Not Our Summer

by Casie Bazay

  After double-checking to make sure I’m alone, I pull the cigarette and lighter from my hoodie pocket. The first drag is always the best. Scooting back on the rock, I draw up my knees and tilt my chin toward the night sky. You’d think the stars would be dimmer way down here, but it’s just the opposite. They’re a hundred times brighter than back home, and the Milky Way looks like a ginormous, sparkling river stretching across the blackness. A sense of peace settles inside me. It’s been forever since I sat outside, just looking up at the stars.

  I’m still lost in thought when I hear the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the distance. I stub out my cigarette on the rock and use the heel of my shoe to dig a hole and bury it. Scrambling back to the fence, I pretend to be watching the mules as the footsteps continue to grow closer.

  “K. J.?”

  I turn to face my cousin, who’s stopped in her tracks about ten feet away. “What are you doing out here?” I figured she’d be all about that nature program they’re having.

  She shoves her hands in the pocket of her hoodie and shrugs. “Nothing. Just having a look around.” She sniffs the air. “Were you smoking again?”

  I don’t answer. It’s none of her damn business what I’ve been doing.

  “You know there’s like a really big fine for that, right? Dusty talked about it before we left this morning.”

  “I wasn’t smoking.”

  “Sure you weren’t.” She comes to stand near the railing, taking care not to get too close to me.

  Guess our unspoken agreement has ended. Pity. I study her profile, that perfectly perky ponytail and small button nose. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” She doesn’t answer, which pretty much confirms my assumption. “You know, it’s not my fault what my mom did.”

  Becka continues to stare out at the mules. “I never said it was.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  She turns and leans her back against the fence, her face lifting toward the sky. “Listen, neither one of us wants to be here, so let’s do each other a favor and talk as little as possible. All we have to do is go to these places, do what Grandpa wanted us to do, and then we get our money.”

  “Speak for yourself. I plan to enjoy myself actually.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to the cabin.” Becka pushes away from the fence, starts walking away.

  As soon as she’s out of sight, I head back to my rock and comb my fingers through the sandy dirt. The cigarette isn’t hard to find, but a moonlit inspection finds it crumpled beyond repair. Damn it. The only thing I can do is push it back into the dirt.

  We’re back in the saddle again by seven a.m. I’m physically exhausted from yesterday’s ride and staying up till midnight to finish my poem might not have been the best idea, but what choice do I really have if I want to get my grades up? I yawn and stretch, pain registering in every square inch of my body. The bad thing is I know it’s only going to get worse after today, but I’ll just have to tough it out.

  Becka’s blond braid swings back and forth from beneath her straw hat as she rides three mules in front of me. I think of our conversation last night: talk as little as possible. I can definitely handle that.

  We start across the suspension bridge, the river rushing a hundred feet below. Even on Dixie, I can feel it sway. The sensation makes my stomach dance, but in a good way.

  “This’ll be a shorter route today,” Dusty explains once we’ve all gathered on the opposite side of the bridge. “We’ll have lunch at the lodge.”

  “Yay!” someone says from behind me, and I have to agree. A lodge lunch does sound better than another PB&J.

  Dusty clucks to his mule, but then pulls up again, turning to survey our group once more. “And just another reminder, smoking isn’t allowed under any circumstances in the canyon.” His eyes linger on me for an extra second, making my heart skip a beat. Becka tattled on me, apparently.

  The smirk on her face leaves little room for doubt, but it’s not like she can prove anything. No one can. As the mules start uphill, my lips purse and I keep my eyes trained on my cousin, trying to catch a glimpse of her face each time we turn on the zigzag trail, but if she’s still scared, I can’t tell. This makes the ride markedly less fun for me.

  We take two short rest stops today, and each time I hang with my three new pals. I’ve finally remembered the other woman’s name. Mona. I’ve also learned this is the second time they’ve all made this ride together. After talking with them I’ve decided on a new life goal: I want to be like them when I’m old. Still doing badass stuff like this.

  At the rim, we say goodbye to our mules, and a bus shuttles us back to Bright Angel Lodge. A dull pang gnaws at my chest. I’m relieved to be back at the top, but that also means my first-ever vacation is coming to an end. Finding an empty table at the restaurant, I search around for my friends, hoping we can eat together one last time. Unfortunately, I don’t see them anywhere. They must have taken off early. Then, to my complete surprise, Becka appears and falls into the chair beside me, flopping an envelope onto the table.

  “What’s this?” I pick it up and turn it over, seeing both our names listed along with the address for Bright Angel Lodge. The sender is Sisco and Browning Law Office.

  “Certified mail,” Becka says. “I had to sign for it at the front desk.”

  “Another one of Grandpa’s letters?”

  “You’re a quick learner,” she says with a snort. “The lawyer said there’d be more.”

  “I know, but I didn’t think it’d come here.” I want to smack that snide look off her face, but instead, I run my finger beneath the top flap of the envelope, peeling it open.

  “May I?” I ask.

  Becka crosses her arms. “Be my guest.”

  CHAPTER 9

  ELI

  My Dearest Granddaughters,

  I hope you’ve enjoyed your trip into the Grand Canyon. You might be thinking your old Grandpa was even crazier than you thought, but hear me out and I’ll explain a few things.

  One of my favorite memories as a kid was visiting the Grand Canyon. I was around eight when my parents took my sisters and me there, and it’s a trip I’ve never forgotten. We stayed in the campground in our camper and hiked along the rim every day. My mother didn’t care to get near the canyon’s edge, but my father took me and my sisters down into it one day. When we saw a line of mules and riders pass on the trail, my father said they were headed to the bottom to stay the night at Phantom Ranch. I knew I had to do that someday, so I made up my mind right then and there that I’d be back.

  Well, my father passed away when I was fourteen, then Mom sold the camper, and we stopped taking vacations for the most part. When I married your grandma, I hoped we could return to the canyon, but money was tight in those days, and riding mules wasn’t exactly the kind of vacation Charlotte cared to go on. After the car wreck, when my panic attacks set in, my hopes for doing any kind of traveling at all dwindled away. But when I got the idea for you two to do some of the things I’d always wanted to do, this had to be first on the list.

  I’d like to tell you a little story:

  Back when I was a teaching assistant at the University of Arkansas, I was in charge of one of the science labs. I’ll never forget in one entomology class, there were two girls (Lisa and Jody—funny, how I still remember their names) who got into a big argument one day just as class was beginning. I don’t remember what they were arguing about, but the professor told them they would be lab partners from then on. I later found out by overhearing a conversation between two other students that Lisa and Jody had attended the same high school and evidently endured some sort of rivalry for a number of years. I thought the professor was only asking for a blow-up by putting them together. I just hoped that he knew what he was doing and that the expensive microscopes we’d just gotten in would be safe.

  Well, Lisa and Jody did their work, but refused to talk to each other for the first few labs. Then one day, when we were doing a beetle
dissection, I noticed the two of them were actually speaking to each other. It appeared they’d become so interested in their lab, they’d forgotten their feud with each other—at least for a little while. Strangely enough, things got better from there on out.

  I don’t know whatever became of those girls, but I thought of them when I began planning these trips for the two of you. Hopefully, my two granddaughters can learn to talk to one another and, in time, maybe even become friends.

  Love,

  Grandpa

  CHAPTER 10

  BECKA

  K. J. HANDS THE LETTER TO ME WITHOUT SAYING A word. I could be mistaken, but she looks like she’s upset—if her version of upset consists of narrowed eyes and an exaggerated scowl, anyway.

  “What?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, and the scowl softens. “Nothing, it’s just sad. I wish Grandpa could have done the mule thing, and that last part he wrote… here, just read it.”

  For whatever reason, Grandpa’s words don’t have the same effect on me. Mainly, I’m filled with a sense of guilt and frustration. He wanted his “tasks” to bring us together, but he should have known it’s a hopeless cause. Not only does the divide between our mothers run too deep, but K. J. and I are complete opposites in every way. If we were the only two people stuck on an island and our survival depended on us being friends, I have a feeling we’d both die.

  I fold the letter up, slide it back into the envelope, and lay it on the table. K. J. stares at it for a moment and then picks it up again.

  “Can I keep it?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  A waiter sets a plate with grilled chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes before each of us. I wasn’t planning on eating at this table, but I guess I’ll stay put. K. J. and I both scroll through our phones as we eat. I check all the Instagram posts I’ve missed during the trip into the canyon and then text a selfie of me on my mule, as well as a few pics of Phantom Ranch, to my mom and Lexi. After a while, K. J. mumbles something about going to the bathroom and disappears. She doesn’t return, so I just head back toward our lodge on my own. Task number one complete and only four more to go. The thought doesn’t bring me any relief at all.

  Monday morning, I can barely drag myself out of bed. Between Mom’s endless questioning last night, the time change, and my exhausting weekend, it’s really no surprise. As I sit in first hour, trying to keep my eyes open, the thought of another two-hour practice after school is almost too much to bear. But we ended up making state championships, and Coach expects everyone to be on top of their game. There’s no way I can miss practice.

  By lunchtime, I’ve managed to perk up a little. It helps that I get to tell my friends all about my horrific weekend at the Grand Canyon. I describe the terrifying mule ride and every appalling encounter with K. J., hoping they’ll feel at least a little sorry for me.

  Maddie’s brow wrinkles with disgust as she finishes off her apple. “She sounds like a real bitch, if you ask me.”

  I don’t know if that’s the right word for my cousin, but she’s definitely rude. “She’s really weird. And I’m pretty sure she was high the day we left. Probably had to get one last hit since she couldn’t smuggle her drugs onto the plane.”

  Lexi frowns. “Wow, what a loser.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I say. “I can’t believe we’re actually related.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Maddie says, offering a tentative smile, “but at least you’ll be getting something from all of this. Gotta think of the positives, right?”

  True, but I’d give up the money in a heartbeat if it meant not having to spend one more minute with K. J. I’m only doing it so Mom can get her share.

  “So what’s your aunt like?” Maddie asks as we go to dump our trash. “Since K. J. seems so awful.”

  Everything my mom has ever said about Jackie floods into my mind, but I consider my words carefully. “She’s worse than her daughter,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the floor. “She and my mom haven’t really spoken in years. Until this whole ordeal, at least.” And even then, I wouldn’t exactly call it “speaking to one another.” It certainly wasn’t by choice. I’ve never told anyone the full truth about things, and Lexi has always been too polite to ask for details. My cheeks grow warm and I clear my throat. “It’s a complicated situation,” I explain. “I’ll have to tell you about it another time.”

  “Oh, okay, sure,” Maddie says.

  I can tell I’ve piqued her curiosity, though.

  Outside of the cafeteria, Maddie goes one way while Lexi and I head toward English, our one and only class together. Lexi doesn’t say a word, and I pretend to be interested in the artwork hanging along the hallway. After a quick stop by our lockers, we continue toward class.

  “So did you finish your essay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, on the plane last night.” A small amount of relief settles over me as I realize Lexi’s not going to pry. “How about you?” The question is really just a formality. Lexi would never not finish an assignment.

  “I didn’t think I was ever going to get it done,” she says with a groan. “So glad that’s the last one of the year.”

  “No kidding. I’m all essayed out.”

  We enter the classroom and take our seats on opposite sides of the room. I’m fairly confident Lexi won’t be a problem, but Maddie, I’m not so sure about. Looks like I’ll have to avoid her at soccer practice today. But even if that proves impossible, I at least have several hours to come up with an alternative story—one which wouldn’t lead someone to question if they should even be friends with me in the first place.

  I’m too distracted to pay much attention to Mr. Sperry, who’s already lecturing about some poem by William Yeats. I really hate my aunt for getting me into this whole mess. And since K. J.’s her daughter, I have no choice but to hate her, too.

  “Why are we going to Grandpa’s?” I ask, glancing over at Mom. She puts on her turn signal and pulls out of our neighborhood. Tim’s working late tonight, so she suggested we go out to eat. It was only after we got into the Jeep that she mentioned stopping by Grandpa’s house on the way.

  “Mr. Sisco said I was free to get pictures and other personal items before the auction. I’ve been putting it off, but I figured it was time to go.”

  “Did he tell Jackie the same thing?”

  She nods. “He told us both.”

  “I wonder if she’s already been there.”

  Mom purses her lips. “There’s no telling with her.”

  On the far outskirts of Siloam Springs, we turn onto a gravel road, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We didn’t come to Grandpa’s often, but it makes me sad knowing I likely won’t ever be coming back here again. The Jeep rolls to a stop in front of the rusted red gate, and I jump out and open it so Mom can drive through. The grass along the driveway is tall and scraggly. Grandpa didn’t like to cut it. He said taller grass was a good habitat for all the insects, so he only kept the area right around his house mowed short. The small, brown clapboard house comes into view, and I swallow back the lump rising in my throat.

  “How’re we gonna get in?” I ask.

  A grim smile tugs at Mom’s lips. “I know where a spare key is.”

  I hope she’s right; otherwise, we drove all the way out here for nothing.

  She kneels beside the potted plant on the front porch and pokes her fingers into the dirt. Several seconds later, she pulls out a key and wipes it off on her jeans.

  “That’s a strange place to keep a key.” Then again, it’s exactly something my grandpa would do.

  The house still has the faint smell of chicken noodle soup, and I realize it’s a smell I’ll forever associate with this place. Mom flips on the living room lights, and we both wander around as if this is the first time we’ve ever been here. A thin film of dust covers the coffee table and TV cabinet, only adding to the deserted feeling of the house. Mom moves down the narrow hallway that leads to the two bedroo
ms, pausing to examine the pictures on the wall. I know them all by heart. There’s a prom picture with my mom and dad, and one of me from fifth grade. Another of K. J. around the same age with a weird, bowl-type haircut. A photo of Ricky in his karate uniform. Aunt Jackie’s senior picture in her cap and gown, and also an old family portrait. It’s the only one I’ve seen with my Grandma Charlotte—taken back before Grandpa developed agoraphobia and my mom and aunt were little pig-tailed girls.

  “I don’t think Jackie’s been here yet,” Mom says quietly. She disappears inside Grandpa’s bedroom. I trail behind her but stop in the doorway, my hand resting against the doorframe. Mom touches the dresser and glances around the room. The bed is still unmade and dust motes dance through streams of light let in by the blinds.

  “Is this where he died?”

  Mom gives a solemn nod.

  Something tugs hard inside my chest, seeing the last things Grandpa saw before he died. A weight settles over me as the reality of his death hits all over again. Right now, the whole Grand Canyon experience seems far away. I can’t be mad at Grandpa for making me do that while standing in his room. When I look back at Mom, tears glisten in her eyes. “Is there anything you want in here?” I ask her.

  She moves toward the wall, where two framed handprints hang side-by-side. She takes the slightly larger one off the wall and holds it to her chest. We return to the hallway, and Mom takes the pictures of me and Ricky, but leaves all the others. I don’t have to question why she doesn’t take her prom picture. She hates my dad as much as she hates her sister. I’m surprised it’s managed to stay up there all these years.