The Trick to Landing

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  Summer tried to sit up, but Bastian pushed her back down. “Am I supposed to be working? I didn’t mean to blow it off. I swear. Where’s my uniform?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Miss Rosie shook her head. “You are a mess, aren’t you? Don’t you worry your pretty little head. You come back when you’re better.”

  “Dr. Loose said weeks or months,” Bastian said.

  “He’s a good one.” Miss Rosie clucked her tongue. “They really called out the big guns for you, poor child. You rest up. You won’t do me any good if you’re brain dead.”

  “I think she likes you,” Bastian said, squeezing her hand.

  Summer turned to study him, but the more she looked, the less she could remember why he was there. Or what she was doing in the ER. Nurse Laura had sent her to the ER. But that was before.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “What are you doing in the ER?”

  “I’m here for you.”

  “But I’m not sick. I’m fine.”

  “I know.” He shifted on his chair and took both of her hands in his, drawing them close. “You hit your head. The doctor said you’d be a little mixed up.”

  “But why are you here?”

  He leaned in. “Because when I saw you take that fall, I nearly lost it. Even when I’m mad at you—and I’m still furious—I never want to see you hurt. I want to wake up every morning and know that you are safe and happy and mine.”

  She sucked in a quick bit of air, her brain clearing enough to latch onto the intent of what he said, even if she couldn’t hold onto the words.

  “I’m here, Summer, because I’m falling for you and even though you won’t remember a word I’ve said in five minutes, I need to tell you.”

  Someone knocked on the door and she broke away from Bastian to face the short, hobbit-like man in the doorway.

  “Hello, Summer. Do you remember me?”

  She shook her head, shifting her eyes to focus on Mom, standing just behind the strange little man.

  “Is that bad?” Mom asked.

  “It’s expected with this kind of trauma,” he said. “It won’t take much to close the laceration, but the actual brain injury will take time and a lot of rest.”

  “What happened?” Summer asked, staring at the doctor.

  “You had quite the wipeout this morning. I’m Dr. Loose. I’ve been taking care of you.”

  “This morning?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I . . .” She glanced sideways at Bastian. “I remember the golf course. And something about a camera? Not the golf course. Rocks. We were on rocks. Did I slip?”

  Bastian tightened his grip on her hands. “That was Thursday night, around six-thirty.”

  “Why are you here if I’m hurt?” she asked, narrowing her eyes to help them focus.

  “I was there when it happened,” he said. “I came with you to make sure you’re okay.”

  “But you’re not hurt? I was with you in the ER.”

  “That was two days ago. I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to take another look at your head,” the doctor said. “Now that we have an idea of what’s going on inside, we can look at the outside.”

  “Is it bad?” Summer asked. Mom and Bastian exchanged a look. “Seriously? I don’t feel that bad.”

  “You’re on a lot of medicine, Keiki,” Mom said. “They cleaned you up pretty good, but it’s bad.”

  “Are you ready for a haircut?” the doctor said. “There’s a nice, deep gash there and I don’t think I’ll be able to fix it without shaving the hair around it.”

  “You want to shave my head?” She pushed up from the bed, but Bastian held her down.

  “Not all of it.” The doctor lifted up a lock and her head exploded in pain again.

  “I haven’t cut my hair in five years.”

  “Then you’re due for a change, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t want to change!” She gripped the edge of the bed, but when she tried to sit up, the whole room spun and her vision darkened. “What happened to my head?” she said, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop the pounding.

  “Nothing we can’t fix,” the doctor said. “Just lie back and we’ll get you patched up in no time. Then it will be up to you to make sure your brain recovers.”

  The stitches itched. Or maybe it was the way they’d shaved her head. Nestled into the couch in Grandma’s living room, all Summer knew was that she was miserable.

  Her hair was usually an afterthought. She left it long and loose rather than taking the time to style it. But since she’d grown out her childhood bob, it had been a part of her, part of how she hid from the world. The missing chunks made her even more exposed.

  “Don’t pick at it, Keiki,” Mom said. She settled on the arm of the couch and brushed the long strands of hair on the other side of her head away from her face. “It’s a good thing you have a nice head. I could never pull off the Sinead O’Connor look.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. It’ll grow back fast and I’m sure you can do some nice pixie cut.”

  “I’d hate to look ugly for the wedding.” The painkillers were wearing off and the combo of pain, dizziness, and nausea made her mean. “Ruin the pictures and all.”

  “Let’s just focus on getting you well, okay?”

  Summer sank back into the couch. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yes, it is.” Mom kept stroking what was left of her hair. “The doctors were able to stitch the cut closed and there’s no bleeding or swelling in your brain, but it’s a bad concussion. You’re very lucky it wasn’t worse. And if you don’t rest, your brain won’t have a chance to heal.”

  “I know.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “My hair is gone, Mom.”

  “Hair grows back.” Mom knelt in front of her and kissed her forehead. “I promise.”

  Summer closed her eyes. Everything hurt, inside and out. That single promise didn’t mean much.

  “Pete called to check in on you,” Mom said.

  Summer frowned and pulled a blanket around herself. “Did you tell him I screwed up yet again?”

  “He offered to come home if you need him.”

  “Why would I need Pete? He’s not even family.”

  “Summer.” Mom’s fingers stilled. “Do you want me to postpone the wedding again? Or call it off? Is that why we’re fighting so much?”

  “What?” She picked up her head, setting off another wave of vertigo, but Mom gently pushed her back down. “No.”

  “We didn’t used to fight. Don’t you remember how much fun we used to have?”

  “I was a kid then. And you were different.”

  “I thought . . .” Mom lowered her eyes. “I’ve always wanted you to have a family. A mother and a father, maybe siblings. A home that isn’t on wheels. But your dad didn’t want that. This is our chance.”

  “But—”

  “I will always love your father, but he’s selfish. So am I. We all are.”

  “Couldn’t you have tried?”

  “I did, Keiki. For years. After I left your dad, I met other men. I dated some.”

  “When?” Summer pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  “I didn’t want to introduce them to you until I knew. I didn’t want to bring someone else into your life who wouldn’t stay.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I tried to scare Pete away, like every other guy before him. I told him about Cody and you, about how your father shows up and sleeps on the couch. I told him about your grades and your drinking and the stories I heard from the boys at the market.”

  Summer’s lips parted. “You knew?”

  “Keiki, of course I did. I was just like you.”

  “Then why did you tell someone else our secrets?”

  “To make absolutely sure.” Mom went back to stroking her hair.

  “Sure of what? That he was less screwed up than us?”

  “That if he wa
nted to be part of our family, he knew what that meant. I wouldn’t let him meet you until I knew he could accept you for who you are.”

  “Wait.” Her hands shook. “He knew about the boys and the drinking? Before he met me?” Their first meeting took on a whole new light. He’d always treated her like she was normal. Like she was just a kid. Not like she was a colossal failure.

  “Summer, I know he’s not Cody, but he’s a good man and he loves us. He loves you. We want you to be part of our lives.”

  The ache behind her eye started up again and her voice came out softer than she meant. “Don’t call off the wedding.” The fuzzy edges around her reality crept in again.

  “I want us to be a family—you and me and Pete, and, yes, occasionally Cody. He’s still part of you and therefore part of me.”

  “I’ll try.” It was the best she could promise.

  “Thank you.” Mom blinked a few times and squeezed her hand.

  The doorbell rang, saving them from more words. Mom squeezed her hand again and rose.

  Indistinct voices mumbled from the doorway and Summer closed her eyes, ready for another nap. The doctors and nurses had made it all but impossible to sleep at the hospital and Mom and Grandma both woke her up through the night when they came to check on her. Between her aching body and the sleep deprivation, she wanted nothing more than the blissful oblivion of sleep.

  “Oh, she’s sleeping,” Mom said.

  “I can wait.” Abby’s cheerful, singsong voice broke through the haze.

  “I’m not asleep,” Summer mumbled.

  “Oh, dear God,” Abby exclaimed. “They really did butcher your hair!”

  “Nice to see you too,” Summer said, cracking a smile.

  “I mean, I’m glad you’re alive and all, but seriously? It’s like Frankenstein’s monster or some weird eighties’ mod thing.”

  Summer pushed herself upright. “You should be a candy striper too if you’re always this good at cheering up sick people.”

  “I love you too much to lie to your face, darling.” She plunked down on the couch beside her. “But you are in luck. You happen to be friends with a very skilled hair stylist and I have great plans for you.”

  “Does it involve pink? Because I don’t really do pink.”

  Abby shook her head. “Pink is my thing. We have to find you your own signature.”

  The throbbing in her head overwhelmed her again and Summer leaned back against the couch. “I am at your mercy.”

  Abby gently touched her hair, pushing it back and forth. “Bas told me what happened.” Her voice softened. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

  “I can’t remember most of it, but that makes it worse. And why did they have to ruin my hair? It’s the one thing that makes me feel girly.”

  “I can fix this,” Abby said, smiling. “You actually picked a good spot to split your head open. It’ll be a little avant garde but you can totally pull it off.”

  “I look like a freak.”

  “You’re gorgeous and besides, what’s wrong with that?” Abby winked at her, then bounced up and held out her hand. “Come on. I brought my scissors but we should probably cut it someplace that doesn’t have a rug. I tend to get a little overenthusiastic when it comes to hair.”

  “Just with hair?”

  “What’s life without enthusiasm?”

  Chapter 22

  “Why are we doing my nails?” Summer asked, dutifully holding out her hand for Abby while balanced on the edge of the toilet in the powder room.

  “Because I’m giving you a makeover.” Abby leaned back to examine her work, then bent down again. “God, you’re as bad as Bria. There is nothing wrong with being girly.”

  Summer giggled. “I’m pretty sure that is the only time anyone has ever compared me to Bria.”

  Abby shrugged one shoulder. “You both are incredibly focused and driven. You both carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You both tolerate me.” She winked. “You’re practically twins.”

  “If you say so.” If Abby knew the whole truth of Summer’s past, there’d be no way she’d compare the girl who never drank and the girl with the DUI. But she didn’t know and she never would if Summer could keep her head straight.

  “I do say so.” Abby lifted her head again. “There! What do you think?”

  Summer stretched out her hand and flared her fingers, the purple polish sparkling in the soft light. “I love them. I don’t know why I don’t wear nail polish. I guess that’s what I get for trying to fit in with the boys.”

  “Truth. I say play hard and look cute while you’re doing it. It’s not like the boys actually treat you any better if you avoid pink. I mean, maybe a little. But seriously? So worth it.” “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were very vain.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you know better.” Abby paused her cleanup efforts and smiled at her.

  Summer rested her aching head against the counter. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “No worries. No one else wants to hang out with me on a Monday afternoon.”

  “I’m just basically useless right now.”

  Abby hopped up from the floor, clutching her makeup case. “This was a blast. I did call for reinforcements so I can go to work. Because everyone wants smoothies when it’s like negative thirty outside. I don’t know why I let Dolores talk me into taking her shift.”

  “It’s like fifty today.”

  “Totally freezing. Anyway.” She held out her hand and helped Summer back to the living room. “I just want to make sure you let yourself get better. How are you going to be the female Tony Hawk if you’re a vegetable?”

  “Yeah, I have to actually land something again if that’s going to happen.”

  Abby settled on the opposite side of the couch from Summer and tucked her legs under herself. “Are you going to go for the qualifier in December? Are you going to be able to try out?”

  “I don’t know.” Summer leaned her head against the back of the couch. “About either. The last qualifier was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “So that’s it?” Abby’s voice was soft, but her words still cut. “Don’t you want to end in a better place?”

  “I just don’t know if I can face it again. The crowds and the noise and the expectations. People want me to fail.”

  “They do not.”

  “They kind of do,” Summer said. “Since the X Games cut women’s vert in 2011, girls have really had to fight for the sport. There’s this idea that I’m trying to make some statement. Like I’m skating just to prove something. People either hate me for that or they want to turn me into some icon. I just want to skate.”

  “It’s not about them.” Abby leaned forward. “It’s not about proving them wrong or proving to the world that a girl can skate. It’s about proving to yourself that you’ve done your best.”

  “But how do I do that?”

  “My uncle Joe rides motorcycles. He says everyone falls at least once. But you can’t let that fall be the thing that keeps you from riding. You have to get back up and ride one more time. Otherwise, the bike beats you.”

  “So skating beats me unless I go out for the qualifier?”

  “Basically.”

  The doorbell rang and Abby popped up. “That’s my replacement.”

  “Maybe I can sleep now,” Summer said, holding up her hand to stifle a yawn.

  “I can come another time if you need to sleep,” Bastian said, his deep voice rumbling through the air, thunder brewing between the family room walls.

  “I think it would be good for you to stay up a little more,” Mom said, following Bastian into the room.

  “The doctor said I’m fine, right?” Summer said. “I just want to rest my eyes.”

  “How are you going to play Candy Land with your eyes closed?” Bastian asked. He settled on the coffee table beside the couch, wrapping her in that warmth and mint air that belonged exclusively to him.

  “Candy Land?”
/>   “Candy Land.” He dropped a stack of board games onto the coffee table. “Your mom said you need to take it easy and stay away from screens. What could be easier than Candy Land?”

  “I gotta go,” Abby said. “Don’t play too hard.”

  “What does that even mean?” Summer asked.

  “I think you get the gist.” She winked and skipped off toward the door.

  “I’ll let you be too,” Mom said. “Do you want to eat yet?”

  Summer wrinkled up her nose. “Not unless you want to clean up vomit again.”

  “Sebastian?”

  He kept his eyes on Summer. “No, thank you, Ms. Caldwell.”

  “Rachael.” She practically beamed at him.

  He grinned back, like they had some secret. “I already ate.”

  “All right. I should check in with Cody. I told him I’d keep him updated until he gets here tonight.” Mom’s heels clacked against the tile in the hall, leaving silence behind her.

  “Bas.” Summer wanted—needed—to touch him, but something held her back. Something nagging at the back of her mind. “What happened yesterday? With us?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He was avoiding her eyes by unpacking the game. “What color are you? My brothers always made me take green because they thought I hated it, but I secretly love green.”

  “I did something really terrible, didn’t I? Or said something?”

  After a long minute spent shuffling yellowed cards, he looked up. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No! Did I say that? Yesterday? Did I tell you to go?”

  He held out the little pile of gingerbread man playing pieces. “If you want me here now, forget what you said. And unless you desperately want green, I suggest red. It’ll match your new scar.”

  A tiny laugh broke through her lips. “You’re making fun of my head?”

  He crinkled up his nose. “I’m making fun of you to keep myself from crying. My God, they did a hack job.”

  “You should have seen my hair before Abby worked her magic.”

  “You’re still beautiful, no matter how much hair you’re missing. Now pick a color.”

  “You’re serious?”