Someone Else's Summer

by Rachel Bateman

I nod. “I do, really. But I’m not her, Dad.”

  “We know that.”

  “Do you?” My voice is louder than I intend, and the man across the aisle from us shoots me a sharp look. I calm myself and say, “Do you really? Because it feels like I can’t be myself and do the things I want anymore.”

  Dad sighs and leans back into his bench, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want, Anna?”

  What do I want? I’m so thrown by the question, by him asking me so directly, that I don’t know how to answer for a moment. “I guess,” I start, “I just want to be able to do the list.”

  “Okay…,” Dad says. He has his thoughtful face on, and it makes me perk up. I lean forward and wait.

  After what feels like eternity, he says, “Your mom can’t know.”

  “What?” I yell. The man across the aisle glares again.

  “Calm down,” Dad says. Quietly, he continues, “She’s really freaked out right now, Anna. I see what you’re saying, and I want to support you. But your mom is in a difficult place right now.”

  “I know she is. But do you really think we shouldn’t—”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Dad interjects. Finally, he takes a bite of egg. I follow suit with my waffle. It’s cold now, but still delicious. “We will work something out, sweetie, I promise. I just need you to… let me handle it, all right?”

  “Okay,” I whisper. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I do know my dad. He protected me from the monsters under the bed when I was a kid; he patched up scrapes and bruises when our adventures got out of hand. He’s always been there, the rock of our family. If anyone can make this work for me, it’s Dad.

  Chapter 14

  “Ugh,” I moan when I open the door for Aunt Morgan. She looks as tired as I feel.

  “Don’t tell your mom,” she whispers before taking a huge gulp of coffee, “but I’m pretty sure God’s not even awake yet.”

  I laugh. “But they have the whole flight ahead of them. He’s bound to wake up by the time they land.”

  The parentals come downstairs, looking disgustingly perky. Aunt Morgan winks at me and crosses to where Mom is standing with her carry-on bag. “Sorry I’m cutting it so close,” she says. “You two about ready?”

  “Yeah,” Mom says. “Thanks so much for doing this, Morgan. We owe you.”

  Aunt Morgan waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. Your house is way nicer than mine. We’ll be fine.”

  A week after my breakfast with Dad, he and Mom sat me down in the living room for a talk. Things were still shaky between me and Mom, but I’d apologized again, and it was getting better day by day. They looked nervous that morning, like they had bad news to tell me, but I knew whatever it was, I could handle it. I’d already heard the worst news, and I was still alive.

  “Honey,” Mom said, “we have something to run by you.”

  I looked at Dad, and he gave me a nod and a tiny smile.

  “Okay?”

  Dad’s smile grew. “Pastor Willitz knows a man who runs Christian couples retreats, and he’s doing one that’s just for couples like us.”

  “Couples like you?”

  Mom cleared her throat, looked at her lap. “Couples who have lost a child. It’s a special retreat with speakers and exercises to help us cope and deal with our grief.”

  I couldn’t believe it was really happening, that Dad had found a way to make things work for me with the list. I wanted to run across the room and hug him. But I’d promised—Mom couldn’t know. Instead, I forced myself to stay calm as I asked for the details. “Where?”

  “The group rents out a lodge at a lake in Montana,” she said. She immediately followed with, “We don’t have to go, honey, if it’ll be too much. I know you’ve had a hard time, too, and—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying not to sound like it was too okay. “I understand. How long will you be gone?”

  “Three weeks,” Dad answered, and I did some quick mental math. Three weeks was long enough to finish the list, if we worked fast.

  As soon as we finished our conversation—both Dad and I reassuring Mom about a dozen more times that I would really be okay spending the time with Aunt Morgan—I ran next door to Cameron’s, and we started to plan.

  Now, I help the parentals load their suitcases into the back of Mom’s SUV and climb into the backseat. It is time—I have to say good-bye to my parents, but then I can say hello to the biggest summer of my life.

  “Ugh, I can’t.” I stare at the plate of eggs Aunt Morgan slides in front of me after we get back from the airport. “I’m too nervous.”

  “You need to eat something,” she says.

  “Seriously, I think I’ll puke if I eat that.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She spears a piece of egg with her fork and pops it into her mouth.

  “You know what I mean. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Whatever you say.” She grabs my plate and sits across from me. Piling the scrambled eggs onto toast, she asks, “When are you leaving?”

  I shrug. “I don’t actually know. Cam had a few things to finish up this morning while we were at the airport, but he said he’d come over after. I have no idea when.”

  Just then, as if he heard us, there’s a knock at the front door followed by Cameron’s voice. “Hey, anyone up? Decent?”

  “Kitchen,” I call, and a moment later, he comes through the dining room door. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a faded T-shirt with MODEL UN written across the chest. “Hey,” I say lamely.

  “Hey back. You about ready?”

  I nod and stand up. Turning to Aunt Morgan, I say, “Thanks again for this. I’ll call.”

  “Hey, Cameron,” Aunt Morgan says, “why don’t you go get the car ready? Anna will be out in a minute.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He turns back toward the foyer. “Just the suitcase and backpack, Anna?”

  “Yep.” Once he’s gone, I ask Aunt Morgan, “What’s up?”

  “You know I love you.…”

  “And I love you.” I’m not sure I like where this is headed.

  “I want you to be really sure this is what you want.”

  “It is.”

  She nods. “Okay. I think you need to find your own place in the world, but if this trip is how you’re going to do that, I won’t stop you.”

  I round the table to where she’s sitting and hug her from behind. “You’re the best. I’ll miss you.”

  She catches my hand as I start to leave. “Wait.” She rushes to her bedroom.

  When she comes back, she’s carrying a leather satchel. It looks worn and used, but somehow brand-new at the same time. She hands it to me, and I look at her, questioning. She gestures for me to open it.

  Inside, a camera stares at me. Nikon is stamped on the top of it, and its lens is huge. In a separate compartment, I can see another, slightly smaller lens. “What is this?” I ask.

  “A camera.”

  “Okay, I got that, but—”

  “Use it.” She latches the camera bag shut and drapes the strap over my shoulder. “Take pictures of everything.”

  “Thanks,” I say, “but we actually have Storm’s old Polaroid. And our phones.”

  She laughs. “That film is three dollars a shot. Save those for the special pictures.”

  I hug her again, pressing my face into her hair and inhaling deeply. “You’re the best, Aunt Morgan.”

  “Don’t you forget it. I love you, banana.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Cameron is leaning under the hood of the Monte Carlo, tinkering with the engine. His T-shirt is pulled up a couple inches above the top of his jeans, and the slice of pale skin brings back the rush I felt when jumping off that cliff with him. Of being brave. I remove the camera from the bag and fiddle with the controls. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I raise it to my eye and focus on Cameron.

  The shutter is way louder than I thought it would be, and he turns his head toward me. He stands and faces me, a sm
ile on his face. Shutting the hood, he asks, “You ready?”

  I nod.

  Chapter 15

  “Where to?” Cameron coaxes the car to life and revs the engine a couple times then turns to face me.

  “I—I don’t know. The coast?”

  He laughs so hard he snorts. “You have no plan at all, do you?”

  My smile is so big I’m sure I look deranged. “Hit the road, finish the list. That’s the full plan. As long as we make it to Wilmington and Carolina Beach, we can figure out the rest on the way.”

  “Okay.” He shifts the car into reverse, and we roll down the driveway. “To the coast.”

  We head toward the interstate, and I settle into my seat, propping my feet up on the dash. Cameron cruises right past the entrance ramp.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he says.

  A minute later, he turns east on the tiny state highway I’m sure nobody ever uses.

  “Any particular reason we are going this way?” I ask.

  “A few, actually. One, this is a way better adventure than taking the exact same route everyone else in Iowa would take.” I have to agree with him. I gesture for him to continue. “Two, the speed limit is lower, so while we won’t get there quite as fast, we can”—he cranks the driver-side window down—“enjoy some fresh air. And three, you’d never agree to do this on the interstate.”

  “Do what?”

  The car’s slowing now, and Cameron flicks the blinker on. We pull to the side of the road. “This,” he says and slides out of the car.

  “Where are you going?” I call through the open window.

  He circles around the front of the car and opens my door. “Scoot over,” he says. “You’re driving.”

  “Very funny. I don’t know how to drive stick.”

  “I know. Now, scoot over.”

  I stare at him. “You’re serious.”

  “Yup.” He nudges me over the gear stick into the driver’s seat. “You ready?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Good. How much do you know about this car?”

  “That Storm loved it more than pretty much anything else in the world and that if I make the engine explode she will haunt me for the rest of my life?”

  Cameron stares at me blankly, and I blanch at my own bad joke. I shake my head and grab the gearshift. “Sorry.”

  “Well, you already know how to drive, so I’ll get you through the stuff that’s different from an automatic. For one, this doesn’t run nearly as smoothly as your car did, so don’t freak out if it hiccups a bit.”

  “Got it. Hiccups, no big deal.”

  “That little pedal to the left of the brake is the clutch—”

  “I know what the clutch is,” I say, a bit snappy.

  He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, skipping ahead. Push the clutch in and shift the car to first gear.”

  “Which one is first?”

  Cameron points at a tiny diagram at the top of the gearshift. It looks like a little H with a tail hanging off one side. Tiny numbers are written at the tip of each line, worn down with years of use, but still legible. “Top left,” he says.

  I work the stick into first. It slides into place with a satisfying thunk.

  “Now, push the gas a bit. Don’t worry about the clutch yet. Just push the gas.” I do, and the engine growls at me. “Good. You hear that? It’s okay. Don’t worry about revving the engine too high, okay?”

  “Um, okay?”

  Laughing softly, he says, “Storm was always so scared of revving too high that she would kill the car over and over again because she didn’t have enough power going through the engine when she’d let up the clutch.”

  “I remember that,” I say. “It was Dad’s fault. Remember when he tried to teach her to drive manual in the Audi? I went with them once, and it was the worst. Nothing but him saying, ‘Feather the gas,’ and her freaking out if the engine revved at all.”

  “I bet if he’d just let her rev the engine a bit, it wouldn’t have taken her two months to learn to drive her car.”

  “Oh my gosh, I forgot how long she made you drive everywhere! I still can’t believe she insisted on getting this car when she had no idea how to drive it.”

  “That was your sister. Once she saw this beauty, she had to have it. Nothing else would do.”

  “Yeah.” I smile.

  “All right, time to get moving,” Cameron says. “This time, I want you to rev the engine a bit, then slowly release the clutch.”

  I do what he says. The car rumbles beneath me, and I barely move my left foot off the floor.

  “Maybe not that slow,” he says, “or we will be sitting here all day.”

  My foot speeds up. The car lurches forward, a bull released from the gate. It shudders twice and then stops. “Crap.”

  Laughing, Cameron says, “It’s fine. Just crank her up and try again.”

  “What is it with dudes insisting cars are girls?”

  “Don’t look at me,” he says. “Your sister’s the one who named her Beatrice.”

  “Oh, right.” I turn the key, but nothing happens. Clutch, Cameron mouths, and I press my foot to the floor. This time, Beatrice roars back to life. I try again. And again. On the fourth shot, the car lurches, but this time, instead of dying, it keeps rolling forward. I turn the wheel, easing us out onto the highway. We cruise.

  After a few seconds, the engine is screaming at me. “You need to shift!” Cameron calls over the noise.

  “How do I do that?”

  “Push the clutch in.” I do. “And move the gearshift into second. Then release the clutch.”

  The car jumps as I shift, but it keeps driving. I laugh, feeling light and bubbly. Cameron walks me through the gears until we are shooting down the highway, the wind in my hair and a smile on my face.

  Three hours later, I see a tiny café at the side of the road, so I slow the car and turn into the parking lot.

  “I’m starved,” I say as I guide us into a spot. The car shakes and shudders, and I mash the brake.

  The engine dies.

  “Well, that went well,” I say.

  “Just put the car into neutral next time before you stop. It’s right in the middle of the gears, where the stick is loose,” Cameron says, clarifying.

  “Got it. Let’s eat.”

  The café is tiny—just four tables and a short counter with a pie and a handful of cookies on it. A bell jingles as we breeze through the door.

  “I’ll be right with y’all,” a short woman calls from near the kitchen. “Just go ahead and sit anywhere.”

  “I don’t know if we can find a place,” Cameron whispers. “Maybe we should ask Boo Radley over there.”

  The old man at the corner table turns and glares at us through hazy eyes. I nudge Cameron with my shoulder and shush him before leading us to the table closest to the door.

  The woman comes over and drops two glasses of water in front of us. I take a quick sip and try to hide my grimace. It’s warm. “What can I get for ya?” she asks, scratching a pencil deep into her frizzy gray hair.

  “Um, can we see a menu?” Cameron asks.

  “Ain’t got one.”

  “Okay, then. Turkey sandwich?”

  “We’re out of turkey.”

  Cameron looks at me, his mouth trembling with suppressed laughter. I hide my own smile by looking down and taking another sip of the awful water.

  “What do you have that’s good?” Cameron tries.

  “It’s all good, hot stuff. Just pick something.”

  “Tell you what,” Cameron says, giving her a shaky smile, his cheeks blazing. I turn a laugh into a cough. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

  “Whatever,” the woman says, turning to me. “And you?”

  “I’ll just, um, have whatever you’re bringing him.”

  She sticks the pencil into her bun and walks back to the kitchen without another word. I lean across the table. “If I
eat dog today, I am blaming you.”

  “You picked the place.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  We sit sipping our water for a few minutes until the woman comes back holding two plates. She drops them onto the table unceremoniously and stalks back to the kitchen. It’s some sort of sandwich—pulled pork, maybe?—with coleslaw and a generous heaping of barbeque sauce. Next to the sandwich is a pile of… something.

  “What are these?” I ask, picking one up. It flops between my fingers.

  “I think they are…” Cameron picks one up and takes a cautious bite. “Yep. Fried pickles.”

  I eye the breaded thing in my hand and notice a slight green hue showing through.

  “They’re pretty good,” he says. “Try one.”

  He’s right. In fact, the whole meal is delicious. We eat in record time then wait for the woman to come back to the table. Twenty minutes later, there’s still no sight of her. Cameron walks to the counter and leans over it, peeking into the kitchen. “Hello?” he calls.

  Nothing. He tries again.

  “She probably ran home,” Boo says from his table. “Jus’ leave some money on the table.”

  Cameron looks at me while saying to the man, “We don’t know how much we owe.”

  “Don’t matter. Jus’ leave whatever much you wanna.”

  Cam shrugs and pulls out his wallet, but I wave him off. “I got it,” I say, dropping a twenty onto the table.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “This is my trip. I’ll pay.”

  He slides the wallet back into his shorts. “You can pay for lunch,” he says, “but this is our trip, so that won’t work every time.”

  “Fine,” I say, and we make our way back to the car. I toss the keys to Cameron then climb into the passenger seat.

  “You sure you don’t want to keep driving? You were doing fine.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “I’m tired. Just wake me up when you want to switch, okay?”

  He nods, and we pull back onto the highway. I’m out before the café leaves the rearview mirror.

  Chapter 16

  I wake up as the car slows to a stop. Rain is pounding the windshield, and the sky outside is dark.