Page 7 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
My eyes stray to the long camper trailer parked in Site Twenty-nine. The Suburban is gone, meaning the Tillmans must be out enjoying the weather. It doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t take extra time with my makeup and hair because I thought I might run into Landon while planting the flowers. Of course not.
I roll my eyes, silently mocking myself, and tug the wagon to the next barrel. I planted seven yesterday, and I’m hoping to get another ten finished before I meet Paige later. A car slowly rolls by, and I wave at the woman in the passenger seat.
“Looks like you’re having fun,” she says, leaning out the window. Her hair is short and curled. It’s as blond as can be, but judging from her soft, grandmotherly face, I’m pretty sure it went gray years ago.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer as I fight to remember her name. I checked the retired couple in myself just a few days ago.
Their golden retriever hangs his head out the back window, looking like he’s smiling. His name is Todd, and his great, great,greatgrandpa won best of breed at Westminster years ago. (Because that’s what’s important to remember.)
“Keep up the good work,” she calls as they continue down the road.
“Thank you...Mrs. Murray!” I remember just before it’s too late. Satisfied, I pull on my bright green gardening gloves and kneel in front of the barrel.
There’s a happy squeal from the nearby play area, and the smell of charcoal briquettes floats on the air as a nearby camper prepares lunch. The aroma makes my stomach growl. Mom bought sandwich stuff, but she forgot to get turkey, and I can’t stomach the bologna Uncle Mark prefers. But I’m hungry now—I’ll have to scrounge for something when I’m finished with the flowers.
I break up the soil, mix in compost and a capful of the organic, granular fertilizer I’m trying this year, and start planting. I’m just about finished with the barrel when the Tillmans’ door opens. I glance up, surprised because I thought the family was gone.
Landon jogs down the steps and then turns, holding the door open. “Come on,” he calls inside. He has a small video recording device, and he points it at the door.
I free a flower from its cell and watch him, trying not to be obvious about it. What’s he doing? After several moments, the Saint Bernard appears at the door.
Landon jiggles a leash, but the massive dog yawns, turns around, and then disappears into the camper once more.
“Have it your way,” Landon says, tossing the leash aside before he closes the door.
Quickly, I return my eyes to my project, pretending I’m so busy I didn’t notice him. He walks around his campsite with that small camera in hand, talking to himself. I plant the last petunia, pat down the soil around its roots, and stand, brushing stray dirt from my jeans.
Without looking Landon’s way, I pick up the watering can and walk to the closest unoccupied water spigot. I couldn’t find the hose I usually use, so I’m stuck making several trips for each barrel I plant. Luckily, all the sites aren’t full. Otherwise, I’d have to go to the spigot by the play area—which would mean walking right past Landon.
I pull the lever, trying to control the flow of water. It’s either all or nothing. Since I don’t feel like soaking myself, I settle for a meager trickle and let the can fill slowly. As I wait, my mind wanders.
Is Landon still at his site? Was he going somewhere? The Tillmans have been here for over a week—maybe he met someone in town. The thought makes my stomach twist.
I can think of several local girls who’d be happy to keep Landon company for the summer, like Alissa at Mr. Oliver’s ice cream shop. She’s back from her first year at college and working there for the summer.
A horrible thought flits into my mind:Maybe he met Gia.
She’s a year younger than I am and ridiculously pretty. Guys seem drawn to her petite, curvy frame. She’s barely five-foot, but they don’t care. All they see are her big green eyes and…other things.
I push the thought away. Landon has no reason to go to Upper Ridge Campground, which is where Gia and her brother help out every summer for their aunt and uncle.
Water trickles from the top of the watering can, alerting me to the fact that I haven’t been paying attention. Quickly, I jump to action.
But my mind isn’t on my task. I yip when the lever comes down with a crack and pinches the skin on my palm. Irritated with myself, I hold in a string of unladylike words. A few escape, but they are pretty mild considering.
Gravel shifts on the path behind me as a certain someone jogs over. “You okay?”
Feeling like an idiot—again—I slowly turn, shaking out my aching hand. I smile like I’m surprised to see him. “I’m fine.”
My stomach does a little flip when I meet Landon’s gaze. A slow smile builds on his face, lighting his unusual, light green eyes. He catches my hand, tugging me to him like we’ve been friends for years. His smile becomes a frown as he runs a finger over the angry, purple skin. “You got yourself good.”
I would answer, but my mouth doesn’t remember how to form words.
“You’re very busy,” he says, letting me have my hand back. He cocks his head to the side, reminding me of Mrs. Murray’s golden retriever. His dark blond hair is cut short on the sides and a little longer on the top. He must wear some sort of product in it to keep it out of his eyes, but it looks soft. Touchable.
“Are you aware of that?”
“Hmmm?” I jerk my eyes from his hair. “That I’m busy?”
