Summer Girl (Summer Girl #1)

by S. Love

  Another nod, and the waitress sticks the pencil behind her ear and returns to the counter.

  “Why did you do that?” It’s an accusation, and I let Ozzie know it. “I said I wanted water.”

  “And your stomach’s screaming you want a chicken burger and fries. You might have no money, but I’ve got plenty.”

  I roll my eyes. Doesn’t it always come back to this?

  “And don’t we all know it.”

  “Just say thank you.” Ozzie leans his back against the vinyl seat, a small smirk kicking up one side of his mouth. With nothing other than the rain touching his hair since we got here, it’s messier than usual. Softer. He pushes it back with his fingers when it sweeps across his forehead, only for it to gradually trickle forward.

  “What should I thank you for first?” I sit back, folding my arms under my breasts. “Ripping me to shreds and making me feel smaller than an ant? Tearing my panties from my body? Or is this about the greasy, six-dollar chicken burger?”

  The stupid smirk Ozzie thinks he’s got concealed fuels my anger with him to a whole other, red-seeing level.

  “I bought you new underwear. Three pair, actually. You could at least act a little bit grateful.”

  Instinct tells me he’s goading me, but my temper doesn’t give a crap. He’s pushing all my buttons.

  “Are you for real? You sit there and say that like you did me a favor. Seriously, what planet are you living on? Because news flash, it isn’t this one. Down here we don’t do that to people. Not unless a prison sentence is a life goal.”

  The way Ozzie looks at me, anyone would think I’m a clown, put here for his personal enjoyment. I’m either pissing him off or amusing him. There’s no even balance with him. I’m at one end of the scales or the other. There’s no room for me in the middle.

  His eyes drop to my phone on the tabletop when it lights up. I deliberately ignore the silent incoming call.

  “Keep those walls up nice and tight now, Lyla, because they’ll come down eventually.”

  “Not every girl wants to sleep with you.” All that does is move me higher up on the amusement ladder, and both Ozzie’s eyebrows creep up his forehead.

  “They don’t? And we aren’t talking about every girl. I’m only interested in you.”

  Our bickering’s interrupted when the waitress brings over our drinks on a round, silver tray. She places a glass of Coke and two glasses of iced water in front of us. “Be back in a sec with your food.”

  Ozzie watches her leave, his gaze easing back to me when she’s out of earshot.

  I silently read him and his weird standoffish demeanor, trying to figure out what went so drastically wrong in his genetic wiring.

  “Why me?” I ask. “Because you want what your brother’s got? You’re the epitome of petty. I’m not good enough to clean your room but you’ll use me to prove a point? What is it? That you can get whatever Falcon can? For God’s sake, how old are you?”

  “You’re Miss Pissy Pants because I don’t wanna see you changing my sheets and starching my fucking curtains?” Ozzie says at the same time our food arrives, the waitress awkwardly placing our plates in front of us so she can get far away and serve her less-hostile customers.

  Picking up the red, plastic ketchup bottle, Ozzie decimates his fries in a sugary blood bath. “Just eat your food so we can get the hell out of here.”

  On the ride home, I weigh up the pros and cons of returning Falcon’s phone calls, then decide there’s no way I’m roping Ozzie in for a second round of whatever that was back in the restaurant. So I text Falcon instead, pretending like I don’t notice how tense Ozzie’s become while he drives. Because it’s killing him not knowing who I’m talking to. His stubbornness won’t allow him to ask and put himself out of his misery. It’s a teeny, tiny victory, but I’ll take it.

  I text the CliffsNotes version of where I’ve been with Ozzie and why, and dots are jumping around in my message feed as soon as I hit SEND.

  Falcon: What time you think you’ll be back? Let me take you out tonight. I give you my word nothing but my best behavior.

  I fold my lips together, suppressing my smile from reading the message.

  Me: Should be home in the next two hours. Where do u want to take me?

  “Could you not fucking do that?” Ozzie’s side-eyes me, taking just about enough of my messaging his brother and him not being in on the conversation. Like I said: petty.

  “It’s my phone,” I say indifferently. But the next message pinging on my screen wipes my smile for Ozzie, and I’m not ready to deal with Garrett. I don’t trust myself to stay strong and stay away. There’s nothing going on with Falcon anymore, but he could be a distraction, even if it’s only for tonight. Take me out of my own head and keep me occupied for a few hours longer.

  I delete Garrett’s text, along with all the others. I panic at first, all our messages going back months and months erased from my phone. All those sweet, simply worded texts gone just like that. But reading them now won’t make a difference to what’s happened to us. Reading his words could only make how I feel and what he’s done worse, and I never could’ve dreamed we would end as spectacularly bad as what we have. It’s like I did everything wrong with him, and in the end, it was all for nothing. He’ll belong to someone else, and he’ll take a piece of my heart with him. It isn’t fair how guys are able to do that. Always the ones who get to cause the destruction and then walk away unscathed.

  “What’d he say?” Ozzie’s continuous glances sharpen with a frown. “Lyla?”

  “Nothing.” I tuck my phone into the pocket in my jeans. I can go out with Falcon tonight, but I know it isn’t really going to be a distraction. More like a mask to cover the pain and humiliation leftover from Garrett. I can fool everyone around me until the cows come home. But fooling myself won’t be as simple to achieve.

  Ozzie won’t let it go, though.

  “Who is that? Con?”

  “It’s no one,” I lie.

  “Well, it’s fucking someone. And they’ve said something to you, otherwise why has your face dropped like that? You were smiling like you were doped up good minutes ago.”

  Finally leaving it alone when I don’t give him an answer, staring out my window instead, Ozzie exhales a heaving sigh, squeezing the gas a little harder.

  Chapter 25

  “Mom!” Ozzie shouts as soon as he steps through his front door. He pounds the stairs two at a time, calling her name.

  I walk upstairs after him, to get out of these clothes and then phone my mom and Talia, cleansing myself of today and last night with normal, nice people who don’t switch personalities on the drop of a dime.

  We already know Cindy and Mariah are safe. Topher let Ozzie know they strolled through the door around ten a.m. this morning. The only part we haven’t been told is where they’ve been all night, and frankly, as long as Mariah is safe and home, that’s all I need to know.

  In my room, I peel out of my clothes and into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. We’ve been stuck in White Lakes so long, it’s the end of the day, so work’s called off until tomorrow. I could go home and see my mom, but the bus ride and the conversations I’d have to carry on with her aren’t appealing to me one bit right now, and it’s too late to make any more long journeys. My body can’t take it.

  The rest of the evening lies ahead of me, and I’ve got the energy for none of it. I’m not thrilled about agreeing to go out with Falcon either, now that I’ve made it back to Cape Pearl, but getting out of this house is probably healthier for me than staying in it. Maybe I’ll have a nap first, then take a shower and flatiron my hair—

  “How could you take her there? Dad’s gonna flip his fucking shit when he finds out!”

  That was Ozzie. Shouting at his mom.

  My ears perk and my mild mood plummets.

  The argument’s undeniably one-sided, Ozzie’s the only voice I hear.

  “Tina’s not fit to look after a fucking goldfish, and you k
now that. Man, of all the fucking stupid, selfish shit you’ve done, this takes the fucking prize.”

  I can’t sit here and listen to him callously rip his mother a new one, and the flawed makeup in my DNA that means I can’t help but fix problems when I see them drives me to follow the biting rasp of Ozzie’s voice all the way to his dad’s office.

  The door stands open and I walk inside, cautiously scanning the spacious study for the source of the commotion. On the chaise lounge, with a wineglass in her hand and an ivory silk robe draped around her body, Cindy looks like she’s spent the morning rooting around in the medicine cabinet and come up trumps. Right this minute I’d say she’s on a rocket to Mars. The blood vessels in her eyes have burst, either from the wine, whatever she’s taken as an accompaniment to the wine, or from crying. It could be a combination of all three. Ozzie has a mouth on him. Reducing his mom to tears wouldn’t be news to me.

  I eye Ozzie standing in front of the wall-to-wall bookcase, fury in his hazel eyes and his chiseled jaw.

  “What’s going on in here? The whole house can hear you.”

  “Lyla,” Cindy slurs drunkenly. “Would you be a darling and fetch me up the bottle of Pinot?” Her smile’s as lopsided as her robe, her brown eyes glassy with drowsiness.

  I look to Ozzie for further instruction. I might be off work for the day, but I’m still in Cindy’s house. Topping off her wine doesn’t sound like the smartest idea, though. Not in her state.

  The subtle shake of Ozzie’s head confirms I’m not wrong, and Cindy’s had more than enough of whatever concoction has left her in this spaced-out state.

  “Where’s Mariah?” I ask Ozzie. Ray’s not here, and Cindy’s four to the floor. I know she isn’t looking after herself.

  “Where is she?” he looks at Cindy and asks.

  Tears bubble on her lower eyelids and then fall silently down her cheeks, her soft sobbing pulling a frown over my eyebrows. “I want to love her, I do. I’m trying, Clayton. I look into her eyes and…” Cindy breaks down, her sob erupting into a chest-heaving hiccup. “I see you, your father. Why did he do this to me?” Her voice croaks on every word, warped by her tears. “Why am I not enough?” She’s a shell of the woman I first met at my interview, and seeing her like this, hysterical and inebriated, crushed by her marriage, sits all wrong with me. She might not be by my mom, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

  Ozzie cuts his gaze to me, and I make up an excuse in my head to get out of there.

  “I’ll go get you that wine,” I smile and say to Cindy. “Be right back.” Then I quietly say to Ozzie, “I’ll go check Mariah’s bedroom.”

  I leave the office door open a couple inches, just in case things get out of hand in there. I tap on Mariah’s door twice and then open it. Relief washes over me when I see her sitting on the fluffy, white rug with her Barbie Tina between her hands.

  I don’t have any answers for why Cindy would take Mariah to her mom’s when she clearly hasn’t shown she’s the most stable parent, or what happened when Mariah got there—what she heard and saw—but she’s too young for this crap. Surrounded by so many adults, and not a parent in sight. If I didn’t think I would be completely overstepping the mark, I would take her to my house and let my mom smother her with love that borders overbearing. But I’m guessing Ray would prefer his youngest child be in his house. Especially after her excursions with Cindy.

  Sitting down next to her on the rug, I tuck my legs underneath me and reach out to stroke Tina’s short, straggly black hair.

  “I have so many Barbie outfits at home,” I say to the doll. “Like a whole box in the attic. Probably some dolls in there, too. I could bring them here next time I go visit, if you want me to. I figure you might as well play with them, rather than them be all squashed in a box.”

  Mariah’s eyes are on the carpet, her mane of curly hair up in a ponytail, loose curls floating around her face. The hairstyle’s sloppy, like someone couldn’t get it all up, so they just dragged it any which way and hoped no one would notice. As a curly girl myself, I’m aware a hair tie can make for light work, rather than wash and attempt to tackle the corkscrews with a comb, but from how her hairline’s pulling at her scalp, it doesn’t take a hairdresser to see that her ponytail’s way too tight. And not just for a little girl—for anyone.

  “Have you been in here alone for a while?” I try asking. When I don’t receive an answer, I say, “I’m hungry.” As if in protest, the chicken burger I ate earlier thrashes in my stomach, rejecting the notion of piling more food on top of it when my last full, high-calorie meal’s barely digested. It doesn’t seem likely Cindy fired up the oven and cooked breakfast or lunch, though, not when she’s higher than an air balloon and tanked on the vino. And there’s no sign of Mikel yet, if he’s coming at all. He’s probably been dismissed for the day same as I have. There’s no one to cook for.

  I don’t even understand where Cindy and Mariah have been all this time. Obviously they took a trip to Tina’s—wherever the hell that is—but then what? Did Cindy leave Mariah and come back for her? Didn’t she leave her at all? I doubt I’m gonna get any answers from Mariah. I think the poor kid might be traumatized. At least Ozzie’s calmed down, and he’s no longer at Cindy’s throat.

  The bedroom door swings inward. My body practically deflates when Topher angles his head around the frame, cautious, like he isn’t sure of what he’ll find on the other side.

  “Hey, M,” he says, brightening once he sees her. He walks inside and closes the door. “What’s good?”

  “Nothing,” Mariah says, barely above a whisper. For the first time, her gaze lifts from the carper to Topher.

  “Okay.” He nods, theatrically thinking. “I can fix that.” Running a hand through his light brown hair, he strolls to the bed and dumps his weight onto it, his shins right there at my back. “What could we do, Ly?”

  With Ozzie and Cindy in the office just down the hall, I’m too distracted to offer any helpful suggestions, and I shrug my shoulders, spitting out the first idea that slips into my mind. “The pool?”

  Mariah’s head jerks in my direction. It’s the most movement I’ve seen out of her in the five minutes I’ve been in here. “I can go swimming?”

  I don’t mean to look at her wide-eyed, but sometimes, when she speaks, and not in that mousy voice she’s always using, but her real voice, it throws me for a loop, and I need a second to get my head around her being an actual person and not just a caricature of one.

  “That’s what the pool’s for, M. You gotta suit kickin’ about?” Topher doesn’t wait for a reply, instead making a beeline for her dresser and pulling open the drawers. He rifles through her folded clothes.

  Uncrossing her legs, Mariah stands up, taking Tina with her. She opens the correct drawer and takes out a pink polka dot two-piece with frills around the neckline and waist.

  Topher fingers the girly frill around the neck. “Nice. Ly,” he says to me, glancing to where I’m sitting on the floor. “You swimming?”

  It’s only through Mariah I’m speaking to him at all. I haven’t forgotten his part in the video that ruined my weekend.

  “I’m going out later, but I suppose I have time before I start getting ready. I’ll meet you guys at the pool.”

  On the way to my room, I branch off on a small detour. Ray’s office door’s still open, but only slightly now, so I push it open more, the silence on the other side suggesting peace has been restored, and Cindy’s probably fallen into a coma.

  On the other side of the room to Ray’s mahogany desk, Ozzie’s lying on his back on the chaise lounge, Cindy tucked into his side with his arm around her. Her even snores float across the room, and the steady rise and fall of Ozzie’s chest indicates he’s either asleep or dozing. Cindy’s wineglass, now empty, hangs limply by the base between her fingers across Ozzie’s stomach, and he’s got one hand behind his head.

  I stand and take in the two of them together. No animosity. No shouting or arguing. Oz
zie must have somehow found another way to placate Cindy, and it’s surprising to see he didn’t just leave her alone up here with her destructive vices.

  Quietly, underneath the hostility and the bad attitude, maybe Ozzie does care. As defective as this family is, so much of it cause and effect, I’d like to think they aren’t beyond repairing, even if it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.

  It’s chilly in Ray’s office, the AC hardly ever getting turned off, and I grab a blanket from the linen closet. Draping the lightweight blanket over them both, Ozzie’s socked feet stick out at the bottom, since he’s so tall. I cover him to his chest but manage to get it over Cindy’s shoulders.

  Ozzie must be asleep, not even the tiniest flutter of his eyelashes as I stand over him and position the blanket.

  In sleep, Ozzie’s a puppy.

  “It’s a shame you aren’t this equable when you’re awake,” I say under my breath, allowing myself a few more seconds of watching him sleep beside his mom.

  Turning around to leave, I sigh over the many faces of the surfer boy I can’t figure out, yet for some bizarre, uncontrollable reason, figuring him out is all I seem to want to do.

  Chapter 26

  Mariah squeezes her eyes shut as she jumps into the pool, arms windmilling before she hits the water, spraying me and Topher. Her arm floaties keep her above the water, and Topher turns so she can climb onto his back, arms circling his neck in a monkey grip.

  Walking across the pool floor, Topher closes in on me, reciting the theme tune to Jaws as he wades through the water, backing me farther into the deep end.

  By now, the only contact I’ve got with the bottom of the pool is on my tiptoes, and I warn him off, laughing as I dare him to come another step closer.

  Of course he doesn’t listen.

  “Fight me off, then,” he goads me, coming closer still. I’m laughing before he’s even touched me, and when he strikes his move, using his hands across the surface to power him forward, I scream as I crumple in on myself, his fingers digging into my ribs as I struggle for breath and to keep my head above water.