The Summer of Lost Things Page 2

I know she’ll take the master bedroom at the end of the hall, so it feels right to take her old one.

  As I open the door, I sigh. I knew I’d have to do a lot of redecorating in here but didn’t realize how much until now. The only way to describe the room, besides the wooden floor and ceiling, is a pink flowery mess. The curtains are cream with dainty pink flowers, which match the two chairs and table covers and the pillows on the bed. The bedspread is fluffy and pink and sits perfectly made on an old bed with a wooden frame. Which is also covered in a thin coating of dust. The wallpaper plastered to the walls is full of little pink flowers, as well, and I fight the urge to rip it down at once.

  It’s the stuff of nightmares.

  Like, the worst nightmare ever.

  I wish someone would have taken care of her house. Updated it. Cleaned it. Everything was so neglected, and now we’re stuck with all the repairs and remodeling.

  There is one great thing about the room, though. One thing I don’t have to change.

  The bookshelves.

  Four white ones all in a row covering an entire wall. There are a few books on the furthest one to the right. Mom’s old ones. A few trinkets Grandpa brought from Puerto Rico when he immigrated to the United States. He gave them to Mom before he died, thought I wonder why she kept them here and didn’t take them with her when she got married. Maybe Gran made her leave them here.

  I set my box on the floor and turn to go get my books waiting in the truck outside.

  Even if I feel lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life, at least I have my books to keep me company.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like to spend my whole life in reading it.”

  —Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

  It’s been hours. Lugging all my stuff, especially the boxes of books, up the stairs took forever. Unpacking them took longer. Organizing them by author’s last name took even longer. But now I sit on my newly furnished bed and stare at all the pretties, rubbing at my now aching arms.

  Oh, how productive I feel. I pull out my phone and take a picture of my shelves and send them to Ashley. She appreciates books just as much as I do, and she’ll adore these bookshelves. I send her a quick message telling her I’ll call after dinner.

  “Luce?” Mom pokes her head into the room and stares at the now full bookshelves. “Seriously? You organized your books before you unpacked your clothes?”

  I roll my eyes. “Priorities, Mom. You know me better than that.”

  She gives me a small smile and shakes her head. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Okay.”

  She hovers in the doorway, watching. Anxious as she twists her hands together.

  I smile at her. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  A nod and she leaves.

  I sink to the floor and lean my head back against the bed. I know she’s worried about me. About my moodiness. But right now? I don’t really care.

  I deal with things in my own way. And my own way right now is to keep busy and pretend my whole world hasn’t been upended.

  Truthfully, though, I think I’m just . . . numb.

  I know bad things happen to good people, but why do they have to happen when you try to do everything right? We were the perfect family. Mom and Dad loved each other and they both loved me and we had everything. A home, friends, a happy life together. Why are things thrown into your life at the worst possible moment that end up ruining everything you’ve worked for?

  With Dad, tiny things started his downfall. Then those tiny stupid choices spiraled out of control, and now he’s gone, and Mom and I had to move to a whole different state to start over. We live in a house Mom didn’t want to come back to, and now she’s a single mother, trying to get by while raising me and, honestly, I have no idea who I even am anymore.

  It’s like someone picked me up and stuck me in the crappiest situation they could think of.

  Not the crappiest, I guess. I know there are worse things. I do. I have Mom. I have my life. My friends are still there, even it they’re far away. Things are just different. It’s hard when people make bad choices and don’t realize how much it will affect their families until it’s too late.

  I was happy. Comfortable. Now I’m the opposite. And I hate it.

  All because of a stupid addiction that’s not even mine.

  Watching someone you love fight an addiction changes you. Even if it’s just a small part of you. And not for the better. There’s a piece of me missing that I know I’ll be searching for the rest of my life. The piece unknowingly chipped away when Dad’s life started to crumble.

  When our lives unintentionally crumbled, as well.

  Because of his choices.

  I shake my head to refocus my thoughts and reach for the small pile of books on the bottom right of one of the bookshelves. I pick up an old copy of Anne of Green Gables that is shoved between the others and rub my fingers over the cover with a smile. It’s worn and tattered from being read over and over.

  Mom’s old copy, it looks like, since her name is written in the righthand corner of the title page when I open it.

  It was definitely loved. It looks like some of my favorite books.

  Mom named me after Lucy Maud Montgomery, since she’s her favorite author, so I feel like I have a special attachment to her and Anne. It’s always fun seeing old pieces of Mom when she was a teenager. She obviously loved books, like I do, which I already knew since she has her own soon-to-be full bookshelves downstairs. Though, she didn’t have quite the obsession as I do. I’d never leave my prized books alone for years like this.

  I sigh and flip through the worn pages and stop when I reach a bookmark. It’s actually a piece of folded paper. Setting down the book, I unfold the paper, which has yellowed from time, and read the inscription inside.

  Ana and Susan’s Summer Goals

  1. Ride the horses at Kelly Stables

  2. Go Swimming

  3. Ice Cream at Joe’s Ice Cream Emporium

  4. Corn Dogs at 4th of July Celebration

  5. Watch some fireworks on the 4th of July

  6. Ride bikes over Cherry Creek Bridge

  7. Climb a Tree

  8. Find shapes in the clouds

  9. Make homemade ice cream

  10. Have a summer romance

  A summer romance? With who? Dad? It couldn’t be Dad. They met in college. I do wonder who it is, though . . .

  All the items are crossed off. Even the romance one.

  I read through it again. Did Mom really do the lame things on this list? It’s interesting how different our lives are and what teenagers did for fun back then. I wonder if she was a teenager or a bit younger, actually. I may have to ask her about it.

  I squint at the paper, noticing a number 11, but it’s so light and looks like someone tried to erase it since black marks streak across the words. After several more seconds, I make them out.

  Visit Susan’s grave.

  Susan’s grave? As in, the Susan who wrote this list with Mom?

  A chill settles over me and I swallow, hard.

  What happened to this Susan?

  “Lucy! Get down here before this gets cold!”

  I jump, fold up the note, and stick it back in the book before setting it on my nightstand, then head downstairs for answers.

  Mom sits at the dining room table and I cringe at the bright green walls. I’m not sure if they’re better than the yellow living room walls or not. She drums her fingers on the table until I sit down.

  “Gran sure liked her colors.”

  She ignores me. “May I pray now?” she asks.

  I stare at the pan full of macaroni and cheese. Our easy go-to meal on busy nights. My stomach growls. “Sure. Sorry.”

  We fold our arms and close our eyes and she says a quick blessing on the food. When she’s finished, she digs in, but I sit there, still wondering about that list. I pull the pan over to me and put a few scoops of noodles on my plate. I fill
my glass up with milk and take a little sip, then set it down, grabbing a napkin to wipe off the few drops I accidentally dribbled on my pants.

  “I would love to see you drink without spilling. Just once.”

  I chuckle. “Me too, actually.”

  She smiles and eats another bite of food. She seems like she’s in a good mood, so I decide to ask her about the list in a round-about way.

  “Mom, who’s Susan?”

  She stops chewing, her eyes wide. Then, just as quick, she shakes her head and swallows. “She’s . . . uh . . . an old friend.” She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Where did you hear that name?”

  I shrug. “I just saw it in one of your books upstairs.”

  “Oh. Well, I borrowed a book from her once. That’s all.”

  “A book?”

  “Yeah.” She continues to eat but avoids my eyes. Instead, she pulls out her phone and stares at it before I call her out on having phones at the table.

  “Mom. Phone.”

  She sighs. “I know. I thought it was ringing. Leave it to me to break my own rule about having phones at the table.” She shoves it back in her pocket, gives me a small smile, and takes another bite.

  She doesn’t say anything else, which isn’t like her. She’s usually too chatty at dinner. Mom’s never been one for secrets, but the uncomfortable look on her face when I said Susan’s name is all the proof I need that something’s weird and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

  I decide not to ask her about Susan again.

  I don’t mention her list either.

  Maybe later.

  CHAPTER 3

  “You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others . . .”

  —Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

  One good thing about Oregon is the weather. Even if we live in a place called Salem, it’s not creepy. There isn’t an ominous feeling of witchy-ness in the air. No. It’s actually quite perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. And the air smells so clean. Which sort of reminds me of Wyoming, which is great, but makes me homesick.

  Ashley’s quiet on the other end of the phone, but I’m not really talking much either. It’s not awkward, though. Being friends for three years makes things comfortable, yet sad that we’re not together.

  I hear her rummaging around on the other end of the line. “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry, I tripped over some clothes and almost fell. I should probably clean my room.”

  “Sounds exciting. That’s what I’ve been doing today.”

  She laughs. “You moved though. I haven’t gone anywhere!”

  “True.”

  “So, Dayson finally asked me out the other day. I posted a few pics online if you want to take a look.”

  “Really?” I smile. She’s liked him forever and he’s liked her. It was just a matter of time. “And I’ll look when we get service. I can’t use my data right now. Or you can just text them to me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

  “Did you already go on a date then?”

  “Yeah. We went to a movie, though we didn’t really watch most of it.” She giggles, and I roll my eyes.

  “Of course you didn’t. I’m glad you finally went out, though.”

  “Right? He was so nervous when he asked me, too. Made him even cuter. Speaking of cute, have you met any cute boys?”

  I swear that’s all she cares about. “Ha. No. I haven’t even left the house yet.”

  She laughs. “Just asking. You know you’ll have to set me up with someone when I come visit.”

  “If I can find someone first,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You know me.”

  She sighs. “Yes, unfortunately when it comes to guys, I do. It’s so easy, though. All you have to do is say hi to one. Then fireworks, and bam. Date.”

  “Easy for you!”

  “It was easy for you here!”

  “That’s because you were my wingman!”

  She laughs. “True, true!”

  “And why do you need me to set you up with someone when you’re dating Dayson now?”

  “I didn’t say we were dating exclusively. We just went out. And kind of made out.”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes again, glad she can’t see me, then stare out into the trees as a breeze blows a few strands of my hair into my face.

  Ashley says something to someone in the background, then groans. “Well, I’d better go. My parents are making me go to dinner with them.”

  “Making you?”

  “You think I want to go sit through an entire dinner with just me and them? They’ll probably be cuddling and making lovey dovey eyes at each other the whole time and I’ll be the third wheel!”

  I shudder. “Gross.”

  “Yeah. If you were here, you’d at least be with me and they’d behave themselves.”

  I laugh. “Well, have fun. Call me later.”

  “I will. Cheer up, okay? You’ll make some friends. You’ll be okay.”

  “I know. Thanks, Ash.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I hang up and lean my head back, feeling a little better but worse at the same time.

  As I sit on the rickety porch swing, hoping it doesn’t break, I can’t help but think of how boring this summer will be without Ashley here. There is absolutely nothing to do. I don’t know anyone, besides Mom I guess, but I don’t really want to hang out with her all summer, no offense to her, and school doesn’t start for another two months. Not that I’m looking forward to that either.

  Being the new kid at school? Ugh. Been there, done that. Don’t want to do it again. Granted, I was only in fifth grade when we moved because of Dad’s new job, but still. It’s hard leaving people you already know and being thrown into a new school. There are expectations. Friends to make. You never know who to avoid, who to talk to.

  I rub my hand over my face, exhausted already by my own thoughts.

  Summer always seems to drag when there’s nothing to do. Especially June. There’s nothing to do in June. July at least has fireworks and things, and school starts in August, but June?

  It’s the boring summer month.

  I twist my long dark braid around my finger and think of Mom’s list I found yesterday. Maybe I should make my own list. One just for me. I’d make it a little more interesting, though.

  Sudden hammering from inside the house jolts me out of my seat, and after I recover from the rapid thumping of my heart, I go inside.

  “Luce?” Mom yells as I’m near the top of the staircase. “Where are you, honey?”

  “Just heading to my room!”

  She comes around the corner then, hammer in hand, and I peer down at her over the banister. “Where have you been?”

  “On the porch talking to Ashley.”

  “Oh, good. Well, when you get a second, I picked out some paint samples at the store this morning. They’re on the kitchen table. Have a look at them and we can start painting next week. I have a whole remodel/renovation schedule printed out, too. Since there’s not much for you to do this summer, I’m gonna keep you busy, busy, busy.” She gives me a thumbs up, which I don’t give back, and disappears into the other room.

  I groan, thinking of all the work we have to do here. Also, I didn’t even hear her leave this morning to get said paint samples. She’s an early riser, though, while I enjoy my sleep, like Dad.

  Thinking of him makes my thoughts grow dark, so I shake my head and focus on the hammering again. Maybe helping her will take my mind off things. I walk downstairs and see Mom bent over a pile of wood in the kitchen.

  “Do you need any help, Mom?”

  She looks up, nails in her mouth. She takes them out and smiles. “No. Not right now. Later. Why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air?”

  “I just told you I was outside.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, maybe I can drive
you into town later and we can look for applications for you to get a job. Then you can make some new friends before school starts. Earn a little money.”

  “Whatever you want, Mom.” That’s all I want to do. Get a job so I can’t do anything fun over the summer. Sure, I’d like to make some money, but I’d like to actually settle in our new life first. I wonder why she wants me to work now? She’s never mentioned it before. I’ve had babysitting jobs before and worked part time at the library when we lived in Wyoming, but I don’t really know the area well yet.

  I do wonder where the library is. Maybe they need a part-time person? I’d love to shelve books.

  Mom starts hammering again, and honestly, I’m really not sure what she’s working on, so I turn and head back upstairs to my room.

  Anne of Green Gables is still sitting on my nightstand. I hurry over and flip it open, pulling the list from inside.

  I study it. The curves of Mom’s handwriting are so similar to mine, it’s like I wrote it, though my handwriting is just a little bit loopier.

  My eyes skim over her words and I make a decision. Making a list will save my sanity. I can maybe do a few things on her list, but I have no idea where anything is, since it’s been, what? Twenty years or so since mom lived here? Probably more. I’m sure a lot has changed over the years, but she definitely knows more than I do about this place. I know where the gas station is and Walmart, but that’s about it.

  The biggest thing I’m curious about, though, is Susan. I’ll definitely be figuring out why Mom won’t talk about her. And what happened to her, since she helped write the list and then, I’m pretty sure, died. Mom was supposed to visit her grave and never crossed it off, it looks like. I wonder how she died? Was Mom involved? Is that why she won’t talk about her?

  Nothing like starting the summer off with a bit of a mystery.

  I sit down on my bed a few minutes later, notebook and pencil in hand. My plan was jumping on the computer and typing out a list, but when I thought about it, I remembered it wasn’t hooked up to the printer yet and I don’t want to try to figure it out by myself.

  So I’ll do it the old-fashioned way.

  I tap the pencil on my chin as I stare at the crisp clean paper, wondering what the heck I’m supposed to write down. Oregon is new to me and I’m not sure what I can even do alone. I’m not normally one for being spontaneous or . . . brave even. I like doing my own things. I like having a schedule. Repetition. Maybe it’s time to change that. I need a little more adventure in my life. Anything to keep my mind off our new circumstances and the one person I’d rather forget.