Last Summer

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  After I obtain a hot shower and a change of clothes, Mom grabs her purse and keys, and we pile into the trusty RAV4, traveling to the hospital. I can’t believe the events over the past two hours. Everything’s unfolded so quickly. One minute we were ready for the next chapter of our lives and looking forward to Logan patching up his relationship with his family, the next we were cornered and unable to run from Logan’s turbulent past.

  I imagine Big P and his buddies lying face down in a puddle of their blood. Do they have family and friends who will grieve their passing? If they do, are these people aware of their deaths yet? Visualizing the crime scene sectioned off with yellow tape causes a shudder to surge up my spine. Never in a million years have I thought, Oh, yeah. I’ll definitely be a part of a crime scene one day. And now, here I am.

  Mom pulls into a parking space at the hospital. Logan can’t be anywhere other than ICU, so we might as well bypass the ER. They’ll stick him in a room to recover after the bullets are removed . . . if he survives. Thinking about him being taken from my life causes tears to spring forth, and it takes every bit of strength left in me to push them away. I can’t think like that; Logan wouldn’t want me to.

  “C’mon, sweetie, let’s go find him,” says Mom.

  We enter the non-emergency side, hoping they’ll have some information, but the nurse at the front desk doesn’t have any new info on Logan, other than he’s in surgery.

  “I’ll let you know when his surgery is complete. Why don’t you have a seat over there?” she says, pointing toward an empty waiting area. I’m sure if this was the ER, there’d be plenty of people to sit next to. Momentarily, I wonder if that’s where Phil is right now, or if they have him somewhere else in the hospital.

  Hours later, the nurse at the front desk looks up from her computer and says, “They’ve taken him into recovery. I’ll call up there and see if he’s able to have visitors.”

  Are you kidding me? I’ve been here for hours and she’s just now telling us we may not get to see him? I want to concurrently strangle her flabby throat and smack the bright-pink blush off her cheeks.

  But, thank goodness, the heavens have opened up and spread a blessing on my mom and me, because they allow us to see Logan.

  “Room 407,” says the nurse. “Fourth floor, seven rooms down on the left as you exit the elevator.”

  Now my stomach decides to tether up. Jeez, Chloe, it’s not like the guy won’t remember you. He’s probably so sedated that he won’t be awake when I do show up. What I seem to be forgetting, though, is how he’s made it through surgery, which sounds like he’ll be okay. If he wasn’t, he’d be in there much, much longer. Logan’s a strong man, through, and I have utter faith in him to pull through this, just like he’s pulled through his therapy with me.

  The elevator dings and we step off, making quick strides down the hall. Mom opens the door to Room 407. Several nurses busy themselves around the room and pay no attention to us. Phil is bedside with Logan, holding his hand, crying. He doesn’t acknowledge our presence, either.

  “Let’s stand outside for a minute, sweetie,” Mom whispers in my ear. “Give him a moment.”

  After five minutes or so, Phil steps into the hallway and says, “I’m going to get some fresh air and call my wife.” He nods at me, and glances at my mom warily.

  “Phil, this is my mom, Sandra. Mom, this is Phil, Logan’s dad,” I say, introducing them.

  “Were you the one who saved Chloe?” Mom asks.

  Phil doesn’t seem put off by this question, as he replies, “If you mean, did I pull the trigger, the answer is yes.”

  Mom’s head bobs once, almost unnoticeably. “Well, thank you. I’m forever in your debt for saving my daughter’s life.”

  “Don’t thank me, Mrs. Sullivan. You can thank whatever higher presence you believe in, because Chloe wouldn’t be here right now had the young man’s gun not jammed. I don’t care what anyone says—she had an angel on her side.” He tips his head. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I watch the elevator doors close behind him. I called it luck, but maybe Phil’s right, maybe my guardian angel was looking out for me. If that’s true, I wish I could thank him or her.

  Mom and I step into the room, and the nurses finally clear out, satisfied the IV’s and machines are in place and where they should be. Logan’s asleep, with tubes up his nose and in his mouth. I slide my hand underneath his and squeeze, even though I know he can’t squeeze back.

  “If you can hear me,” I start to say, “I just wanted to tell you that I miss you already, and I’m sorry this happened.” Tears bite at my eyes. Oh, no. Not here, not now. But I can’t stop them. Tiny droplets glide down my cheeks and fall on mine and Logan’s intertwined hands. I hastily wipe them away. “Anyway,” I continue, calming myself, “I brought my mom to meet you.”

  She wraps one arm around my shoulders and holds me close. “He’s adorable, Chloe.”

  I sniffle and laugh at the same time. “You should see his eyes; they’re the most vibrant green, like the Irish countryside in springtime.”

  Mom hugs me tighter. “I’m sure I’ll see them soon, baby.”

  We spend at least ten more minutes by Logan’s side, and then Mom suggests we go home, eat, and get some rest. We’ll be back tomorrow, but it seems too far away. I don’t know what the future holds tomorrow, and that’s what scares me. What if I wake up and Logan’s gone? I’ll never have the chance to tell him goodbye.

  My stomach churns in one long sway, like the tide before a hurricane. Mom ushers me toward the door.

  “I can’t leave him,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to Logan lying helpless and alone. “Mom, I just can’t do it. He needs me right now. What if he wakes up and I’m not here? What will he think?”

  “Chloe, you can’t keep asking what-ifs; you just have to have faith he’ll be here tomorrow. But, in the meantime, you can’t run yourself down. You’ll need your strength for when he does wake up.” She kisses the top of my head and hugs me close.

  So, I agree to go home and eat and sleep. God knows I haven’t done any of the above lately. Maybe it’s exactly what I need.

  Twenty-two • Chloe

  Mom and I arrive home, exhausted, and notice an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway; it’s a four-door, blue sedan, which looks brand new.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  Mom frowns. “I have no idea.”

  We check the car, but nobody’s in it. Mom cautiously pushes on the unlocked front door, which is cracked open a few inches. “Stay back, Chloe,” she whispers.

  Please, Mom. Like you can stop an intruder. She was pretty handy with the baseball bat that one night, though . . .

  “I’m coming with you,” I whisper back, grabbing her hand and holding on for dear life.

  As we enter the living room, Dad is standing at the fireplace mantle, holding a picture frame in his hand. Slowly, he turns toward us. “Where have you two been?”

  Mom straightens up. “That’s none of your business.”

  Dad looks taken back by her reply and replaces the picture frame where it belongs. “Sandra, I hate to inform you, but it is my business. I do worry about you two, whether you choose to believe that or not.”

  Mom releases my hand and inches closer to Dad. “I want you out of this house. You promised you wouldn’t show your face, for Chloe’s sake.”

  “I know,” he says, hanging his head. “And I’m truly sorry about what happened. You know that’s not like me. All I’m asking for is a second chance, to make things right again.”

  I huff. “No offense, Dad, but Mom and I are doing just fine without you.” Mom glances at me, surprise engraved on her face. “I don’t think what you’ve done to us is redeemable. You’ve hurt Mom more times than she can count, even though she’s been there for you through good times and bad, like you two swore to do when you were married. And your drinking has really gotten out of hand these last few months. What you did to me, however, was the icing
on the cake. It’s over and done with. Now, let us move on with our lives.”

  “You don’t mean that, pumpkin,” says Dad, his voice surging with hurt. “You can’t focus on the all the terrible things I’ve done. Think of the good times we’ve had together, as a family. Those outnumber the rest, right?”

  I carefully choose my words. “Yes, they do, but sometimes the negative outweighs the positive. Besides, it’s not like you’ve gone above and beyond to make us happy. Everything you’ve bought, everything you’ve invested in, has been for you. Mom and I weren’t your family; we were assets.”

  “That’s not tr—”

  “Yes,” I interrupt, “it is. You want someone who isn’t a possession because you don’t want to be held liable if something happens to them. You’re not out for the good, Dad. You’re just too greedy for that.”

  His lips form a thin line. Hands on hips, he looks around the room at nothing in particular. Nothing has ever really held his gaze for long, anyway. “Well,” he says, “I guess this is it, then.”

  “I guess so,” I say.

  He nods a couple of times, lost in his own thoughts. “I wish you wouldn’t think of me as such a monster, Chloe. Even though your mother and I aren’t compatible, I had hoped we could at least work things out.”

  “You and Mom aren’t compatible because of you. Plain and simple. This is your fault, and, once again, you can’t even stand up and take responsibility for your actions.” I snort, shaking my head. “Pathetic.”

  Dad’s face ignites into a blaze of resentment. “You ungrateful little bitch. I’ve put a roof over your head, I’ve fed you, I’ve clothed you, and this is how I’m treated?”

  “Don’t you dare call her that!” Mom’s face burns brightly with rage, too. “She’s done nothing, and everything she’s said to you is true. You wouldn’t be pissed if it wasn’t. You brought this on yourself, Jim, and now you’ll have to find a way to crawl out—on your belly, like the snake that you are.”

  Dad lunges for Mom. She has a split second to decide what direction to take, but he’s too quick, landing a blow to her face. She screams, and the impact causes her to fall down. I sprint forward, closing the distance between Dad and me before he hits her again. Jumping on his back, I beat his head mercilessly. Over and over again I pummel his skull, hoping I’m doing some kind of damage. If my hand and wrist are any indication, I’m going to be in a world of hurt when this is all said and done.

  His hands latch on to my arms, and he hurls me off. I land on the floor with a loud thwack, nearly knocking me unconscious when my head slams against the hardwood. I’m barely able to ascertain Mom grabbing a vase off the entryway table and smashing it over Dad’s head. This time, he’s the one who’s out cold.

  “Chloe, baby, are you all right?” Mom squats down beside me, one hand on her face where Dad hit her, the other clutching my hand so tightly I’m losing circulation.

  “Ugh.” I moan. “I think so.” Sitting up, I rub the back of my head. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  “Help me drag him outside,” Mom says, nodding toward Dad’s unresponsive body. “If we can lock him out, he won’t bother us.”

  “Mom, he has a key.”

  She crawls over to Dad, fishes around in his pockets, and pulls out his set of keys. Finding the one to the lake house, she glides it around the metal loop, until she successfully holds it in her hand. “Not anymore,” she says. Standing up, we each grab one arm and drag him to the front porch, leaving his cataleptic body alone.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” I say once we’re safely inside the house. “He’s psycho even without alcohol in his system.”

  Mom sits down on the couch, buries her face in her hands, and sobs. Her shoulders tremble with each new cry. I wish none of this ever occurred. I wish Dad would’ve moved on with his life and let us live ours. Alone. Without him in it. But some things don’t quite work out the way people plan.

  I sit down beside her, wrapping my arms around her torso. “When we go back to Cherryview to pack,” I say, “we can file a restraining order against him. He won’t bother us ever again. It’ll just be you and me against the world. Judging by the way we handled him, I think we’re going to do just fine.” I let out a short laugh to relieve tension in the room.

  “That’s not the man I married!” Mom wails. “That’s not him.”

  Thirty minutes later, after consoling Mom that everything’s going to work out, Dad wakes up and pounds his fists against the front door. “Let me in, or I’ll break in!” he bellows. Mom and I wait wordlessly, until Dad gives up. The rental car kicks up gravel as Dad backs out of the driveway, leaving in a bout of squealing tires and burnt rubber.

  “We have to go to the police,” Mom says, wiping away her tears.

  “Let’s go, then. Before he comes back.”

  Mom and I make it to the police station. I have to say, being here during the daytime is much different than at night. Although there are plenty of people in the lobby, they aren’t the same drunken, riotous people from yesterday.

  Officer Rodriguez walks around the corner, just as Mom and I make our way to the front desk. “Chloe, hey,” he says. “What’s going on?” He takes one look at Mom’s face and his features illustrate concern. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “My dad,” I offer. “He went crazy earlier, so we need to file a restraining order. Can you help us?”

  He sighs. “Normally, we’re called to the scene in cases such as this.”

  “Cases such as this?”

  Gesturing toward my mom, he says, “Domestic assault. But there’s paperwork to be filled out and sent to the court for a TPO.”

  “TPO?”

  “Temporary Restraining Order. It lasts for three weeks, and a more permanent restraining order could take up to a month to obtain.”

  That’s too much time. What if he comes back for us? “It’s too long.”

  “If you want,” he says, eyeing the officer behind the front desk, “I can help you obtain an Emergency Protective Order. It’ll stay in effect until you obtain the TPO.”

  I nod frantically. “Yes! That’s what we want.”

  “Okay. Come with me.”

  Officer Rodriguez sits us down in the two chairs opposite his desk, giving the full rundown of what the different restraining orders mean. I can’t help but question if he would’ve helped had I not been molested, had he not known me. What if I hadn’t gone with Logan? What if my actions and Mom’s actions hadn’t stopped my dad? Everything happens for a reason, people say. What if the incident with Big P happened because, somewhere in the universe, a higher being was looking out for us, knowing we’d end up right here, right now? Looking back, I wonder whether Logan would still be alive, or whether my mom and I would still be breathing. Dad could’ve easily lost control and killed us had Mom not stopped him.

  Logan and my mom are the only people in this world who have a special place in my heart. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose them. Events were set in motion over the last twenty-four hours, making me appreciate my loved ones even more. Logan has risked everything to have semblance of order in his life again, to return to his old self, and, in the process, we were lucky enough to find each other. Mom has overcome her issues with my father so she and I can get our lives back on track, so we can be together, safely. She’s stronger than she realizes, I think.

  Sitting here with my mom, I see a new person. Her light may have been temporarily dimmed by my father’s behavior, but he never really extinguished her flame. Now more than ever, that light has sparked and improved itself. Deep in the core of my psyche, something tells me we’ll be okay—finally. Dad won’t harm us again, and Mom and I can move to California, away from our old, drama-filled lives.

  The thing that bothers me the most is Logan, though. He’s been a constant source of hope for the past two months. We hit a lot of rough patches, but we traveled past those bumps and kept moving forward. I trust my gut on this one—Logan and I
will pull through this dark period in our lives, and he and I will press on like we always do.

  “All set,” says Officer Rodriguez. “I’ll fax this over to the judge right away. If you need anything else, Mrs. Sullivan, don’t hesitate to call me. Chloe has my business card, but just in case, here’s an extra.”

  “Thank you. I won’t forget this,” Mom says, taking his card and dropping it in her purse.

  Mom and I stand to leave, but Officer Rodriguez stops us with his final words. “Don’t worry, you two. Everything will work out in the end.”

  I believe him.

  Twenty-three • Logan

  Big P laughs maniacally as he stands next to me, with B and Smooth holding me back. “It seems Ice has found a new lady.”All three of them snicker together, like the fact that Ice is about to do Godknowswhat to Chloe is some big joke.

  I struggle, but it’s short-lived against B and Smooth; they’re pretty strong. So I shout, “Don’t fucking touch her!”

  Big P, B, and Smooth laugh even harder at my seriously weak attempt to stop Ice from putting his hands on Chloe. She’s dazed from hitting the ground so hard, and when her eyes roll around and meet mine, I yell, “Chloe, run!”

  She kicks and claws at Ice, but he’s just too big for her to push him off; he’s too big for anybody, really. Ice’s mouth moves, and Chloe looks horrified. Whatever he said to her, I’m going to cut out his fucking tongue for saying it. Then, he leans forward—so close their foreheads almost touch—and utters something else. Chloe screams, panicked, and Ice’s mouth covers hers in one rapid movement.

  No. My heart pumps faster. God, no. Stop!

  Ice jerks back, and I see blood leaking from the side of Chloe’s mouth. He backhands her across the face.