people. Other voices murmuring several paces away. Arms scoop me up and carry me slowly across the rock. There’s the presence of someone else nearby and something dry and scratchy falls onto my chest, followed by something smaller but weightier.

  “Don’t do that again,” the voice pleads. I still can’t manage to open my eyes to look at the face, but I imagine the expression is hard. Strong arms flex around me, and I am safe. So very safe. It’s over. I’m tired. I want to sleep. Just let me—

  Then the rain comes down, and everything goes dark.

  Chapter Twenty

  BENNET

  The first drops of rain are a hundred knifepoints to my overheated skin. Every sound is a jackhammer in my ears. My nerves are guitar strings ready to snap. I take a deep breath and realize I’d been inadvertently starving myself of oxygen.

  Katherine lies limp in my arms, more closely resembling a load of wet laundry than a human being. Keeping my hand behind her head, I lay her gently onto the seat of my truck while Doyle and Natalie lift Lucy into the truck bed. Sam jumps in after Lu and instinctively lies over the top of her. He whines softly.

  “Do you think she needs a doctor?” I ask Doyle. There’s no one on the island. We’d have to get her to New Porte.

  “Get her home,” Doyle says, his voice rough and somber. “Get her warm. She’s tired, but she’s conscious and talking some. Should be fine. Still…I’ll put a call in to Doctor Tom. Just to make sure.”

  I jerk my chin in agreement. The seat springs groan as I climb in, and I lift Katherine’s head to rest it in my lap. Her muscles spasm in violent shakes and shudders. The three middle fingers on my left hand grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten and threaten to break through the skin. With my right hand, I turn the key and blast the heater. I give Doyle and Natalie a nod when I drive away.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got Katherine and the dogs inside the lighthouse. The bath is running. Steam rises from the tub. Katherine still seems oblivious to everything, most of all me.

  I had to carry her from the truck to the house, and now she is standing in her bedroom as if catatonic. “D’Arcy, you have to get into the tub and warm up.”

  She doesn’t react. She doesn’t move. In resignation, I undo the buttons on her blouse then pull it off her shoulders. She lets me, which says more than words ever could and frankly scares me to death. How bad is she that she’s letting me do this? Maybe I should be calling a doctor. I unbutton her soaked jeans and—with my eyes closed—peel them down her legs.

  A couple times my eyes flicker open, catching the line of her back as it dips in at her waist then curves around the flare of her hip. Her hair is still in that tight ponytail and it hangs like a rope down her spine.

  “Get in the tub,” I say softly, diverting my eyes. I turn off the tap. “Can you hear me? Warm up. I’ll step out of the room.”

  Finally she responds, but she moves robotically, as if in a trance. She unclasps her Green Lantern bra and lets it drop to the floor. My stomach drops with it, so I leave quickly.

  Thunder rumbles, shaking the foundation of the house, and the floor lamps tremble. I take a seat in the corner of the couch and throw my sweatshirt over the back to dry.

  Lucy climbs up next to me, her limbs moving stiffly, as if she’s aged ten dog years. Sam lays his head in my lap and looks up at me like there is something more I should be doing for them.

  There’s a stack of clean towels folded neat and precise on a kitchen chair, so I grab a couple. When I get back to the couch, Sam has taken over my spot and is curled up by Lucy. I wrap the towels around her and rub until her muscles start to loosen and she stretches herself out.

  “They’ll be all right, boy,” I say, stroking the groove in Sam’s skull.

  A pen and a pad of paper are lying on the coffee table—tidy, perfectly parallel to its edge. I stare at them for just a second before I reach forward. I take them to the kitchen where I write my heart onto the page, self-medicating again with words like fear and loss; deep and fathom and submerged; too many exclamation points; and too many words bolded in the retracing of strokes until the pen breaks through the paper, and I find myself holding my breath once more.

  How could she have been so reckless? Did she even think to go get help, or did she just jump right in after Lucy? What kind of an idiot goes into this water alone? There’s a reason they say Lake Superior doesn’t give up its dead. Hasn’t she heard the expression before?

  Thank God. That’s all I can think. Thank God for the dogs. Thank God I thought to check things out. If I hadn’t, would she have ever been found? The possibility leaves my heart raw. And I barely know her. I barely know her! How is this happening?

  I draw a curved line across the top of the paper, realizing a second later that it’s the exact line of Katherine’s body—her shoulder and ribs, her waist and hip, the length of her leg. Drawn horizontally like that, it resembles the hilly topography of Turtle Island across the lake. I imagine how this line would look lying across my bed, my fingers running the length of it, until my stomach knots.

  Katherine pulls the plug from the drain, and the sound of the water breaks me out of my thoughts. I exhale and lay the pen down. There’s the pad of footsteps across the bedroom floor. The bed creaks. She doesn’t call out to see if I’m still here. Maybe she’s so out of it she’s forgotten I ever was. But she’s safe. And she’s warm. And that’s all that matters.

  I fold the sheets of paper into a thick square and shove them into my pocket. She has recovered. I’ll wait until she falls asleep, then I’ll do the same.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  KATHERINE

  I dream of sound and vibration: car doors opening on creaking hinges, the weight of bodies on weak-springed seats, a radio not quite in tune, the rumble and bounce of tires on a rutted road, and warmth. Beautiful, heavenly warmth.

  I wake to b
listering rain against my window and a soft knocking on my bedroom door. A woman’s voice asks, “You up?”

  I roll over and try to remember where I am. There’s a Girls of the Ivy League calendar hanging on the wall. My blouse and jeans are crumpled into balls on the floor. A discarded pair of underwear and my bra lead toward the bathroom. I don’t see my cardigan and— Ohhh… Oh my gosh, my head is killing me.

  I put my hand to my forehead and find a knot that’s the size of a golf ball. Lucy is curled at my feet. She lifts her head wearily. Slowly, I remember that I’m lucky to be alive.

  The knock comes again. “Kate?”

  I push myself up onto my elbows. The blanket falls off my shoulders, and I realize I’m naked. What the—?

  “Kate, it’s me. Natalie. Are you decent?”

  “Um. Give me a second.” I crawl out of the blankets and throw on my robe. When I open the door, Natalie is standing there, looking incredibly sympathetic and very wet.

  Her eyes scan my face. “Rough night, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my hand going to the lump on my head.

  “I got back from mass and there was a call that you needed some checking in on.” She steps into my bedroom, looking around, and I back up. “That ferryboat driver of yours—”

  I sit down on the bed, suddenly woozy. “Would you stop it? He’s not mine.”

  “Whatever.” She crosses the room, picks up a bath towel from the floor and lays it across the upholstered chair before plopping down on the seat. I twist my body to look at her. She’s grinning at me. “He might not be so bad after all. Apparently after he got you in the tub, he stayed with you all night.”

  “He did?” Shit. I get all the way up on the bed so I can face her. So many questions. What happened last night? How is it I woke up naked? But I’m afraid I don’t want the answers. I don’t remember getting undressed. Someone did that for me. Instinctively, I pull my robe tighter around me.

  “Yeah, but he had to leave for work early this morning. Doyle called Doc on the mainland last night. He said you’d be okay, but that you shouldn’t be left alone. Bennet asked me to check on you.”

  This knowledge makes me sit up taller against my pillows. To know that he cares…that he’s been worried about me…well, even if I have to hate him for stripping me naked, it still does something for me.

  Natalie crosses her legs, letting her foot bob. “When I didn’t get back to him right away with an update, he called two more times, totally pissed off about my”—she makes air quotes—“‘lack of urgency.’”

  Well, that was rude of him. He didn’t need to make Natalie feel bad. Though, if I’m reading her correctly, she looks more amused than anything else.

  “The guy is tearing his hair out being trapped on the lake not knowing, so I thought I better cut him some slack before he had a stroke or something.”

  “If he’s so worried, why didn’t he just call me himself?”

  She shakes her head. “There’s not much for service out there so they use a ship-to-shore radio to connect with the Coast Guard office. That’s who actually got the message to me. Oh, and here’s your cell phone.” She reaches into her back pocket and tosses it onto the bed. “You left it on the table when you walked out of Paddy’s. Alli picked it up and asked me to get it back to you.”

  I pick it up and check it over. It looks fine. Lucy sighs and hops off the bed. She walks stiffly into the kitchen to see if there’s anything left in her bowl from yesterday. “You should follow Lucy’s cue. Y’know, make yourself a nice hot cup of tea,” Natalie says.

  “I’m more of a hot chocolate girl.”

  She shrugs and picks at the stuffing coming out of the chair’s arm. “Suit yourself. Pretty impressive what you did for Lucy last night. Good thing Ferry Ben was there to rescue you.”

  “Don’t call him that. And I hate being the damsel in distress.” The very idea makes me grouchy.

  “I’d hardly call you that,” she says on a laugh. “Maybe it’s that superhero underwear you’re partial to.”

  My eyes dart toward the discarded pair on the floor. I look back at Natalie, and she’s grinning.

  “Anyway. Like I said,” she continues, “people are calling you the town hero for what you did for Lucy.”

  I shake my head and look down at my lap, then out toward the kitchen. The bowl must be empty. Lucy’s pushing it across the floor. “It’s what anyone would have done, though probably more gracefully.” The knot on my head gives a little throb.

  “Anyone ’round here might have risked their lives for Lu. Maybe. But definitely not what anyone would expect from a summer girl. If you think you’re doing okay, I’m going to go back to town. Tell the coast guard to call the ferry. Best I let Bennet know you’re alive before he tears me a new one. So…you are feeling better, right?”

  “Surprisingly so. Thanks.”

  “Righteous.” She gets to her feet and walks around the foot of the bed toward the door. “Guess I gotta go back out there.” She looks miserably at the rain-sheeted window. “Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve promoted you from Tater Tot hotdish to the planning committee for Summer Fest.”

  This news brightens my outlook considerably, and I lift my head. If I have a project to keep me busy, this summer will be over in a heartbeat. “Seriously? Because I’ve actually been thinking about it, and I have some ideas.”

  “Like what?” she asks, her interest piqued.

  I swing my legs around so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. “Like togas and Irish bands don’t have anything to do with each other. You need to come up with a theme, and a better name, too. Summer Fest is too generic.”

  Natalie’s mouth purses with skepticism. “Yeah, well, islanders aren’t great with change, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Can you do without the togas?” I ask.

  “No, they stay. Weird as it is, that’s been the tradition since the sixties.”

  “Okay,” I say, wrestling with a Plan B. “Then can you build a theme around the togas? Do a Greek night. Togas are actually Roman,” I say, but mostly to myself. “Still…most people don’t know that, so you could call it Summer Fest: A Night at the Acropolis. Ditch the Irish band and put together a party playlist. Use the money you save on the band to cater in Greek food.”

  “People expect a fish fry.” Natalie crosses her arms, but I can tell she’s not totally dismissing my ideas.

  “So keep the fish,” I say, holding my impatience in check. “They eat fish in Greece, but we could serve baklava and spanakopita, too.”

  “Spana—”

  I get on my feet and put my hands on Natalie’s shoulders. “Trust me on this. We could decorate with blue and white and serve special cocktails like Aphrodite Punch, and you could have a special drink for the kids. Call it a Rockin’ Sockin’ Socrates. We could even sell drink tickets that look like Drachmas.”

  “Whoa,” she says with a laugh. “Slow down, Summer Girl.”

  “Do you want this to be the best Summer Fest ever?” I ask, letting go of her shoulders and stepping back. It’s a loaded question. She’s already told me that’s exactly what she wants.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then will you let me help you?”

  She hesitates for a second then asks, “Can we call the field in front of the barn the Elysian Fields and make people cross the River Styx to get into the barn?”

  A broad smile spreads across my face. “I think that sounds perfect.”

  Now Natalie’s on a roll. “You could get Bennet to play the part of Charon, since he’s, like, the ferryman and all.”

  My smile disappears. I’m happy that Natalie is so well versed in Greek mythology, but the mention of Bennet’s name reminds me that, no matter how thankful I am that he kept me alive, the party is in August and I’m going to have to kill him well before that. No one strips me naked with impunity.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BENNET

  It’s still pouring from the night before. Fe
rry passengers stay in their cars while they cross the channel. The crew is decked out in bright yellow rain gear, and Doyle is up in the bridge, driving. No point risking his knees by taking a spill on the wet deck.

  Every minute or so I glance up to his window to see if there’s any news about Katherine. It’s now late morning and still nothing. I worry about a concussion. I worry about hypothermia. I worry Dr. Tom wasn’t concerned enough. Yes, she slept soundly all night. But maybe too soundly. I shouldn’t have left her.

  I rap my knuckles on the window of one of the cars. The driver rolls it down only a crack and slips his ticket out to me.

  “Kid!” Doyle calls. “Hey, kid!”

  I jerk my head up, and he gestures for me to hurry, using his whole arm. With two long strides I’m at the stairs, hands on both rails, skipping every other step. When I get to the bridge it’s just in time to hear the radio call.

  “This is Coast Guard Sector Little Bear, Lima Bravo. Over.”

  I pick up the handset. “Sector Little Bear this is Little Bear Ferry. Over.”

  “Little Bear Ferry this is Coast Guard Sector Little Bear. Time ten-oh-three. Just got word from the post office that your injured party is doing well.”

  My injured party. I sigh and my shoulders relax. Doyle sits on the captain’s chair. If I’m not mistaken, there’s some relief in his posture, too.

  “She’s all right,” I say on an exhale.

  “Affirmative,” says the voice on the other end. “Doing well and apparently planning one whopper of a party.”

  “A wh—?”

  “Sturdy stock that one,” says the voice.

  It takes me a second to process what he’s said. When I do, I put one hand on the instrument panel as a low chuckle rumbles through my chest. It builds until I’m flat-out laughing, but it’s the nearly silent kind that shakes my whole body. I wrap one arm around my waist and tip my head back, making keh-keh-keh noises in the back of my throat as my body rocks.

  Here I’ve got myself tied up in knots thinking D’Arcy has a concussion or a traumatic brain injury, that she’s suffering and alone, but nooo… All this time, while I’ve been turned inside out, she’s been planning a party. One whopper of a party.