Page 38 of The Summer House
Fourteen
Callie rolledover on her air mattress, her head feeling like it was being hit with a million bowling balls and her mouth bone dry. She grimaced. The shuttle had taken them home well after midnight and both Olivia and Callie had fallen into bed in their respective rooms without even a word to each other. They were both completely exhausted. Wyatt had stayed at Gladys’s, and she wondered if he was still there. She tried to open her eyes, the sunlight making the pounding worse. Beside her was a glass of water and a note that read,
Luke’s staff brought the car home this morning. I didn’t wake you. I’m going to Gram’s to be nursed back to life. Thought you’d like a quiet house. O.
Callie took a big drink from the water glass, her stomach rumbling but the pain in her head preventing her from moving to get herself something to eat. The night was coming back to her in bits and pieces—she could recall leaving the car keys, dancing… She chewed on her lip, remembering her conversation with Luke. The thing was, even without the alcohol, she might have told him those things.
With a yawn, she slowly stood, the room moving with her. She took another drink of water and got her bearings. Her eye caught Alice’s journal on her dresser and she remembered Gladys telling her about Adelaide. It was a shame that Adelaide didn’t have Frederick’s contact details. Callie felt a renewed prickle of interest in the idea of finding him to return the journal and the lockbox. Perhaps the journal would contain Frederick’s business name, and she could find him that way. It would be a good distraction from the thoughts she had about last night, about Luke. She took it with her and went to make some coffee.
With the sound of the coffee machine percolating and an empty mug waiting to be filled, Callie opened the journal, thumbing through, looking for Frederick’s name when she stopped on the word “brother.” She read:
I’ve always been cautious with my own choices, and sometimes, I wonder if I’ve been a little too cautious. My whole life, I was so afraid of getting hurt that now I sit here alone, under this lamp, writing to you, my dear journal, my quiet companion. But my brother is the complete opposite. He allows his heart to lead him, he’s too honest, and he jumps before he realizes the consequences. Because of that, he has a child who will never know who his father is.
A child? Callie pursed her lips, shocked. Callie could relate to this entry so much. She, too, had been cautious about getting close to people. She stared at the words, wondering if she’d be alone at the end, with only a journal to keep her company. Callie didn’t blame her mother for her difficulty letting people in, but she’d had a part in it. She pondered whether her mother thought about her, if she was ever curious about what she’d been up to. Would she come to The Beachcomber if Callie asked her?
Thinking back to the journal, Callie wondered what it would be like to not have known her father at all. She might have chosen the question mark over the hurt of his absence. Maybe Frederick was doing his kid a favor. But maybe not. Did he sit somewhere missing his child? Did he feel like he’d abandoned his baby? She’d often wondered, growing up, if her dad had missed her, and sometimes she’d considered trying to find him, but her apprehension had prevented it. It was only after he died and one of his friends had called to let them know, with no personal message to her or her mother, and no attempt to reach out prior to his death, that her fears were confirmed.
As she poured her coffee, she heard a knock at the door. Callie squeezed her eyes shut, to alleviate the pounding in her head. Setting the mug onto the counter, she walked to the front door to answer it.
Luke, looking all alert and carefree, was grinning at her from the other side of the door. “Hey,” he said, his eyes moving down to her bare feet and back up. “Still answering the door in your T-shirts?” He grinned.
She moved out of the way to allow him to enter. She didn’t bother covering herself this time, her throbbing headache preventing her from caring. “My head is killing me.”
Luke came in and shut the door. “You need water.”
“I’m making coffee.”
“No, I mean ocean water. The sun and the movement of the sea will help.”
The faint memory of their surfing date feathered its way into her consciousness. “It might make me nauseous.”
He laughed quietly, his eyes on her.
She poured her coffee and added sugar and cream. “Want some?”
Luke shook his head, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down. “No, thank you.” He looked out at the sea a moment through the window before turning back to her as she sat down beside him with her mug.
“Last night was fun,” he said. “How much did you drink?”
“I lost count.” She closed her eyes and took a long sip of coffee. She was okay, as long as she didn’t talk…
“I shouldn’t have made you that drink at the end. It had too much rum in it. I’m sorry. I just thought you might like it.”
“I did. And how were you to know?”
He leaned forward. “At least it got you dancing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but only half seriously. “Maybe you did know what it might do then.”
She expected some witty response about trying to get her to talk or something, but instead he said, “You know what I think? I think you’re relying on those articles you read about me because you can’t face the fact that you’re scared.”
“What?” What was he talking about? Had she missed something?
“You heard me. You’re scared to death to feel something for someone, to let someone in.” He scooted closer. “But I’m telling you right now that you don’t have to be scared. I wouldn’t knowingly give you too much to drink. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden agenda. I want to hang out with you…” His knee started bouncing under the table and he looked as though he didn’t want to finish his sentence, but then he became still and looked into her eyes. “Because I think you’re amazing, and when I leave you, I can’t wait to see you again.”
She looked down into her mug, the brown liquid still, the sunlight sending a tiny glare across it. All her thoughts were bumping into one another, and she couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to do or how to react because her own feelings for him were muddling everything up. How did he know her so well?
“Wanna go surfing?” he asked tenderly, as if he knew how hard it was for her to respond to that kind of admission. She didn’t know how to be honest with someone. Where was she supposed to draw the line? Was she supposed to just tell him every single thought she had? She didn’t know. But she was thankful that he could sense her uncertainty and he was taking it easy on her. “Well?”
