“If you’re referring to the wall that is Summer Stafford, then yes I have.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Are you saying you can’t help me?”
“I’m saying I’m the only one who can.”
I waited for him to say more but he just continued to bang away at the underside of the tractor. I heard a blunt-edged thunk and Casey swore. He slid free, his thumb in his mouth, and got to his feet, wringing his hand. “You okay?” I asked.
He pulled his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, “Peachy. What is it you want to know?”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling awkward at having to dig for this kind of information at all. But it’s not like I could avoid her for five months. And I didn’t want to damage her further by attempting ... whatever I was attempting. Screw it. I was asking. “Summer. Damaged. How,” I said.
“Parents. Divorce. Mom,” he replied.
“What did her mom do? Have an affair or something?”
Casey snorted. “Sometimes, I wish it was that cut and dried.”
“What then?” I waited while Casey went to the minifridge, pulled out two beers, and tossed one to me. I caught it easily but didn’t pop the top. “Dude. On the clock?” I said.
Casey took a healthy swig and then used his beer can to gesture to the clock hanging above the workbench. It was in the shape of a woman wearing nothing but a red bikini. The hour hand extending from her navel pointed toward her left foot. The minutes hand was situated right smack between her ample and scantily clad cleavage and pointed just barely to the right. “Workin’ hours ended three minutes ago. Drink up and listen close, grasshopper.”
I did as he asked, downing almost half the beer before coming up for air. Just in case whatever story he was about to tell was one that required alcohol to understand.
“First thing you have to know, Summer’s always been a numbers girl. She gets logic and rules and sees in mostly black and white. She’s always been about making plans and goals. She knew what college she was going to when she was eleven. Gets all that from her mom. And always been proud of that fact. That family was like three peas in a pod. Tighter knit than your grandma’s crochet blanket.
“Then, she comes home for Christmas break to find out her parents are divorcing. Her mom’s already moved out and moved on. Dating around. Nothing serious but happy as a pig in shit. You could see that from a mile away. It radiated off her. The thing was, no one really knew she was unhappy before. She kept it real closed off, even from Summer.”
Casey took another swig and continued, “So, the divorce happens and Summer goes back to school, and she pulls away. Stops talking to all her friends. I didn’t even hear from her until spring break and even then, it was a phone call and an email to say she wasn’t coming home. Too busy with homework. It was bullshit for her needing to freak out on her own.”
“So, breaking up with her boyfriend, moving home, this is her freaking out?” I pressed when he didn’t go on.
“She freaked out in the solitude of her dorm room. That’s Summer’s style. I think this is her putting the pieces back together. Trying to figure out where she fits.”
“Does she blame herself for the divorce?”
“Nah. I don’t think so,” Casey said. “It was too sudden, too left field for her to see a single sign, much less one she can point at herself. She’s just shell-shocked. And questioning everything. Especially the stuff that looks stable on the outside.”
“Like her relationship with the ex?”
“Aaron was all right. A little stiff under the collar but he treated her okay.”
“So she broke up with him because, what—he’s too stable?” I couldn’t help saying that last word like it left a bad taste. Most girls loved the idea of stable, didn’t they? White picket fence and all that. But Summer decided that wasn’t for her... Why? Maybe she’d seen it all fall into place so easily for her mom. Heritage Plantation was the epitome of white picket fence. Despite that, it hadn’t had the happy ending Summer assumed, so she was changing it up.
Casey shrugged. “You’d have to ask her the why. For once, she isn’t talking to me. And she definitely isn’t talking to her mom.”
“She doesn’t want to be like her mother,” I said, almost to myself. “The equation doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“Bingo.”
Finally, I understood the terrified way she’d looked at me when I’d asked her out. Or when I got close at all. Her attraction to me scared the shit out of her. That made me smile inwardly. She was attracted.
“How bad is it?” Casey asked, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he took in my expression.
“How bad is what?”
“Judging by the look on your face, you’ve got the itch. I just want to know how bad. And whether I should seek cover now or wait for the fallout.” He finished his beer and chucked it into the trash can against the wall before going to the fridge for another.
I took another swig of my own without really tasting it, trying to come up with some sort of response to that. The truth was, Casey was right. It was an itch. And I was compelled to scratch.
Chapter Six
Summer
“Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” ―C.S. Lewis
Casey’s laughter trailed down the hall, announcing his arrival before he came into sight. Mazie’s scolding response—too muffled for me to understand—made him laugh even harder as he marched toward my door. I exited the spreadsheet I’d been working on, happy for a distraction.
My mom had called again last night. That made three times in the nine days since I’d come home. I’d refused to speak to her—again—and I could tell it upset my dad. He’d gone to bed shortly after and we hadn’t spoken yet this morning.
My head wasn’t in the work today. Not when I still saw her everywhere I looked—in my office and in this house. She was still here whether she lived across the county or not. And my dad’s lack of anger only heightened mine. I kept waiting for him to lash out or at least mutter something under his breath, but the tone he used with her while they chatted about weather and crops and mutual friends was pleasant, friendly even. How could he not be furious? How could he even speak to her after leaving him like that after twenty-five years of marriage?
Fine. He wasn’t going to be angry? I was mad enough for both of us.
I looked up as Casey entered. In one hand, he held a toothpick that he twirled between his lips. In the other, he held up a sheet of paper, yellowing at the edges, and threw himself into the chair across from me. “Hey, remember this?”
“What is it?” I took the paper and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles as I read the contents. My temper and foul mood instantly vanished as I recognized the handwriting. “I can’t believe it. Where did you find this?” I asked, running my fingertips over the fading blue ink.
“I cleaned out the spare room when Ford moved in. Found this in one of the boxes.”
“How old were we when we made this list? Ten? Eleven?”
“Somewhere around there.” He shrugged and leaned forward, reading the paper upside-down. “It was hot as hell that summer. I think the only time we got out of the creek was to make this damn list.”
I smiled at the memory of summers spent on the farm. Growing up here had been an adventure, always something to do, new places to explore. And Casey was a more than willing sidekick. It wasn’t until I got older, wanted more than a midday swim in the creek and an ice cream cone after dinner, that this place became one to escape.
When had life started to seem so much more exciting out there than it did here?
I turned my attention back to the day Casey spoke of, the day we’d made our “before I grow up” list. “We snuck into Dad’s office—this office—for paper and pen,” I recalled.
He spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. “I still don’t see why you wanted all this written so badly.”
“It came about from that convers
ation you and I had down at the swim hole. A lie, if I remember correctly.”
“Pssh. I would never do such a thing.”
I threw a sticky pad at him.
“Ow!”
“You told me you kissed Jenny Matthews.”
“Ahh, yes. Jenny Matthews. Prettiest girl in the sixth grade.” He leaned back, a dopey smile on his lips.
“You gave me this elaborate story about fixing her bike chain after finding her stranded. You said she almost swooned when you were finished. ‘My hero,’” I mimicked, rolling my eyes and batting my lashes double time.
“I wasn’t lying. She said that.”
I snorted. “And then you said she kissed you.”
“She did.”
“And then never spoke to you again?”
Casey opened his mouth, shut it again. “I can see how that would look suspicious, but it’s not a lie.”
“Uh-huh.” Fine. If Casey wanted to stick by his story, I’d let him. He knew I knew he was full of shit. “That was the day I realized I hadn’t had my first kiss. I couldn’t be outdone by you. I needed that kiss. So, we made a list of all the important things we needed to make sure and do before we grew up.”
“Right. I remember you saying we needed categories.”
“And I remember you wanted me to write so you could tie the rope to that branch that hung out over the deep end of the swim hole.”
“Rope’s still there too. I’m one hell of a knot-tier, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Damn right you are.”
I picked up the paper. “Things to do before I grow up,” I read out loud. “One. Be kissed.”
“Is that your column or mine?”
“Mine. Yours says ‘be kissed again.’”
“Right. What else?”
“Yours says drive a tractor, drive a four-wheeler, ride a dirt bike, get a girlfriend.” I laughed. “You were definitely a ten year-old boy when we wrote this.”
“Uh, thank you? What else?”
“Fly an airplane,” I read.
“Huh. Still gotta do that one.”
“Shoot a gun.”
“Check. Next one?” he prompted. I read the last one to myself and chuckled. “What does it say?”
“Never get married,” I told him.
“It says that? On my side?” He leaned in and peered down at the list. “Huh. I guess I knew what I wanted even back then.”
I stopped laughing. “You really don’t ever want to get married?”
Casey leaned back and resumed chewing on his toothpick, turning it around and around between his teeth. “I hate to say ‘never’ but ... I just don’t see it happening.”
“Why?”
“Well, for example, take the rest of that list. Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, tractors.”
“What about them?”
“They were what I wanted then and what I want now. What girl is going to be all right with that? I mean, I don’t own a house, I barely own a car, and I play in the dirt and work on engines for a living.”
“Case, you’re a catch. You just haven’t met the right girl.” My lips twitched as I added, “Jenny Matthews sure liked it.”
That seemed to pull him out of whatever deep thought he’d been following. He blinked, the edges of a grin back on his face. “Damn right she did. What does your column say?”
“Besides being kissed?”
“Yeah, I mean, you can cross that off after Danny-what’s-his-slobber in the seventh grade, right?”
“Ugh.” I shook my head. “If I promise to believe you about Jenny Matthews, will you promise to pretend you didn’t see that?”
“Look, I’d just as soon lose that memory myself. But the image of that boy literally trying to suck your face off is permanently embedded inside my skull. What’s that thing in the Harry Potter movies that sucks the life out of people?”
“A dementor?”
“Yeah, he reminds me of one of those.” Casey leaned in and made a wet, sucking sound.
“Ass,” I laughed.
“You know ... you could update it.”
“Update what? The list?”
“Sure.”
“What for?”
He shrugged. “I mean, we made it to push ourselves to take risks so we could experience new things. Things that mattered to us. Before life took hold and we forgot what was important. Right?”
“I guess so,” I said, uncertain where this was going.
“So, add something new. Take a risk.”
My eyes narrowed. “What sort of risk?”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another. “Since that first kiss went so horribly, maybe you should risk another one.”
“A kiss,” I repeated, squirming in my chair at the face that immediately popped into my head. Ford, lips puckered, blowing softly on my hand. I’d lain awake last night thinking of those lips. And the way I’d turned them down when he’d asked me out. I still believed I’d made the right choice, but mother of hell, it was hard saying no to that mouth.
“Sure. A better kiss. With someone who’d make you forget all about Danny-what’s-his-slobber.” He paused and then added, “Ford asked about you.”
“Ford.” It seemed all I could contribute to this conversation was an echo of Casey’s words.
“Yeah. Kiss Ford.”
“I am not kissing Ford.”
“Why not?”
“Because ... it’s... Well, it’s ...”
“A risk? Exciting?”
“Not going anywhere. He’s only here for a few months.”
Casey’s brows lifted, and he suddenly looked much more interested in the conversation. Damn, why had I said that? “So, you’ve thought about kissing him,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “And who cares that he’s leaving. Makes the kissing even better. You can kiss him all you want until October, check it off your list, and move on.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. “I’m not kissing Ford,” I repeated.
“Whatever. It’s your choice. But, seriously, you should add something to the list. Some sort of new experience. Otherwise, if the list is finished, it might mean you’re a grown up now, and that’s just lame.”
“What about you? Your list is complete too.”
“Nah. I’m gonna fly an airplane.”
I glared, but Casey had grown immune to that long ago. I huffed. “Fine, I’ll add something to the list.”
“Kissing. Add kissing.”
“Only if you do. And I get to pick who.”
“Go for it.”
“Kiss Jenny Matthews. For real this time.”
He grinned. “What else does it say?”
I looked back at the list, shoving aside thoughts of kissing. For now. “Learn to shave my legs. Build a tree fort. Beat Casey in a creek race.”
Casey hooted. “Not in this lifetime.”
I scowled.
The tree fort had been something just for my dad and me. I’d purposely waited until Casey had been away at motocross camp the summer before we graduated. I hadn’t wanted his help; it made checking it off the list less exciting.
As for the creek race, I’d come close many times but never actually won. It was the only item on the list yet unaccomplished. “Whatever,” I muttered. “It’d be different now.”
“Are you challenging me to a rematch?”
I blinked. I hadn’t been, really, but I couldn’t back down now. I sat up straighter, exuding confidence that wasn’t actually there. “I could beat you in a creek race with my eyes shut.”
We both looked up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway. My stomach leapt at the sight of Ford. I hadn’t seen him since I’d walked out of his greenhouse days ago. He hadn’t been at dinner the past few days nor had he been to see Mazie for lemonade refills. I wondered if it had something to do with our last exchange when I’d turned him down fo
r a date—or whatever it was he was offering—but always followed it up with a stern lecture to myself. Whatever kept him away wasn’t my problem. He was a guy working for my dad. And I was a girl who didn’t know what she wanted.
But standing there in the low light of the hallway, he was just as gorgeous as I remembered. Maybe more today, with his T-shirt clinging to his abs and his jeans slung low on his hips.
“What’s a creek race?” Ford asked. He held a half-filled water bottle in one hand and with the other, he swiped his damp hair off his forehead.
“What’s up, man? You look a little warm,” Casey said.
Ford took a swig of the water. “Something’s wrong with the ventilation inside my greenhouse. On top of that, it’s damn hot out there. The devil decided to rain humidity and the fire of hell down on your little farm this week.”
“Who you tellin’?” Casey asked.
“Can you take a look at the system for me?” Ford asked.
“Sure thing,” Casey said.
“So, what’s a creek race?” Ford repeated.
Casey and I shared a look. “It’s sort of like our version of a triathlon,” I explained. “We made it up when we were kids and it became its own thing. If you can do the creek race,” I shrugged, “you’re cool.”
“And if you can win the creek race, you’re a rock star.” Casey winked.
“I take it you won a lot?” Ford asked him.
Casey raised his fists over his head. “Undefeated champion of the world.”
“That’s because you haven’t done it lately,” I said. “You probably can’t even see your feet with that beer gut in the way.” A blatant lie. Casey was chiseled—even I could see that and I wasn’t looking. Not in the way other girls looked at him.
Ford snickered.
“City life’s made you a shit-talker,” Casey said. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”
I stuck my chin out. “Name the time and place.”
“Friday. After work. Usual spot.”
“You’re on, country boy.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass, city girl. Winning creek races is what I do.”
“This is somethin’ I’ve got to see,” Ford said.
“Bring beer. I want a cold one in my hand for my victory dance,” Casey told him.
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