Last Summer (17 page)

Her smile fades and is replaced by a serious
expression. Tracing her fingers across my cheeks and jaw line, she
says, “I’ll always be with you, as long as you want me.”

“And I’ll always want you.”

She grins. “Then, it’s settled.”

We share a laugh.

“Now,” I say, “about that shower . . .”

Seventeen
•
Chloe

I
can’t say I saw
that
coming. If somebody told me two hours ago that I’d have
sex with Logan, I would’ve laughed in their face. He and I weren’t
exactly on speaking terms after Audrey showed up, so . . .
yeah.

The craziest part is that I can’t stop
smiling. Like, I’m literally beaming from ear to ear. I have a good
feeling about Logan and I being together; we might make it, after
all. I was so worried that, once I told him about mine and Mom’s
move to California, he’d blow me off and forget anything between us
ever existed. So I was a little shocked when he seemed distraught
by our future cross-country travel. We just have to do this one
last thing, and then he and I can start focusing on our future
together, which apparently involves seeing the world.

“Mom’s probably worried I’ll never return,”
says Logan. After we took a shower together, I fixed my hair and
make-up, and we dressed. Now, we’re about five minutes away from
his home.

“I think she trusts you more than you give
her credit for. It may not seem like it, but I saw the love she has
for you and Lucas.”

Logan squeezes my thigh; his hand has been
resting on it for the entire car ride. “Thanks, babe.” A minute
passes before he speaks again. “I just hope they have dinner
cooked.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because that’s the only time I can reason
with them. Why are you giggling at me?” He grins as he sneaks a
glance in my direction. “I’m serious! They won’t listen to me any
other time, except at dinner. I know it’s weird, but that’s my
family for ya.”

“So, if we walk in and get situated, and
they haven’t offered dinner, maybe we should suggest it,” I say,
raising one eyebrow and waiting for him to agree.

Logan nods his head a couple of times and
narrows his eyes at the road. “Good idea.”

Five minutes later, we park on the curb
outside Logan’s home. There’s a police car parked in lieu of the
car we’re in, directly beside the truck. Is this about Jake? Did
the cops find out about Logan’s involvement? This can’t be
good.

As we enter the house, the man in uniform is
speaking to Marcie as Lucas runs wild through the house.

“Logan, you’re back!” screams Lucas. He runs
directly to Logan and leaps into his arms.

Logan laughs. “Of course I am, buddy.”

“Mom said she was afraid you wouldn’t return
and we’d have to go look for you again,” Lucas goes on. “She said
she thought you might run off.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Lucas turns to his mom. “See! I told
you!”

“Calm down, Luke,” says the cop. He seems
tired—exhausted, even—as if his lack of sleep is taking its toll on
his mind and body. Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes, and
he has gray patches of hair on either side of his head, just above
his ears.

“Lucas, honey, why don’t you go wash up for
dinner?” Marcie says, urging Lucas toward the hallway. Lucas takes
off, full speed ahead, rounding the corner from the living room and
barely stopping long enough to turn into the bathroom.

“Chloe and I were just wondering if you guys
would be eating,” says Logan.

The police officer stares at me. I feel like
he’s tacking me to a wooden board with six-inch nails. Why is this
so unnerving?

“So you’re the Chloe I owe thanks to,” says
the man. “You look mighty small, young lady, to do such
considerable repair on Logan.”

Marcie swats his arm. “Oh, Phil, don’t scare
the poor girl.”

He chuckles and extends his hand. “I’m Phil,
by the way. Logan’s dad.”

His dad is a freaking cop?
No wonder
they kicked him out; it would’ve looked horrible on his father’s
reputation as a police officer, not to mention the fact that his
dad can’t exactly support a drug user when he’s out fighting crime
every day.

I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr.
Andrews.”

He makes a dismissive gesture. “Please, call
me Phil. And come on in. Have a seat.”

We all sit down; Logan and I on the
loveseat, Phil and Marcie on the couch. Seconds tick by without a
single word. I wonder if this would’ve gone better had I not been
here, then Logan and his parents could’ve chatted about whatever
family problems they need to work on without feeling awkward.

Marcie clears her throat. “I’ll just . . .
finish dinner.” She goes to the kitchen, which has a small nook for
the six-seat dining table, and fishes out the dinnerware.

Phil turns his attention to Logan. “It’s
good to see you, son.”

“Yeah, you too,” Logan returns.

“I can’t say it hasn’t been rough on all of
us, but we’ve gotten through each day, mostly for Luke’s sake. He
didn’t know what really happened. We told him you were visiting
family members out west, and that was that.”

Logan nods. “It’s best he doesn’t know. At
least, not for a little while, until he’s older.”

Feeling awkward, I stand up. “I’m going to
see if Marcie needs help with anything.” Before Logan or Phil can
protest, I make a break for it. Marcie finishes laying out the last
of the silverware on the table as I arrive. “Can I help with
anything?”

“Oh, no, dear. I think I have it all
covered.”

“Okay,” I say, still lingering around. I
don’t really want to go back to the living room because Logan and
Phil are mostly likely having a heart to heart. It’s not my place
to listen in. It just feels . . . invasive. They might be having a
special moment, so who am I to ruin that?

Lucas comes bounding back into the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken pot pie casserole,” says Marcie.
“It’ll be ready in about five minutes. Why don’t you sit at the
table until it’s ready?”

Lucas obediently sits down, facing us. “What
are Logan and Dad doing?”

“They’re talking, sweetie. They’ll join us
for dinner when they’re through, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“Chloe, why don’t you have a seat, too?”
Marcie says as she wipes off the counter. “By the way, I feel I
should apologize for earlier. It wasn’t my intent to start drama
between you, Logan, and Audrey. I didn’t know they weren’t . . .”
she trails off without looking me in the eyes.
I didn’t know
they weren’t together anymore
is probably what she meant to
say. But the way she mentions it, it’s as if she never wanted them
to break up in the first place.

I just nod and take a seat across from
Lucas. He smiles at me, and I smile back.

“You’re a lot nicer than Audrey,” he
whispers.

I lean forward and so does he, like we’re
sharing our deepest, darkest secrets. “You think so?”

“I know so. She was mean to me. But you seem
nice.”

Grinning, I add, “That’s because I am.” I
wink at him, which only elongates his smile.

“And I think Logan likes you, too,” he
says.

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh.” He bobs his head up and down with
each syllable. “Annnd I think you guys should get married.”

Whoa, little buddy.
“Oh, I don’t know
about that.”

He actually seems offended. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s too soon. Maybe if we last a
couple of years.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Marcie
asks, almost causing me to jump out of my skin.

“Nothing, Mom!” says Lucas.

Just as Marcie takes the casserole out of
the oven, Logan and Phil walk in, looking as glum as ever. I guess
whatever they discussed didn’t go so well; the withered expression
behind Logan’s eyes is enough to make me question whether his
parents will help. He softens his expression with a half-smile and
sits down next to me, grasping my hand in his.

Logan whispers in my ear, “I told him about
Jake.”

I shoot him a look. “And?”

“I have to go down to the station first
thing tomorrow.”

I nod. That’s understandable. At least he’ll
be able to put this behind him once and for all.

Phil sits at the head of the table, while
Marcie places a trivet at the center, with the casserole on
top.

“Looks good, honey,” Phil says, rubbing his
hands together.

Marcie adds the final touch—a ladle—to the
dish and takes her seat at the opposite end of the table. “Eat up.”
She grabs Lucas’s plate first and scoops a spoonful of the
casserole onto it. “Careful, baby, it’s hot.”

Lucas licks his lips and his eyes grow
round. “Mmm!”

She picks up my plate next, then Logan’s,
and, finally, Phil’s. When everyone else is taken care of, she
fixes her own plate. We all sit in awkward silence for the first
couple of minutes before Lucas takes the plunge.

“Why’s everybody so quiet?” he asks.

Gotta love twelve-year-olds.

“Everyone’s enjoying their food,” says
Marcie.

For the entire meal, Phil and Marcie chat
about nothing but what their lives have been like since Logan’s
absence; Phil took on extra hours at the police station, and Marcie
is a stay-at-home mom, who manages to find time to create jewelry
and sell it online in a craft shop. Lucas has been busy with
middle-school baseball, which uses up a lot of Marcie’s time by
running him and his friends to practice. She and Sally rotate the
trips with their boys.

After the table is cleared, and Lucas has
taken his shower and gone to bed, Logan and I sit down with Phil
and Marcie to discuss why we’re really here. I can almost feel
Logan’s heartbeat hammering through his chest, his palms dewy with
sweat. I’m anxious for him. This is big.
Huge.
And if they
can’t help him, who will?

“I’m not going to bullshit with you guys,”
says Logan. “I need your help.”

Phil leans forward, resting his elbows on
his knees, and forms a steeple with his hands above his mouth.
“What kind of help?”

Marcie rests her hand on Phil’s thigh—a sign
of concern, I think—and says, “Logan, honey, you know we’ll help
you with whatever it is you need, as long as we are going forward.
We don’t want you to revert to your recent past.”

Logan’s eyes roll upward. “Mom,
please
. This isn’t about me relapsing.” He inhales deeply,
and, in one gust, says, “I need money so I can pay off my drug
dealers.”

Phil and Marcie swap a quick glance.

“Honey—” Marcie begins.

“How much?” Phil interrupts.

“Five thousand.” Before either one of them
can refuse, Logan adds, “I know you two started college funds for
Lucas and me. If you want, take it out of mine so it won’t make a
dent in your pockets.”

Phil rubs his forehead, and Marcie looks
like Logan just told her he’s dying and only has two weeks to live.
What would my parents have done if the situation were reversed?
Would my mom have given me the same expression, one that’s fearful
and distressed? Would my dad have said no? Would they both have
said no? My gut tightens at the thought of putting my parents in a
corner and asking them to make a decision on such short notice.
Knowing my dad, though, he would’ve said something along the lines
of, “Just give her the damn money.” My mom would’ve listened,
because she always obeyed him, loyal wife that she was. But now
that they aren’t truly together? I think they’d disagree.

“That’s, uh . . . that’s a lot, son,” says
Phil. He stops massaging his brows long enough to stare pointedly
at Logan. “What’ll happen if you don’t give them the money?”

“They’ll do to me what they did to Jake—or
worse.”

Marcie gasps. “That poor boy who was
murdered in Sandy Shores?”

“He was one of my friends,” Logan says. “He
died because of me.”

I clasp his arm and rub my thumb over his
skin. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened to him.”

He hangs his head, crushed. “I blame myself
every day.”

“Son, this wasn’t your doing,” Phil assures.
“What happened to Jake was misfortunate, but you can’t blame
yourself. This money obviously means a lot to you, so—”

“It means everything to me. If I don’t get
them paid off, they could find out where you guys live. Mom could
be home alone with Lucas one day and they’d break in. God, I don’t
even want to think about it.” He closes his eyes and shakes his
head, thinking about losing his mom and brother. “The point is,” he
continues, “I just want to move on with my life, and they’re only
holding me back. I want to be done with the bad and focus on the
good.”

“And we’ll support you every step of the
way,” says Marcie.

Phil nods in agreement. “Of course. I’ll go
to the bank tomorrow—”

“No! I need the money tonight. I want to be
done with all of this.”

“Okay,” Phil says. “I’ll just go now, then.”
He checks his watch. “We only have a thirty-minute window before
they close, so I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice nearly a
whisper.

Phil grabs his keys from the round bowl by
the front door. “Marcie, you coming?”

Marcie replies, “Yes. Let me just get my
things.” She flurries around the living room and kitchen, picking
up her purse, cell phone, and wallet, which was hidden in one of
the kitchen drawers.

“We’ll be back soon,” says Phil, closing the
door behind him.

Logan and I sit in the quiet room, fingers
entwined, nerve endings on fire. Before he started the conversation
with his parents, I had hoped they’d see his side, and I’m glad
they did. I had been worried they wouldn’t see clearly, only
blinded by key words such as “drugs,” “drug dealers,” and “five
thousand dollars.” Now, we have nothing to be anxious about. My
stomach can stop flopping over, my palms can stop sweating, and my
heart can stop rapidly pounding against my chest. It’s over. Well,
almost
over. Logan has to actually get the money to Big P,
and then we can be rid of the past, like it was all a bad
dream.