Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

4. Summer

four

Summer

“ W hat do you mean there are a few things you haven’t kept up since you moved in? Having heat and hot water are pretty basic necessities,” I say, jogging down the sole main road on Wilks Beach because at least my frigid muscles will warm with a run.

“The electricity and plumbing still work.” Sam’s voice comes through my earbuds tucked beneath my running hat. “That’s something.”

And yes, my brother’s name also starts with an S—just like all six of us siblings. Sophia. Spencer. Simon. Samuel. Sage. Summer. My parents thought the alliteration was cute because they’d enjoyed it on their wedding invitations when Stephen married Savannah. All I know is that our family is a lisping person’s worst nightmare.

“Samuel Robert Owens.” I can almost feel his wince. Sam hates being full-named.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t take care of a few small house things.” I scoff so loudly he pauses. “But it’s not like Gramma left us the money to fix anything. Just use the space heater when you sleep. I left it in the closet.”

“These are the things that would have been good to know last night. Also, how are you showering? I almost wept, getting a bit of whipped cream out of my roots with how freezing the water was. And I was fully dressed with my head over the kitchen sink.”

“Why was whipped cream in your— You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know what you’re into. I still haven’t recovered after accidentally discovering Simon’s preoccupation with wax.”

A strangled noise scrapes from my throat. If Sam was here right now, I’d punch him. “It wasn’t there on purpose, obviously!”

“La la la. Not listening.” He pauses again, the sound of upbeat bass and an espresso machine hissing through the line. “You need to boil water in the pasta pot and carry it upstairs to the bathtub. It takes about three pots mixed with the tap, but then you can have a decent bath to get clean.”

“ Samuel ,” I growl.

I don’t have time to boil gallons of water for bathing when I already have a two-hour round-trip commute to get to my office five days a week. And I was really hoping to spend any extra money I had on Christmas decorations. I have a decent indoor display for a person who’s always lived in studio apartments—a three-foot pre-lit tree, garland with a monogrammed stocking for the non-existent fireplace, and the cutest family of ceramic snowmen who camp out on my kitchen counter. But I was really excited about decking Gramma’s adorable cottage to the nines with lights, a fat wreath for the door, and a lit snowman for the short front lawn.

Gramma loved Christmas as much as me, or maybe I got my sense of wonder for the holiday from her. My parents always viewed it as a chore, but with six children to surprise with Santa gifts, I can imagine it was challenging. Gramma loved the deeper meanings to things—the love in a freshly baked snickerdoodle, the joy in a carol, the way even a small candle could brighten your mood. My heart clenches. I miss her so much and want to do right by her legacy.

But I also don’t want to show up to work smelling like a boys’ locker room.

“Do you at least know what’s wrong with the heaters?”

“You’re, uh—” Sam makes a crackling sound. “Breaking…up. Can’t—”

I stop short on the side of the road. “The barista just called out an oat milk latte for Lucia. You’re not—”

“Tunnel.” The call cuts out.

“That slimy little…”

I let the rest of my sentence drop off, a split second from turning this casual run into one that beats away at the frustration of today. Moving into Gramma’s cottage was supposed to be a win after years of hard work. Being in a place I loved so much as a child, surrounded by the warm reminders of my grandmother, seemed like the perfect balm after everything that happened with Kayla in July. But now my former rival is working across the street for who knows how long, and any money I was hoping to use for Christmas splendor will need to go toward repairs. I interlace my hands at the base of my neck, allowing my head to bow forward.

“Summer!”

“You’ve got to be—” I pull my cap lower, as if that will hide me from a rapidly approaching Nick. Yeah, right. I’m dressed like Santa’s speed-working elf.

“Wow. You’re fast.” At least Nick has the decency to be winded. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot—mainly because both of yours were off the ground.” The humor in Nick’s voice only makes my neck muscles twitch. If I look up, he’ll be smiling at me with that smirk of his.

“Uh. I like your running clothes.” The slight nervousness suddenly infiltrating his words sounds odd. “You should see my wetsuit this time of year. The town calls me—”

“What do you want?”

My upward snapping chin matches my tone. I know I shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on him. Nick technically did nothing wrong other than poke at all my insecurities by being…well, him.

“I was hoping to—”

A white Pontiac crawling along ten miles below the speed limit squeaks to a stop. The driver should have their brakes checked, but someone converted the auto shop next to the Wilks Beach Fire Station into a Crossfit/boxing gym.

“Summer? Summer Owens, is that you?” Carol Cook’s scratchy voice floats through the opening passenger window. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hi, Miss Carol.” I give a small wave, automatically reverting to the childhood habit of calling her ‘Miss’ even though I’m a grown woman now.

“How are you doing today, Carol ?” Nick asks, placing a hand on the top of her car and emphasizing her name to point out how juvenile I sound.

I sigh internally. Five seconds back in each other’s company and we’re already subtly sparing.

“Nicholas.” Carol’s bone-dry greeting reminds me that I have an ally here. Carol never cared for Nick’s family, calling them arrogant blowhards. Apparently, she hasn’t warmed to them in the years I’ve been gone.

“Anyway, Summer,”—her bright-pink lipsticked mouth curls into a mischievous smile—“you look like you could use a peppermint latte. Hop in. I’ll drive you to Seabreeze Beans, and you can tell me what brings you to town.”

I see right through her caffeinated bribe, but Carol’s voracious appetite for gossip is exactly the escape I need.

“What a lovely offer.” I infuse extra saccharine into my words as I pull open the car door and shoot Nick a patronizing smile.

“But—”

“Did you ever get back to Hazel Thompson about her kitchen cabinets?” Carol interrupts. “She told me this morning that the one beside the sink door is slightly crooked.”

I don’t miss Nick’s muffled groan as I slide into Carol’s tidy car. It smells deliciously of wintergreen mints. As Carol pulls back onto the road, I flash Nick a victorious smile. The way Nick shakes his head, rubbing his jaw, is so reminiscent of all the times we squared off on something—the highest score on a test, being chosen for an essay contest, or to represent the school at a leadership conference. My tongue darts out reflexively, like it has so many times before. This time, instead of Nick’s scowl intensifying, he laughs, and I’m left bewildered, watching his mirthful form recede in Carol’s side mirror.

“Are you here to visit or to stay?”

“Stay. At least for a while,” I amend, not really knowing what island life will look like long-term, especially if I keep running into Nick Watson.

Carol chuckles. “I’ve been wondering when Velva’s house would finally pass to you.”

I tear my gaze away from the mirror, offering a rueful smile. “Story of my life.”

Like everything, the cottage has been passed down through all my siblings who wanted it until I finally got my chance. I didn’t have clothes that were mine first until I moved out for college, and even then, I was buying things second-hand to save money.

“Sam didn’t do a good job taking care of the place. Leroy had to nearly threaten him to cut the grass in the summer.”

This time, I can’t restrain my sigh, and the sound infiltrates the car’s quiet interior. Based on what little I saw last night when I placed my boxes in the living room before collapsing in bed, I’m not surprised. It’s exactly like my irresponsible brother to not take care of things that matter so much to others.

“I know you’ll make Velva proud.” It’s unlike Carol to say something complimentary, so her statement immediately puts me on edge. “But why are you back?”

“Like you said, it was my turn.” I shrug. The drive to Seabreeze Beans is a short one, and Carol seems to be elongating it by crawling by as slowly as possible. A child on a bicycle wearing a flaming red helmet with spikes passes us.

“But you finished your degree program, right? This isn’t some flee-to-the-island-in-shame situation? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I nearly choke on my own spit. “No! Nothing like that.”

Though my oldest brother, Spencer, did take over Gramma’s cottage when he failed out of college his sophomore year. He ended up bartending at Bayside Table for a year before applying to the police force on the mainland. Now, he’s a perfectly respectable police officer with a wife and two adorable kids whom I’m excited to see more often than yearly at Christmas.

Carol’s still giving me a skilled side-eye, so I elaborate. “I graduated from college, medical school, and residency, and I work for Atlantic Pediatrics on the mainland.”

She makes a noise in her throat, not approving but not disapproving either.

“Speaking of doctors…” While I have the queen of gossip as a captive audience, I might as well ask some questions. “Why is Nick working construction on the weekends?”

Carol snorts, which brings on an unexpected coughing fit. I check the accessory muscles in her neck to make sure she’s getting enough air but say nothing. Someone as proud as Carol wouldn’t want me fussing after her.

“He never went to medical school. Never went to college. It was a big to-do when his parents up and left without him when he refused to matriculate.” One would usually have sorrow or empathy in their voice while regaling this kind of story, but Carol is positively sparkling. “He languished for a little while but then started working at WB Renovations. He’s been there ever since.”

Wait. Nick never…

It’s as if a semi-truck sideswiped us, but Carol is staring straight ahead, humming indiscriminately. My eyelashes flutter as my forehead wrinkles. But Nick spent so much of high school striving as hard as I did…only to refuse to attend his first-choice college after graduation?

And then his parents left him?

I’m still reeling from Carol’s truth bomb, when she parks sideways through three of the four spots in front of the town’s only coffee shop.

“I’m on my way to the mainland for my weekend errands.” It’s an unmistakable dismissal.

My stunned fingers take a few seconds to unbuckle my seatbelt. “Oh, right. Sure. Thanks for the ride.”

“Uh-huh.” I’ve barely closed the door before Carol pulls back onto Sand Bend Road, passing the water tower on her way out of town.

I’m still standing, completely baffled, when my phone pings in my pocket.

Cooper

Am I still making the haul tonight?

The sight of my boyfriend-of-three-months’ name on my screen should make me smile, but things have been a bit strained between us lately. Cooper didn’t love me moving from across our apartment complex to an hour away, turning our fledgling relationship into a long-distance one. Before that, things between us had been mostly easy.

We’d met coming back to our complex at the same time after a Saturday morning run. After a few moments of flirtatious banter while stretching, Cooper asked me to dinner. We’d bonded over running, being the youngest of large families, and both working in the medical field—Cooper providing hospital IT support from his home computer. There are topics we don’t see eye to eye on—he’s not a huge fan of Christmas—but doesn’t everyone have that in their relationships?

Tonight is Wilks Beach’s tree-lighting ceremony, however. I’ve been telling him the wonder of this event since Halloween, expecting we’d make the trek anyway because it’s the first time since high school I’ve been able to attend. Cooper had agreed before, interested in seeing the town that was a source of so many of my childhood stories.

Summer

Yes! I can’t wait for you to see everything.

Cooper simply sends a thumbs-up emoji, but I try not to let his lack of enthusiasm over the celebration damper my mood. In front of me, Seabreeze Beans is lit up like…well, Christmas, and I’ve got a peppermint latte to enjoy and locals to catch up with.