Page 43 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
“Go,” she says, making shooing motions with her hands.
Giving in—but not necessarily happy about it—I let Landon lead me away.
We make the unspoken agreement to walk. It’s a good trek to Main Street, but it’s a beautiful day with a cool breeze, and we have sundaes to work off before I’ll be able to eat again.
Landon still has my hand, and we walk side by side, in no rush.
“I have a weird question, but I don’t know how you’ll take it,” he says after several minutes.
I give him a questioning look.
“Would you be upset if your mom and uncle ever got together?”
“They’renottogether.”
He gently tugs me back when I try to yank away. “But would it bother you if they were?”
My mom wouldn’t do that to my dad, and neither would Uncle Mark. Doesn’t anyone get that? It would be a betrayal to his memory. Who makes a move on their dead brother’s widow? Just…ew.
“They’re really good friends,” I explain again. “And Markislike a dad to me, but I swear their relationship isn’t like that.”
“Okay.”
That’s all he says. Just “okay.” Which is a little obnoxious because I know it means he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t want to argue.
“It’snot.”
Landon laughs, shaking his head. “I believe you, Lacey. I was just asking.”
And I let it go because I like the way he says my name, like we’re close. Like I’m his, and he’s mine, and we’re actually together.
“Where has the best burgers?” he asks, putting the previous conversation behind us.
But even though we’ve changed the subject, my mind stays on his question. I remember the way Mom was leaning into Mark for comfort, and I’m plagued with niggling doubts.
But she wouldn’t do that to Dad. I know it.
A glop of sticky,white paint runs down the split rail fence that separates the campground from the road. I mop up my mess with a big, fat brush I found in the back shed.
Yesterday, I noticed the fence was looking a little shabby. Since it’s the first thing people see when they pull up, I decided it needed a fresh coat. Mark said the project has been on his to-do list for months, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.
“You realize it’s the Fourth of July?” Paige calls as she walks up the road from the direction of her family’s property. A gust of wind tosses her long hair in front of her eyes and kicks up leaves and dirt.
Unfortunately, those leaves stick to my fence.
“Yeah,” I mutter, plucking bits of debris out of the wet paint.
“They canceled the fireworks due to the wind,” my friend informs me as she stops in front of the fence and admires my work. “You missed a spot.”
Normally, I would tell her to grab a brush, but I haven’t seen her in days, and I’m reluctant to put her to work. “I thought they might,” I say, referring to the fireworks. Then I realize she’s alone. “Where’s Tanner?”
She bites back a besotted grin and stares at the fence with a dreamy expression that worries me. “His family drove to Telluride for the weekend. They’re supposed to be back Monday.”
“Whatever are you going to do with all your free time?”
“I’m going to fetch a paintbrush because it’s obvious you’re rubbish at this.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m glad for the help, so I don’t argue. What started as a simple project has grown. The fence seems to be getting longer. At this rate, I’m not sure I’ll ever finish.
