One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “Don’t ever let her hear you say that,” he warns me with a chuckle. His expression quickly sobers. “It’s been tough for them.”

  “I bet,” I say, taking another bite of my sandwich.

  It’s strange to be sitting here in my rental kitchen with this man I barely know, and yet it’s also surprisingly comfortable. And somehow, he looks right at home eating a no-frills sandwich at my tiny kitchen table.

  Bryce didn’t like eating meals at home. He preferred going out for meals. Home for him was mostly just a place to shower and sleep, which left me alone there much of the time. I’d like a real home with someone, I think. A warm and cozy place where people can eat PB & Js at the kitchen table. I want that with my next someone.

  “How’s your article coming?” asks Luke.

  “Pretty good. The Fortress of the Bear is amazing. I’ve been there three times now. And I have a meeting with someone at Fish & Game this afternoon.”

  “Huh.” He eyes me for a second, a flicker of distrust disturbing the handsome openness of his features before he finishes his juice and clears his throat. “I’d like to see you again.”

  My body reacts to this news with a lovely tremor that tells me I could go several more rounds with him if he didn’t have someplace to be this afternoon.

  “I’d like that too.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Same time?”

  I nod. “I’ll be here waiting.”

  Luke

  “Hey there, Luke! Kids! Happy Last-Day-of-School!”

  We stop to chat with friends for a few minutes until Meghan’s pulling on my hand. “You promised me popcorn, Daddy!”

  “And I want a raspberry ice,” adds Gilly.

  Every year, on the last day of school, the Department of Public Schools hosts a town concert in Totem Park with various vendors offering popcorn, flavored ice, cotton candy and other kid-friendly treats. Parents run carnival games, folks put blankets and chairs out on the lawn and bring picnic dinners. It’s a fine celebration and one of my kids’ favorite annual traditions.

  “What time are we meeting Aunt Bonnie?” asks Chad.

  “She said to meet her by the bandstand around seven-thirty.”

  “Is she bringing cluck-cluck?” asks Meghan.

  “That’s what she said,” I tell her, “but whatever Aunt Bonnie brings, I want to see an attitude of gratitude, okay?”

  We stop by the concession stand where I get them each a sweet treat, then move across the lawn to a row of games. Chad asks to do the one where you toss rings over milk bottles, while Gilly and Meghan join their friends at cornhole.

  I look over at the small bandstand they’ve set up where a local band, The Rockabilly’s, will be playing songs by Patsy Cline, John Denver and a host of other country/rock ‘n roll songs until sunset at 9:30pm.

  “Fine night for a concert, Sergeant,” one of my recruits offers as he passes by holding hands with a pretty girl.

  “No doubt, cadet. Have fun,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch them walk away and missing the feel of a woman’s hand in mine on a cool summer evening.

  And it’s then—just then—like fate or destiny or like God hearing the very thoughts skipping through my mind, that I see Amanda over at the concession stand buying a paper cone of bright-blue cotton candy.

  Unlike the last two times when I’ve seen her wearing jeans, or, frankly, nothing, she’s wearing a dark-colored sundress with a bright green sweater. Her red hair is back in a ponytail and her feet are—for once—not in flimsy flip flop sandals. She’s got little black ballet shoes on and they make her feet look so small, I remember the way they feel snuggled up against mine.

  She laughs with Greg, the guy from the local candy store manning the booth, and I stand up straighter. I went to high school with Greg and I’ve always thought he was a pretty decent guy, which is why my sudden instinct to smash my fist into his face doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.

  Watching them for a second, I gather that Greg won’t accept her $5 and before I know it, I’m reaching into my hip pocket for my wallet and closing the distance between cornhole and concessions.

  “I’ll cover Miss McKendrick’s refreshments, Greg,” I hear myself saying as I hold out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Howdy, Luke,” says Greg, looking back and forth between me and Amanda as he takes the money from my hand and quickly makes change.

  “Luke!”

  The warmth of her smile makes my breath catch, and everything I feel looking into her pretty face tells me it’s a good thing she’s leaving in a week or so. I don’t think I’d be very good at honoring our no-strings attached agreement in the long-run.

  Greg gives me my change and I give him a Keep Your Distance look which he accepts with a subtle nod before sliding down the counter to help someone else.

  “Hey, Amanda,” I say, grinning at her.

  “You’re here.” Her voice is full of wonder, like it’s completely shocking that we should run into one another again so soon.

  “Everyone’s here.” I chuckle at her genuinely surprised smile. “How was your meeting?”

  “Great! I learned so much about what’s been going on with the bears.”

  It’s like a pebble in my shoe, this story she’s writing. “Gonna sell my little city down the river?”

  Her expression closes and there may even be a little hurt behind her eyes. “I would never do that. Sitka’s growing on me.”

  I want to believe her, but she’s not from here. She’s from the city and her job is to write a story that sells newspapers.

  “Daddy! It’s almost seven-thirty and we’re hungry!”

  I look down to see Gilly and Meghan running over to us, hand in hand.

  “Who’s she?” asks Meghan, looking up at Amanda.

  “I’m Gillian Kingston,” says my older daughter, taking charge of the situation and politely offering Amanda her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Kingston.”

  “If she’s Miss Kingston,” says Meghan, “then who am I?”

  Amanda smiles at my youngest child. “I’m guessing you’re Miss Kingston too.”

  “This is Gilly and this is Meg,” I say. “Girls, this is my friend, Miss Amanda.”

  Gilly gasps and Meghan places her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Yep. They know exactly who she is.

  “I told my dad to wear black pants, not jeans,” Gilly informs Amanda. “I told him to dress to impress.”

  “And jeans don’t impress,” adds Meghan, shaking her head.

  Amanda looks at me with sparkling eyes, then smiles at my girls. “Can I tell you two a secret?”

  My daughters nod like Amanda’s about to give them the key to all knowledge.

  “I love a guy in jeans.”

  “You love my daddy?” asks Meghan with wide eyes. “Already?”

  “Stop being dumb, Meg. They just met,” says Gilly, looking up at me. “It takes, like, a million years to fall in love, right?”

  “Um. Not that long, but…” My cheeks flush with heat. “It takes a little while. Sure.”

  “Miss Amanda,” says Meghan, “you gotta come and have dinner with us. My Aunt Bonnie makes the best cluck-cluck in the whole world.”

  Amanda looks at me. “Cluck-cluck?”

  “Fried chicken.”

  “Oh! I love fried chicken,” says Amanda, smiling down at Meghan, “but I…I can’t. I have some, um, dinner plans.”

  She does not. She’s lying because she doesn’t want to impose; she doesn’t want to break the rules of our sex-only, no-strings-attached agreement. But then again, she fed me lunch today, right? The least I can do is return the favor.

  “You’re very welcome,” I say softly, meeting her eyes with mine.

  She grins for a second like she’s about to say yes, then shakes her head. “No. You’re meeting family.”

  “Come on,” I say, elbowing her gently. “Bonnie, of all people, woul
d love to meet you. And Meg’s right. You have to try her cluck-cluck.”

  “It’s realllly good,” says Gilly.

  “Well, I’ve never had ‘cluck-cluck’,” says Amanda with a soft giggle. “How can I say no?”

  She’s holding the cone of cotton candy by her side, but my daughters still manage to grab her hands and spirit her away toward the bandstand, in search of my sister’s blanket. And as I watch them go—these three beautiful girls, hand in hand—my heart squeezes something fierce.

  I want this for them, I think. I want them to have a woman in their lives.

  It’s followed by another thought: But it can’t be Amanda.

  She’s not from here. She lives in Seattle. And besides, we’re each other’s rebound. That’s the deal we agreed to.

  And why that makes my stomach curdle like I just ate cottage cheese and chased it with lime juice? I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

  A deal’s a deal. And I need to honor my end. She’s a single woman from the city who’s just looking for a two-week fling. It’s not okay for me to change the rules now.

  But it puts me in a grumpy mood by the time I collect Chad and reach my sister’s blanket.

  Cra-zy. I’m crazy for feeling so blue…

  The Rockabilly’s are knee-deep into Patsy’s playlist when I get there to find Amanda sitting across from my sister, flanked by my daughters. They’re a merry group, stuffing their faces with fried chicken as Bonnie peppers my new friend with questions.

  “So, the fundraiser will benefit Fortress of the Bears?” asks Bonnie. She looks up to see me approaching. “Can you believe this? It’s just wonderful!”

  “What’s that?” I ask, trying to ignore how completely organic Amanda looks with the other women of my family.

  “That Amanda’s article, in conjunction with the Seattle fundraiser, will bring such positive attention to the Fortress!”

  My eyes slide to Amanda, who’s looking up at me with a tentative smile. “Luke and I haven’t talked much about my work.”

  We haven’t talked much at all, I’m about to say, but then Bonnie’s words sink into my head. Fundraiser? Positive attention?

  I sit down beside my sister, facing Amanda. “What’s this all about?”

  “Amanda is writing about the two bear attacks as an angle for raising awareness and money for the Fortress of the Bears. Her newspaper is sponsoring a big fundraising event in Seattle. Could mean a lot of money!” gushes Bonnie.

  “Is that true?” I ask Amanda.

  “It is.” Her smile is more confident as she nods at me. “I promised you I wouldn’t hurt Sitka.”

  Not generally at a loss for words, I’m a little speechless at this turn of events. I didn’t exactly think Amanda was writing a smear piece, but to learn that she’s up here to actually support the mission of the Fortress? I’m humbled by the realization. By her goodness. And I’m ashamed of the way I’ve repeatedly cut her off when she tried to talk about it.

  I’m crazy for tryin’…and I’m crazy for cryin’…

  Bonnie hands me a plate of friend chicken with a biscuit, but I can’t eat until Amanda’s eyes meet mine…and it’s not long until they do.

  I’m sorry, I mouth.

  She shrugs, giving me a little smile. It’s okay.

  “Amanda!” says Bonnie. “We have family dinner at my place on Wednesday nights. Come and join us!”

  When she darts a glance at me, there’s nothing I can do to hide the longing on my face. “Six o’clock?”

  She smiles back at me and my heart takes flight.

  “I’d love that.”

  8

  Amanda

  “Mannnnda!”

  “Leigh!” It’s good to hear my best friend’s voice. We’ve mostly traded texts since I got here, so we’re long overdue for a chat. “How’s Seattle?”

  “Great! How’s the hot dad in Sitka?”

  I sigh, thinking about last night. I hung out with the Kingston clan for hours, listening to good, old-fashioned American standards, and eating fried chicken until almost ten o’clock.

  “Super hot and an amazing dad.”

  “An amazing dad, huh? And how do you know that if all you’re doing is fucking him?”

  “I may have run into his family at a town concert last night.”

  “Ah-ha. The plot thickens. You met his kids.”

  “It was no big deal. Their aunt—Luke’s sister—was there too,” I say, trying to downplay things.

  “You met his kids,” Leigh repeats. She pauses for a second, the asks, “Do you think that was a good idea?”

  “I didn’t plan it, Leigh. It just…happened. We ran into each other. This town is the size of a large apartment building. Everyone knows everyone.”

  “You don’t think it’ll confuse things? Now that the kids are involved?”

  “They’re not involved!” I say, rolling my eyes. “We ate fried chicken and listened to a local band. Big deal.”

  “Okay. But back to cheap, meaningless sex today?” she asks.

  I grimace at this question. It doesn’t feel good and I don’t like it, even though Leigh is using the same words I used to describe my agreement with Luke.

  “Manda?”

  I exhale loudly, anticipating push-back on what I’m about to say: “Actually, his sister asked me to join them for dinner tomorrow night and part of the reason I’m calling is to get your Mom’s pecan pie recipe.”

  “Manda! Are you crazy? Dinner with the fam? Come on, girl.”

  “What?”

  “Honey, I get it that Bryce hurt you, and I think a little rebound sex in a faraway land with an anonymous hottie is a great way to move on. But concerts in the park and dinners with his kids? That’s…I don’t know. Feels like you’re crossing a line. It worries me.”

  I think about meeting Luke last week in the rain, and at the hotel. At my apartment twice now, and last night at the concert. “I think we’re becoming friends.”

  “You and the kids?”

  “No. Me and the dad.”

  “You’re fuckbuddies, Amanda. Not besties.”

  “I didn’t say we’re besties. I said we’re becoming friends. Yes, we’re sleeping together, but we’re getting to know each other too. He went to Evergreen, just like me. He’s an instructor at the Trooper Academy and—”

  “Fine,” says Leigh. “Be friends with the single dad you’re boning. Just don’t come crying to me if the kids get attached to you and the dad wants more than fucking and you start imagining yourself as their stand-in mommy.”

  She’s crazy. I have no intention of becoming that attached to the Kingstons, and zero interest in moving to Alaska.

  “Will you stop? Not gonna happen. It’s casual. Uber-casual. I promise.”

  “If you’re wrong, I’ma make you eat a huge, hot, steamy pile of I-Told-You-So pie.”

  “Deal,” I say, “as long as you’ll share the recipe for pecan too.”

  “Kids hate nuts,” she informs me. “I’ll give you the recipe for chocolate cream pie instead.”

  After she tells me what to do, we talk about the Save The Bears fundraiser: it’s going to be held in late-June at one of the bigger Seattle high school parking lots, have a bear theme, feature craft beers and specialty food trucks, and introduce the mission of Fortress of the Bear to the good people of Seattle. Apparently, Steve is delighted with the plan and singing Leigh’s and my “outside of the box thinking” all over the office.

  “So…you’re saying Norm is hating on us more than usual?” I say.

  “Pretty much,” says Leigh, chuckling. “But, fuck Frumplestein. He can suck it. He should have signed up the Sentinel to be a sponsor somewhere else when he had the chance.”

  I grin at that because I love my friend, and even from so many hundreds of miles away, I can picture her badass expression as she says this.

  “Hey, any contractions yet?”

  “Just Braxton-Hicks,” she tells me, “but if this little one doesn
’t make an appearance by Memorial Day, they’re going to induce me.”

  “Tell him to wait for Aunt Amanda to get back to town, huh?”

  “No way, girl. The sooner the better. I have hobbit feet and my waddle makes me look like a giant duck. Quack. Quack.”

  That makes me laugh before telling my best friend to hang in there and saying goodbye. I have just enough time to get to the store for groceries before Luke shows up at noon.

  He arrives on time to find me stirring pudding, my cooled pie crust ready to be filled.

  “Hi!” I say, giving him a quick kiss in the doorway before hustling back to the stove. “I’m almost done!”

  “What are you doing?” he asks, taking off his shoes and following me into the kitchen.

  Today he’s back to wearing his black golf shirt with pressed khaki pants. The shirt is embroidered with details about the academy and his name: Sgt. Luke Kingston, and he looks so fine, I feel my body mellowing, melting, readying for him.

  “You’re a sergeant?” I ask.

  He nods. “Deputy Commander of the academy…at your service.”

  I stick my finger into the pudding I’m stirring, then pop it in my mouth, sucking greedily as he watches. “I’ll be at your service in a few minutes.”

  “Day-umnnn,” he growls. “That’s sexy.”

  “You’re good for my ego.”

  He sits down at my kitchen table and takes off his academy baseball cap, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve been meaning to ask: what happened with your ex?”

  “Bryce?” I scoff, wiping my finger on a paper towel. “Nothing good.”

  “How about the cliff notes version?”

  “Rrrrgh. Okay. We…met while I was doing a story on local cuisine. Bryce was the Sous Chef at a French restaurant. We started dating, moved in together…stayed that way for about five years. And then…”

  “Then?”

  I take the pudding off the stove and put the saucepan in the sink to cool down for a few seconds before pouring it into the crust.

  “…and then he cheated on me with our friendly, neighborhood bartender.”