Page 6 of Summer's Echo
“Get a move on, Summer Sierra, so we won’t be late.”Mama’s somber voice matched the same bittersweet emotion that lingered on her pretty face. Being the mother of four—three girls and one boy—Mama was often emotional about everything—birthdays, graduations, first kisses, and anything else related to “her babies”, especially her girls, as she lovingly called the three of us.
I was the youngest, the last one still living at home. My brother, Oliver Jr.—OJ—was the oldest—ten years my senior, practically a second father at times. At least that’s what he’d say. Then there was my sister, Annette, six years ahead of me, the perfect blend of responsible and nurturing. And finally, Raquel—Raqi to everyone who knew her—just four years older. Where I was sassy, she was saucy. OJ and Annette were long gone, married and busy managing their own homes. For a long time, it was just Raqi and me, but just a few weeks ago, she’d graduated from college and was now packing for her move to Chicago for her first big job. One by one, my siblings all left, carving out lives of their own, leaving me behind in the quiet that used to feel full.
My mother swore she wasn’t planning on having any more children, but she always says she was pleasantly surprised when I arrived, bright and early, on the first day of summer—hence, my name. But lately, Mama’s emotions seemed to stretch far beyond Raqi’s upcoming move to Chicago or me turning seventeen in a few weeks and heading off for my last summer camp experience. It wasn’t just sadness or nostalgia; it was pride—a deep, quiet pride that settled over her whenever she looked at me, like she was holding on to every moment before everything changed.
My mother had become a mom at just seventeen, giving birth to my brother. Her plans for college, travel, and a career were put on pause. When she and my dad married, those plans were postponed indefinitely, as Annette and Raqi came along soon after. Granny never let her forget it.“Youbetter get a handle on those girls before they becomefast tails and have a house full of li’lbabies,”she would fuss, her words sharp but laced with that old-school worry only Granny could deliver. It wasn’t hard to imagine Mama brushing it off with a casual wave, her patience with Granny far exceeding anything I could ever muster. Still, I imagined those words must have stung, no matter how often she heard them. Mama had sacrificed so much—her dreams, her freedom, her youth. And yet, even when Granny taunted her, she never wavered. She always made it clear her family was worth every sacrifice. Maybe Mama’s emotionsweren’t just about me, but abouther. About the girl she used to be, the dreams she once carried at seventeen. Maybe, when she looked at me, she wasn’t just seeing her teenage daughter, she was seeinga version of herself, one still brimming with the hopes she had to let go of.
I often wondered if she was anything like me at seventeen.Did she walk with the sameoutward confidence, yetinward self-consciousness, convincing herself she had it all figured out? Did she laugh a little too loud, speak a little too boldly, just tocover up the quiet doubts creeping beneath the surface? Did she stare at her reflection, adjusting her posture, tilting her chin higher—not because she felt unshakable, but because sheneeded to believe she was? Most people wouldn’t believe it, but under all that sass and swagger, I wasan unsure little girl, always second-guessing myself.
Of course, I could light up a room, cracking jokes and commanding attention with my wit and charm, but inside…I was a storm of shy, awkward feelings. Classic Gemini shit—one side of me was sugary sweet and the other a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense chick who could cut someone down with just a few words. Even though my insecurities were fading, I still often felt uneasy about the voluptuousness of my body, mainly because of the kind of attention it drew. I was groped by the nasty little boys on the playground for having breasts and a booty and stared at inappropriately by grown men. When I got to middle school, some girls my age craved that kind of attention; they chased after it. But I wanted nothing to do with it. I’d hide under shirts two sizes too big and baggy jeans, even wrapping my breasts with Ace bandages to make them look smaller. It got to the point where my parents wondered if I even liked boys.
Our house had walls as thin as paper, so one night, I heard my mother praying.“Please, Jesus, let this girl like boys. Lord, I don’t know what I’d do.”Her whispered prayers made me laugh because I could visualize her dramatic self, collapsing to her knees in that tiny bathroom that doubled as her prayer closet, one hand pressed on her black vinyl gold-foil–printed Holy Bible and the other raised toward the heavens.On the other hand, it worried me because if my own mother had these doubts, what did others think? That might have been the very time I realized how much I cared about other people’s opinions, maybe more than I cared about my own.
Sure, I thought I was cute in the face and was mostly confident and self-assured, but deep down, I was always questioning myself. Does this dress fit? Are my legs too big? Can people see my fat rolls?Admittedly, I was jealous of my sisters and honestly my mama, too, because they all had cute little perfect bodies.Wheredid I come from? Why didn’t God give methe tiny waist and perky perfect little breasts? Probably because He knew my ass would be one of the fast-tail girls my granny spoke about.
After breakfast, I hopped in the shower and got dressed, knowing we had to hit the road soon. Daddy had already loaded his truck, and I was certain he was pacing outside, waiting for me with his usual patience.
“Summer Sierra, let’s go,” my mother shouted.
Blowing myself a kiss in the mirror for that extra boost of confidence, I was ready!I strolled into the living room where my mom and sister were lounging on the couch. To my surprise, Daddy was in the kitchen—not outside—but still quietly grumbling about us running late. My mom, Raqi, and I all laughed knowing how serious Daddy was about time. If we were even a minute off schedule, he’d have a mini fit.
“You ready, shuga?” he asked, taking a sip from his coffee cup.
I nodded. We finally hopped into the car and headed toward Camp Quest. The familiar narrow road stretched before us, winding its way off the highway and into the trees, the same path we’d taken every summer for years. But this time, it felt different. The closer we got, the stronger the feeling grew—this was going to be the kind of summer where anything felt possible.
Chapter Four
Summer
October 2019
Echo called my parents, dialing the same phone number etched in his memory. My Daddy answered almost instantly, his voice tight with worry as Echo patiently fielded his anxious questions. But even as he spoke, Echo’s focus never disconnected from me; silent but heavy with meaning, a language only I could understand.
“Yes, sir. I found her, and she’s okay,” Echo said, his tone composed. “She said she’s not ready to come home rightnow, but she wanted you to know that she’s safe.” He paused, nodding as if agreeing with whatever my mother was shouting on the other end of the line. “Ms. Teresa, calm down,” he said. “I promise I’ll take care of her. Yes, ma’am. You have my word.” He bobbed his head. “Okay. Bye.”
Echo ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving mine. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. He was unreadable, yet a steady anchor that rooted me in a moment filled with both chaos and calm. His words,I’ll take care her,played over and over in my head like the melody of my favorite song. We were kids the last time he vowed to take care of me, but the earnest bass of his voice erased any doubts. I didn’t need to question him, wouldn’t ask if he still meant it. I knew Echo would always keep his promises, especially the ones left unspoken.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
I swallowed hard. “I know my mama is pissed, and Daddy is just…disappointed,” I said, my voice shaking as the words tumbled out. It felt like disgrace and shame were gripping me by the throat, tightening their hold with every syllable.
“Nah,” Echo said, his brow creasing slightly as he shook his head. “They’re just concerned. You know there’s nothing you could ever do to truly disappoint them. They love you, Sun. I’m sure they know you have your reasons.”
His reassurance settled over me, softening the storm of guilt swirling in my chest. But as much as I wanted to believe him, the weight of my parents’ expectations felt like a shadow I couldn’t escape.I’m sure they know you have your reasons.I heard his words, fully comprehended what he said, but intentionally ignored them. Confronting my reasons meant unearthing a truth I wasn’t ready to face. Instead, I shifted the conversation in another direction.
“You look nice, E,” I said, forcing a sparse grin, a sparkle of light softening my misty eyes.
He shook his head, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, the knowing expression said it all—he saw right through my act. He wasn’t fooled by my deflection, but he let it slide without question. “Well,” he began, his voice low with a slight tinge of humor, “my best friend was supposed to be getting married a few hours ago, but…” He paused, then shrugged lightly. “Change of plans, I guess.”
Silence stretched between us as I turned the thought over in my mind.Yeah, change ofplans.
Then I turned away, drawn once more to the gentle flow of the creek. Snatching the glasses from my face, I swiped my cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop. They kept spilling down my face—hot and relentless. I tugged on the bottom of my t-shirt, attempting to clean my glasses again, but it was useless. A new wave of weeping brewed in my chest, threatening to break free.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said, my voice thick, a knotted tangle of sadness and anger. “You said you couldn’t…you didn’t want to watch me get married, remember?” An invisible thread pulled between us, tight and heavy with the weight of our unresolved encounter from a year ago, which had caused yet another rift in our relationship, lingering like a dark cloud.
Echo turned toward me with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his features soft, carrying something I couldn’t quite name—something mature, familiar, and an undeniable trace of adoration. He shrugged, the motion almost dismissive, as if brushing off the gravity of my words. “Change of plans, I guess,” he muttered again, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips. Finally, he eased down beside me on the old tree stump where we’d spent so many nights together—nights that felt eerily like this one.
