For The Summer Read online

  Mom knocks twice and then opens the door, letting us into a huge foyer. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling and a dark wood table with a marble top sits in the center of the room, just before the stairs, a beautiful arrangement of cut flowers poised in the center. The walls are decorated with framed artwork and on either side of the staircase sits a large bronzed urn. To say the place oozes money would be an understatement. The entryway looks like a museum, curated without any regard for price. A second later, high pitched barks fill the room, echoing and piercing through my head. I hate the sound of small yapping dogs, they remind me of the awful dog they had when I was little. The one that nipped at my ankles and calves leaving tiny holes that turned to faint white scars over the years. The dog comes into view. It’s a different dog, smaller, younger. Its paws slip against the tile floor and it slides into the side of the steps. Sitting up it shakes its head, looks up at me and pants happily. I mean, I think it’s happy. Its tongue is hanging out of its mouth and it sort of looks like it’s smiling at me. I stare at the thing, unsure of what comes next. It tilts its head to the side and one oversized ear flops over to the wrong side. It stares back, still smiling, if that is what it’s doing. I huff out a breath and roll my eyes, bending down to correct the dog’s ear. The little thing stays sitting but inches closer, scooting little by little like it thinks I won’t notice. I can’t help but smile. Reaching out I rub it’s head gently before finally scooping it into my arms. It didn’t bite me, and it stopped yapping. It’s the least I can do in return.

  “I see you’ve met our newest addition,” a woman’s voice says from the archway the dog ran in through.

  I look up from the little furball in my arm and nod my head. My grandmother is almost exactly the way she looks in my memories, her short gray hair is styled in perfect round curls, her khaki pants are pressed and her green cardigan matches the floral blouse tucked in beneath it. The picture of a well kept southern lady. She smiles and crosses the room, squeezing my mother in a warm hug. They exchange a few words about the drive and the new house before my grandmother turns toward me again.

  “You’ve certainly grown up, haven’t you?” she says with a bright smile.

  “I sure hope so,” I joke, offering a smile of my own. I hug the dog to my chest, continuing to rub its head and back with one hand. Happy to have the distraction. I’ve never been very good at small talk.

  She pulls me into a side hug and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “I can’t tell you how happy your grandfather and I are to have you both here in town,” she says cheerfully. “Let’s head into the living room. Can’t hang around in the foyer all evening.”

  Footfalls echo on the tile floor and two men step through the archway into the room deep in conversation. They continue talking without interruption as they walk toward the door. One I recognize. My grandfather has changed even less than my grandmother has since I last saw them more than ten years ago. His hair is dark gray, combed over and styled back and his slacks and button-down shirt tell me he’s still keeping busy. I recall Mom telling me she was sure he would never retire, someday he would use his final breath to close a deal. Standing here, staring at my sixty-five-year-old grandfather, I believe it. The other man I’ve definitely never seen before. He looks a little bit older than me. His dark hair is shorter at the bottom and on the sides and a little bit longer on top. His broad shoulders and tan sculpted biceps are giving his gray t-shirt a run for its money. Below that he’s wearing black board shorts and leather flip-flops. The men stop at the door, exchanging a few hushed words before my grandfather turns the knob and pulls it open. The guy nods his head, looks up, and meets my eyes. My chest tightens when my eyes lock with his, then without a word he turns and leaves.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the girls were here, Meriam? I would have cut my meeting short had I known.” He wraps his arms around Mom, kissing her on the top of her head.

  “We just got here Dad, Mom was about to take us into the living room,” she explains.

  He takes a step back and eyes her up and down. “You look well, Lydia,” he says seriously. “We’re glad to have you back home.”

  He turns to face me, the same serious look from a moment ago marks his features. “And you,” he says, staring at me intently. “I look forward to getting to know you. Better late than never, I always say.” He gives me the same sort of side hug my grandmother did a few minutes ago, then he takes a step back and looks down at the dog, now sleeping in my arms.

  “I don’t like that thing, you should take it with you.”

  My brow creases and I look down at the furball again. I’m not generally a fan of small dogs. I don’t hate them or anything, I just don’t enjoy sharing space with them. But this one is different. It seems laid back and sweet, nothing like the nipping yapping dog they had when I was a little girl.

  “I couldn’t just take your dog, grandfather.” As the word slips off my tongue it sounds weird and formal. I don’t know what I’m supposed to call them. When I was a kid I called them Grandmom and Pop, but should I still do that?

  As if reading my mind my grandfather smirks. “Just call me Pop. It was good enough then, it’s good enough now. And you can take that dog with you. Your grandmother loves animals. Every time she takes donations to the shelter she brings another creature into this house. That one showed up two days ago. She can’t stand to see them in those cages and I love her more springtime so it doesn’t bother me much, but that one keeps running into walls and getting stuck in the dog-door.” He turns toward my mother and grandmother, deep in conversation about something.

  “Meriam, Lydia, Amelia loves the dog. She’s been through a lot, I want her to have it,” he says plainly, turning back to give me a wink.

  My mother leans to the side, eyeing up the dog, then she looks at my grandmother. They both shrug.

  “That’s fine,” my grandmother says. “I’ll have the housekeeper pack up her things after dinner.

  I look down, scratching the puppy’s neck, and feel a collar I hadn’t noticed under her fluffy golden fur before. Craning my neck, and swiveling the silver heart-shaped tag around, the name Ginger comes into view.

  I follow my mother and grandparents into the living room. We sit down on the couch, talking for a while before the housekeeper comes in to announce that dinner is ready. I give Ginger one more scratch on the back before placing her on the floor and following everyone into the dining room. As soon as the lasagna is on the table I realize I’m starving. It’s been hours since I ate that turkey sandwich and the bubbling cheese and layered carbs are calling to me. When Aida, my grandparent’s Polish housekeeper begins scooping portions onto plates I hold mine up eagerly, waiting for her to fill it with the steaming Italian dish that is teasing my nose and making my mouth water.

  I look up and see my grandfather smirking at me from the end of the table.

  “You’re going to love this. It’s my favorite dish, Aida makes it with five different cheeses.”

  My eyes go wide and I might actually be drooling now, I’m not sure. I’ve heard of a three-cheese lasagna, but five? This dinner had my interest as soon as it came through that door, but now it has my undivided attention. Aida scoops a generous slice and slides it onto my plate, which I am still holding. I feel the plate and my wrist slouch under the weight and I know this layered pasta is no joke. I set my plate on the table, and look around, unsure if there will be a prayer or a speech of some kind. I’m relieved when I see my family digging in. I follow suit, cutting a bite with the side of my fork and stuffing it into my mouth.

  I’ve always liked Italian food. The noodles, the sauce, the cheese. What’s not to like? But this blows every other lasagna I’ve ever had out of the water. No restaurant in upstate New York or even the city could compare to the perfectly tender pasta, fresh tomato sauce with just a hint of basil and garlic, and the layers upon layers of cheese bursting with flavor in my mouth right now. I eat the entire piece and then reach out and scoop myself
a second, unwilling to wait for Aida to return.

  “Lydia, don’t you feed her?” my grandmother asks. Her tone is light and playful and she smiles while she watches me shovel an obnoxious bite into my mouth.

  “Amelia, come up for air. No one is going to take your plate away.” Mom laughs, taking a sip from her water glass.

  “This is seriously the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I say, putting down my fork and reaching for my own glass.

  “Aida makes the past from scratch.” My grandmother dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin and pushes out of her chair. “I’m going to check on dessert. Did you leave any room for chocolate cake?”

  “I always have room for cake.”

  “I don’t recall having such decadent meals here before, Mom,” my mother says, turning to my grandmother. “I remember a lot of salad, and fish and the meat served on the bone like some kind of lollipop.”

  “Well, a lot can change in a decade,” my grandmother explains with a smile. “People and their tastes and things. You were quite different back then too.”

  My mother nods her head, staring down at the now empty space in front of her.

  “That’s true,” she says after a minute, looking up at both of her parents. “Ten years is a long time. I guess we’ll all have some things to learn about one another.”

  “That sounds nice to me.” My grandmother smiles.”I’d like to use this as a reset, a fresh start. We had our differences, especially after you married Jim, but I don’t want to drag those issues into the present.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s leave the past in the past,” Mom says as Aida returns with a tray of cake slices and pastries.

  ***

  After dinner, everyone retires to the living room while I head back into the foyer in search of the powder room. My grandmother said there was a powder room off of the foyer, or a half-bath at the top of the stairs. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep I got last night or the food coma I’m going to slip into soon, but I can’t find the bathroom off of the foyer. I climb the stairs and open the first door I come across.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt out when I see a girl about my age standing on the far side of the room I’ve just entered, her chocolate brown hair is secured in a french braid, but several curls have escaped and now frame her round face. “I was looking for a powder room, a bathroom. I really have to pee.” I slap my hand over my eyes, melting into a puddle of my own embarrassment.

  She laughs. “It’s no problem. This is the laundry room. The bathroom is on the other side of the hall just a bit further down.”

  I look around the room, two washers and two dryers sit in a row, an L-shaped table takes up the space on the opposite wall. Steamers and irons hang beside a shelf neatly lined with detergents, fabric softeners, and stain removers.

  “I’m Robin,” she says after a quiet minute.

  “Amelia, but my friends call me Kat.”

  “How do you get Kat from Amelia?” she asks, quirking her mouth to the side and creasing her brow.

  “My middle name is Katherine. Amelia feels so formal. Kat is more my style,” I explain, shrugging and picking at my nails.

  “Gotcha. That would make you Mr. and Mrs. Walker’s long lost granddaughter,” Robin says, nodding her head along with her words.

  “Well, I wasn’t lost. I just wasn’t here.” I point at the floor with my index fingers. “Did they say I was lost?”

  She giggles out a snort. “No, but the way they talked about you moving here did make it seem like you had been lost at sea or abducted by pirates or something wild. That, or maybe I spend too much time cooped up in this laundry room and my imagination got a little out of hand.”

  I smile, suddenly remembering what brought me up here in the first place.

  “I really should get going, but it was really nice meeting you,” I say, turning and heading toward the hall.

  “Hey, Kat,” Robin calls after me. I spin on my heels in response. “I know you’re new in town and you probably haven’t met anyone yet. My friend is having a party tonight. It’s in a barn, just outside of town. Do you want to come with me?”

  I don’t overthink, or try to talk myself out of it. I just go with my gut, and my gut says I can’t start fresh if I don’t make friends. “Sure, that sounds great,” I say, nodding my head.

  “Cool, let me give you my number,” she says, holding out her hand for my phone.

  “Oh, I don’t think I have it.” I check my pockets, knowing I left it in the car. Robin pulls her own phone out and hands it to me, I plug my number into the contact screen and hand it back to her.

  “I’ll text you the details.”

  I practically run out of the laundry room and down the hall into the bathroom, relieved when I find it behind the next door I try. When I get back downstairs Ginger is in a travel crate with a canvas bag of supplies sitting on the floor beside her.

  “There you are. I thought you got lost,” my grandmother says.

  “I sort of did, but I met Robin and she helped me out.”

  “She’s a sweet girl. She’s worked here for two years and I haven’t had a single complaint about her.”

  “That is a record around here,” my grandfather says with a mischievous smile.

  “Well, we better get going,” Mom says, checking her watch. “We had an early start this morning.”

  I bend down, scooping up Ginger’s crate and supplies. Then I kiss my grandparents on their cheeks and wave goodbye. I put the bag in the back, but I hold the crate on my lap. I know it’s weird, but I’m kind of worried the dog will be afraid in the dark back seat alone.

  I don’t check my phone until we’re home. I toss my purse on the floor in my room, slip my phone into my pocket and take Ginger for a walk around the back yard. She sniffs everything at least twice, which I have to admit is pretty adorable. After she’s finished her business, I flop down on the living room floor and she climbs on top of my stomach and lays down with a squeak and a huff. I pull my phone out and take a quick picture of her adorable face which I promptly post to Instagram. When I have nothing left to distract me I check my messages. Another two from Oliver, not surprising.

  Oliver: Are you seriously going to throw everything we have away over one mistake?

  Oliver: I love you.

  I groan and roll my eyes. He has to be kidding, right? I can’t even begin to formulate a response to him right now, and even if I could, I know feeding that fire is only going to burn me in the end. He made his choice and we’re over. There is nothing in this world that could make me text him back. I click on a message from an unknown sender.

  Unknown: Hey it’s Robin. Do you want me to text you the address or pick you up?

  I save her info and then type a quick reply.

  Kat: We can meet there.

  Robin: 1059 Sycamore Lane. 10 pm. I’ll look for you.

  Kat: Thanks!

  By the time I’m done texting Robin, Ginger’s photo has eighty-two likes and a handful of comments. Most are just hearts or things like “omg, adorbs.” But then I see Olivers handle pop up under the comments. “Love our pup, can’t wait to see you both in Cali.”

  Now I’m completely sure Oliver has lost his mind. In what parallel universe would I ever catch him cheating, and then still move across the country with him? Why would he think that would be happening? I start to type back an angry reply, but then I wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. I haven’t answered any of his texts, so maybe his new approach is to irritate me into arguing with him on social media. Well, I’m not falling for it. I might be too proud to say it out loud, to admit that I shouldn’t have based my college plans around a guy, even if we had been together for two years. But my mind is made up. There is no way in hell that I’m going to UCLA at the end of the summer. I don’t care if that means I have to take a semester off and kill myself catching up over the next four years. I’ll figure this out in spite of him and I’ll be better off for it.

  “Do yo
u want to watch a movie?” Mom asks, padding into the living room in a pair of pink starfish pajamas.

  “Actually the girl I met tonight, Robin, invited me to her friend’s party. I thought it could be a good way to meet some people.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” she says, scooping Ginger off my stomach and settling onto the sofa. It doesn’t take long before she’s curled up in Mom’s lap, barely seeming to notice the change in locale. “I love dogs, by the way.”

  “You do?” I ask. Her statement takes me by surprise. “Why didn’t we ever have one then?”

  “Your father hates animals. The shedding, the smell, the way they follow you around.” She turns on the television and begins scrolling through the channel guide.

  I freshen my makeup upstairs and change into a pair of shorts. Then I bounce down the stairs.

  “I’m leaving, Mom,” I call out.

  “Take the house key on the counter and lock the door behind you!” she returns.

  ***

  I follow the directions on my GPS. When it tells me I’ve arrived, I look around the dark, dirt and stone road, making sure my doors are locked. I notice a faint orange glow straight ahead, so I slowly make my way further down the unmapped road until a large barn with string lights comes into view. I park on the grass in a row with a bunch of other cars. Climbing out of my car, I slip my keys into my back pocket and type a text letting Robin know I’m here. The closer I get to the party, the more I can see it’s actually more of a tailgate. There are four trucks parked, beds down with coolers of beer and grills set up beside them. A few yards away there’s a fire pit surrounded by camping chairs and more red plastic coolers.