That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

  Cara’s feet always remembered the path to Lesser Lake. She could find it with her eyes closed in the dark if she wanted to, which was convenient because the moon had gone behind a cloud and she hadn’t brought a flashlight. Everyone else was still back at the restaurant for the soft opening. Amy hadn’t even noticed her sneaking out, which was a relief. She didn’t want Amy to ask her where she was going.

  She was not surprised to see him sitting on a blanket by the lakeshore, but she was surprised by the number of twinkling lights on the rocks. He didn’t turn around at her approach, but she heard his typical greeting. “That had better be Cara sneaking up on me.”

  “Not sneaking, Matty. What’s with all the candles?”

  Matteo turned around and looked at her. “I thought you’d like it. I wanted to try and make it special for you.”

  She couldn’t make herself smile at that. “Not necessary, but thanks for the thought. Should I go first?”

  “Straight to business? I like it,” Matteo joked, but the grin quickly faded from his face.

  He had always been able to read her very well, so he knew this was hard for her. They both walked over to the edge of the water together.

  “I saw a shooting star earlier,” he told her, pointing above the pines. “Right there. Maybe it’s a message.”

  “I almost hope not,” she replied, and then realized how depressing she sounded. She put her backpack on the ground next to her and removed a film canister.

  “You’re starting with your mother?” he asked, and she nodded.

  She leaned over and sprinkled the cremains into the lake. The moon came out then, nearly full, and it made the ashes shimmer on the surface of the water.

  “I miss you, Mom,” she said to the lake. “I really could have used your help this past year. I like to think you made me strong enough to survive anything, but there were times I wasn’t sure. But I love you and miss you. Give me another good summer, please.” She turned away as the words threatened to choke her.

  Matteo hugged her and then he, too, spoke to her mother. “Cynthia, you were the mom that all of us kids wished we had. I think of you every time I eat a double-fudge brownie. I wish you had shared your recipe. Thank you for not killing me when I got Cara shipwrecked on Lonely Pines. You would be proud of your daughter if you could see her now.”

  After a few moments of respectful silence, Matteo ventured a question. “How many of those are left? It’s been thirteen years.”

  “Only four. I spread some in Thailand in April, and I sent some with a friend to Italy. My mom would have liked that.” In some ways, she was going to be glad when all the ashes were gone. She would have finished her duty, and maybe she would finally have some peace. At the same time though, this ritual meant a lot to her, and she was afraid when she ran out of ashes she would run out of the last tenuous connection to her mother.

  The ritual of scattering ashes actually started with an idea from Cara’s mom years earlier when she brought nine-year-old Cara to the edge of Lesser Lake at the start of Cara’s first tourist season. “Your grandma believed that the spirits of the island reside in this lake,” her mother explained. “So every year when I was a child, she and I came up here and asked them to give us another good summer. This is where your grandparent’s ashes are scattered, so this is where we can talk to them and ask them to watch over us. It’s hallowed ground.”

  The year Cara’s mother died, she invited Matteo up to the lake to join her. She wasn’t working there that summer. She had just come out to visit Uncle Paddy and get away from the oppressive sadness in her home. She wanted to follow her mother’s tradition, but couldn’t face dispersing the ashes herself, and her uncle couldn’t bear to help. Matteo was like a brother to her, so it felt natural to invite him to come along. Afterwards, they never really planned it, but every summer when Cara came to the island, they consecrated the start of a new tourist season together. Cara always brought a small canister of her mother’s ashes, and sometimes Matteo brought someone as well. They had said goodbye to one of his grandparents and a cousin. She never told anyone else about it though—their ritual was too personal.

  “I have someone too.” Matteo walked back to his picnic blanket and returned with a steel water bottle.

  “Who’s that?” Cara asked in surprise. She and Matteo spoke often, and he hadn’t mentioned any losses.

  “Jessica.”

  “Oh, Matteo, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It happened in December, right after Phil’s death so I didn’t want to burden you. She had cancer.” He suddenly started to cry, and Cara hugged him tightly. “She was sick, and I couldn’t afford the treatments, and the doctor couldn’t guarantee they’d do anything for her anyway. I took her for a last boat ride. We went out to Windward Pines, and she got to run around in the snow one last time. I took care of her myself. Dr. Ferrin gave me the medicine, so I was able to inject it and hold her as she died.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Cara teared up as well. “She was the best. I’m so sorry.” She could feel his heartbreak. She knew how much he cared about his dogs and how important they were to him.

  It took him a few minutes before he calmed down enough to actually spread the ashes. They watched them swirl away.

  “Jessica, I loved you so much. You were my favorite from the minute I got you. I don’t know how I made it through the winter, and it’s going to be a rough summer without you. I knew Berners didn’t have long life spans, but the years we had together made the pain of losing you worth it.”

  Then it was Cara’s turn. “Jessica, you were a good dog. You always took care of your family, and I’ll never forget the time a skunk sprayed you and you were so embarrassed you hid in Matteo’s bed. I gave you a treat for it, but I don’t know if you understood why you got the reward.”

  That brought a smile to Matteo’s face. “I forgot about that incident. Did I tell you Tristan and Martha got sprayed by skunks this spring? Maybe that was Jessica trying to get them treats.”

  They stood quietly, watching the ashes, and finally Matteo turned to her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t act so upset over a dog when you’ve lost so much more than me. Are you ready to scatter Phil now?”

  “He’s not here.” She stared out over the water to avoid looking at him.

  “Oh. Oh, Cara, I’m so sorry. I misunderstood. I thought they cremated him. That’s why I set it up so romantic for you here, so you could say a nice goodbye.”

  “I know, and I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do. And yes, he was cremated, and his parents gave me half his ashes. They wanted me to take them to Spain, where we met. They thought it would be sweet.” She wouldn’t turn her head, wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “What did you do with them?” Matteo finally asked, when the silence had been drawn out too long.

  “I poured them in a dumpster in the back of an IHOP. He would have hated that.” One of the things Cara always liked about Matteo was that he knew when to stop asking questions.

  He stood quietly next to her and then reached out and took her hand. They stood together, side by side, for several minutes, silently watching the moonlight on the lake.

  “Alright, enough of this. Let’s get drunk.” Cara released Matteo’s hand and returned to her backpack where she had stashed a bottle of cheap tequila.

  “That is the tradition.” Matteo grinned, took the bottle from her, and took a swig. “Cheers, to your mom and Jessica. May they watch over us this summer.”

  She noticed he left off Phil’s name, and was glad.

  Chapter Eleven

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Sorry I missed our usual Skype time last night. We had the soft opening for the restaurant (it’s like a practice to make sure the staff knows what they’re doing), and the food was pretty good. You probably would have enjoyed it. I had the fish, which was fantastic. We get amazing fresh trout right out of Lake Superior. They catch it in the morning, and we cook it in the evening. (Ok, n
ot we. I have nothing to do with any of it.) The other option, which Cara had, so of course she shared with me, was bison, which I always find interesting. It’s tastier and more tender than beef. Have you ever tried it, or is it too ‘American’ for your tastes?

  Half the business owners in town came up for the opening, and I may have gotten myself a little bit of side work doing some marketing for a couple of them. I’ve been in talks with the Chamber of Commerce for that new winter tourism initiative, plus I’m working on getting my favorite bar to let me design T-shirts. If I score the contract, I’ll send you one.

  Speaking of my favorite bar, after dinner that’s where I went with that new guy I was telling you about, Tyrell. Except we didn’t go immediately after dinner because it seriously took him an entire hour to get ready. Seriously. And he’s not even one of those annoying metrosexual guys who gets manicures and puts on makeup. And he doesn’t have that much hair, so how does it take him three times as long to get ready as it takes me? He changed his clothes like six times, and I finally got him to just wear this tight V-neck shirt that showed off his pecs (I thought it would be to his benefit). Then he put on some cologne—and right then Sam (that chef I already told you about) walked in. (They share a room.) And Sam started getting all upset because apparently molecules of scent might touch his precious clothes and cling to them and ‘contaminate his palate’ and make him make all the food in the dining room taste like cologne or something like that. It was a bit ridiculous, and after a really stupid argument, they came to an agreement that Ty would only spray his cologne on the front porch.

  Incidentally, if I were Ty, I wouldn’t have caved. But he is new here and he is stuck sharing a room with Sam all summer, so I guess he valued keeping the peace. Also, I guess he valued ending the discussion and (FINALLY!) making it down to the bar so he could try and flirt all night. He has these beautiful almost mournful looking dark eyes, and he used them to full effect. It’d be hard not to fall for him. I’ll be honest; it was so adorable.

  Cara didn’t come out with us last night, and I don’t know exactly where she went, but I do know she came back at 3:00 a.m., and I know that because that’s the time I woke up and ended up holding her hair back for her as she vomited. I’m not even mad though because at least she was out having fun. I think it’s been beneficial for her getting back here. She’s starting to seem a little better. I mean, she’s still on her whole I-feel-guilty-for-killing-my-fiancé thing, which I had hoped she’d get over by now (or at least move on from—I know she’ll never really get over it. How can she? I can’t either. I feel a little guilty too. Sigh.). She had all winter to think about it and heal, but obviously she didn’t. Of course, working at an ice hotel in middle-of-nowhere Canada, which basically means sitting around freezing all the time in the dark, probably didn’t help, but I thought our backpacking trip would. I know I felt better spending all those weeks on Thai beaches with a hot Italian. It’s too bad you don’t have a brother.

  She’s not the same person you met. Remember how you told me she seemed like the ghost of the person you imagined her to be? She’s becoming a bit more human. Hell, last week I even saw her spontaneously smiling again, and it’s been forever since that happened. I’d like to take credit for it, but I suspect it has more to do with the healthy living here—fresh air, plenty of exercise (no cars allowed, so we walk or ride bikes to get pretty much everywhere), and plus we’re finally eating decent food again. I know I criticize Sam, but one good thing about him is that man can cook! This is the best we’ve eaten in a long time. It might be partly my fault. Before he got here, I was trying my hand at cooking, and Cara said she was not impressed at my attempts to pair Indian and Italian cuisine and she doesn’t think my ‘experimental’ sauces go well on pasta (or anything else). But hey, it was worth a try (and yes, I know you told me the same thing, I wasn’t listening to you either). Paddy never complained, but he also bought us pizza a couple of nights, so I guess maybe he didn’t like it much himself.

  One more rant about the chef though. Since I said complementary things about his cooking, I can also complain some, right? Did I tell you it’s the same guy we had last summer; that asshole who was the only one who didn’t send Cara any condolences when Phil died? No calls, no emails, nothing, even though he and Cara used to be pretty close friends. I was so mad at him for that, so one night I sent him an email basically saying, ‘What, you can’t even call Cara? Just FYI, you’re the biggest asshole I ever met.’ And do you know what his response was? Something stupid like, ‘Oh, why should I call, just because it was Thanksgiving? She doesn’t want to talk to me anyway. But happy f-ing holidays to you both.’ Seriously, that’s what he said. I’ll forward you what I wrote back so you can learn some new American swear words.

  Anyway, he didn’t respond, and neither of us heard from him after that. And then Paddy told us we needed a new chef and started interviewing people; then all the sudden this guy changes his mind and decides to come back. Don’t get me wrong. I basically like him. He’s fun to hang out with and he’s delicious eye candy (don’t be jealous though), but who doesn’t at least express some sympathy when their friend’s fiancé dies? A selfish asshole, that’s who.

  And . . . speaking of selfish assholes, I’m going to be one right now and say that I wish you could come visit. First trip to the States? I know, I know. I stole enough of your time, making you extend your trip the way I did. And you have a lot going on, especially with your grandmother. But it would be so nice to see you again. I miss you.

  After the inn opens tomorrow, I’m going to be on a regular schedule, and it should be easier for us to connect. I’ll be at the desk from noon to nine most days, and we do have some slow periods in there. You can expect a lot of annoying emails when I’m bored.

  Chapter Twelve

  Whispering Pines, May 2013

  Opening day. Cara woke up unnecessarily early in anticipation, even though it was her last opportunity to sleep in all summer. She usually worked the first shift and was up before sunrise. None of her morning tasks needed to be done today, when the first guests wouldn’t check in until the afternoon. But still, it was important to try out waking on schedule. She had been following Amy’s example of sleeping the morning away for far too long. Honestly, she probably should have shifted her sleep cycle days ago, but she had been having too much fun reconnecting with her island friends.

  She could hear someone moving around in the staff kitchen. Strange, she hadn’t expected anyone else to be up. Amy’s arm still jutted out from the enormous pile of blankets on her bed, and she knew Ty wasn’t an early riser. Could it be . . . no. Sam didn’t have to be up for work yet either. But maybe . . .? Her heart beat a little bit faster, and she took the time to brush her hair and wash her face before she walked out of the room. There was Sam, standing at the stove in pajama pants and a T-shirt. He had on his wire-rim glasses, which she found so endearing, though he claimed he looked too nerdy in them and always switched to contact lenses.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked quietly. He turned and saw her, and his smile made her warm inside.

  “Old habits,” he shrugged. His smile slowly faded as he pointed to a steaming mug of coffee sitting on the table. “Isn’t this what we do? Or are things different now?”

  It was a loaded question. Their mornings together had come to an abrupt end, and she had missed them. She hadn’t been sure if they would resume this summer. She still had no idea how Sam felt, or what he wanted. She didn’t know where they stood.

  “Things don’t have to be different. We’ve always been friends.” That last word hung in the air between them as an offering from her.

  She knew she lost her chance to have anything more, but they could be friends again, right? They could get back to that ease between them, their ability to talk about anything or sit relaxing in silence. That’s what she wanted. Well, no, truth be told, part of her wanted more than that, but she’d settle for friendship. She wasn’t sure if she was rea
dy for anything else anyway.

  “Friends.” Sam seemed to be trying the word out in his mouth, tasting it. “Friends.” Finally, he smiled again. “I can do that, Cara. I’ve missed you. Hungry?” he gestured to the pan. “I figured we’re not serving down at the inn this morning, so I’d make you something here.”

  They ate in silence. She had no idea what to say or how to start a conversation. So much had happened since last summer, since last November even, and she didn’t know how to start over with him. He’d been back for a week, and now, in their first moment alone together, all they’d been able to do is confirm their friendship. At least that was something.

  “Hey, um, Cara,” Sam said suddenly. He wasn’t looking directly at her, his eyes remained fixed on the bottom of his tea mug. “I heard about Phil, and I just wanted to tell you I’m so very sorry for your loss. If you ever need to talk about it or anything, I’m here. I’m always here. I’ll always be your friend.”

  His speech sounded rehearsed, and he didn’t make eye contact at all, which made her wonder about his sincerity. And she didn’t want to talk about Phil, not with him. You know I’m the love of your life, Phil had told her so many times. We belong together. I can’t live without you.

  “Why didn’t you say anything before? Why didn’t you call?” she asked before she could stop herself. She had received so many calls, so many emails in the months after Phil’s death. Friends from college, friends from high school she hadn’t seen in years, people she’d never met who knew her father and stepmother. It seemed like anybody even tangentially related to her life sent condolences, but not Sam. His number never showed on caller ID, and there was never a text or an email. Nothing. First, he’d ignored her when she sent the message asking if he still thought they belonged together, and then he’d ignored the terrible news, and she knew that it had reached him. His address was on every group email that went out.