“And I’m going to keep writing people’s life stories at Wake House. I just decided.”
“Good for you.”
“Happy New Year, Nana.”
“Gonna be an excellent one.”
“It is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“We’re due.”
“That’s for sure. G’night,” Caddie whispered, and tiptoed out of the room with the dog under her arm.
She took him for a walk. It was after midnight, but she kept the leash short in case somebody set off firecrackers. Besides thunder, firecrackers were the only things Finney was afraid of. Cars lined the streets bumper to bumper on both sides, no empty spaces. A listless flurry of snow had whitened the grass but melted on the pavement. It was bitter cold. None of the parties had spilled outside, but she could hear them through windows and walls, the shouts and laughter and the muffled, thumping music. I ought to be more depressed, Caddie thought. She was depressed, but it felt more active than passive, so it wasn’t as bad. She had an invigorating sense of failure.
Early Street was quieter; if anybody was having a party here, it was a sedate one. What they had a lot of on Early Street was Christmas decorations. Her neighbors had that in common with Dinah and Earl. I have an aunt and an uncle, she thought, to cheer herself up. And a second grandmother she didn’t think about very often. Probably because Nana was enough of a grandmother for several people.
“Business, Finney. Business.” He’d pulled her around the block twice but he hadn’t done anything. She switched leash hands to warm the freezing one in her pocket. In front of Mrs. Tourneau’s house, he began to pull hard on the leash, like a horse within sight of the stable. “No, you don’t. First you have to go. Hey—”
Somebody was in her yard. Somebody was sitting on the bottom step of the porch. All she could see was a shadowy outline, big and silent and not moving. It scared her to death. But Finney wasn’t barking—that should’ve tipped her off. Hauling her behind him like a sled dog, gasping and strangling, he took a shortcut to the house through the frozen mud. Caddie let go of his leash and went the long way, up the snowy walk.
Magill stood up before the dog could tackle him. He had on his coat but no hat, no gloves. Finney jumped on his legs, yipping, begging to be picked up, and he leaned over and hoisted him into his arms. Poor black overcoat, thought Caddie. All those white hairs, stuck like glue.
She stopped on the walk a few feet shy of Magill. “He liked Christopher, too,” she said. “He has really bad taste.”
“It’s not so much bad taste as superior tolerance.” He had to lean his head back to keep from getting licked on the mouth. “I remembered ‘Indian Love Call.’ Shall we sing it?”
“What did Otis say?” Caddie asked.
“I’ll be calling yoooouu…”
“What did he say, how did he put it?”
“Otis?”
He didn’t know what she was talking about. He really didn’t. His complete incomprehension made her put her hands on her arms and hug herself. “You didn’t talk to him.”
He took a deep breath and grinned. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t even know I was there.”
“Where?”
She just had one more question. “You’re not in love with Minnie, are you?”
“Minnie?”
That was the right answer. “It’s freezing out here, let’s go.”
“Caddie, about tonight.”
“Wasn’t it a great night? Don’t you love New Year’s?”
Finney was scratching at the storm door, anxious for his after-walk snack.
“No, I hate New Year’s,” Magill said, following her up the steps. “Everybody’s faking. It’s the worst night of the year.”
“Oh, no. We have to mark time. We’re human beings, we need the ceremony. Look—we got through that old year, now we get a new one. It’s a gift.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
And if not, it ought to be.
Acknowledgments
Thanks again to Nurse McComas, who never lets me down.
I’m grateful to Maya Ginsberg, whose advice on music teaching was invaluable.
Thank you, Carl P. E. dos Santos, for your friendliness and expertise, and for convincing this skeptic that not all skydivers are insane.
Much affection and gratitude to Mary Alice Kruesi for Finney, the gift that keeps on giving.
And warmest thanks and love to Aaron Priest for everything.
About the Author
Patricia Gaffney is the New York Times-bestselling author of The Saving Graces, Circle of Three, Flight Lessons, and The Goodbye Summer—all of which are published by PerfectBound. In an earlier incarnation as a writer, Gaffney published twelve award-winning historical romance novels. She lives in southern Pennsylvania with her husband and their Jack Russell terrier, Finney.
Don’t miss the next book by your favorite author! Sign up now for AuthorTracker by visiting www.AuthorTracker.com.
By Patricia Gaffney
Flight Lessons
Circle of Three
The Saving Graces
The Goodbye Summer
Copyright
THE GOODBYE SUMMER. Copyright © 2004 by Patricia Gaffney. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © MARCH 2004 ISBN: 9780061850356
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
The Goodbye Summer Page 42