Summer Sunsets

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  “Okay, count me in. I just need to get changed,” I say. “Then I’ll drive over.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you then.”

  I snap the phone shut and put on some old jeans and a holey t-shirt that’s seen far-better days. These were the same clothes I wore the last time I painted—also with Skye, no less. The fact that there’s so much paint on them says a lot about how much time we didn’t spend painting her room when we should’ve.

  Smiling, I grab my keys and head out the door. Mom’s already outside, watering as I head down the front steps. She never used to care so much about flowers, but lately she’s taken to landscaping everything.

  She sees me heading toward the Jeep and catches my arm.

  “Hey, not so fast. How’s Skye?” Her eyes regard me, and I know she’s trying to figure things out without seeming nosy.

  I shrug. “She’s good, Mom.” I bend and kiss her head, liking how tall I am compared to her.

  “I mean really, Devin.” She levels a meaningful glare and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Mom was the one who ended up helping me pick up the pieces after Skye came so close to dying. Since for a while Skye refused to let me visit, I had to find someone to talk to or go out of my head. Both Skye and I were a mess, and Mom definitely doesn’t want an encore for either of us.

  I smile more broadly. “I know you’re concerned, but she’s good, Mom—really, really good. I think the whole college experience helped her sort some stuff out.”

  She nods. “And what about you? Didn’t you meet anyone at The University of North Carolina?”

  I stare at the daisies she’s watering. “Nobody who really matters.” I start walking toward my Jeep. My mom figured that when I went to one university and Skye to another we would gradually grow apart, but it didn’t happen. I know Mom wished it had, but whatever is between me and Skye, it has nothing to do with physical proximity.

  “Be careful,” she calls, switching her water flow to the nearby mums. I know she isn’t talking about my driving. I’ve never even had a ticket. Mom’s always known how I feel about Skye, and I think because of what’s happened in the past, she’s afraid something could go really wrong, yet even if it does, I don’t care. I’ll find a way to make things work because Skye is worth it. She always has been and she always will be.

  Mom watches me pull out, and even though she hasn’t asked me where I’m going, she doesn’t have to. We both know.

  Five minutes later, I pull into Skye’s driveway to see Warren dragging out a ladder. While Skye stirs one of the gallons of paint, Helen leans near one of the vehicles. Her hair is drawn away from her face in a blue handkerchief.

  I get out, walk up to her, and touch Helen’s arm to let her know I’m here. As she turns to face me, I’m kind of unsettled by how pale Helen appears.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  She looks at me and gives a weak smile. “Devin! It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, concerned. “You don’t look like you feel well at all.”

  She waves me away. “Oh, it’s just a little headache. Nothing major. Besides, I’ve been getting them a lot, and I should know how to function with them.”

  I nod toward the house. “So, why don’t you go inside? The rest of us can handle this.”

  She leans against the car, her body seeming to sway unsteadily, and she looks really tired. “Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’m the one who had the bright idea in the first place.”

  “It’s okay.” I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll tell them you don’t feel well.”

  “Are you sure?” Her smile kind of dies, and I get a glimpse of how bad she really feels. “Yes, I’m sure. Now go on before I send Warren to carry you inside.”

  She briefly touches my hand. “One of these days I just hope Skye realizes how lucky she is to have you.” That said, she turns and stumbles towards the house.

  Once she’s inside, I amble to Skye, grinning as she kneels and mixes paint so efficiently. “Wow! Warren even let you stir the paint. I’m impressed.”

  She gives me her best go-to-hell look. “Aren’t you here to help, flyboy?”

  “I’ll chase Warren from the ladder, once the master stirrer is sure she’s done. I figure I’ve got a hard enough head so if I fall on it, no big deal.”

  Without warning, Skye lifts the stick from the paint and flicks it toward me, flinging grey globs at me that spatter on my jeans, shirt and face.”

  “Oops. I thought that was mixed enough. Now I’ll have to do a little more stirring to make the master painter happy.”

  “Real funny, Skye.” I lift my hand and try to wipe the paint away as she watches and bursts out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I rub harder.

  “All you’re doing is smearing it.” She pulls a rag from her pocket. “Here, let me help.” She steps toward me and begins trying to wipe the paint away.

  “You helping? Isn’t that how I got it all over me in the first place?” Nonetheless, I stand still and let her try to clean me up. Warren looks down at us.

  “Hate to break it to you guys, but the house needs painting, not your clothes.”

  I smile at Skye. “Remember what they say about paybacks.” I step over to where Warren has just gotten the ladder set up.

  “Hey, Devin,” Warren says. “Am I glad to see you.”

  I nod. “Yeah, it sucks to be outnumbered, doesn’t it?” he chuckles, and I point to the ladder. “why don’t you let me climb up there and take care of the high parts?

  He eyes me and finally nods. “Yeah, well, I guess you are taller. I’ll grab a brush and help down here.”

  As if on cue, Skye appears with the paint. Knowing I’m going to be the one on the ladder, she hands it to me. I get it settled where I’m pretty sure it won’t spill and take the brush she’s offering.

  “Haven’t you stirred the other gallon yet?” I ask. She opens her mouth in protest, but I don’t give her the chance as I shake my head in mock disapproval. “No excuses, Skye. You were given a job, and you were slacking off. Shame on you.”

  Warren smirks as Skye glares at me a moment before heading back to tackle the other can. We both watch her, fighting the urge to giggle.

  “You know, you’re really good for her, Devin. You always have been,” Warren says as I climb the ladder. I could argue there was a time I wasn’t good for her, that I should’ve done things differently, but we both know that’s old news and that bringing it up now isn’t going to help anybody, least of all Skye.

  “She’s wonderful,” I say.

  “She never smiles nearly so much as when you’re around. It’s like you bring out the best in her.”

  “Really?” I say, wondering if Skye’s okay inside. She’s always been one to bottle things up, and that scares me.

  “Yeah.” We both watch her shake the next can, open it, and stir the paint to make sure it’s well-mixed.

  “She’s different when she’s with you.”

  I dip the brush into the paint. “How do you think she’s doing?” I reach to the top of the wall, a place even I have to struggle to get to, so it’s a good thing Warren isn’t doing this.

  “She’s got her regrets, Devin. That’s easy enough to see, but haven’t we all?”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” I mutter, dipping my brush in for another swipe. “Other than that?”

  “I think she’s finally okay. It’s taken her a while to get there, but I couldn’t be happier she’s finally arrived.”

  I nod. “Yeah, well, between you and me, I kind of wanted to propose to her, but I don’t know if it’s the right thing or if she’s ready. The last thing I want to do is spook her.”

  Warren stops painting a moment as though he’s concentrating. “Yeah, that’s a tough one. I’ve no doubt Skye loves you—she’d lost without you—but I can also understand your apprehension.” He takes a deep breath as Skye approaches. “The best advice I can give you is to give it time.”

&
nbsp; “Give what time?” Skye asks, handing Warren the second can and a brush.

  “Painting,” I say as Warren simultaneously replies, “Job hunting.”

  Skye narrows her eyes and sets her hands on her hips as she looks from me to Warren and back. “You two might want to get your stories straight before answering next time,” she retorts, going to pick up her own brush.

  “You think she heard us?” I ask.

  “Nah. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered asking.”

  As we spot Skye approaching, we get quiet and busy painting, much too busy to carry on with our conversation—never mind that it was already over. I feel Skye watching us carefully, as though she’s trying to puzzle out our exchange.

  “I know you two are up to something. You’re always up to something.” She waves a warning finger at us. “No funny business or we won’t get the house painted.”

  Warren shrugs at me. “I wasn’t intending to do any ‘funny business.’ Were you, Devin?”

  “Nope,” I say, dipping my brush into the can. “I’m just here to mind my own business and paint. That’s it.”

  She gives us one more warning look and begins painting close to the ladder. For a while, things progress smoothly—at least until I load a little too much paint on my brush and it drips on Skye’s head.

  “Hey,” she complains. “Paint the house, not me.”

  “Oops,” I say and mean it. If I’d meant to do it, it would have amounted to far more than a few specks. That does give me a little inspiration, which is always a dangerous thing. I dip the brush back into the can but let a lot of the excess run off: I’m trying to mess with her, not change her hair color to sterling gray. I lift the brush and flick it at her, raining paint on her. She stands there, shaking her head.

  “So not funny, Devin. Would you stop that?”

  “On one condition,” I say smugly and let more paint fly.

  “Okay, stop splattering me, at least until I have a chance to turn you down,” she smirks.

  “Turn me down?” I yell and spray her harder.

  “Okay, okay—what’s the condition?” She dabs at her face, trying to wipe away the paint but ends up smearing it. Apparently she’s lousy at taking her own advice. That makes me chuckle because even covered in paint she’s so beautiful it steals my breath.

  “Come away with me tonight—no questions asked.” I dip the brush in the pain and paint the wall. In my peripheral vision, I watch her set her hands on her hips and glare at me, one paint-splattered hand shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare.

  “No questions asked? Is that what you and Warren were talking about?”

  “Nope.” I flick the almost spent brush in her direction, stippling her face with a fine layer of paint.

  “Okay, that’s it,” she says and starts grabbing my leg as the brush drops from her hand. Knowing that if I don’t get down on my own, both the ladder and an almost-full paint can will be toast, I jump to the ground and set my brush on the ladder.

  “All you have to do is say yes. Then I’ll paint the house instead of you.”

  She lunges toward me, and I move to one side, thinking she’s trying to trip me, but instead she wipes her face on my shirt, sharing the mess.

  I laugh, and that makes her try to trip me, which results in her on the ground instead of me.

  “Yes is a simple word,” I say, picking up her brush. “You really should use it.

  She closes her eyes. “No questions, eh?”

  “Non, nada, zip, zilch.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Okay—but you’d better get to painting or neither of us is going anywhere.”

  “Deal,” I say, offering my hand. She takes it, and I pull her upright.

  As I turn to focus on painting again, she grabs her brush and swipes it across my nose. Laughing, she says, “And that’s for earlier.”

  Chapter Nine

  As I clean up, it seems to take forever to get the paint out of my hair and off my face and body. I think we spent most of the afternoon seeing who could get the most paint on the other, and yes, I won. As Warren watched, he seemed to be smiling about the whole thing, even though we didn’t get as much paint on the house as we should’ve.

  As we quit about six, there are a few hours of light left, which is perfect for my plans, which include pitching a tent out by the lake and enjoying another picnic dinner with only singing birds as our company. I can’t help slipping the ring in my pocket, not that I believe there’ll be a chance to propose. That doesn’t stop me from hoping. I pack a small duffle with things I’d need for the night, a few things I think Skye might need since I haven’t exactly clued her in on my plans. For some reason, I’m afraid if I tell her, she’ll decide it isn’t a good idea. Skye is okay with spur of the moment, but any time I try to plan anything remotely romantic, it tends to go awry with her.

  Once I finish putting everything together, I drive to her place and ring the bell. Although I’m kind of expecting Warren to answer because it seems to take Skye forever to get ready, she opens the door, and I can tell by the rest of the dark house that something strange is going on.

  “Are your mom and Warren out?” I ask as she steps onto the porch.

  “No. Mom’s got a raging headache. She’s been getting them a lot lately, which bothers me.”

  I touch her arm. “I’m sure she’s going to be fine.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I know. Anyhow, Warren is up there with her, reading. He’s always reading.” Skye shakes her head and I wonder if she’s thinking about the time Warren first came into her life and gave her a book. She’d once hated him, but now you can’t tell he’s not her real father.

  Skye pulls the door closed and smiles. “So, where’re we headed?”

  I lean close and whisper, “It’s a surprise.”

  Growling, she punches my arm. “You keep saying that.”

  “I keep meaning it.” I slide my arm around her. and even though she initially tenses, her shoulders gradually ease as our steps fall into rhythm.

  “All right.” She gestures to her jeans and t-shirt. “Am I at least dressed properly for this mysterious event?”

  I take a step back and stroke my fingers down my chin as though thinking. “Hmmm. I’m thinking maybe you should be wearing one of those cool Marilyn Monroe halter dresses and pose over a vent.”

  That gets me both a slug in the arm and a savage push. I can’t help but laugh at the outraged expression on her face as she screams, “So not funny!”

  As quickly as I can stop laughing, I tell her the jeans are fine, but I get the sense that even if they weren’t, Skye wouldn’t change. That’s one of the things I really like about her. She wants people to take her the way she is, and I agree with that. There’s nothing wrong with her. Granted she’s stubborn as hell, but even that has a place in things.

  The whole way to the campsite, Skye sings along with the radio, and even though I love her dearly, the girl can’t carry a tune. I’m kind of surprised the dogs aren’t howling, but I smile and keep that observation to myself.

  The singing abruptly stops as I pull into the campsite and park. Frowning, she ask, “Should I ask what we’re doing here?”

  I shrug. “You could, but I thought it was fairly obvious: fishing, camping, that sort of thing.” Not waiting for her to respond, I get out, and she follows. “We can even go swimming if it gets too hot.” I shove my keys into my pocket.

  She brushes the hair from her eyes. “I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “I packed an extra tee shirt and shorts in case you wanted to swim in those.”

  “Oh, well, you’ve thought of everything.” She beams.

  As I start to pull my hand out of my pocket, my fingers touch the ring. She’s only partly right. I’ve figured out everything except the most important thing. I guess I’ll know what to say when I get to that point, so instead of dwelling on it, I grab the fishing poles from the back of the Jeep and take the small Styrofoam container with the worms.


  “You’re serious about the fishing part?” she asks as she spies the poles.

  “Of course.” I carry the poles to the shore and return for the two folding chairs lying next to the tent. Even from my peripheral vision I can see Skye is shocked.

  “I don’t know about this,” she says dubiously, folding her arms across her chest.

  Smiling, I unfold the chairs and nod for her to sit. “Don’t be such a baby, Skye.”

  “All right, all right,” she agrees, sitting, “but don’t blame me when I get my line tangled into God-only-knows-what. Remember last time?”

  “I remember.” I sit and get one of the poles ready by loading a worm onto the hook. I pass it to Skye. “Here—hold this. In a minute, I’ll help you cast out.”

  “Lucky me.”

  I finish prepping the other pole before setting it aside and motioning for Skye to follow me to the water’s edge. Taking a deep breath, she joins me, and I look at her pole. “You ready?”

  She eyes the pole and then me. “Okay. Sure. What can possibly go wrong? It’s only a little hook.” That’s when she takes a good look at the worm. “Ewww, that’s disgusting.”

  I grab the pole. “Okay, Skye. Quit acting like a girl—”

  “I am a girl,” she argues, grabbing the pole back. “Besides, I think I’ve got this, and she casts out all right—too bad she releases the button way early and the hook tangles in her hair.

  “Ouch!”

  “Don’t move!” I tell her and ease the pole from her hand. “I’ve got to say you suck at this.”

  “Just get the damn hook out already.”

  “Give me a minute.” I gently take the strand of hair where the hook and worm are tangled and slowly work the hair from around it until I can get it free. I wind the line back up to prepare for another cast. She starts to take the pole, but I jerk it out of her reach.

  “I need my pole to fish.” She holds out her hand, expecting I’ll just give it to her.

  “Okay, well, first I’m going to help you cast the line out as it should be so neither of us ends up getting hurt.”