I still had a faint scar on the upper right of my forehead where I hit the corner of the step. Another half inch to the side, and I might not have made it.
Lost in thought, I jumped when my dad opened my car door. I hadn’t heard him or my mom get out, but they were both standing there, my mom holding out her hand to me. Shaking a little, I unbuckled my seatbelt and slipped my fingers into hers. It’d been ages since I’d done that, and it brought a nostalgic comfort. I paused at the step when we got there, waiting for my dad to unlock the door, and I glanced down at that corner, just to see. Slightly disappointed, I couldn’t make out if it was still stained or not, but the orange glow of sunset might have disguised it.
The screen door opened, and the colonial blue wooden door swung inwards, my father hurrying to enter the security code before the alarm went off.
My mother rested a hand on my back, gently rubbing away a few of my worries. “It’s only a house, Margie. The past doesn’t live here anymore.”
I nodded, but didn’t mean it. The past might not have lived there for six years, but it came back the moment I did.
That place would never feel like home.
* * * * *
“You’re still in bed?” my mom said, towering over the air mattress.
I switched off my tablet and looked up at her. “Not still. Again. I’m reading. I showered, dressed, and ate. Did I miss a memo about other things I needed to do?”
“How about leave the house, take a walk, go into town…” she offered.
I went back to reading. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“It’s not all the same to me,” she said, frowning. “I’m not going to let you hole up here for the entire summer.”
“Don’t plan to,” I said. “As soon as you give me a job, I’ll go to the restaurant, too. And I may bus it to the train station in Galloway to see my friends a few times. And there’s New York City at the middle of August. I hardly think any of that qualifies as holing up.”
“The heat wave finally broke today.” She snatched the device out of my hands. “You should go enjoy the sunshine while you can.”
I sat up, sighing. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do, but you gotta understand. I’m barely keeping it together, Mom. I had to close the kitchen curtains to eat my lunch because I started having a panic attack when I looked out back. Do you remember the mice, Mom? They used to throw them at me any time they could catch one. And then, because they got tired of going to so much trouble, one of them bought an entire pallet of mouse cat toys. Those things were everywhere for months: in my backpack, my lunch bag, my locker, waiting for me on desks… Once, they sat up in that tree out back and waited for me to come by so they could dump a bucketful of them on my head. Did you not know about all of that, or did you just forget?” A slight stab of pain behind my eyeball made me wince, and I massaged my brow to stave off the stress headache. Even the memories of things that happened years ago could still trigger them.
My flight to Paris couldn’t leave soon enough.
Without prompting, my mom left the room, returning a minute or two later with a glass of iced tea and a migraine pill. Annoyed that it was necessary, rather than being mad at her, I swallowed the medicine, washing it down with a long drink.
“Thank you,” I said.
She eased down onto the floor beside me. “I didn’t forget the mice, Margie. I know this is hard for you, and I’m sorry if we’re pushing you too hard. Your father and I only want to see you past this. You’re a strong, smart, young woman, and we know how amazing you are. I guess the last few years just made me think you might be totally over this now.”
I gave her the best smile I could muster, though it wasn’t much. “I know you think you’re helping, but you have to let me ease into it, okay?”
She nodded once, then tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. “I’ll make you a deal. You come into town with me for a few hours, maybe do some shopping, and I’ll give you a pass on dinner with the Robinsons tonight, okay?”
“Shopping? For the restaurant?”
“That, but I thought maybe you’d help me pick out something new to wear tonight. Since you’re not going, I have to be stylish enough for the both of us.”
Snorting a laugh, I relented. “You have a deal then. Can you give me about half an hour to make sure my meds kick in?”
“Sure,” she stood with a smile and waved my tablet at me. “But I’m taking this to the kitchen. Reading small print only makes the headaches worse.”
I flopped back on my pillow and draped an arm over my eyes. “Fine. You are such a cruel mistress.”
“Ha ha. We’re leaving at two, so be ready.”
“Yes, Mother,” I grumbled.
The door closed behind her and I sighed. At least I’d been given a reprieve from spending an evening wishing for death. I was definitely not ready to see our rich “benefactors,” even after six years away. The mere thought that Zachary Robinson might be present gave me heart palpitations.
I supposed it was possible he and his wretched friends had changed. After all, I had. Still, I wasn’t in any rush to find out. As it was, I hadn’t been able to step outside the house yet. I spent a few minutes trying to imagine how I’d react if, or when, I saw him again, but any time I tried, a flash of subtle pain pushed the thoughts away. Maybe in a decade I’d be better equipped or more removed from everything where I could deal with it all, but I was pretty sure if I ran into any of them immediately, I’d either throw up or throw a punch.
As neither would be good for my situation, I decided to simply avoid them for as long as I could.
* * * * *
When my mom stepped out of the dressing room, I couldn’t help grinning.
“So, how do I look?” she asked, doing a half turn in either direction.
The cut of the sleeveless black dress, appropriately hemmed slightly above her knees, was a definite reminder to me that my mom still had it. Even pushing fifty, she was a knockout. I really hoped I got that half of her genetics, though I took up jogging and yoga two years before to make up for my cookie-baking habit, just in case.
“You look amazing,” I said, then paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to go up to Galloway, though? These boutique prices are enough to choke a horse.”
She shook her head at me. “First off, we don’t have the time today, and second, if I’m running the most expensive restaurant in town, I should probably look the part, don’t you think?”
I frowned and looked back to the main floor of the dress shop. At five hundred bucks for the cheapest thing in there, I definitely had to wonder about the splurge. Were my parents really making that much more money?
“I guess,” I murmured.
My mom thumbed through a rack holding a few discarded items from previous customers, stopping when she came to a strapless light blue number. “What size were you again? Still an eight?”
“Uh, yeah, I think. Why? You don’t actually expect me to try something on here, do you?”
She pulled the dress off the wooden rack and held it out to me. “Yep.”
The price tag fluttered into view and I gaped at it. “What? No way. Mom, this thing is over a grand!”
“No arguments,” she said. “Now.”
“My prom dress didn’t cost half that much. You can’t be serious.”
“Now, Margaret.” It was her “I’m not in the mood for attitude” tone, and I knew better than to press my luck.
Sighing, I took it and headed into the stall. Tucking the hanger under my chin, I smoothed the dress out over my chest. The shade was perfect for the early-summer pale of my olive skin. It would probably even look good on me when I did tan up, which always happened quickly. The shimmery satin slipped over my body like melted butter, hugging my curves in ways I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, but I’d been assured my figure was “pretty bangin’” by cat callers and high school hallway harassment. Holding up the front with one hand, I held my wav
y brown hair with the other before stepping out of the curtained stall to ask my mom to zip me up.
When she finished, she pulled me in front of the three-way mirror to see how it looked on me from every angle.
“Not everyone can pull off that cut,” the woman working the store said, leaning in the doorway to the back area. “Congrats on being the first.”
“The first?” my mom asked. “Then it’s settled. Guess it’ll have to come home with us.”
“What?” I gaped at her reflection. “No way. We can’t—”
She waved me off. “We can and will. Stop being so dramatic, Margie. That dress is fantastic on you.”
My stomach churned. How did rich people swallow buying such expensive clothes all the time? What was wrong with t-shirts that didn’t get ruined if you left them on the floor in a heap overnight?
“Go change,” she said, turning me back to the stall. “We’ve got a few other things to pick up, and we’re running out of time.”
Grudgingly, I returned to my clothes, throwing on my jean shorts and red t-shirt while grumbling to myself. What in the world possessed my mother? I was going to be terrified of wearing that thing without ruining it. Stepping back into my sandals, I emerged from the back area and handed over the extravagant purchase to the woman working there. She smiled pleasantly, and there wasn’t a hint of derision in her expression, though I’d expected one, given her usual clientele.
Seventeen hundred dollars and a pair of new shoes for me later, I felt sick. My mother seemed completely fine with it, however, so I tried to tell myself not to worry.
She looked at her phone, thumbing through items on her to do list. “Two things left.” She slid it back into her purse. “Do me favor and run across the street to the bakery? I asked Elena to order a few things in bulk for me while the vendor accounts got switched over, and she let me know they’re ready for pick up. You remember Elena, don’t you?”
“I think so,” I said. “Destiny’s mom?”
She nodded. “That’s her. Can you grab the order for me? It’s a few smaller boxes, so not very heavy. I need to pick out new napkins in the linen shop a block down, and I don’t want to run up against a time crunch.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
A visit to the Edelweiss Cake Shop? Now that was an errand I was happy to run. I wondered if Elena still made the snickerdoodle cupcakes I loved. They were always my favorite as a kid. Sometimes they were the only things I could keep down with my stomach issues back then. Maybe if I played my cards right and got on her good side, I’d figure out her secret to making my ultimate comfort food.
Checking for traffic, I crossed the small width of Main Street and opened up the elegantly frost-framed door to the bakery. Looking around, the interior had gotten a sleek new update, with pale gray fern leaves winding their painted way across icy blue walls, and two white, floral-themed cake tables in the window, but the feel of the place was the same, courtesy of the luscious scent hanging in the air, and likely permeating the wooden floorboards. It smelled of espresso, butter, and sugar.
It smelled like comfort.
The bell on the door jangled as I closed it behind me, and a woman popped up from behind the glass bakery case, a touch of powdered sugar clinging to the end of a dark blonde lock of hair hanging in front of her ear.
“Good afternoon,” she said warmly, brushing her hands against the skirt of her gray apron. “Welcome to Edelweiss.”
“Mrs. Plummer?” I asked, double-checking I had the right person.
“That’s me. What can I help you with, young lady?”
I eyed the case as I approached, excited to see my favorite treat sitting on the top shelf. “I’m Margaret Walsh. My mom sent me to pick up some boxes?”
Her blue eyes widened. “Margie?”
My cheeks flushed at her reaction. “Yes, ma’am.”
With an excited squeal, Elena Plummer hurried out from around the counter to hug me tightly. “Oh my goodness, you’re so grown up! Look at you!” She pulled away from me, beaming. “Destiny will be so excited you’re here for the summer. We weren’t sure you’d come.”
“Well,” I grinned, sheepish, “here I am.”
She squeezed my shoulders and retreated to the back. “Wait one minute. I’ll get Janet’s order.”
As she collected whatever it was, I hovered over the bakery case, gazing at the snickerdoodle cupcakes with their dusting of sugar crystals and cinnamon. I suddenly regretted my decision to leave my purse at home, but I hadn’t considered I might want to buy something.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Plummer said, setting two foot-long boxes on the counter, a third smaller square one on the top. She pulled out a scrap of receipt tape and handed it to me along with a pen. “If it’s okay, could you leave a phone number for Destiny? She’ll be upset with me if I don’t at least ask.”
I smiled. “Oh, sure.” I scribbled down my cell number. “Tell her she can text me or whatever, tonight if she wants.” Writing my name over the number, I added a little smiley face after, hoping it would encourage her to get in touch. Destiny had been one of the very few people I remembered fondly from my childhood, mostly because whenever she was around the other kids mostly left me alone. Unlike me, her parents had no qualms about letting their daughter throw a punch when the situation required it. Only two kids had to learn that the hard way, the rest didn’t need to be told.
I handed over the paper and smiled as I picked up the boxes, noting a very familiar scent of snickerdoodle cupcakes wafting from the smallest package. “Thanks, Mrs. Plummer. Good to see you again.” I opened the door, stepping back out onto the breezy street.
The van wasn’t far, and I stashed the boxes in the back, cramming them in between the other stuff my parents had to take to Le Beau Tournée. Locking it behind me, I headed down the street to offer opinions on napkins to my mom.
Halfway to the linen shop, I jerked to a stop. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, a uniformed driver exiting to let the rear passengers out. Three guys tumbled out the back, laughing loudly at some inappropriate joke one of them told seconds before. Panicked, I ducked into a tiny space in between two shops on the pretense of adjusting my sandal buckle. I wasn’t completely sure, but those guys looked familiar enough I wasn’t willing to risk a confrontation.
“Jesus, Matt,” one of them said, still laughing. “Your mother would strangle you if she knew.”
Another snorted. “Whatever, man. What about you? You think the ever-proper Olivia Robinson wouldn’t crap herself if she knew her son trashed the yacht during spring break last year?”
My heart officially stopped in my chest… Right before it started racing uncontrollably. If that was Zachary Robinson, that meant the Matt he was talking to had to be…
“Hey, I cleaned that up myself, asshole,” Zach said, and I heard someone get pushed. “Unlike you, who claimed your car was stolen when they found it wrecked last month.”
“It was stolen. By the wind. Car surfing is risky business.”
One of them groaned. “Car surfing with your dad’s Lexus? Do you have a death wish? The worst I’ve ever had is a fender bender when that grandma rear-ended me last year. Even then, my parents gave me endless lectures about driving safety, and it wasn’t even my fault. I’d never see keys again if they caught me doing something stupid like car surfing.”
“Yes, well, the Dominic Preston, Esq. household must maintain their façade of perfection if one is courting the biggest corporations in all of Britain,” Matthew said in a fake, over-the-top accent.
That last bit of information was all I needed to piece together who stood between the linen shop and me. Zachary Robinson, Matthew Rosenberg, and Lance Preston: three of my biggest tormentors as a kid. Matt was always the worst of them, consistently leading the charge in whatever form of torture he’d thought of that day. The fake mice had been his idea.
Still hidden in the partial alley, I tried to get a grip on what to do. Why weren’t they moving off
? Did they have nothing better to do than loiter outside a stationary store?
“Where’s Avery, anyway?” Matt said. “If he doesn’t show up soon, we’re checking out the jet skis without him.”
And Avery Daniels, too? My timing couldn’t have been worse. All I needed was the ghost of Chad Burkeheart returning from his drunk driving wreck and the whole gang would be back together. I couldn’t keep hiding forever, though. Eventually they’d pass by and catch me crouched beside a dumpster, and the relentless badgering would start all over again.
I took a deep breath. “If I let other people dictate my happiness, I never will be,” I whispered to myself. It was time to take charge of my life. I refused to give them control of my world again.
Setting my shoulders and adjusting my sunglasses, I stepped out of the alley, adjusting my sandal strap one last time before heading down the sidewalk. For an additional distraction, I took out my phone and started scrolling through emails, reading over the last one Angela sent me to bolster my courage. I pretended to be completely engrossed in the text the closer I got. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t the reason they’d stopped talking.
No eye contact. Don’t look at them. Don’t. Look.
Three more steps and I’d be in the clear.
One.
Two.
“Christmas came early boys,” Matt said. “Looks like Santa already delivered my present.”
Ignore it. Ignore it. Keep walking.
I heard him behind me before he fell into step with me.
My Bittersweet Summer Page 2