Summer Heat

by Carly Phillips

  I hate to hear her say those words. I don’t want her to leave me. She’s the only person that I really have. I have my friends from school and dance, but I only see them in those two places. Our neighbors are all old and we live miles apart from most of them, except for Phoebe. She lives down the street and is only thirty-three steps away from us. I know because I count the steps whenever I go over to her house. It’s always the longest and shortest walk that I take around here. I used to go over to Thelma’s house, two miles down, when her grandkids used to visit. They stopped coming last year though. Now that they’re teenagers they’re too cool to hang out with their grandma. Either way, Aunt Shelley is the only family I have. This is the only home I have.

  “Is the bread done?” Aunt Shelley asks when she steps back in to the kitchen.

  When I look at her, I can tell she’s been crying. Her blue eyes are glossy, and her face is puffy.

  “Are you okay?” I ask concerned.

  She gives me a sad smile. “I am. I just haven’t seen my friend in a long time. He’s very dear to me.”

  I frown. “Why hasn’t he come before?”

  “He has, but work keeps him away sometimes.”

  I nod even though I don’t understand.

  The rest of the night is spent with the Bingonians cackling away at memories they have together. Aunt Shelley laughs along, and it makes me smile. She doesn’t smile too often. Well, she does, but it’s usually a sad smile as if she’s missing something-or someone. None of her friends bring up any family Aunt Shelley may have had. She doesn’t have any photos around her house—other than the ones of me and some of her when she was younger.

  I ask her if she’d ever been in love and she smiles brightly and says that she had been.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  She gives me a small smile and caresses my cheek. “Sometimes you need to do things that hurt in order to protect the ones you love.” I frown and ponder her answer, but don’t question her about it, even though it doesn’t make any sense to me.

  I’ve never asked if she had kids. Surely, if she did, I would have met them in the almost ten years I’d been living here. As the weeks pass, Aunt Shelley becomes weaker. Every day, she rambles on about things that don’t make much sense. She tells me that one day I’ll understand my life. She tells me that if I ever find a good man that puts others before himself, I should hold on to him.

  “Find a man that will watch over you. Don’t settle for men who only have one thing in mind. If he doesn’t like to eat, something is wrong with him,” she says, which makes me laugh. “He needs to put you before himself—always,” she would tell me. “He needs to love you more than you love him.” That one confuses me a bit, but I don’t ask.

  The rambling goes on for a week before the live-in nurse we had tells me that the medication is making her a little spacey. One night Aunt Shelley asks me to lie in bed with her. With tired, shaky hands, she strokes my long hair and caresses my face.

  “You mustn’t be afraid of love, Blake. No matter what you go through in life, don’t be afraid to love. Loving is the only thing that keeps us sane. If it weren’t for love, the suffering we experience wouldn’t be worth it. If it weren’t for the suffering, we wouldn’t cherish the good things life gives us. Sometimes it’ll seem as though life only knocks you down, but you have to learn to pick yourself up and fight back. I love you, Blake. I will always love you even when I’m no longer here to tell you,” Aunt Shelley breaths weakly.

  “I love you, too, Aunt Shelley,” I whisper as tears run down my face.

  Her hand stills in my hair, and I look up to see her smiling at me. A happy smile. I sleep in her bed that night. The next morning I get up to shower, careful not to wake her, and when I get back to her room after drying my hair and changing, the nurse tells me that Shelley is gone.

  Phoebe comes over within ten minutes. I lock myself in my room for a couple of hours before Phoebe tells me that I have to go stay with her for a couple of days. Aunt Shelley has left preparations for her funeral and burial. I don’t remember any of it. Those days are a blur to me. I feel dozens of hands on my shoulders. I hear hundreds of “I’m sorry for your loss” sentiments. The only thing I remember is the empty feeling in my heart and thinking that I was alone, again.

  When Phoebe asks me to pack up because she’s going to drive me to Mrs. Parker’s house, I am still empty. When I get to Mrs. Parker’s house and meet the other kids, I feel at home and my heart starts to refuel with love—little by little.

  I’m thankful to Shelley for the advice she gave me that week and I’m thankful that I still remember it. Thinking of her happy smile that night still makes me smile even though it was bittersweet. In retrospect, I wish I would have been more aware during the funeral and burial. I wish I could remember the faces of those who went. I wonder if that man that called her “Ma” was there. I wonder if Mark was there. I think back to the letter she left me—the one I decided to burn. She wrote that she was not my aunt. I figure that to be my aunt she would have had to be younger—but you never know. I don’t know who she could have been. Unless—

  My thoughts are interrupted by my ringing house phone. I groan and reach over to pick it up. Cole left for work awhile ago, and Aubry and Aimee are away this week. I wonder which one of them is calling—or maybe it’s Becky. I look at the caller ID, and it says Private. I consider letting the machine pick it up, but curiosity gets the best of me—as usual.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Is this Blake?” a harsh male voice asks.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “An old friend of her pops,” he replies, giving me chills.

  What the fuck?

  “Blake doesn’t have a father,” I reply as evenly as I can.

  He laughs and coughs heavily. I can tell he’s a smoker. “Everybody has a father, Cupcake. Let me speak to Blake.”

  “Blake’s father is dead, sir. Please don’t call here again,” I say before hanging up.

  I feel my face heat from the blood rushing to my head before the phone rings again. Private caller. I grab my cell phone with my shaky hands and call the first person I think of-Mark. I rapidly explain the call I received and what the man said to me. He tells me that he’s sending Bruce—my old security guy—to pick me up in five minutes. I agree and start getting dressed rapidly. When I’m in the closet, I hear the machine beep, and the same man’s voice flows through the room.

  “Blake, pick up the phone,” the rough voice says. “Your father’s not dead. He just doesn’t want to be found...but I can take you to him.” My stomach drops and I hold on to the doorframe as I try to catch my breath.

  Why are these people bothering me? How did he get my information?

  “Blake, what happened to the boy? Cathleen?”

  I can’t breathe. I try, but I can’t. Only gasps escape me. My legs finally begin to function, and I run to the phone.

  “Hello?” I shout. “Hello?” But the line is silent.

  A loud knock on my front door makes me jump. I take a couple of deep breaths and walk out of my room. I look through the peephole and see Bruce standing on the other side, his full-grown beard bleeding into his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair. I open the door and see him eye me curiously. I look down and see my disheveled wardrobe. I grab my long black pea coat and put it on. It’ll have to do.

  I ask Bruce to give me a minute and run back to my room to grab the answering machine. I have to play the message for Mark. When I get to his office, I don’t even bother to check in with Skipper. I just barge right into Mark’s office. He looks up annoyed but stands when he sees it’s me. I take a seat before he reaches me, because the adrenaline I’m running on is fading, making my knees weak again.

  “Are you alright? Give me the machine,” he says, grabbing it from my hands. “Let me get you some water.”

  As he serves me the water, I explain to him again what my conversation with the man was like. He plugs in the machine, and when I hear th
e voice, I cover my ears and look down. I can’t bear to hear the man’s words again. I look at Mark and his face has completely gone pale.

  “Who is it?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  He clutches on to his shoulder as if he’s been hit by a bullet and sinks into his seat. He doesn’t answer me. He just stares blankly into my face.

  “Is it true? Is my father alive?”

  He exhales. “Your father…I can’t talk about him right now,” he says as he looks around his office, conveying a secret message to me. Oh shit. This is bad. “He’s been dead a long time though,” he says, but his eyes are telling me a different tale—a tale he needs me to know now.

  I nod. “Yeah, you told me,” I say, playing along. “Anyway, I just needed you to hear this. Do you know who it is?”

  He nods but doesn’t say a word. I know we’re being taped or recorded, so I don’t ask anymore.

  “Mark...” I whisper. “Cole...” I say, taking a breath between my words, willing my tears to stay in my eyes. “If anything happens to me…” I choke through a sob. “Will you please take care of him?” I cry.

  Mark looks at me with sad eyes for a long time before he nods his head.

  “Blake,” he says softly. “I’ll always watch over both of you.”

  “Promise me, Mark. If anything happens to me, please promise me,” I whimper, no longer in control of my sobbing. “Promise me that no matter what he says, you’ll have two security guards on him. Promise me,” I scream.

  “I promise, I promise. Nothing is going to happen,” he says sadly.

  “It already has, though,” I reply weakly. “It already has.”

  He doesn’t correct me. He knows as well as I do that things we cannot control—and things I do not understand—are happening.

  “Do you want to go out for lunch?” he asks.

  I don’t hesitate. I’m dying to get out of this office. Maybe we’ll go somewhere we can speak more freely. I send Cole a text message, saying that I’m out to lunch with Mark. I can’t tell him what it’s about over text, or he’ll leave work early. I ask Bruce to please get two of his guys to watch Cole without him noticing.

  Mark and I arrive at a Lou Malnati’s Pizzeria, home of the best deep-dish pizza—in my opinion anyway. We sit at a small table in the back of the restaurant and order one large cheese pizza and a pop each.

  “So is this the part that you tell me how me and you are connected?” I ask.

  Mark laughs. “You never give up, huh?”

  “Nah,” I say, smiling sadly and shaking my head.

  “Blake, does it matter who I am? You know I’m taking care of you guys.”

  “I also know you helped take us,” I retort, raising an eyebrow.

  “Touché.”

  “Mark, be serious. Why were you involved?” I ask.

  He lets out a breath and closes his eyes for a second before he answers.

  “I was young—too young. I guess you could say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was at a point in my life where I was trying to do the right thing, but still wanted to be cool. My brother was always walking on the wrong side of the law, I wasn’t. The guys that took you—were involved in horrible things. Hell, my entire family was. They came to our house that night looking for him. Since he wasn’t there, they took me. At first I thought it was cool because I was going to live my brother’s life for a little while. Then, they held me at gunpoint and asked me where Camden lived. I thought it was a joke. Everyone knew where Camden lived. I took them there, thinking they would let me go. They didn’t. They got Nathan and threw him in the back of the truck with me. The leader of the two drove to your house,” he paused and took a sip of pop, his eyes watering. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sizzling pop or from the memory. “They—” he started in a hoarse voice before he cleared his throat. “Nathan cried the entire ride over. He was screaming for his parents. He kept looking at me like I should help him, but I didn’t know how I could. I didn’t want to get us both killed. When we got to your house, they wouldn’t let me out of the van. They were talking about it in the car. They said they were going to take your dad as ransom. I knew they wouldn’t kill anybody there. I didn’t think they could have possibly been that stupid.

  “When I heard the gunshots coming from inside, I got out of the van and ran to the house. The main guy stopped me and told me that if I did anything stupid, he’d put a bullet in...in your head. I told him I wouldn’t, and he gave me two needles with a tranquilizer in them. Nathan had followed me out and was sticking by me when I looked in the kitchen. The other guy, whom I’d never seen before, was carrying your dad on his shoulder. I thought he was dead. When I looked at the floor and saw...I had to step back out. One of the guys grabbed Nathan and took him back to the truck while I went to the side of the house to compose myself. I put on a brave face for you—or I tried to. I had only seen you a couple of times before that. I went in and gave you the tranquilizer, hoping to numb you from your pain and rid you of that awful memory. I’m so sorry, Blake,” he said, tears streaming down his face.

  My shoulders are shaking in quiet sobs as I listen to him. We’re getting looks from the people around us, but we don’t care.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know what they were doing. I did what I could for you and Nathan. The head guy took off in another car with your father and left us behind with the other guy. I tried to pay him off. I promised him things. I knew who he worked for, and I knew that he wasn’t happy about the predicament he was put in. He agreed to leave and never come back. I had you guys to deal with, and they wanted you dead, so I took Nathan to Maggie’s because I’d heard of her from my mother, and I took you to Shelley’s,” he says taking a deep breath and meeting my gaze, “because she was my mother.”

  I feel the air constrict in my lungs as I sit there, completely dumbfounded. I was looking for the truth, and now I had it. After a couple of minutes of pulling ourselves together quietly, the pizza arrived. We had both lost our appetites, and even though we both agreed that this was our favorite pie, we couldn’t finish it. We could barely eat the slices we had on our plates.

  “Do you know the guy with the glass eye?” I ask as I play with the melted cheese on my plate.

  He sighs loudly, making me look up and see his mournful eyes. “I did. I knew him well, once upon a time.”

  I nod in response. “It’s a lot to take in. I guess it’s different, hearing it from your perspective, since you were older than us and actually remember it.”

  “I remember it every day, and every day, I wish I didn’t,” he replies solemnly.

  Chapter Twenty

  Present

  5 months later

  Everything is blooming outside of the full-length windows of the two bedroom apartment Cole and I bought together a couple of months ago. We decided that we’d look for a bigger place later—when we really need one. Our place is close to Soldier Field and to any job that I’ll get once I pass the bar this summer (knock on wood). Aimee and I have been studying for a couple of months now. We’re both excited to put the killer that is law school behind us and get on with our lives.

  As I rummage through the kitchen drawers, looking for a spatula to decorate a cake for Cole’s birthday--which is today--I stumble across the Christmas card we sent out months back and smile. It’s a picture of Cole and I standing in front of the tree in Rockefeller Center in New York, as we do our best Home Alone “scream face” expressions. I tuck the picture back in the drawer when I hear the shower turn off. I go back to icing the cake and turn around when I hear the bedroom door open. I turn and find Cole dripping wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet long hair is flicking up and down every time he blinks, and his crooked grin tells me he’s up to no good.

  “Why are you wet?” I ask crinkling my nose.

  “I thought you were going to sneak up on me in the shower,” he says with a fake pout.

  I laugh. “Aww, poor baby. Get back in the show
er, maybe I’ll make an appearance in a couple of minutes.” He smiles, flashing one dimple and winks at me before turning around—fully aware that I’m gawking him—and lets his towel fall to give me a view of his perfectly sculpted ass. I gasp loudly, which makes him laugh before facing me to show off his very hard—all over—body. I toss the spatula aside, throw off my “While I’m Wearing This: I’m The Boss” apron, and run to jump on him, wrapping my legs around him as he squeezes my bottom and walks us into our room.

  That night, Aimee, Aubry, and Mark come over for cake and ice cream. We all settle down around the living room, talking about anything and everything. Cole, Mark and Aubry get into a heated conversation about street lights--yes, really, street lights.

  “Why it is that you didn’t go into law school, Cole?” Mark asks with a laugh.

  Cole smirks. “Because I don’t like bullshitters.”

  I slap Cole playfully on the shoulder. “Hey! I’m not a bullshitter!”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me into his lap. “You are, and I love you anyway,” he says before stopping my reply with a searing kiss. I’m breathless when I pull away. “Asshole,” I mutter against his lips before smearing his face with the piece of cake I had left on my plate. We spent the rest of the night throwing cake all over each other. When Aubry shoves a blob of ice cream down the back of my shirt, I decide play time is over. After we clean up and everybody leaves, Cole and I shower and lay in bed grinning at each other.

  My heart is overflowing with love for him, for us, for our life together. As I look into his loving green eyes, I think of all the years I’ve known him and all the years that I will continue to know him, and it makes me smile brightly. I am so thankful for him. He’s never given up on me, no matter how crazy and impossible I get. And I do get crazy and impossible—often.

  I lean into his face, and just as I’m about to kiss him, I whisper, “I love you, Cole.” He doesn’t return my kiss, and his face is priceless when I back away. He looks at me in awe before leaning up on his forearm to looks at the time.