That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

  “I will answer that one. Yes, yes I am, and yes we are.” Ty beamed with joy. “He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I can’t believe that I am this lucky.”

  “I knew it!” Cara told him. “Congratulations! You know, after my uncle interviewed you, he told me that if you took the job, I had to drag you down to The Digs and introduce you to Timmy. He said you guys would be perfect together. Cheers!” She raised her mug.

  “To true love,” Amy added, and they all drank to Ty and Tim. Then she brought them back to the game. “Ty, you get to ask me something now.”

  “Alright, and since we’re asking sex questions: Amy, truth or wash all the sheets, did you once hook up with Matteo? Because he claims you did, and I don’t believe him.”

  “Really? That’s your question? Ugh.” Amy looked a little embarrassed. “It was like four years ago, and it was just like one time, and it was fun. But if I had known he would bring it up every single year, I might not have done it. I guess I was the best he ever had, so that’s why he has to keep bragging.”

  “One time?” Cara repeated, a skeptical note in her voice.

  “I said it was like one time,” Amy replied, somewhat crossly.

  “Uh-huh, right. Well, to be fair, I did warn you,” Cara said. “Matty always did like to talk.”

  “Yeah, well I wanted to see if he lived up to all the hype, which, by the way, he did. When are you going to give him a tumble? I think you’re the last holdout among island women. You’re single now. You may as well get it over with.”

  “Very funny. You know that’s never going to happen. Matteo and I have been friends for twenty years. I love him dearly. But if anything was going to happen between us, it would have happened a long time ago. There’s an expiration date on those kinds of things.”

  The cousins stared at each other for a moment, and Sam thought he sensed more animosity brewing. He was more concerned with Cara’s words than the atmosphere though. Was there really an expiration date on chances? Had his already passed? Bad enough the summer was nearly at an end, now he had to worry about this too?

  Amy was the one who broke eye contact and looked around. “My turn. Sammy, truth or clean the entire staff-house kitchen, which I suspect you’ll do anyway. Why did you cut your hair before coming here this summer?”

  “Jesus, Amy, that’s the dumbest question I ever heard,” Cara told her. “You’re usually much better at this.”

  “Don’t worry. This is only the beginning. I have a whole plan of escalating Sam’s embarrassment. Well, Sammy, what’s your answer?” Amy narrowed her eyes at Sam. “And don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”

  Sam stared back at her and did, briefly, think about lying. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Because back in April me and a bunch of friends from work frosted our tips. We were going to one of those throwback parties dressed as a nineties boy band. The guys with straight hair looked fine, but it was awful on me, I ended up with this fluffy bleached halo. I didn’t realize it would be permanent. How the hell did you know?”

  Everybody laughed at him, and he felt slightly ridiculous, though not as ridiculous as he had looked for a couple of days. Lizbet had been so mad at him when she saw his hair, she’d screamed in exasperation and immediately scheduled him an appointment with her hairdresser.

  “You’re not on Facebook, but I’m apparently a friend-of-a-friend of one of your coworkers, and he posted pictures. My friend commented, so it showed up in my newsfeed. I totally jumped in with the mockery when I recognized you—you looked pretty stupid. Beware the power of social media, Sammy. Even if you avoid it, it gets you.”

  “What?” Cara sounded scandalized. “Amy, if you saw that in April, you and I were together. How could you not tell me? No offense Sam, but I could have used the laugh.”

  “I was saving it for a funny surprise when he got off the ferry. I didn’t expect him to cut his stupid hair off. But if you remind me later, I’ll print the screenshot I took and hang it up in the office for everybody’s amusement.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Amy.” Sam ran a hand through his regrowing curls. “It’s my turn to ask Cara now, right?” There were so many questions in his mind. Cara, are you ready to move on yet? Cara, the other day in the grove, were you about to kiss me? Cara, can we ditch these guys and go make out now?

  “Hold that thought. Bathroom break.” Amy jumped up and left the room.

  “Good idea. I’ll be back, too.” Tyrell got up and crutched his way into the men’s bedroom, leaving Sam and Cara behind.

  “Got a question?” Cara looked down at him with those eyes that always made him weak.

  “Can I ask a serious one?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I know you’ve been avoiding the issue, but Cara, how did Phil die?” He only asked because he thought talking about it might help her move on, that getting things in the open and discussing it might let him take some of the burden. She looked so sad sometimes, and he wanted to help. But the way she responded, pulling her leg away from his touch, and the tears that suddenly formed in her eyes showed that he’d made a terrible mistake.

  “That’s really what you want to know?” Her voice was tight with either anger or pain. He couldn’t tell, and that made him feel even worse.

  “I just . . . I thought it might help you to talk about it, I didn’t mean to upset you . . .”

  Amy came back at that moment, and she immediately assessed the scene. “What the hell did you do Sam? I was gone for like two minutes.”

  “He asked his question, that’s all.” Cara stood up. “Sam, he killed himself. I broke up with him, and he committed suicide. And it’s my fault. I could have stopped him, and I didn’t. I left him to die. Game’s over. I’m going to bed.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Amy waited until Cara passed her. “Hey, awesome job, Sammy. Thanks for ruining the evening.” She flipped him off as she followed Cara into their room and slammed the door behind her.

  Tyrell had watched from the other doorway. “Damn, that was messed up. You shouldn’t have asked about that.”

  “Did you know he killed himself?” Sam replied defensively. “Because I didn’t. How was I supposed to know it was a bad question? I was trying to help.”

  Tyrell just shook his head. “Young, healthy guy drops dead and nobody talks about why? Of course it was a suicide. What did you expect?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Midland, Texas, November 2012

  Cara sits at the bar, waiting. It is Thanksgiving weekend, and Phil’s plane arrived an hour ago. She made up an excuse not to pick him up at the airport, but promised she’d meet him at his hotel. He had expected to stay with her at her dad’s house, but she told him she thought they’d have more fun someplace else. Early in their relationship, they used to do this on their numerous weekend trips: she’d go to the hotel bar, he’d come in and pretend to pick her up for the first time, and then they’d go up to the room and have amazing sex. She knows that’s what he’s expecting today.

  But that’s not her plan.

  She’s perched on a bar stool drinking a glass of water. She’s already tipped the bartender way too much money to keep an eye on her. “I’m breaking up with my fiancé,” she explained, “and I don’t know how he’s going to take it.” This is it. She really is going to do it this time. She is strong. She is ready.

  She had wanted to end the relationship when she stopped by Chicago on her way to Texas from Whispering Pines, but Amy was with her and the timing didn’t seem right. Phil had been on his best behavior the whole weekend, and they actually had fun. She was afraid to crack that mood in front of her cousin. It doesn’t matter though. She’s thought about it for a long time and she’s ready. She even emailed Sam to tell him she’d be single soon, and that he was right, they belonged together. She’s positive he’s going to call, and that gives her the strength to stand up to Phil.

  Amy told her she was being cruel making Phil fly all the
way out here on a holiday weekend just to get dumped, and Cara knows she’s right. However, she thinks doing it in person is important. That way she can return the engagement ring, and she’ll be able to deal with his reaction immediately. If she broke up with him over the phone, she would live in fear that he would show up at her door to either try and win her back or destroy her—she’s not sure which.

  She looks at her phone. Still nothing from Sam, but it’s coming. He might not have spoken to her for the past couple of months, but there’s no way he’ll ignore her message. She’s giving him what they both want. Maybe she can go visit him in Aspen before she heads to her job in Canada? She can imagine Sam teaching her how to ski, smiling at her over a candlelit meal, making love to her in front of a roaring fire.

  Phil arrives, and she can’t tell by his expression which version is in control. He tries to kiss her, but she turns her head. “Oh, is that the game we’re playing?” he asks. “Let’s not. I’m tired. I just want to fuck you and go to sleep. Come on.” He holds out his hand like he’s going to lead her from the room.

  “Actually, Phil, we need to talk.” She tries to use a firm tone. There’s something in his eyes, something dangerous that is making her resolve crumble. She glances at her phone. Nothing yet.

  “Women always want to talk,” Phil complains, but he sits and orders a drink.

  The bartender meets Cara’s eye, and when Phil is not looking he mouths, ‘you can do it’ at her. He’s right, she can. Tipping him well was a good idea.

  “Look, Phil, it’s about us.” Cara launches into her speech, the one she practiced over and over with Amy until she felt confident. “I don’t think we should get married. In fact, I don’t think we should be in a relationship. You and I do not belong together. I’m not happy, and I don’t want to be with you anymore.” She takes off her engagement ring and slides it over to him. He leaves it on the bar.

  “Very funny, angel. Put your ring back on. I told you, I’m tired and I’m not in the mood for games. Let’s go up to my room now, and I’ll show you we do belong together.” He puts his hand on top of hers. To anyone else the gesture might appear sweet, but Cara can feel anger pulsing under the surface of his skin.

  “Phil, our relationship hasn’t been good for a very long time. I don’t like the way you treat me, and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. It’s over.” She tries to keep from shaking. She doesn’t want him to see her fear.

  “There’s nothing wrong with our relationship,” he corrects her. “We’re in love, and we’re getting married. Sure, we fight sometimes, but so does every other couple. Imagine how boring our lives would be if we didn’t fight and make up.” His left hand is still on hers, but he moves his right hand under the bar to her leg. His fingers dig into her thigh muscle, and she pulls away.

  “You don’t get to touch me ever again. I said it’s over.” She stands up and puts her phone (still no messages—what’s going on?) into her purse.

  Phil grabs her by the wrist to stop her from leaving. He’s changing tactics now. There are tears in his eyes. “You can’t do this to me, you’re my angel! You know I can’t live without you. I just can’t.” He tightens his grip and tries to pull her back toward him.

  The bartender appears. “I think you need to leave the young lady alone.”

  Phil looks back and forth between the two of them. “Oh, is that how it is? You’re fucking this guy? Did you really think cheating on me was a good idea?” His tone turns threatening.

  “No, Phil, I’m not. I’ve never cheated. This isn’t about someone else. This is about what’s best for me.” She wrenches her wrist out of his grasp and steps out of reach.

  “Really?” he looks at the bartender, who has picked up the phone. “I know you’re lying when you say there’s no one else. You have no other reason to pull this kind of bullshit. I warned you what would happen if you cheated on me.”

  “Hey, man, that’s enough,” the bartender interrupts. “We’re not sleeping together, and I think she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want you either. You better get out of here. I’ve already called security.”

  “I guess that’s it then.” Phil smiles and is suddenly transformed back into his charming original self. “You know, Cara, this is a tragedy. We could have been so happy together, but you had to ruin everything. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll never have to see me again.” He picks up the ring, drops it into his shirt pocket, and walks away.

  “Wait for security to arrive,” the bartender suggests to Cara. “I don’t trust that guy. I want you to have an escort to your car.”

  Cara makes it back to her father’s house safely, relieved. The break up went better than she had expected, although she’s not naive enough to think Phil is done with her. She doesn’t want to park in the driveway where Phil might see the car and know she’s home, but the garage is occupied by her stepmother’s Lexus and the sunfire-yellow 1967 Sting Ray that her father recently finished restoring. It’s a midlife crisis kind of vehicle, Cara privately thinks, but he’s also got a midlife crisis kind of wife. Cara’s not a fan of her stepmother, a woman only five years older than Cara herself.

  She’s glad they aren’t home, because she isn’t ready to talk to them about her broken engagement yet. At the O’Connell family Thanksgiving dinner, her stepmother had asked far too many questions about her upcoming wedding and why it wasn’t scheduled, not because she cared about Cara’s happiness, but because the selfish witch wanted to shop for a mother-of-the-bride dress. Spring or summer, I need to get the right seasonal color, she kept saying, and Cara worked hard to keep herself from screaming. So yes, it’s best she doesn’t have to deal with that woman right now. However, she can’t stay home alone.

  It’s not safe.

  She checks her phone. Still no response from Sam. Maybe he doesn’t check his email very often? He must be at work and hasn’t seen her message. He will though. She’s sure it’s only a matter of time. Maybe she should call him?

  Her phone goes off in her hand, a text from Amy. You single yet?

  Yep. I’m coming over. Open a bottle.

  Amy is home for the holiday as well, staying at her parent’s house around the corner. Cara takes the long way, cutting through the backyard and then circling around the block, in case Phil decides to come talk to her. She doesn’t want him to spot her outside where she’d be alone and vulnerable.

  The cousins sit on the floor of Amy’s childhood bedroom and share a bottle of wine. “You know I didn’t like Phil anyway,” Amy tells her. “I mean yeah, when we first met him he was fine. A little dorky, but fine. But I didn’t like the way he kept calling the inn and asking about you.”

  This is the first Cara has heard about that. She asks Amy what she means and is surprised. “Oh, didn’t I ever tell you? He used to call the front desk sometimes during my shift and ask how you were doing, who you were hanging out with, that sort of thing. He acted like he and I were such good friends, and really I thought he was just being creepy.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Amy cackled. “I told him that every day when you got off work you drank a fifth of vodka and passed out on the floor. And I told him you had started smoking crack with the crazy old man who runs the lighthouse. And you shaved your head and got a dragon tattoo on your scalp. You know, your usual activities.”

  “I love you, Amy.”

  “Everybody does. I’m the best.”

  They’re halfway through the first bottle when Cara’s phone dings. She recognizes Phil’s special text tone, so it’s not the message she’s been hoping for.

  “Phil? Don’t read it,” Amy advises.

  “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to.” They continue to drink. Phil texts again fifteen minutes later. He’s probably getting angry that she hasn’t responded. She wonders if she should, but she changes her mind before her hand touches her phone. She knows Phil. She knows what he’s doing, and she knows he needs an audience. She won’t give him that. She is
free. Someone else can save him this time.

  When the wine is gone and Cara is starting to think about going home, she decides to read the texts.

  The first one scares her:

  I can’t live without you, Cara. I just can’t do it. Come downstairs. I’m in your garage.

  The next one is worse:

  My angel, I thought you’d come. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine. I hope you can live with it. I’m sorry.

  She and Amy sprint down the street and open the garage. The Sting Ray is running, and Phil is unmoving in the front seat. Amy immediately calls for an ambulance, and Cara momentarily freezes. She needs to shut off the engine, but she worries that if she enters she’ll be overcome by the fumes . . . and a dark voice deep inside her whispers that she should wait. Has it been long enough? Was he successful this time? And, if not, does she have to rescue him again?

  Cara can’t let herself think like this, and she rationalizes that opening the big garage door would have let in enough fresh air to let her safely approach. She runs inside the garage, yanks open the car door and turns off the ignition. Bile rises up in her throat as she looks at Phil’s slumped body, his red face, his glassy and unseeing eyes. He did it. He really went through with it this time. She can’t breathe, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the foul air or the overwhelming emotions of both guilt and relief that are cascading over her.

  Moving carefully to avoid touching him, she plucks Phil’s phone from his lap. There is one last text message on the screen that he did not send. Bitch. You made me do this. She deletes it.

  Amy hangs up and then comes over and embraces her. “The police are on their way. Let’s wait for them on the porch.”

  Before she can lead Cara away, Cara reaches into Phil’s shirt pocket, retrieves her engagement ring, and slips it back on her finger. Amy doesn’t ask any questions.