Not Our Summer

by Casie Bazay

  I forget my own jumble of emotions as my mouth drops open in surprise. “But we’re almost done. All we have left is the rodeo, and Grandpa said we just have to do one of the easy events. We can’t quit now.”

  “I’m done,” she repeats, an evil smile forming on her lips. “I can’t wait to see the look on my mom’s face when I tell her it’s over. And when I tell her I know who my real father is.” She turns to face me, and even though the smile is gone, a wild look still blazes in her eyes. “And I’m moving out. I’m so done with my mom. She’s a fucking liar.”

  I hold up my hands, unsure of what to make of this whole new side of K. J. I’m seeing. Everything feels so volatile and confusing right now. “Hey, we have a long drive ahead of us. Plenty of time to think, and maybe talk.”

  “It won’t change anything,” she snaps.

  I hope she’s wrong for both of our sakes. Looking in the rearview mirror, I pull out onto the street when the coast is clear, and Google Maps directs us toward U.S. Route 1, the highway that will take us back to the mainland. On the way here, K. J. informed me that it’s the longest north-south highway in the United States, going all the way up to the tip of Maine—another one of those random facts she always seems to know. I glance at my ladybug, an unsettled feeling still circulating inside me. Getting our tattoos felt like we were making progress, like we were finally connecting on some level, but now I’m wondering if all of that is over for good.

  I turn on the radio, using the auto-scan to find a station, and it stops on one playing “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” which feels kind of like the universe rubbing salt in our wounds. No one is having fun today. I press the scan button again, but it appears the only other option is a station playing classical music, so I go back to Cyndi Lauper.

  K. J. stares out her window as we start across the bridge and officially leave Key West. The ocean stretches in every direction, beautiful and completely indifferent to our family drama.

  “So where do you want to stop tonight?” I ask. “It’s twelve hours to Atlanta. Probably don’t want to go that far since we got a late start.”

  “I don’t care. You can pick somewhere.” There’s an almost bored tone to her voice and I’m not sure if it’s from exhaustion or something more.

  K. J. digs through the bag at her feet, pulling out her earbuds and connecting them to her phone. I guess the eighties station isn’t cutting it. I turn the radio off and roll my window partway down, hoping the wind and the ocean might have a soothing effect on me. The next four hours will probably be okay, but I dread reaching the mainland and the familiar views of cities and the empty farmland in between. The world we left behind, and now will never be the same again. Not after this. It’s going to be a long drive no matter how we slice it.

  Of course, there’s something else I’m dreading aside from the nearly twenty-four-hour trip back home: confronting my mom and telling her I know all about her big secret. As my thoughts shift to that scenario, my hands tighten on the steering wheel, and a bubble of anger expands inside my chest once again. My aunt isn’t the only one who’s been lying to her daughter all this time. Maybe Mom thought she was protecting me from the truth, but I deserved to know. We both deserved to know, and Grandpa shouldn’t have had to be the one to tell us.

  CHAPTER 24

  K. J.

  I DON’T REMEMBER EXACTLY WHEN I QUIT GIVING A shit, but it was somewhere around the end of middle school. I used to have a few interests—art being one of them. I was also into Rollerblading and writing bad poetry, but somewhere along the way, I abandoned everything and took up smoking instead. Looking back now, maybe it was because I realized no one really had any expectations for me. Why did I need any for myself? Mom was too busy working or going to the casino, so I spent most of my time listening to music or hanging out with friends. Eventually, that narrowed down to one friend: Carter.

  School was a pain in my ass, but it was more interesting than staying home, so that was the only reason I kept going. I enjoyed listening to some of my teachers, my social studies and history teachers in particular, because hearing about what people from the past lived through somehow made my life seem less shitty.

  I especially loved my tenth-grade U.S. history teacher because he actually had a sense of humor and always told the best stories. Everyone paid attention in his class. Sometimes, I’d hang out after the bell to ask questions about the topic he lectured on that day. I think he was one of the few teachers who liked me, too.

  Sometimes, I even wished he was my dad and wondered how different my life would be if he were. We wouldn’t be rich, but maybe Mom wouldn’t feel like she needed to work two jobs, and we wouldn’t live in Maple Village, and maybe I’d have more friends than just the boy who lived next door. I begged my mom to go to parent-teacher conferences that spring, hoping, by some miracle, sparks would fly between the two of them. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, so we all assumed he was single, but Mom had to work that night, and she’d never cared about my grades much anyway. Why would she suddenly start?

  As Becka and I cross over the Tennessee-Arkansas border, that same empty feeling plagues me now. I don’t care. Not about anything. Least of all my lying-ass mother.

  Becka has been driving for most of the return trip. She probably doesn’t trust me in this state, and I don’t blame her. I’m not sure I would either. She’s also been nicer about all of this than I would have guessed. I figured she’d only hate me more, but that doesn’t seem like the case.

  Pine trees line the two-lane highway, and I try to focus on the scenery instead of my reflection in the window. My hair is sticking up in places, and I look like hell. God knows, I could use a cigarette right now. My phone vibrates, and I check the screen. Another missed call from Mom. The third one today. I haven’t talked to her since we were in the Keys. Since before we learned the news. She’s probably pacing the living room right now. Or rearranging the dishes in the cupboard. I let the anger churn inside me. Let her think I’m dead in a ditch. Serves her right. If she really wanted to know if I was all right, she could pick up the phone and call her sister.

  Becka texted RaeLynn not long ago to let her know where we were. I shoot Carter a quick text and ask if I can crash at his place tonight. I have no intention of staying at home, but I do plan to confront my mom because she is going to own up to this. She has to.

  When I look out the window again, the forest has been replaced by farm fields of golden wheat. Funny how fast the landscape changes. Kind of like my life. One second, I think I know who I am, and the next, I realize I have absolutely no idea at all.

  It’s dark and windy by the time I pull into the mobile home park that night, after having dropped Becka off at her own house. I don’t bother getting my bags out of the car since I won’t be staying long. The yellow glow of the living room lamp shines in the window. I know I’ll find my mom sitting by it.

  The front door is unlocked, and Mom looks up from her chair as I cross the threshold. She rises to her feet, her wringing hands a dead giveaway that she’s been stressing the fuck out.

  “K. J.” She takes a tentative step toward me, looking half relieved, half ready to smack me into tomorrow.

  I hold up a hand to stop her. “Stay away from me.”

  Her eyebrows shoot upward. “Excuse me? What makes you think you can talk to me like that? Especially after you haven’t bothered to answer my calls or texts?”

  For some reason this makes me laugh. The way I’m talking to her is about to be the least of her concerns.

  She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on with you? Why are you laughing?”

  “I didn’t answer you because I was pissed, Mom. Still am. We’ve got something we need to talk about.”

  A shadow of something like fear darkens her features. “Okay.” She clears her throat. “What is it?”

  “Who’s my father?” I ask point-blank.

  Her eyes turn away from mine, like they usually do any time I mentio
n my dad. “You know who your father is. Robert Huller.”

  “So why haven’t I ever met him?”

  “I don’t know where he is. He wouldn’t be a good father anyway. He left us, remember?” It’s the same line I’ve heard time and time again.

  I suck in my cheeks, chew on one for a second. “So Samuel Cowles isn’t my father?”

  Her face pales, but she recovers quickly and pretends to look offended. “What? No! Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Oh, just Grandpa. His last letter told us about a little secret you and RaeLynn have been keeping.”

  Her eyes widen, and I can’t tell whether it’s from anger or shock. Maybe both. She moves into the kitchen to get a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with water from the tap, she takes a long sip before turning to look at me from across the counter. “Your grandpa was sick, K. J. You know that. He was probably confused.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets and shake my head. “I don’t think so. He seemed pretty on top of things to set up all these trips for me and Becka. And out of all his letters, why would he start to lie to us in this one?”

  Mom sets the glass on the counter and comes back into the living room but keeps her distance from me. Her fingers drum against her legs, like she’s not quite sure what to do with herself. She reaches up to push a strand of hair behind one ear, but it refuses to stay put.

  “You did have an affair with him,” I say. “So this isn’t really all that far out there. Maybe you just forgot the year it actually happened.”

  I hold my breath, waiting to see how she’ll respond, but if she’s been lying, she’s done a really good job of hiding it.

  “I was already pregnant before the affair started. That’s why Robert left me. He didn’t want a child.”

  “Why does the story keep changing, Mom?”

  She gives me a blank look and her mouth opens and shuts several times like a fish that’s been pulled out of water.

  I decide it’s time to play my last card. “Guess I’ll have to get a DNA test. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Her expression changes in a flash. “What? No!” Her eyes are pleading.

  “Why not? If you’re sure Robert is my father, then why are you worried about it?” My tone is so cold, I don’t recognize my own voice, but I’m also getting some kind of weird enjoyment out of confronting her like this.

  She bites her lip and her eyes flutter closed. Her arms cross her chest again, like she’s hugging herself. She stays frozen like that for a long time. I’m about to turn around and leave when she moves toward the chair and falls into it again. Her hands cover her face, and her quiet sobbing pushes away the silence. Outside, the wind picks up, whistling and rattling in the windows. Seconds later, rain pings on the roof. A summer storm seems totally appropriate right now.

  She finally looks up at me, her face splotched in red and shining with tears. “Yes,” she croaks. “Samuel is your father.” She breaks down again, letting out a mangled sob, but she manages to hold eye contact this time. “I’m sorry I never told you. I was… just… so ashamed. I wish the affair had never happened. I ruined everything between RaeLynn and me.”

  “So what about me? Does that mean you wish I’d never happened either?”

  “No, not at all! I didn’t mean it like that. I did love Samuel at the time, but…” She seems at a loss for how to dig herself back out of this hole.

  “Yeah, Mom, you did ruin everything.” I want to keep going, really make her pay for what she’s done to me, but the adrenaline I’d felt just moments ago seems to drain right out of me. Now all I feel is numb. The raindrops pick up speed, hammering a steady pattern on the roof. In a few minutes, it will be pouring. A thin stream of water zigzags across the front window. “I gotta go.”

  Mom swipes at her face. “What? Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” With that, I turn and head for the door.

  I’m on the verge of bawling myself as I speed toward Carter’s place in the pounding rain. My clothes are nearly soaked as I knock on his front door. He lets me in with a worried expression that looks completely foreign on his face, but god it’s good to see him again.

  “You cut your hair,” is all I can think to say. It’s not super short, but more of a skater style, which hangs over his eye on one side.

  “Yeah, last week.” He pushes the strands aside and smiles.

  In a totally uncharacteristic move, I step forward to hug him. His arms tighten around my back, and I can’t believe how nice it feels. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve hugged someone. He smells like Irish Spring and a little like spearmint, and I want to keep holding onto him, this one constant in my life, but I unlink my arms and take a step back, clearing my throat. “So, um… where’s Dax?”

  Carter runs a hand through his hair, and it falls over his eye again. “He’s got the night shift. He works at the Shop N’ Go on Eleventh.”

  “Oh, cool.” I glance around the trailer. The living room is sparsely decorated, with only a worn couch and an old-style TV sitting on top of a metal cabinet. A framed poster of ZZ Top is the sole picture hanging on the wall—it’s the same one that used to hang above his bed at his mom’s house. The trailer is really clean, especially for Carter, and the greenish-tan carpet even looks freshly vacuumed. Did he do all of this for me? “I like your place.”

  “Thanks.” An odd-looking smile crosses his face, like he’s both embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “So how was your trip?”

  “I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

  “Oh.” His brows pinch together as the look of concern returns. “So… are you okay?”

  “Better now.” I force the closest thing I can to a smile.

  “That’s good.”

  But the bad feelings are pressing back in, and all I know is that I just want them to go away. I can’t help myself—I reach out to Carter again, and he pulls me toward him, back into a hug, but this time it’s not enough. I tilt my face up toward his, and he seems to understand. Our lips press together, but before I can lose myself in this strange form of comfort, my brain catches up with my actions. What the hell are we doing?

  I pull away again. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  Carter scratches at his neck, his gaze falling to the floor. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

  I shake my head and take another step back. “My head is all jacked up right now. I’m not thinking clearly.” My cheeks flush as my heart starts to pound. Did I just completely ruin our friendship? Oh god, maybe I’m more like my mom than I thought.

  Awkward silence descends and when our eyes meet again, Carter looks genuinely scared, too.

  “Is there any way we can try to forget that happened?” I ask.

  Carter gives a slight nod. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it.”

  “So…” I say, stepping around him to have another look at the trailer, because it’s way better than looking him in the eye and trying to ignore all these weird feelings I’m suddenly having. “Thanks for letting me crash here tonight.”

  “Yeah, no problem. You want something to drink or anything?” He scratches at his neck again.

  “Uh, sure. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” I follow him to the kitchen and sit on one of the two mismatched barstools while Carter grabs two cans of pop from the fridge. I imagine he and Dax had to hit up a few garage sales to furnish this place, but I’m still a little in awe that they’re actually living on their own. “Thanks,” I say as he places a Mountain Dew in front of me.

  Across the counter, Carter leans his elbows on the green-speckled laminate, which matches the carpet a little too well. “So, uh, you wanna tell me what’s going on with you? No pressure, I just figured you might want to explain… you know…” He nods toward the entryway. A hint of teasing threads his tone, but I can tell he’s also being serious. He’s well aware that something major has happened. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.


  I take a slow sip of my pop, a mix of darker emotions rising over the embarrassment of the kiss. “Might as well.”

  After I tell Carter the whole story, he has the decency not to look completely appalled. “So, yeah,” I say with a sigh, “that’s the shit show that has now become my life.”

  A smirk slides across his face. “Oh, come on now. Your life has always been a shit show. It’s what we have in common.”

  I can only smile at this. “You’re probably right.” I take another sip of my drink and then look him in the eye. “So are we still cool?” Because I don’t think I can stand it if I ruined the one good relationship I have left in my life.

  Carter rubs at his chin, pretending to think about this for a moment. The smirk returns. “Yeah, we’re still totally cool.”

  CHAPTER 25

  BECKA

  MOM’S ON HER SECOND CUP OF COFFEE, AND I’M picking the M&M’s out of a bag of trail mix as we sit across from one another at the kitchen table. Tim went to bed a half hour ago. He knew this was something Mom and I needed to discuss alone. I wonder if he knows K. J. is my half sister or if Mom’s kept him in the dark, too. Then again, I guess it doesn’t really affect him one way or the other.

  Mom didn’t deny anything, surprisingly; she just said she never wanted to hurt me. It’s strange, but in a way, I get it. My anger had faded quite a bit on the drive home, mainly because I was worried about K. J.

  “Did you know Sam told Grandpa?” I ask, giving up on the M&M’s and eating a peanut instead.

  Mom’s face puckers. “No. It surprises me that he did, actually. I didn’t think he’d open his mouth to anyone.”

  I work my tongue over the inside of my top teeth trying to get at a piece of the candy stuck there. “Sam should have told me.”