A New Shade of Summer

by Nicole Deese

  I waved at Shep. “It was nice to meet you.”

  Shep winked and shot me with one of those frat-boy pointer-finger guns. “Club sandwich, herbed mayo, extra-crispy bacon, and half an avocado. I won’t forget.”

  After saying goodbye to Brandon and the mutt out back, I was off, headed down the pebbled pathway and listening to the song of the crickets as I pondered Shep’s last words.

  I wouldn’t forget either. Not this day. Or this dinner. Or any of the three men inside this house.

  “Callie.”

  At the sound of my name, I turned to see Davis crunching down the path after me, something like determination engraved on his face. “We’ll foster him.”

  Confused, I shook my head. “What?”

  “The dog—only, I refuse to keep calling him the dog. He’ll need a name if he’s going to stay here for the next month. I think he’ll be good for Brandon.” He blew out a hard breath. “He seems to like you.”

  “Who—the dog?”

  “No, my son.”

  Whatever emotion deepened his tone—whether hurt or guilt—I yearned to ease it.

  “I like him, too. I meant what I said about him being a special kid.”

  And the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Only neither of them seemed to recognize it.

  Davis raked a hand down the back of his neck and tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it were suddenly two sizes too small. “This summer hasn’t gone the way I planned—not for myself or for Brandon. And I’m not sure if . . .” He looked somewhere beyond me, several seconds passing before he finished. “I’m not always certain I know what’s best for him. He seems to have connected with you, though, more than I’ve seen him connect to an adult in a long while.”

  I gave a weak, breathy laugh. “Maybe he doesn’t see me as an adult.”

  “Or maybe he sees exactly what I see.” He didn’t move closer, yet the space between us shrank. “That gift you spoke about earlier today—the one about you recognizing the potential in everything—everyone around you feels it.”

  His gaze traveled my face, and the world around us stilled, offering an answer to a question neither one of us had asked.

  “Thank you.” Somehow receiving such a compliment from Davis felt far weightier than it would have coming from anyone else.

  “My mother is keeping an eye on Brandon while I’m at the clinic—sometimes they’re here at the house, other times at her garden club. But . . .” He paused as if reevaluating his thoughts. “You’re welcome to stop in and check on the dog. Anytime. Just know I can’t vouch for my mother’s behavior if she happens to be here when you show up.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Mothers love me.”

  “I’m sure they do.” Humor danced in Davis’s eyes—a mesmerizing lightness that wiped out the last of my preconceived notions about him.

  “So,” he said. “I think I might have thought of a name for our hot-dog-loving friend.”

  “Already? What is it? Tell me!”

  “Kosher.” His mouth curved into a grin.

  I laughed. “It’s perfect.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DAVIS

  I placed the pastry bag onto the librarian’s desk and for the first time noticed the snag in the cuff of my sleeve. Kosher wasn’t a biter, but he did enjoy a good game of tug-of-war, especially with the rope toy Callie had purchased for him.

  Blinking away her image, I took a step back from the front desk and glanced around the empty lobby and computer station. Foot traffic to the community library during a midweek June morning was surprisingly scarce, but I supposed most people tended to spend their summer vacation outdoors, not cooped up in a public library.

  But my late wife hadn’t been most people. And my time away from the clinic today wasn’t about anybody besides her.

  After a quick tap on the service bell, my gaze narrowed on a novel tucked in the corner of the workstation, bookmark in place. The front cover featured a kilted Highlander, his blade raised high, his free arm wrapped around a woman who appeared to have survived a violent windstorm.

  A shuffle of feet from the stockroom preceded a familiar voice. “Oh, Davis. You’re right on time.”

  Penny Oglemeyer, my standing date on this day for going on half a decade now, had become nearly as significant to me as the day itself. She tugged the beaded chain connected to her glasses. The thick frames dropped to her neckline as she squinted at my gift. “Please tell me that’s a blueberry scone from For Goodness Cakes.”

  “I’d no sooner show up without your scone than I would without my tools.” I shook the steel toolbox in my left hand, the clink of metal on metal breaking Penny’s quiet rule, but I knew she’d forgive me. The same way she’d forgive the chorus of eager voices set to show up for the summer reading program this afternoon. The kickoff was today, June 21.

  The first official day of summer.

  Penny picked up the bakery package, her dark skin a stark contrast to the light bag. She sniffed the contents inside. “Mmm. Delightful.”

  “Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

  “You? Never.” She quirked an eyebrow. “If only I were fifty years younger.”

  I cocked my head toward her book of choice. “Even so, I doubt I could wield a sword like that guy.”

  “Now don’t you go a pryin’ into my love life.” She batted her hand in the air. “Leave an old lady to her thrills.” She tsked dramatically and waved me around the counter. “Now come on, I have quite the list of chores for you.”

  “Perfect.” The longer the list the better.

  Honoring a loved one looked different to everybody. While some found comfort through words, I found comfort through physical labor. Always had.

  Penny’s pleated skirt dusted the carpeted floor as she handed me a list of to-dos. I read it over. Nothing unusual. I’d be taking care of the same handyman fixes she’d requested nearly every year—tighten the squeaky wheels on the roll-away carts, reinforce the droopy shelves in the stockroom, re-tuck the wires near the computer station, and hang a few new art pieces in the Children’s Corner.

  There was something soothing about long hours of quiet monotony and the use of tools that didn’t require sterilization. The simple gratification of a check mark on a penciled to-do list and the satisfied grin of a widow whose arthritis had stolen the strength from her hands years ago didn’t hurt either.

  But as I entered the nook across from the nonfiction shelves, my calm morphed into something else entirely. I studied the sun-bleached bench seat under the window while a memory shoved to the forefront of my mind, as if it’d been waiting for me to invite it in.

  The setting wasn’t exactly right—the university library had been greater on every scale, yet the images of a dimple-cheeked, college-age girl with hair cut to her jawline and a stack of books resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa continued to play out before me. A memory as clear as a movie.

  “That’s some heavy reading for the first day of summer,” I said, noting the empty tables and aisles all around us. “I doubt any of those would make for a good beach read.”

  Her finger stopped skimming the pages of a book as ancient as the artifacts it pictured. Obviously, the girl was one of those swanky art history types. She looked up from her study. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

  I chuckled and shifted the textbooks in my arms. “Nobody ever sits in this spot.”

  At my pronouncement, her face looked stricken. “What’s wrong with this spot?”

  “It’s mine.” I shrugged. “You see that hole in the cushion?”

  She eyed the tear and moved her suspicious gaze to me, saying nothing.

  “I plopped my anatomy book down, and, well, the tip of my car key poked straight through the fabric. My mark. My spot.”

  A streak of sunlight from the window at her back haloed around her dark hair. She cleared her throat and stiffened her shoulders. “You can’t seriously be asking me to move, because I—”

  “That’s
not what I’m asking you.”

  “Ookaaay . . . ?”

  “I’m asking if you might be willing to share the only window seat in this whole drab building with a stranger on the first day of summer.”

  And that was the first time I saw Stephanie Lockwood smile. We were married one year later. To the day.

  “Hey, Davis?” Penny’s voice cut through my mental haze. “Could you come check this thermostat? The Children’s Corner feels awfully stuffy. I propped the door open, but the kiddos will be arriving soon.”

  “Sure thing.” I packed up my toolbox and met her at the thermostat near the lobby doors. Sure enough, the inside temperature exceeded the AC setting by eight degrees. Summers in eastern Oregon didn’t last long, but the afternoons could easily soar into the midnineties. And in this three-thousand-square-foot building crammed to capacity with books, a properly functioning air conditioner was a necessity. “Let me see if I can reset the control panel. If not, it’s likely an issue with the blower.” And unlike home units, commercial pumps were beasts I didn’t have the skill set to tame. “If that’s the case, I’ll need to climb up on the roof and grab the unit number so we can give them a call.”

  Which was, in the end, exactly what had to be done.

  After a few long-winded phone calls reporting the issue, I made my way down the escape ladder, reentered the library through the side door, and was greeted by a chorus of excited voices. The children had arrived while I was on the rooftop. I quickened my pace and went in search of the industrial fan Penny kept in the janitor closet for carpet cleanings. The thing wouldn’t be quiet, but at least it would circulate airflow in the tight quarters of the Children’s Corner.

  I rolled the giant fan through the lobby. The chatter of children had dulled considerably, and a distinctly feminine voice rang out above the rest. A voice speaking in an Old English accent. The same voice that had recited a nursery rhyme at my dining room table last week.

  I paused in the open doorway and watched Callie pace back and forth on a small corner stage decorated with drawings and coloring contests. She wore a long patterned skirt that swished as she moseyed from one end of the platform to the other. A collection of necklaces—each varying in length and material—swayed against the fabric of her sleeveless blouse, emphasizing her curves with every lift and bend of her arm. And that hair, that chronically windblown mane of hers, moved as if an entity all its own. While a dozen children sat upright on their knees, bouncing and grinning, their gazes stayed locked on her animated antics, their amusement uncontainable. Even the parents—who sat fanning their faces with library brochures about dyslexia and tutoring opportunities—seemed completely transfixed. I was no different. Callie was captivating. But she was something else, too. Perhaps I’d classified her as a free spirit before, one of those “dance to the beat of her own drum” types. But Callie wasn’t the dancer in that old cliché. She was more like the music itself, creating a beat that inspired everyone around her to respond with a dance of their own.

  I tried to push the distraction of Callie aside. Today was supposed to be dedicated to Stephanie’s memory, yet even as I thought it, I knew Stephanie would have been drawn to her magnetic personality, too.

  When Callie turned to address the group of children farthest from me, I pulled the fan into a cozy space in the back of the room, determined to stay out of sight until the reading was finished. The whirl of the fan’s motor would be loud, but with Callie’s theatrical projection, there was little doubt her voice would carry if she decided to read another story.

  I unwound the thick extension cord and knelt to plug it into the wall behind the puppet show curtain.

  Callie’s singsong accent halted.

  “Davis Carter? Is that you over there, hiding in the Puppet Plaza?”

  Her pronouncement tripled my core body temperature. I rotated my neck to face the stage.

  Sure enough, every eye in the room was focused on me.

  And then, as if I too were a part of her act, I waved and said, “Hello, everyone.”

  “Look, everybody! It’s Dr. Davis Carter—the best animal doctor in town.” Callie’s wide grin expanded. “Have you come to join our summer reading program today?”

  Painfully aware that I’d become the focal point of Callie’s dramatic production, I cleared my throat. “No, I’m afraid I’m just a handyman today, helping Ms. Penny with a broken AC unit.” I slapped a hand on top of the fan. “But this should help cool down the room in no time.” I tipped my head to her as if to say, Back to you. “Sorry for the disruption.”

  “Oh, how nice! Isn’t that so nice of him?” She proceeded to lead the group in the most unnecessary round of applause in history.

  I powered the fan on, although my personal thermostat remained unaffected by the change. The sudden whirl of air created a weak cyclone in the center of the room. Several scraps of paper floated overhead while two boys jumped to their feet, batting and swatting as their parents told them to sit back down. I used the momentary distraction to my advantage and strode toward the doorway with a simple head bob—my intended goodbye.

  But then Callie was at my side, linking her arm through mine and pulling me to a stop. “Hey—you should stay and read with me.”

  “What?” I obviously hadn’t heard her correctly.

  “Read with me,” she repeated with a tug. “I have an awesome barnyard book—and you’re a vet! It couldn’t be more perfect! Please? Won’t you stay, Dr. Carter?” And then, with a single wiggle of her eyebrows and a pouty lip pointed toward the children on the floor, they began saying it, too.

  “Please, Dr. Carter?”

  “Will you read to us, Dr. Carter?”

  “It’s more fun with more voices!”

  She turned back to me, batting her darkened eyelashes and giving me a smile that looked positively wicked.

  I leaned in close, my mouth hovering just above her ear. “You owe me.”

  She winked. “Add it to my tab.”

  Chapter Twelve

  CALLIE

  As the kids filed out of the Children’s Corner, lugging their books up to Ms. Penny at the checkout, I pulled Davis aside. “You were awesome up there! Who knew the local vet could act so well?”

  Davis cocked an eyebrow. “I made barnyard noises as you read from a farming book. I doubt the Oscars will be calling my name anytime soon.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Your llama impression is the best I’ve seen.” I leaned in closer. “And I’ve read that particular book many times to kids, in many different states. Believe me when I say those kids adored you.”

  His no-comment smile sent a fluttering sensation through my midsection.

  “It’s true. I’d totally hire you again.”

  “Then I’ll need a raise. Plus benefits.”

  “Done,” I blurted with a flare of triumph. “How about we get an ice-cream cone from that cute little food truck off Eighth. My treat.”

  He contemplated my offer, or perhaps it was me he was contemplating. Whatever the case, it was clear by his lack of immediate response that he wasn’t exactly jazzed about the idea. And with all my drop-ins on a certain rescue dog over the last week, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me recently.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your fan-rigging responsibilities.” Or whatever it was he was up to at the library on a workday. I still hadn’t sorted that out yet. Between the clinic and whatever he was doing on the weekends at the restaurant to help Shep, his schedule always seemed booked to the max. Not that I paid close attention to his routine or anything.

  Davis glanced at the Puppet Plaza again—the industrial fan propped on a chair next to the half-cracked window. “Actually, I think my fan rigging is complete. At least it should keep the room from getting too stuffy until the repair people show up.”

  “It sure is a great space for kids.” I looked around the canary-yellow room admiringly, noting the slightest peel of paint near the ceiling borders and the di
scoloration on each of the sun-exposed walls. “I can tell how much Penny loves this room.” A few oversized posters with literary characters patched the reading nook like a quilt, while back-to-back shelving wrapped from one corner of the room to the other. Everything was neatly organized and freshly dusted, but I found myself imagining something more in here. A mural over the reading corner perhaps—of children with wonder in their eyes as they turned the pages of their favorite classics. I’d draw something up for Penny this week and offer to work on it in my downtime.

  Davis followed my gaze. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back in this part of the library,” Davis mused. “But you’re right about Penny. She’s devoted to her service here.”

  I chuckled, remembering the suspicious way Penny had looked at me last week. “I honestly wasn’t sure she was going to allow me to help with the summer reading program, you know, with me being the new girl in town. Somehow, though, I managed to pass her Stranger Danger inspection.”

  “Callie, you may be strange, but I don’t think you’re capable of being a stranger to anyone.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  Two kids leaving the area, books smashed to their chests, arms wrapped tight around their new treasures, tugged at my heartstrings. “Nothing like ringing in summer solstice with a pile of books. I sure hope they plan to read them outside, though, or at least by a window.”

  Davis’s focus sharpened on me.

  “What?” I asked, feeling a sudden shift in energy. “What did I say?”

  He shook his head the way one does when trying to recall something . . . or forget something.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . . not many people take note of the first day of summer.”

  “Well, I do. It’s my favorite day of the year, actually. I have several traditions I keep—the first being ice-cream eating. So if you’re still debating my invite”—I ticked my head toward the exit—“then you best make your decision soon, because my offer to buy you a cone is about to expire.”