Summer Days

by Lisa Jackson

  Her father was overtaken by another coughing fit. They were getting worse.

  “Do you want me to stay? I can call in sick.” A clawing panic hit Celia. She had an overwhelming desire to turn back time, even for a day, just so she could have her strong, invincible father back. She used to hide his cigarettes, smash them, flush them. If only it had made a difference.

  Her father let go of her hand. “Don’t be silly. There’s a new nurse on the dinner shift. She’s hot.” Celia laughed, shook her head, and bent down to plant a final kiss on his cheek.

  “Hot to twat,” she whispered. The last thing she heard, as she headed back to the car, was her father’s laughter echoing through the sunbeams.

  CHAPTER 2

  Celia and Ben sat behind an enormous oak desk, across from Landon Biggs, her father’s estate planner. Celia wished there was a nice way to tell Ben to go away. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Landon was struggling to decipher her father’s last wishes scrawled on the paper bag in red crayon.

  “Being of sound mind but not body, this is my Last Will and Testament,” Landon said slowly. Celia suppressed a little smile, even though there was nothing sadder than her father’s athletic body giving out on him. He had a sense of humor about it nonetheless. She wondered why he had bothered writing a will. Besides his red scuba flippers, which were on top of Landon’s desk, her father owned very little. What are you up to, Dad? Ben couldn’t stop staring at the coffee can, absolutely horrified that it was filled with her father’s ashes. Unlike Celia, Ben had grown up with money. And apparently, people with money were appalled by such things.

  “I hereby leave my daughter one final piece of advice and one request.” Landon Biggs cleared his throat, then peered at Celia overtop reading glasses. “Maybe you’d like to be alone for this?”

  And how.

  “Of course not,” Ben said. He grabbed Celia’s hand and squeezed. His grip was painful.

  “First, the advice. Dump Ben.” Landon stopped again, stared at Ben. “Sorry, Ben.”

  Ben let go of her hand, crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not your fault Mr. Biggs,” he said. “No need to apologize.”

  “I’m not,” Landon said. He turned the paper bag around and pointed. Celia and Ben leaned in. Landon’s finger was just under the words SORRY, BEN.

  Celia burst out laughing. Ben stared at her, hurt stamped on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Celia said. “It’s just so Dad.”

  Ben shook his head, glanced at Celia. “I told you he never liked me.”

  “Please continue,” Celia said.

  Landon leaned close to the bag, then sat up and put his hand on his heart. He looked up at Celia as if she were a camera and he was an actor in a film. “It’s never too late to reconnect with your true love.”

  “Reconnect?” Ben said. “What does that mean? Reconnect with who?’

  “I believe it’s ‘with whom,’ ” Landon Biggs said.

  “Gentlemen,” Celia said. “Focus.”

  “Open the coffee can,” Landon said. He glanced at Ben.

  “What?” Ben said. “No.”

  Landon turned the paper bag around. Celia and Ben leaned forward. OPEN THE COFFEE CAN was written in red capital letters. Celia reached for the can. “Here?” Ben said. “Now?” He scooted his chair back, as if he were afraid that the ashes were going to explode the minute she opened them. Then again, knowing Pete Jensen, they might.

  Celia lifted the lid. Sticking out of the ashes was a white card, like the kind that accompanied bouquets of flowers. She took it out and held it up. Instead of red crayon, this card had its message typed on it in old-fashioned typewriter script.

  RETURN TO HAMPTON BEACH

  Celia stuffed the card back in and slammed the lid back on.

  “What?” Ben said. “What’s in there?”

  “Amityville Horror in a can,” Celia said. Ben’s mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. Oh, she knew it wasn’t nice to tease him like that, but sometimes he made it just too darn easy. Or she had more of her father in her than she liked to admit. “Just kidding.” She opened the can again, and once more took out the card.

  RETURN TO HAMPTON BEACH

  Something was written under it in small letters.

  Take me with you.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Conflicting emotions crashed over her. Would she actually do it? Could she? Jacob Have I Loved....

  “Celia. You’re scaring me.” And Ben did look scared. He looked like a scared, uptight investment banker. And he was still waiting for an explanation.

  “He wants me to take his ashes to Hampton Beach.”

  “Nice,” Landon Biggs said. He was wearing a gray suit, a sky-blue shirt, and a pink tie. Topped off with his shiny bald head, he looked like a giant Easter egg. “Never been, but I’m just figuring it must be nice,” he added. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Where is Hampton Beach?”

  “New Hampshire,” Celia and Ben said at the same time.

  Landon held his index finger up as if making a proclamation. “That makes a lot of sense,” he said. “Listen. I hate to rush you, but that’s really all there is to his estate. Nice flippers though. Do you dive?” He put his hands in the flippers and walked them up his desk. Celia just stared at him. She found this an effective way to deal with most people. If she stared long enough without saying anything, they usually took the hint and stopped talking. In this case, it didn’t work. Landon kept talking. “I don’t dive. I’m phobic. Seen Jaws way too many times, you know?”

  Celia continued to stare, but Ben nodded. Celia wondered if he was being polite or if he too had seen Jaws too many times. She had watched it several times with Jacob. They had loved it. Sometimes he’d grab her ankle in the ocean, scaring her to death. Then he’d pop up laughing, singing the warning tune. This was how it always went. Everything always reminded her of Jacob. It was torture. Landon was still talking.

  “My wife likes the water. Mostly she just tans. But she pretends to like the water. No public pools though. On account of all the pee. Or hot tubs. Saw a TV special once where this gal got her hair caught in the drain. Luscious, curly blond hair.” Landon held his hands near his head and mimed his vision of luscious, curly blond hair. “She must have been leaning back.” He leaned his head back. “Just a tip is all it took; the drain grabbed hold.” He gyrated his hands and made a horrific sucking sound.

  “Jesus,” Ben said.

  Landon nodded. Righted himself. Straightened his jacket. “Not a pretty sight. Ever since she won’t so much as dip a big toe in a hot tub. More room for me. Am I right?”

  Celia was actually grateful for his verbal diarrhea; it made Ben seem a little less annoying.

  “I thought you guys hated Hampton Beach,” Ben said, turning to her.

  “Hated Hampton Beach?” Celia said. “They were the best years of my life.” And the worst.

  “I thought your father was accused of stealing or something.”

  “He was.” Humiliated. Accused. Harassed. She could hear Elizabeth Tanner, so clear it was as if she and her shrill, bleached-blond voice were standing right behind Celia. Pete Jensen was in the house. He’s the only one who had keys.... He’s desperate to send his daughter to college. Jimmy Cluger saw him coming out of the pawnshop. Of course he wouldn’t be stupid enough to sell it in town, but it shows what state of mind he was in—getting an idea of what things are worth. Those poor motherless twins. Can you imagine his hands inside your jewelry box?

  It was exactly because Pete wouldn’t put his hands in her “jewelry box” that Elizabeth had so maligned him. If there were any reason to return to Hampton Beach, it was to give her the ass kicking she should have gotten a long time ago.

  “So why would he want his ashes spread there?” Ben said.

  For me. He wants me to find Jacob. “I don’t know.”

  Ben spread his hands and put them in front of the coffee can like a director framing a shot. “We can get him a plot, Celia. With a proper he
adstone. You can visit.” Ben looked to Landon for approval. Landon bobbed his head up and down. Celia wasn’t sure if he was giving it or dancing to Bob Marley in his head. “What will people think?” Ben said in a loud whisper, pointing to the can.

  “I don’t care what people think. I care what he thinks.” Celia hugged the coffee can to her chest.

  He thinks you should go back.

  “But he wasn’t in his right mind, was he? Deprived of oxygen, the brain can—”

  “Could you please be quiet? Just for a minute?” Ben wanted to be helpful; he really did. But it just wasn’t the kind of help Celia needed. Because he didn’t know her like her father did. It hit her, as she sat clutching the coffee can, listening to Ben plead with her to be practical. Normal. She had chosen Ben because deep down she felt he would never hurt her. Never rip her heart out like Jacob did. What a fool she’d been. Ben wasn’t the guy for her. Her father had known it. He had also known she wanted to go back. Needed to go back. But wasn’t it too late? What were the chances the twins were still there?

  Pretty good actually. Their father owned property on the boardwalk. They would have inherited it. There was a pretty good chance they were still there. And sometimes a chance was enough. A chance was more than some people would ever get.

  “Are we done here?” Landon said. “Or would you like something? Tea? Coffee?” Horrified, he glanced at the can. Celia laughed.

  “Jesus,” Ben said.

  “Ben.” Celia faced him. She tried to smile. “Please go back to work.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  Celia stood, clutching the can. “I need to be alone. I need to think.”

  “We drove here together.”

  “I’ll walk.” Celia stood and headed for the door.

  “Don’t forget these.” Landon Biggs waved her father’s flippers in the air. Celia went back, retrieved them, and walked past Ben once more.

  “I’ll drop you somewhere,” Ben said.

  “Please. Just give me some air. I can’t breathe.”

  “Come on. Cel. Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  Celia stopped, then planted the flippers in the middle of Ben’s chest. “Can you look after these?”

  Ben held them out by the tips of his fingers, as if dangling a dead rat. “Sure.” He made it sound like the word had twelve syllables.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure I can’t—”

  “Thank you.”

  She went to her father’s favorite dive bar. At least his favorite when he could still walk, and breathe, and drink. She set the coffee can on the bar and ordered two Miller Genuine Drafts. His favorite, next to a good scotch. The bartender was young, which meant he was new. She wished Jack were here. He had been one of her dad’s buddies—if you could count bartenders as buddies.

  “Jack still here?” she asked when the new bartender plunked the two bottles down.

  “Nah. Retired last year.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you like glasses?”

  “So I can see you better?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. No glasses.”

  “Oh. I get it.”

  She slid one of the beers next to the coffee can. The bartender just stood and watched her. She clinked the first bottle with the second bottle and drank.

  “You expecting someone?” the bartender asked.

  “He’s in the can,” Celia said. The bartender looked toward the bathroom and nodded. Celia couldn’t help but giggle. Her dad would’ve liked that.

  Hampton Beach. Elizabeth Tanner. Chris. Jacob. Whoever said time healed all wounds was an idiot. She touched the coffee can. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll go. I don’t know what good you think it will do. But I’ll go.”

  “Pardon?” the bartender said.

  “I’ll have another,” Celia said.

  “Do you think your friend is okay?” the bartender said.

  “I think he’s in a better place,” Celia said.

  The bartender glanced at the bathrooms. “Then I’m guessing you’ve yet to make the sojourn.”

  Celia threw her suitcase on the bed, opened it, and just stared into it. What to bring. If she were a teenager again, the answer would have been simple. Bikini and one of her dad’s extra-long shirts for a cover-up. Never did wear much more than that. Maybe some jean shorts and tank tops. Of course the winters would have been a different story. But she spent those back in North Dakota with her Aunt Carla, who had happened to be living with them before her mom disappeared into the bottle. So all her memories of Hampton Beach were summer ones.

  Her swim bottoms were shorts now, and her tops more modest. She’d always had curves. “Hello, Marilyn,” Ben had said the first time he saw her naked. How could she not stick with a guy who compared her to Marilyn Monroe? He was attractive in his own way. Not gorgeous like Chris and Jacob—but very few men were that sexy. In their prime the Vernon twins had been sex on a stick. The minute they had hit puberty and started doing odd jobs, every female’s sink within a fifteen-mile radius mysteriously clogged. Ben never had that kind of animal magnetism and never would. But he had other qualities. He was loyal. Dependable. Practical. Sweet most times. There just wasn’t any chemistry. No sweaty palms, or heart tripping in her chest, no adrenaline rush at the thought of seeing him. Celia had only had that once.

  It wasn’t fair. Like being given the most delicious dessert you would ever taste in your entire life, but unbeknownst to you, you would never get to taste it again. Why couldn’t someone have said: “Savor this as much as humanly possible because everything else is going to pale in comparison.” Not that it would stop her from craving it.

  “Do you need some help?” She hadn’t known Ben was home, let alone in the room. So when he spoke, she shrieked. Ben laughed. Celia whirled around.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sorry. I thought you knew I was here.”

  “How? How would I know?”

  “My car is parked out front, for one.”

  “I haven’t been paying attention.”

  “I can see that.” Ben sat on the edge of the bed. “I want to come with you.”

  “I appreciate that. But—”

  “There’s no but, Celia. Look. The last thing I want to do is start an argument.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I’m the man in your life. You’re supposed to want me at times like this.” The thought of Ben’s coming back with her to Hampton Beach was unimaginable. “Celia?”

  “I have to do this alone.”

  “No. You don’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Are you saying you want to do this alone?”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t explain.”

  “Try.”

  “I have people to confront. From the past. And I have to do it alone.”

  “You think those people will still be there? How long has it been?”

  “Twenty years.”

  “Who are you going to confront? Some eighty-year-old woman?”

  “If you’re talking about Mrs. Tanner—she was in her thirties then. Only in her fifties now.”

  “Is she the lady who accused your dad of stealing her diamond ring?”

  “It wasn’t hers, but yes.”

  “It wasn’t hers?”

  “Nope.”

  “But she’s the one who riled everyone up?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you think—what? He wants you to fight his battles now that he’s dead?”

  “Of course not. He wants me to go back to the last place he saw me really happy.”

  “He was sick. He was on so much medication. He was—”

  “He was right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I haven’t been happy. Not in a long, long, time.”

  Ben sat on the bed. “Wow. And I suppose that’s my fault?”

  “Not at all. It’s mine. All mine.”r />
  “And going back to Hampton Beach is going to make you happy?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “How much do you want to bet she’s not there?” Ben asked.

  “You’ve no idea how much property her family owned. I bet he’s still there.”

  “You mean she.”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘I bet he’s still there.’ ”

  “Oh. Of course. I meant ‘she.’ ”

  “Are you sure that wasn’t some kind of Freudian slip? Does this have something to do with your father’s cryptic message about ‘reconnecting with true love’?”

  Celia threw her arms out. “You got me. I was really referring to my teenage summer love. I mean most people get over it by the start of school in the fall. But not me. I’m still pining for Jacob Vernon and his hot body twenty years later!” She buried her head in her top dresser drawer like it was a paper bag and she was hyperventilating.

  “I’m coming and that’s that.” Ben marched over to the closet and pulled out his suitcase. Unlike her, he immediately began throwing clothes into it. Celia crossed her arms and just watched him.

  “Work isn’t going to let us both go,” she said. Ben folded a starched shirt into the suitcase. Did he even own T-shirts? Shorts? Flip-flops?

  “Hell, Celia.” He abandoned the suitcase. “We’ve been talking about going to Europe. Getting married.”

  “I know.” Her father had saved her. Saved both of them. No matter what happened in Hampton Beach, she’d finally opened her eyes.

  “Do you love me?” But that didn’t mean that she wanted to hurt Ben. She hesitated, and it was enough. Ben ran his hands through his hair. “Oh my God.” He started to pace their small bedroom. “We bought a condo together. Do you know what a commitment that is? In this market?”

  “Ben. Ben. I’m very fond of you.” She knew the minute she said it, it was a horrible thing to say, but she also knew it was the truth.