Someone Else's Summer

by Rachel Bateman

  When we pull into the driveway, I’m struck by how similar everything looks, a stark contrast to how different my world has become. The bags are unloaded, and the four of us file into the house in silence. Aunt Morgan clasps my hand, squeezes painfully hard. I know.

  It’s time.

  “Mom, Dad, could you, uh, sit down for a minute?” My voice tips them off immediately and concern etches Dad’s features. He looks at me, the question clear on his face, and I give the tiniest of nods. He leads Mom to the living room, and they sit as one unit on the love seat. I take my normal perch on the couch, grateful that Aunt Morgan is sitting next to me. For all her nerves and knee bouncing at the airport, she’s steady now, strong and comforting against my rising anxiety.

  The hem of my shirt rolls between my shaking fingers as I take a deep breath, stalling, looking for words that I know will never be enough. “First,” I finally say, “I just want you to know I’m so, so happy you’re back. I missed you.”

  My voice is oddly formal, as if I’ve prepared this speech. I wonder if I should have; it would be easier if I knew what I was supposed to say. Mom’s knuckles are white beneath her vacation tan, her hands fisted together in her lap. She’s scared, and I’m making her that way.

  I rush to calm things, not that it’s really possible, with what I’m about to say. But still, I try. “All right, here’s the thing.” My words are, thankfully, more me-sounding. “I don’t want you to get mad at Aunt Morgan, okay? She was just trying to help me.…”

  Dad’s eyes are locked on mine, waiting for the rest, but I notice Mom’s gaze wandering to her sister. She watches my aunt, waiting for an explanation, so I give her one before Aunt Morgan has to say a word.

  I tell them about the list and the trip, giving them the Reader’s Digest version of events, just enough so they know that I went and that Aunt Morgan let me. I’m surprised at the strength in my own voice, how calm I feel as I recite the events of the summer to them. Even when I get to the part where Cameron gave me the envelope, the story sounds like it’s somehow not connected to me, like I’m merely providing a play-by-play of what happened to someone else. Someone not me.

  The room falls silent when the story is finished. Dad is pale, ashen, and sick looking, more shocked than I thought he’d be. Mom’s face is streaked with tears, but she doesn’t make a sound. The quiet is oppressive, making me shrink into the corner of the couch. I had expected anger. Shock. Yelling. Grounding. Anything but this calm, silent acceptance.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” I whisper.

  Mom stares silently at her hands. Dad clears his throat and says, “We suspected. She never told us, but the signs were there.”

  Signs? I think back to Storm’s last months, the end of high school. What did I miss? How could I not have seen something this big? Even now, as I look back on those months, I can’t remember anything different about my sister.

  “Why didn’t you do something?” I ask. Why didn’t Dad tell me? I think back to our breakfast, me telling him about the list, hatching the plan to make this whole summer possible. He knew that whole time, and he said nothing.

  “We couldn’t. She was eighteen—an adult.” Mom’s voice is small, but crystal clear. “I tried to bring it up a couple times, but she changed the subject anytime I pressed her. She didn’t want anyone to know, and I didn’t want it to be true, so we didn’t talk about it.” More tears fall.

  “Dad?” I stare at him, at his gaunt face and shiny eyes, and I see my own sadness reflected there. He looks like he’s about to break apart, all relaxation from the vacation transformed into brittle, hard edges on his face. “What is it?” I whisper.

  “I talked to Howard,” he chokes out, his voice static, “to see if there was something we could do.”

  Mom’s surprise is immediate. “You did?” she asks. “When?”

  Aunt Morgan’s gaze bounces between the two of them before she leans into me. “Who’s Howard?” she whispers.

  I shrug, but Dad answers for me. “Our lawyer.” To Mom, he says, “The day before graduation. I knew something was wrong, that it’d gotten worse. And she”—he fists his hands in the sparse hair at the sides of his head, tugging on his scalp as his face crumples—“she wasn’t doing anything. She didn’t even care!”

  “Roger?” Mom’s voice shakes. Fear washes over her.

  “I just wanted to see if there was something we could do. To force her to get the treatment. To make her see what she was doing to us.” He crumples under the weight of his own words. “Maybe if I’d asked sooner, figured it out—I don’t know, committed her? Made her do the treatment—maybe she’d still be here.”

  Tears stream down Mom’s face. I can feel my own trailing down my cheeks, mirroring hers. She puts a hand on Dad’s knee and squeezes his hand with the other. “You couldn’t have stopped it, honey. You couldn’t have—”

  “I should’ve done something,” he whispers.

  His eyes meet mine for only a second, but it’s enough. With one look, I know that he knows. The scrap of paper that haunts me every second of the day—he’s never seen it, but he knows. And he blames himself. I wish I could take that away from him, to absorb his hurt, to let it live with my own so he doesn’t have to feel it. But I can’t. We will live with this hurt forever, the two of us, knowing that she chose to leave us.

  And, just like I can’t take his hurt away, I know I can protect Mom from feeling the same. The two of us, Dad and me—we can carry this burden so she doesn’t have to. We will bury the knowledge deep, keep it locked away, and protect her. We can’t give her Storm back, but we can give her this.

  “Am I in trouble?” It’s lame after the revelations we just shared, but it’s all I can think to say.

  “We’re disappointed,” Mom says, looking pointedly at me then at Aunt Morgan. “You should have told us.”

  I glance at Dad, taking in the way he stares at the carpet, and wonder if we’ll ever tell Mom the truth and admit to our scheme, tell her how Dad was in on it from the start. Maybe it would be better if we did. For now, though, I lock it away with Storm’s truth, another secret Dad and I will continue to guard. I ask, “Would you have let me go if I did?”

  “Probably not,” Mom says.

  “Then I’m glad we didn’t,” Aunt Morgan says, her words sounding loudly in the room. The sentence hugs me, bringing me into Aunt Morgan’s love, reminding me that no matter what happens next, she’s on my side.

  “That’s fair.” Dad is nodding, and a small smile plays across his face. He gives me a mischievous grin and asks, “Did you at least learn to drive your car?”

  I don’t realize what he’s saying at first. The words hang between us, floundering over the living room rug, waiting for me to make the connection.

  “You’re giving me Storm’s car?”

  “We talked about it, and you’re right. We can’t keep you locked up, and we can’t punish you for what happened to your sister. It’s yours if you want it.”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” Mom interjects. “We’ll talk about your punishment tomorrow, when I’m less tired. Until then, you should probably go enjoy your last night of freedom.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper, and, after giving them both hugs, I dash from the room. It’s only an act of the travel gods that is letting me out of the house tonight, so I better use every bit of time I have. I need this last night of freedom to fix things with Piper.

  Chapter 33

  “Where’s Pip?” I ask as I climb into the minivan.

  Jovani shrugs and backs out of the driveway. “No idea. I went by her house, but she wasn’t there. Maybe she’ll just meet us at Shelly’s?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Piper didn’t answer my call or texts, but Jovani talked to her earlier about Shelly’s party, and she should be there. A knot forms deep in my gut. Inexplicably, I’m nervous to see my best friend. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking, and it scares me.<
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  Shelly lives at the far end of town, in one of the shiny new houses perched on top of the hill. Pretentious eyesores, Dad called them while they were being built, dotting the formerly clear horizon. Jo and I ride in silence, letting the sounds of the road and the tinkle of the piano music that’s always playing in the van keep us company. It’s not until Jo eases off the highway near Shelly’s house that he speaks again.

  “How much trouble are you in?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. Mom is too tired to be mad, so all punishment has been suspended until tomorrow. It’ll be bad, though, I’m sure.”

  Nodding, Jovani echoes my sentiment. He would know—he’s felt my mother’s wrath more than most, getting the blunt end of a tantrum one night when he drove me home two hours past curfew. He’s probably only still with us today because Mom isn’t nearly as intuitive as her sister about what we were doing to make us late.

  “Talked to Cameron yet?” Jo asks.

  “No.”

  “Anna—”

  “I know,” I interrupt, “but I’m just not ready. I keep thinking I can go over there and make things right, but then I remember. He lied to me, Jo. Not just a little lie, but a major one. How do I forgive that?”

  We pull up in front of Shelly’s neighbor’s house. Shelly’s driveway is crammed with cars and more line the street. I unbuckle my seat belt, but Jovani doesn’t move. “Can I say something?” he asks.

  “Yeah?”

  “I mean, can I say something you probably don’t want to hear? And still be able to walk at the end of it?”

  I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “I won’t bite. Just say it.”

  “Cameron did the right thing.”

  Blood rushes to my face, pounds in my ears. Despite my promise not to react violently, I’m suddenly overcome with the intense desire to throttle him. “How can you say that?” I say with a cold, hard voice.

  “Just hear me out, all right?” He takes a deep breath and squeezes the steering wheel with both hands. “Storm didn’t want people to know she was sick again, right? So of course he couldn’t say anything while she was alive—he was too good of a friend. And then, after she died? What good would it have done? He—”

  “What good? I would have known! I wouldn’t have the people I love lying to me.”

  “But you would!” For the first time, Jovani raises his voice to match my own decibel level. “If he told you right after she died, with everything so new and raw, it could have hurt you even worse. And you know what? You would still feel betrayed by him and Storm, because they lied to you when she was alive. Nothing would have changed that, because Storm didn’t want it any different.”

  “And I know how Storm was,” I whisper to myself.

  Jo looks at me quizzically, but keeps talking. “So, he waited. He went with you on this crazy journey to work through what happened, and he waited to tell you the truth. Maybe he waited too long, but I can see why he did. I bet if you really think about it, you can see why, too.”

  That’s the thing, though—I don’t want to think about why Cameron did what he did. Because Jovani’s right, and if I think long enough, I might understand Cam’s motivation. And I don’t want to understand. I want to be angry with him, to stay so mad that I see red when I think of that morning in the dorm. Being mad is much easier than the hurt and sadness I carried around for the first half of the summer. If I let go of the anger, there won’t be anything left to stop the sorrow from overwhelming me again.

  Without a word, I exit the car and follow the sidewalk to Shelly’s front door. Jo rushes to keep up with me, but doesn’t speak. He understands that the conversation is over.

  Shelly greets us just inside the door, kissing Jovani fiercely then giving me a hug. “I missed you,” she says. “Did you have fun on your trip?”

  “Yeah, I did,” I manage. “Is Pip here?”

  “Living room,” Shelly chirps before leading Jovani off to the kitchen. I head into the huge living room.

  The couches and chairs are piled with bodies, everyone’s attention turned to the front of the room, where Taylor and some guy I don’t recognize—older, with scruffy black hair and a five-o’clock shadow—are singing a duet on a massive karaoke machine. I spot Piper at the end of the couch, her hair piled on top of her head in a chaos of a bun, her legs two white toothpicks sticking out of a dangerously short pair of shorts. I slip across the room and perch on the arm of the couch.

  “Hey,” I say when she doesn’t seem to notice me.

  She turns to me briefly, the smallest of smiles on her face. “Oh, hey,” she says, nonchalant, then turns back to the front of the room. The duet is winding down, Taylor and the guy are staring into each other’s eyes as they belt out the final notes. When the music stops, she kisses him on the cheek and they pass their microphones to a couple of girls sitting on the love seat, who flip through a songbook with laughter.

  “What’s up?” I say to Piper, pulling my knees to my chest. My toes hang off the edge of the armrest, and I curl them down, giving myself a tiny bit of extra balance.

  “Oh, not much,” she says, standing. “I need a drink.” She breezes off without so much as a glance in my direction.

  It feels like every eye in the room is focused on me. Rationally, I know that’s stupid, that most of these people didn’t notice Piper’s dismissal, and those who did probably don’t care, but the humiliation is real. Sliding off the edge of the couch, I follow her into the kitchen. It’s empty except for Jovani and Shelly, who are leaning against the counter, making out. Piper digs through a cooler on the floor, and I stand just inside the doorway, staring at her.

  Jovani and Shelly break apart just long enough to see who’s joined them. Jo’s eyes meet mine, and he raises an eyebrow in silent question. I give a miniscule head shake in response, and he and Shelly leave through the butler’s pantry. Piper and I are alone.

  She keeps digging through the cooler—apparently checking every can and bottle in there, refusing to turn around. I talk at the back of her head. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she says over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  “Come on, Pip. You’re not fine. Are you mad because I didn’t tell you about the trip? I apologized for that. And I am really sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you right away.”

  She turns around finally, a dark blue bottle in her hand. Leaning against the side of the fridge, she twists the cap off and takes a long drink. “I’m not mad about that,” she says.

  “Okay, what are you mad about, then?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing. I’m not mad.”

  “Stop. You’ve been avoiding me. Come on, Pip. What’s going on?”

  She takes another drink, longer this time. Lowering the bottle, she stares directly at me. “I leave for college in a few weeks. You were already gone, so it’s just easier this way.”

  “Easier what way?”

  “Easier if we aren’t so attached. I thought leaving for college was going to be impossible, going without you. I’ve been dreading leaving you here. But then you just took off without even calling, and I realized that it won’t be hard for you—just for me. So why don’t we call it as it is? You don’t need me, and I can find someone else at school. My roommate seems really nice.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away, her face hardening.

  “That’s not true,” I whisper, and she scoffs. “I promise, Pip.” I cross the room and stand directly in front of her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the trip. You know how messed up I’ve been since Storm… I should have called you, though.” I touch her now, hesitantly, one hand on her shoulder. “I miss you, Pip, and I don’t want things to be like this. You have no idea how much I’ll miss you when you’re gone. You’ll be so sick of me visiting and crashing on your dorm floor.”

  “Promise?” Her voice is tiny.

  “Promise. Your roommate better be okay with visitors, because I am going to be down there every chance I get. I’m not ready
to let go of you.”

  She smiles, but still doesn’t look at me. “You don’t have to visit me every weekend,” she says. “You should probably save a few for Cameron.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Anna, I’m not dumb. You’re totally into him. And he is so crazy about you it’s not even funny.”

  “How?…”

  “I ran into him at Walmart yesterday. He asked how you’re doing. Which seemed pretty weird to me since you were supposed to be super close.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.” She finally looks at me, her eyes bright. “What happened between you two?”

  “Let’s sit,” I say. “This might take a while.”

  Chapter 34

  Mom was true to her word. As soon as she woke up the next morning—which was way too early—she barged into my room, shaking me awake and presenting me with a chore list about a mile long. I worked all day, cleaning and organizing, weeding the neglected garden, and helping Dad restain the back fence. We finished the day with the sun, stopping only when it was too dark to see what we were doing. My muscles ached, and my skin was hot with the starts of a mega sunburn.

  When we called it quits and went inside, Mom was waiting with dinner and the rest of my punishment: groundation for the rest of the summer, and I am only allowed out to join them at church on Sundays and to work at Dad’s office, helping digitize paper files.

  This morning marked a week since my punishment began. When I came down for breakfast, Mom was at the table, waiting.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Good morning, sweetie.” I helped myself to the pile of bagels on the counter, smearing peanut butter and honey across mine. She poured me a glass of milk, and we sat.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You’re still grounded. But it’d be okay if your friends came over here. I know Cameron and Piper are going to college soon, and I think you should be able to spend some time with them before they leave.”