Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter twenty-two

The sun is setting as we wander back to Lou's cabin and it's a beautiful one. We keep stopping along the lake to take photos as the colors change, reds and oranges and pinks and purples streaked across the sky behind the mountains and the trees like an oil painting. The colors are lingering when we make it to the back garden, the most beautiful background as we sit out on the grass with a pitcher of vodka lime soda. When I was looking for the lime soda in the pantry, I found a couple family-size bottles and I smiled to myself. Lou's way of proving that she wants me to hang around.

"I always loved coming here as a kid," Ashley muses, watching the orange and purple fade to red and navy, "but I don't think I truly appreciated it. It was just a home away from home. Growing up, I wished Mom and Dad had branched out a bit, bought a lake house somewhere outside of Idaho so at least I could leave the state for summer. But damn, nowhere else would've come close."

"This place is pure magic," Connor says, his voice soft. "It's so weird to be back without everyone else."

"I can't believe that last summer with everyone was the last one and we didn't even know it."

"Imagine if we had known, though," I say. "Wouldn't that have ruined it? If your parents had announced at the start that they were selling the cabin?"

"It would've ruined it," Connor says. "We'd have been sad and angry all summer. Instead, we got to have a pretty awesome final vacation."

"And Mom and Dad got to play at happy families for a few more weeks," Ashley says. We all take a drink at that.

Ice clinking in glasses. Birds in the trees. The distant sounds of a Friday night party. It's so calm here. A million miles away from the constant noise in Austin, where someone was always finding a reason to honk their horn outside our apartment at god knows what hour in the morning. There's no honking here. I hardly ever hear cars on this street, so few cabins down this way and most of them unoccupied as summer comes to an end.

"I don't know about you guys but I am beat," Connor says, draining the last of his drink and crunching an ice cube.

"Shit, I haven't shown you to your rooms." I scramble to my feet and almost knock over my own half empty glass. "Sorry, I'm not as good a host as Lou. Come on, bring your stuff in."

Connor's staying in my old room, the guest room. He throws himself onto the bed with an appreciative groan. "Oh my god, this might be the softest bed I've ever slept in. You might struggle to get rid of me at the end of the weekend."

He doesn't stay, though; he's too curious. I show them to the snug and the utility room, and I'm tickled to see that the sweater I took off for Lou to fix three days ago is still there. All the time we've spent in here doing laundry and that top is still in a pile underneath the sewing machine, a casualty of our lust. I leave it there, smiling to myself as I pull the door shut behind us.

Ashley's in Issy's room, which is a testament to her astronomical fixation, the walls a deep navy and the black ceiling covered in silver constellations. It's neat as a pin, and I wonder if that's Issy's doing or if Lou came in here once her daughter left for college and whipped it into shape. There's a skylight in here too, none of the bedrooms beneath the attic, and when I look up I see stars. Issy must love it here. I wonder if she can see the stars from her dorm in New Hampshire, or if the light pollution on the east coast blocks her view. If I'm still here in two weeks' time, I can ask her myself.

"Is this all right?" I stand in the doorway as Ashley makes herself at home.

"Are you joking? Charlie, we were prepared to sleep on your floor. This is more than all right." She lies on her front on the bed, arms spread out as far as they'll go and still her fingertips don't reach the edges. "Pure luxury." With a nod at the wall over Issy's dresser, she says, "Smart kid."