The Last Summer Girl: A Coming of Age Love Story

by S. C. York

  This is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © Copyright 2016 by S.C. York All rights reserved.

  First Edition: 2017

  ISBN- 9781520107097

  Cover Design by S.C. York

  Interior Formatting & Editing by Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  www.scyork.com

  sc@scyork.com

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  To the original summer of fun gang; teacup formation!

  June

  I tiptoe down the stairs praying she’s gone. With my flats in one hand and my bag in the other, I sidestep each spot that might creak under my weight.

  I hold my breath.

  The only sound in the house comes from the battery-powered clock above the kitchen table.

  Tick tick tick.

  With no sign of her, I let out my breath only to realize there’s no chance the front door won’t squeak when I turn the handle.

  Hastily, I put on my shoes and prepare to run—just in case she’s there lurking in the shadows.

  “One, two, three, go—” I whisper, and twist the knob open to make my escape.

  Screaming, my arms flail wildly. I reach out and grab the porch railing. Thank God, it stops my momentum. I might fantasize about taking her clear out, but I would never actually do it.

  “Holy shit, Mom! You scared the crap out of me,” I tell her with my right hand over my pounding heart.

  “What are you doing out here so early?” I ask. The last thing I expected was to see her here outside, square on the front steps outside the door.

  “Getting the paper,” she answers dryly.

  “Oh. Doesn’t Dad usually bring it to you?”

  “Yes. But Milestones prints every Thursday and I need to read it before my yoga class. Pat checks the obituaries and I scan the birth announcements and engagement section.”

  “Mom, you are a God damn wacko,” I tell her shaking my head.

  “What have I told you about taking the Lord’s name in vain, young lady? Do I need to get a bar of soap out like I did when you were five?”

  She thumps the rolled-up newspaper on her thigh. Standing in her nightgown and threadbare slippers, my mom looks every day of her fifty-one years. Deep frown lines crease her forehead and in her eyes is a look I’ve seen a thousand times before—disappointment.

  Dejected, my bag drops off my shoulder, and I brace myself for what’s to come.

  “Don’t think your father and I don’t pay attention to what time you’ve been getting home. Two in the morning is unacceptable. You’re living under my roof this summer, and I expect you to be home at a reasonable hour.”

  “What’s a reasonable hour, Mom? Midnight?”

  “Ten—at the latest, ten,” she responds.

  I roll my eyes at her, “Mom, you can’t be serious? I’m twenty-two and just graduated from college.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Vanessa—my house, my rules.”

  She digs in and I know better than to fight with her. Appeasing her like a child usually works better. Distracting her also helps. I decide to try the latter.

  “I was out late with Eva last night. It’s her first week working for Charles Foster and she was filling me in.”

  “She got a job at Foster Sailing? Oh, my word,” Mom pauses dramatically, placing a hand over her heart, “Did she meet Blake?” My mom pauses and looks expectantly at me, holding in her breath.

  “She sure did. Eva said he’s everything we thought he would be, and then some. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late for my own job.”

  “Sure, honey, go, go—” she waves her hand dismissing me and steps aside to let me pass.

  Phew, that was close. Using the magic, the fantasy, and the enigma of the Foster family works on her every time. My batty old mother is obsessed with them. Their family is like royalty in our small town. We’ve never seen Blake or his father, Charles, in person since they keep themselves hidden behind gated driveways and inside private yacht clubs. The only glimpse into their world is what’s printed in the society pages of our local newspaper or Coast and County magazine. Mom is going to eat up every crumb I give her courtesy of Eva and it just might save my ass this summer.

  Cruising in my MINI through the empty streets of downtown Mystic is my favorite part of the day. Early mornings here are so peaceful. Crossing over the drawbridge seems magical even though I’ve lived here my whole life. I haven’t traveled much outside of Connecticut but even tourists seem to feel the magic of my New England hometown, commenting on how the small downtown resembles a mini Amsterdam. I don’t know much about art, but this place makes you feel as if you are living inside a Norman Rockwell or Thomas Kincaid painting. I get the same feeling inside my heart when I see paintings of those men as I do every time I come home.

  The windows of the shops that line either side of Main Street sparkle in the early morning sun. Planters full of bright blooms hang from lamp posts. Sailboats and motor yachts line the docks on either side of the Mystic River, which is deserted except for a few fishermen trying their luck.

  The Wharf Inn is just up ahead. The expansive white stucco building has hunter green shutters that frame every window. The hotel dominates what would be an entire city corner. I’ve worked at the hotel front desk for the last four summers, but this year I’m coming back as the new assistant manager for a few months until my marketing job in Manhattan begins.

  My hiring manager in the city phoned last week asking if I could start in September instead of July—something about fourth quarter budgeting.

  I eagerly informed him that it was no problem—the truth is, I’m stalling. I’m intimidated by New York and how different it is from my coastal New England town which is ironic since I’ve always dreamed of the day I would graduate college and get away from my stifling mother. I wish I could be more like Eva. She fears nothing.

  Pulling into the lot behind the hotel, I can’t help but grin as I park in the prime spot reserved for management. With my new purse in hand, I walk with a bounce in my step to the back lobby door. I’ve stolen one last summer and it’s going to be a good one.

  It’s barely noon, and I want to crawl back home. The slow ache behind my eyes has built to a pounding pain courtesy of the two PITA (pain in the ass) standing in front of me.

  “I’m truly sorry your stay here so far has been less than satisfactory,” I tell them.

  They just stare blankly at me from the other side of the counter. I’m grateful the woman has finally shut her mouth. She laid into me for a good ten minutes. First, it was about the horrid traffic they got stuck in. Traffic on a two-lane highway during peak season? Who would’ve thought that would happen?

  Then she started complaining about the ice mach
ine being a mile away down the lobby and then totally freaked out when she learned we don’t offer twenty-four-hour room service.

  The kicker was when the damn air conditioning unit burned out causing a short in the wiring. Of course, it had to be this couple’s room with no cold air.

  “The electrician is on his way to repair the faulty wiring. I’m sure you will enjoy the view from Red 36. I hope you have a fabulous lunch. When you get back, everything should be fixed,” I tell them brightly. I’ve mastered the art of disguising my inner dialogues with pretty smiles.

  “It better be, or I’ll want to speak to the manager.”

  “I am the assistant manager on duty. And I can assure you the problem is being taken care of.”

  The man looks at me in disbelief, clearly doubting someone my age can handle anything. I’m so tired of other adults looking at me, still seeing a kid. They walk out angrily, slamming the lobby door behind them.

  I pull up their reservation in our computer and type PITA in the notes. This code phrase will warn my co-workers on the next shift about them.

  Lori, the head housekeeper, comes down the stairs from the second floor. Oh, yeah, there’s no elevator here either. Tiny beads of sweat dot across her temples and a few wisps of hair have escaped from her bun, sticking to the side of her neck. She hands me the clipboard marking off the rooms that have been cleaned so I can enter the information into the computer in case we have any early check-ins.

  “How’s the staff doing? I don’t want anyone to pass out washing laundry in the basement. Their air should be back on soon.”

  She shrugs her shoulders and accepts what the wealthy couple who just left can’t.

  Sometimes shit just happens.

  “Here,” I tell her taking out a few bills from the petty cash box. “Go treat yourself and the rest of the housekeeping staff to some iced coffees.”

  She smiles warmly at me, “Thanks, Vanessa, you are the sweetest.”

  I smile back knowing that sometimes the small things can make a difference in a person’s day.

  Opening my purse, I see a chain of texts from Eva and TJ.

  Esker tonight! It’s finally here, TJ wrote.

  I’m bringing the boxed wine, Eva replied.

  Summer kick-off party starts in 5 hours baby! TJ responded.

  I need a drink now, major PITAs. at the Inn!..., I type.

  I’ve got you covered girlie :), Eva responds.

  Smiling, I place my phone back in my bag and decide to walk down to the docks for some fresh air and an iced coffee myself. The new girl, Anna, is here, I might as well break her in and let her answer the reservations lines that are ringing non-stop.

  “I’ve waited all year for this.” Sighing, I dig my toes into the warm sand and the scent of salt water and sunscreen hits me. My eyes follow the movement of sailboats bobbing up and down to the cadence of the waves.

  “Nothing beats Esker Point Beach on a Thursday night,” Eva responds, pouring more wine into my cup. A car pulls into the lot behind us blaring Natural Mystic. Bob Marley’s classic song is a staple around here.

  “Thanks—I needed this. It’s been a long day,” I tell her.

  “The tourists or you mother?” Eva asks sarcastically.

  “Take your pick,” I reply downing the wine. “She hates me.”

  “Vanessa, your mother doesn’t hate you. She’s just jealous. When do you start your job in the city?”

  “September.”

  “You’ll survive. You just need thicker skin.” She slides her sunglasses on and scans the beach. I’ve been dismissed.

  I sit back in my chair disappointed at how she always brushes off my feelings. I love her but sometimes her frankness stings. Eva’s never been the warm and fuzzy type, but a little empathy every now and then wouldn’t hurt.

  Staring out into The Long Island Sound, my stress level reduces with every glass of wine she pours me. Glancing at the swelling crowd I shake my head at the strange mix of people gathering. Families juggling children and beach chairs cross in the road. Biker gangs sporting leather and bandanas drink draft beer by the concession stand. Then there’s the preppy yacht club types wearing pressed plaid shirts and oxford loafers. These are the locals from all the surrounding beach towns here for the first beach concert of the season.

  There are no tourists here since we are about a ten-minute drive out of town, hidden just outside a residential community. This tiny sliver of sand is our sanctuary.

  “We need to move soon,” Eva tells me as she starts packing up our things.

  The bass player strums out a few chords, finalizing his sound check. We always leave the families and grandmas behind to find a spot behind the stage, where millennials like us turn the beach into an outdoor nightclub every Thursday at sunset.

  “Vanessa!”

  Hearing my name through the buzz from the crowd, I turn around. My eyes light up seeing TJ. His real name is Tim, but he prefers the nickname I gave him when we were kids. I’ve known him since before I was potty-trained. Our parents love telling us how we used to practice “going together.”

  Thank God neither of us remembers those days, but my mom won’t let it go. She takes out the Polaroid pictures every Thanksgiving when we host him and his mom for dinner. I think our parents secretly still hope more develops from our friendship, but I’ve known TJ for so long, that it’s hard to see him as anything but a sibling.

  He finally reaches us after winding through the maze of beach blankets and sets a small cooler down in the sand, taking out the promised bottle of tequila.

  “To our last summer together in Mystic, let’s make it epic,” he says, pouring shots. Throwing my head back, I down mine in one swallow. The alcohol burns my throat, bringing tears of pain to my eyes. Coughing from the burn, I chug the last drops of wine in my cup.

  “Whoa—the two of you kicked an entire box of wine in thirty minutes?” TJ’s astonished.

  “Yep,” Eva answers without looking up from her cooler. She grabs three Coronas and hands them out, “Are you guys ready?”

  She’s always all business, but she is fiercely loyal to me and TJ. When Eva moved to town in junior high school, she saved me from Wendy Smith and her posse. They picked on me relentlessly, forcing me to hide in the girl’s bathroom during lunch period. It all ended the day Eva found me. I was eating my sandwich, pathetically, hiding in the back corner of the bathroom. She jammed a quarter into the feminine dispenser and ordered me to follow her. She marched right into the cafeteria holding the maxi pad high and started yelling that she had a special delivery for Wendy. It took weeks before the boys stopped making fun of Wendy.

  Eva Cruz saved me from years of high school hell and she’s been my hero ever since. Eva and TJ became friends shortly after, and the three of us have been inseparable ever since. Heck, we even went to Eastern Connecticut College where we just graduated together. There was no way a higher education was going to separate the three of us.

  And just like I was when I was thirteen, I still follow her. Eva leads us through the crowd and I search for familiar faces but they are all blurry—I can’t focus. I shouldn’t have taken that tequila shot. My sandal snags on the corner of a beach blanket and I stumble, sloshing beer onto a small child playing with sand toys.

  “Watch it!” the mom yells angrily. I mumble an apology and keep going, fighting to keep my balance as we weave through the crowd.

  “You made it,” TJ laughs when sluggishly I catch up to him. But Eva’s still going. She passes the volleyball courts and stops just short of the breaking waves.

  I take a deep breath and try to regain control when I finally reach her. Leaning on TJ, I slip off my sandals praying the cold water on my feet will help me sober up.

  After a few minutes, I feel somewhat in control and turn around to face the beach. I sigh in contentment at the view in front of me. The concert’s in full swing and the stage area is full of couples dancing. Behind them cliques are scattered across the sand and as I g
aze to the right; families sit on beach blankets where candles glow like fireflies. This would be my first perfect summer moment…if I wasn’t so drunk.

  “Vanessa! Watch out!”

  TJ grabs my elbow, hauling me out of the way as a Zodiac slams up on the beach next to me. The powerful but small boat looks like the type of military craft a Navy seal would use on a covert mission.

  “Jesus!” I scream.

  My heart is pounding as I turn to see who the heck almost took me out. Four guys are lounging inside the small boat drinking bottles of Red Stripe.

  Of course, it’s him.

  Seeing my reflection in the aviator lenses of Mystic’s golden boy is surreal. I’m finally face to face with the legend. Mom’s going to flip when I tell her how he almost killed me.

  “What the heck was that Blake?” Eva exclaims, reaching into the boat for a beer.

  “Sorry, Eva. I just got the new Yamaha 8 horsepower fitted on my Zodiac today. I haven’t quite gotten used to the power this baby has,” he laughingly replies.

  I haven’t moved. I’m still planted in the sand next to TJ staring in shock at the local celebrity who almost ran me over, and he couldn’t care less.

  “TJ…I didn’t know you knew my girl Eva,” Blake says stepping out of the rugged watercraft.

  “I didn’t know…you even knew my name,” TJ retorts.

  “My father and I know every employee at the yacht club,” Blake replies, as his friends help him move the impressive boat ashore.

  I raise my eyebrows at Eva and she finally gets the hint to introduce me to him. Blake takes my hand and kisses it, “Pleasure to meet you…Vanessa.”

  “Thanks for the apology,” I mutter.

  He winks at me and walks by.

  My eyes follow him and it’s impossible to miss how the crowd parts, almost as if recognizing their king has arrived.

  Eva and TJ follow him and I look down in disgust. But all I see are feet. I stare at them incredulously for a good fifteen seconds. Encased in a pair of Adidas flip flops, they look to be a size twelve and perfectly shaped with smooth, clean toes. This is strange, I never stare at feet. I find them very repulsive.