Page 5 of Mr. July

“We aren’t pigs. In fact, I’m quite civilized.”

“It was her… what was her name? That girl you chased through prep school? …Amelia Grantham?”My face twisted into a scowl. Even now years later, the memories of teenage angst and heartache she caused left a bitter memory.

“Ah! It was her, wasn’t it?” Char started tapping furiously away on her phone. “I just friend requested her, added her to my Linked-in and Insta.”

“Thanks for reminding me why we don’t see each other more often.” The sound of her perfectly painted fingernails feverishly tapping on the screen of her phone lasted for minutes. When it stopped, she smirked waving her phone in my face.

“I’m driving!”

“She’s fat. Divorced and living on Broke-As-Fuck Island.”

“Guess her great romance with Brett Barrington III wasn’t such a ride into the sunset, eh?”

“See? Can you stop being such a man-whore now and get a decent girlfriend?”

“Maybe. But so far I haven’t found any keepers in the dating pool.”

“Then go fish in a different pond.”

My eyes snapped to hers. Sometimes I think Char is the smart one. Not that I’d ever tell her that. Maybe I have been a bit lonely. My work phone and laptop— hardly the best friend or lover. After a stressful week in the office, I had thought nothing of a quick hookup or two using the dating app as a way to relieve stress. And for a while it was fun, until the allure of it wore off when I realized I was cheapening myself with nothing but dirty, quick lays.

With that food for thought, I turned down memory lane. Literally. It was just like I remembered. The same crooked stop sign was at the main intersection. The same blue house sat on the corner lot.

“Do you ever wish you could go back in time and be a kid again?” Char asked as I pulled down old, familiar roads in the beach community that once upon a time was a second home.

“Not really.”

“Ugh, do you have any sensitivity at all?”

“Umm, I did just strip down to save dolphins…”

“Stop the car!” Char slapped the dash excitedly as her eyes got wide.

There it was. The clapboard cottage by the sea where we had some of the best and worst times with a “For Sale” sign stuck in the ground out front.

“Let’s call the realtor. I need to see it.”

I turned off the car and rolled down my window. While Char was excited with cheeks full of roses and eyes remembering romantic summer nights, this trip back in time left me feeling like a bad hangover.

“Come on!”

“You go ahead,” I waved her on. Instead, she opened my door.

“The best way to get over the past is to face it.”

“Now she’s a therapist?”

“I’m your twin. What I say trumps a therapist. Now come!” She yanked my arm. Reluctantly, I got out of the car, following her down the flagstone path to the wrap around porch. “These views are amazing!”

My balled fists were in the pocket of my work pants. “Yeah. It’s easy to get lost in dreams andwhat if’sout here.” My eyes scanned the dunes, covered with waving sea grass to the ocean sitting behind it like glass. “Sometimes I thought if I searched the waves, the sea would reflect back the answers to all my questions.”

“Me too,” she sighed, laying her head on my arm. I couldn’t help but notice the trickle of tears streaming down her face. Her light green eyes were soft and hazy. “I miss it here. I wish we could have a do over for all those summer nights we lost hiding under the covers of our bunk beds while Mom and Dad lost their shit.”

I frowned. Char wore such a front—I had no idea she was still scarred by the past. In that moment, I wanted to be her hero. Her protector. After all she might’ve been older, but I was much bigger and tougher. I pulled out my cell and phoned the agent, telling her I was a cash buyer and wanted the property immediately.

She came to a screeching stop at the curb ten minutes later. “Mr. Carmichael.”

“Just Chase.”

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