Page 51 of These Summer Storms

“He was?” Alice looked at Jack. “You were?”

“Just wondering when I could get my shorts back.”

Saoirse turned back, hand to the door, bright Granny Smith halfway to her mouth as her blue eyes settled on Alice. “Are thosehisshorts?”

Alice’s blush flamed brighter. “Yes.”

A beat, then, “They make your butt look great.”

“Thank you, Saoirse.”

“No problem,” her niece said with a little smirk before crunching into the apple, looking startlingly like her father as she leaned against the butcher block island, having clearly decided that Alice and Jack were more interesting than her texts (for now).

When no one moved, her eyes widened with understanding befitting a much older person, and she said, “Ohhh-kayyy…So. I’m supposed to meet my mom and dad at the docks. We’re disinfecting boats or something.”

“Descaling them,” Jack said.

“Whatever.” The teen disinterest was absolute perfection, and Alice wished she could bottle it.

“Have fun,” she called after her niece, now headed for the kitchen door on legs that grew longer by the second. Soon she’d be taller than Alice. She was already more stylish. When had that happened?

More time Alice had missed.

Without looking back, Saoirse replied, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen. We’re just doing it for the money.”

Of course, Sam and Sila had told the kids about the game. It was soinappropriate and so completely their style. Alice put on her best aunt face. “Don’t worry about the money, Saoirse. That’s not for you guys to worry about.”

“What do you know about it? You don’t even care if we don’t get the money. You don’t have kids. You don’t know how much we cost.”

The words came out pure Sila—full of something close to venom, and Alice couldn’t hide her surprise at the complete change of tone. “Of course I care.”

“No,” Saoirse replied, emphatic in a way only fourteen-year-olds could be. “Mom says you don’t care about us. You don’t care if I can’t stay at my school. And you don’t care about whether I can go to Switzerland with my friends over winter break. She said you can basically leave anytime you want—even before the funeral—and ruin it all, and you don’t even have to do anything but stay, even though Grandpa is making us clean boats and stain the dock. But you don’t care about Grandpa. You probably don’t even care that Grandpa is dead.”

Leave it to a teenager to really land the punch.

Alice pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to respond to the words, the way they revealed all the color commentary Saoirse had heard from her parents. The last of her niece’s monologue came out on a slight wobble—just enough to center Alice—and with a deep breath, she tried again. “Saoirse, I’m not—”

“Forget it.” Saoirse straightened at her name, swallowing her grief, just like they all did, and banged the screen door open. “Like I said. You don’t understand.”

When she was gone, Alice studiously avoided meeting Jack’s gaze, wishing he hadn’t witnessed the moment with her niece. He didn’t need to know any more about her than he already did. Instead, she returned to the pantry to collect her bags, slinging her satchel over her shoulder and rolling her suitcase out of the narrow space, knowing it was too much to ask that he be gone when she resurfaced. She didn’t need a witness to the hot embarrassment and anger and frustration that coursed through her.

Of course, he stayed. He was leaning against the island, watching her.

Don’t say anything,she willed him, silently.Please. Just leave it.

“Are you going to thank me?”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

“It’s customary to thank someone when they’ve rescued you.”

He was changing the topic. It was a kindness (albeit obnoxious). “Thank you.”

“Cantankerous, but I’ll accept it.”

“Yeah. Well. I promised I’d help my mom.”

“Funeral stuff?”

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