Not Our Summer

by Casie Bazay

  Mom gives a tired sigh and combs her fingers through her hair. “I asked him not to. I told him I would do it when the time was right. The only problem was, it never seemed like the right time.”

  “So if the affair between Sam and Jackie happened before I was born, you and dad must have gotten back together for a while, right?”

  She gives a subtle nod. “Yes. We tried to make it work, for your sake, but we just couldn’t.”

  I resume my search for one last M&M, and a red-coated piece of chocolate finally appears in the bag—a shining beacon amid the dull-colored nuts and raisins. I retrieve it and pop it into my mouth.

  Mom frowns. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. The rest of us like M&M’s too, you know.”

  I shrug and say sorry even though I’m not. Chocolate is the least I’m owed after finding out my parents have been hiding a half sister from me my entire life.

  “So why would Sam tell Grandpa? That’s weird.”

  Mom takes another sip from her mug, and I notice it’s the one she took from Grandpa’s house that day. “I have no idea. Maybe he thought we would never tell Dad—and that he deserved to know the truth about his grandchildren.”

  I raise an eyebrow. The irony of this statement is not lost on me. “So he deserved to know, but K. J. and I didn’t?”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Yes, you both deserved to know, but like I said, it was a difficult situation.”

  “That’s not a very good excuse.”

  “I know it isn’t. I’m sorry, Rebecka. Okay. I really am, and I’m glad you finally know the truth.” She purses her lips, then opens them like she’s about to say something else but takes a sip from the mug again instead. It’s like her security blanket right now.

  Her eyes trail to my wrist. “I still can’t believe you got a tattoo.” She didn’t freak like I expected she might, but then again, she must have realized she had no right to get upset over something as insignificant as a little tattoo right now. “And you said K. J. got one, too?”

  “Yeah. A dragonfly.”

  Mom seems confused, probably wondering why on earth we’d get tattoos together, but I don’t feel like explaining that on this trip, things changed somewhere along the way, that K. J. and I became almost amicable. That evening at the French restaurant when we were laughing and talking, we could have actually passed as friends having a good time. Of course, everything changed after the letter, and truthfully, I have no idea where we stand now, especially since K. J. pretty much shut down on the drive home.

  “Do you want me to call Sam and tell him that the two of you know?” Mom asks, though I can tell it’s the last thing she’d rather do.

  “I guess. Someone probably should.”

  Mom nods. “Okay, I’ll do it tomorrow.” She rises from her chair and takes her mug to the sink. She’s been unexpectedly serene about all of this. I guess I’m still waiting for the crap to hit the fan. For her to get angry about the affair all over again.

  I seal the bag of trail mix and push back from the table, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

  After returning the bag to the pantry, I turn to find Mom standing behind me. She opens her arms and pulls me into a hug, holding me there for several moments. I pat her back but can’t bring myself to fully return the gesture.

  “I really am sorry,” she whispers into my hair. “For everything.”

  It’s not enough really. She can’t expect me to forgive her for this right away. I clear my throat as she releases me. “Good night.”

  Her mouth twists into a sad-looking smile. “Good night, Becka.”

  An hour later and no closer to sleep, I switch on my lamp and grab my phone from the nightstand. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and call Sam myself. I’ve never called him Dad to his face because, in my mind, he’s never been deserving of that title. He can be all right sometimes, but for the most part, I still think of him as just a sperm donor. My two stepdads have been more involved in my life than he ever has.

  He answers after four rings, sounding groggy. “Hey, Becka. Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine.” Then I change my mind. “Actually, no. It’s not.”

  “Oh? What’s wrong?” His voice shifts, a bit of concern coming through.

  “I know about K. J.”

  “Huh? Who’s K. J.?”

  I roll my eyes. “Your other daughter, you know, the one you had with my mom’s sister.”

  Silence hangs in the air for several moments. “You mean Katherine?”

  “She goes by K. J.” Not that he would know that.

  He clears his throat, pausing again. “I wanted to tell you, but your mom asked me—”

  “I know,” I say, cutting him off. “She told me.”

  Silence again. “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t get why adults think those two little words are enough to excuse years of wrongdoing. I let out a quiet sigh. “Why didn’t you ever contact her?”

  “Jackie didn’t want me to.”

  “Don’t you think you should have at least paid child support?” My voice comes out angrier than I intended, but I don’t apologize.

  “She didn’t want that either. I tried.”

  I rub my finger over an ink pen mark on my bedspread, wondering when that happened. “She’s had nothing her whole life. They live in a trailer park. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You should reach out to her. She deserves to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, okay. I can do that.” He sounds terrified at the thought, though.

  “Good.” I yawn, fatigue suddenly making a reappearance. “Well, I’m gonna go. Talk to you later.”

  “Okay,” he says again. He’s beginning to sound like a broken record. Or a child who needs to be told what to do. It’s funny how adults can be like that sometimes.

  “Bye, Sam.” I hang up before he can throw an awkward “Love you” in there. I touch the ink mark once more before switching off my lamp and laying my head back on the pillow. Just as I’m about to drift off to sleep, I realize I never told Mom about K. J. backing out of the rest of Grandpa’s bucket list. There’s no doubt she’ll be upset. I don’t need the money, but Mom obviously does. Maybe I can still talk K. J. back into it somehow, but I’ll have to worry about that later. I close my eyes again, determined not to give any more thought to my cousin-slash-sister or my dad or mom.

  I’ve had enough of them all for one night.

  I sleep until nearly ten o’clock the next morning but awaken with an uneasy feeling stirring inside my gut. I need to talk to K. J., and since I still don’t have her number, I reluctantly decide to call the only person I know who would have it. Mr. Sisco seems surprised but also pleased that I’m asking. After saving K. J.’s contact information, I start a text to her:

  Hey, it’s Becka. How are you?

  A few seconds later, a dot-dot-dot bubble pops up, but then disappears. The bubble appears twice more, vanishing seconds later each time, and finally, nothing. I frown at my phone and set it aside. Maybe she needs a few more days to adjust. I can respect that.

  The house is quiet since both Tim and Mom are at work already. After scrubbing stain remover into the small line of ink on my bedspread, I place it in the washer to soak for a while. Then I pad to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice and grab a bagel from the fridge. As I nibble on my breakfast, I text Lexi and Maddie, asking when we can schedule our next coffee meetup. So much to tell them, and I don’t want to do it via text message.

  As I wait for my friends to respond, I check the weather, finding that it’s supposed to be ninety-five today. Hopefully, it’s not too hot yet. I should go do my morning run and maybe drop by the gym later today, too. My summer workouts have been sporadic with everything else going on, but I need to get back on top of my game for the upcoming soccer season.

  Lexi responds, quickly followed by Maddie, and we plan for next Thursday morning. I’m about to get off my phone and grab my running shoes but decide to Goo
gle the rodeo from Grandpa’s letter first. The Decatur Dog Days of Summer Rodeo is easy enough to find. The rodeo will be held July 22 and 23, along with some other festivities. I scan the events, finding goat milking, mutton bustin’, and a stick-horse race in the list, just as Grandpa had said. At the bottom of the online flyer, it says contestants should show up early to the eight o’clock performance, as events fill up on a first-come, first-served basis.

  We have a few weeks until the rodeo, so there’s still time for K. J. to change her mind. Surely, she’ll come around. At the beginning of the summer, Grandpa’s tasks were the last thing I wanted to do. I was only going along with things so Mom would get her money, but now that we’re down to the end, this whole thing has become about so much more than money to me. I want to finish it for Grandpa, and I want to finish it with K. J.

  CHAPTER 26

  K. J.

  “COULD YOU HELP THIS LADY FIND THE RAIN-X wipers?” my manager, Doug, asks me.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure thing.”

  I smile at the middle-aged woman, pretending like I know what the hell I’m doing here. It’s my third day at Reynold’s Auto Parts and I still feel like a duck out of water, but since I was desperate for a job and they had another spot open, this one sounded as good as any.

  “What size did you need again?” I ask as she follows me down the aisle.

  “Twenty-four inch.”

  “That’s right.” I stop before the array of windshield wipers—who knew there could be so many types?—and scan the names. “Rain-X. Here it is.” I grab the wiper and hand it to the lady. “Did you just need the one?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  It’s totally weird how people call me ma’am here, too. It makes me want to look around for the adult because they surely couldn’t be talking to me. I return to my spot behind the counter to ring her up.

  “Thanks for stopping in today,” I say as she turns to leave. “Come back and see us!” I might be going a little overboard, but I really want to keep this job. It’s the first one I’ve ever had.

  “Go take your lunch, K. J.,” Doug says as soon as the store clears out. The guy is big and burly and seems like the kind of boss you don’t want to argue with, so I just nod and head to the back office to grab my keys from my cubby. Thirty minutes isn’t much time to go anywhere, but I guess I can grab a sandwich and a pop from the Shop N’ Go down the road. My gas tank is dangerously close to empty and I have no clue how much money is left on the prepaid card Grandpa gave me. I’m sort of regretting getting the tattoo because having an extra seventy-five dollars would be helpful right about now. Hopefully, there’s still enough on there to fill up and buy lunch. I’ve been living off Carter and Dax’s good graces for the past week, and payday isn’t until next Thursday.

  When I pull up to the pump, I’m not sure how to figure out how much money is left on my card, but after sitting in the car debating on what to do for a few minutes, I go ahead and put five dollars of gas in.

  Lucky for me, there’s enough for that, so inside the store, I choose a turkey and cheese sandwich, a bag of Doritos, and a small fountain drink before getting in line. Only this time, the card won’t go through. “Can you take the chips off?” I ask the clerk, my stomach squirming with both hunger and anxiousness. I’m used to not having much money, but this really sucks.

  “No problem,” he says, ringing me up again.

  I try the card, but it still won’t work. “Um,” I look at the drink, heat flushing in my cheeks. I don’t think he’ll let me put it back. “How about the chips and the drink?”

  When I run the card again, the machine beeps and relief spills over me. Card accepted, thank God. I grab my things and turn around to find a man with crossed arms and a pissy look standing behind me.

  “Sorry.” I hurry to escape out the door. “Asshole,” I mutter outside.

  I’ve just made it to my car and ripped open the chip bag when my phone dings with a text:

  Can I call u?

  It’s Becka again—but I don’t feel like talking to her, so I toss the phone aside and take a sip of my drink instead. I finish off my lunch, if you can call it that, while driving back to work, but my stomach is still rumbling when everything’s gone. I know there’s food in the pantry at home, but I don’t want to risk showing up and finding Mom there. Even if she’s not home, she’d notice if I took food. I’ll just have to tough it out for now.

  It’s also tempting to finish up Grandpa’s bucket list and get my money. Maybe I could somehow finagle my way out of using it for college, but then Mom would get her share, too, and that’s the last thing I want. This is the only thing I have complete control over, and even though I feel kind of bad about Becka and her mom not getting their share, it’s not like Becka really needs it, and RaeLynn’s husband probably makes plenty of money. They’ll be okay.

  Carter’s truck is parked in the side lot when I arrive back at work, which makes my stomach flutter a little. Even though we agreed that things were cool between us, I’m always wondering if he’s still thinking about that kiss, too. My phone rings as I’m getting out of the car, distracting me, and I frown when I see it’s Becka yet again. I switch it to silent and stuff it back into my pocket.

  By the time my shift ends at four, my stomach feels like an empty crater. I drive straight to Walmart, grab two packages of ramen noodles, and pray there’s at least seventy-five cents left on my card. If not, I plan to scour the store for dropped coins because that’s how desperate I am. Success—my card goes through, and I can’t get back to Carter’s place fast enough in order to microwave those suckers.

  The smell of the salty noodles floods the kitchen, and my stomach riots with impatience. I stir the steaming bowl with my fork, but just as I’m about to take a bite, my phone rings again. I snatch it up, finding it’s none other than Becka. God, why can’t she take a freaking hint? I press the green button.

  “What?” I practically yell.

  “K. J.?”

  “Yeah? Hey.” My voice softens because it’s hard to feel angry when Becka sounds so calm.

  “Don’t you answer texts?”

  “Sorry,” I say, though I’m really not. I wasn’t ready to talk then, and I’m still not ready to now.

  She sighs into the phone. “Hey, I think Sam, you know, our dad, wants to contact you. Would that be okay? I didn’t want to give him your number without permission.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  “You still there?”

  “Why?” I finally manage to ask.

  “Don’t you want to talk to him? I mean, surely you have questions for him.”

  “No, not really.” He’s obviously never given a shit about me.

  “How about if I give you his number? I’ll text it to you. In case you change your mind.”

  “Whatever.” Neither one of us speaks for several seconds, and I can feel whatever comradery we managed to find back in the Keys slipping away like soapy water swirling down the drain. “I gotta go.”

  “Hey,” she says before I can hang up. “Have you given any more thought to the rodeo?”

  “Yep, and I’m not doing it.” She doesn’t respond, so I just say, “See ya later,” even though I know I probably won’t. I’m sure she doesn’t really want to see me again, and sister or not, I don’t really care if I see her. I hang up and toss my phone on the table, picking up my fork again.

  The ramen noodles are the perfect temperature now, so I slurp them down in a rush. The weird thing is, even after I’ve had my fill, I still feel somewhat empty inside. I’m not sure if that has to do with the phone call from Becka or something else.

  Maybe it’s a whole lot of things.

  CHAPTER 27

  BECKA

  “SO WHICH NIGHT ARE YOU GOING THIS WEEKEND?” Mom asks as I’m sitting at the kitchen table, filling out a four-page information packet the university sent me. “Tim and I want to come watch.”

  I haven’t found the courage to tell her K. J.
won’t be attending the rodeo and that no money will come even though I’ve decided to finish the last of the tasks. I twirl the pen in my hand, stalling for time. “I’m not sure yet.”

  Mom raises an eyebrow, like she’s on to me, but says, “Okay, well let me know when you decide.” She grabs her purse and thermos of coffee before scurrying out the door. “See you tonight,” she calls over her shoulder.

  I finish up the paperwork and then consider trying to call K. J. again. Surely, she’s gotten over some of her hard feelings by now. If I were in her shoes, would I have gotten over all this yet? I think about that question for a minute, tapping my pen against the papers in front of me, but I can’t settle on an answer. I’d be pissed for sure, but I don’t think I’d waste the opportunity to get a free ride to college. Then again, we’re two completely different people. Maybe college doesn’t mean the same thing to her, or maybe she just wants something different for her life.

  I try her number but get the automated answering message right away. Her phone must be dead or turned off. I fold the paperwork and place it inside the self-addressed envelope that was included. Guess I’ll run this to the post office. Mom’s always had a thing about not putting mail with personal information in the mailbox for pickup. “That’s how people get their identities stolen,” she’s told me. I have a feeling that happens more from online stuff, but whatever; the post office isn’t that far away.

  But after dropping my mail off, impulse strikes and I turn left instead of right. I need to talk to K. J., and I’d much rather do it in person. I know they live somewhere between West Siloam Springs and Colcord, but I Google their address as I drive. It’s not hard to find. Mom wouldn’t be happy knowing that it’s possible to find practically anyone’s address online.

  I arrive at Maple Village Mobile Home Park twenty minutes later, but locating the right trailer proves somewhat more difficult. Unlike my neighborhood, where the house numbers are prominently displayed on both the houses and mailboxes, the numbers are much more discreet here. Plus, the trailers all sit sideways, making it nearly impossible to see anything from the road. I search for K. J.’s car, but it’s nowhere to be seen. On my third time around the loop, I spot a car that I think might be Jackie’s. It’s worth a shot, anyway.