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Summer's Child
Summer's Child
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Summer's Child

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“I saw some kids over on the beach before you got back with dinner,” Zack said. “Think I’ll go see if they’re still there.”

Well, at least Zack wasn’t shy. Or maybe he simply wanted to get away from his father for a while after this long day of togetherness.

“Okay,” Rory said. “I’ll see you later.”

Rory walked down the steps from the deck, through the cottage, and out to his sandy front yard. The warm, humid air smelled strongly of the sea, and he couldn’t shake a sudden bittersweet wave of nostalgia as he walked across the cul-de-sac. The screened porch light was on at the Sea Shanty, and as he neared the cottage, he saw a blond-haired woman inside, sitting in one of the rocking chairs, engrossed in something on her lap. She stood up when she spotted him and walked to the porch door.

“Hi,” Rory said. “Are you Shelly?”

“Sure am.” The woman pushed open the screen door. “And you’re Rory,” she said.

“Right.” Still standing in the sand, he put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to study her. Her smile was wide, her teeth straight and white, and she was very pretty. Her long hair was a silky, pale blond. “You were about three years old the last time I saw you.”

“Well, you were about thirty-five the last time I saw you.” She grinned. “I saw you just the other night on True Life Stories.”

He laughed. “Thirty-six,” he said.

“I don’t remember you from when I was little,” Shelly said. “Daria and Chloe remember you, though.”

“Who are you talking to, Shelly?” A female voice came from the living room, beyond the porch.

“Are they here?” Rory asked. “Daria and Chloe?”

“Yes, they’re inside. Come in.” She stood back to let him walk past her onto the porch, and he noticed she was tall—nearly as tall as he was. “Did you get my letter?” she asked in a near whisper.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said.

“Oh, thank you!” She gave him a quick, sideways hug, then led him into the living room.

“Rory Taylor’s here,” Shelly announced to the woman who was sitting on the couch, a book on her lap.

It took him a minute to recognize the woman as Chloe. She rested the book on the couch and stood up. “Hello, Rory,” she said.

She was still beautiful, although she looked quite different from the last time he’d seen her. Her hair was very short, capping her head in dark curls. She looked like a Greek goddess.

“Hi, Chloe,” he said. He wanted to move forward to give her a hug, but her stance, stiff and uninviting, kept him rooted near the door. The sound of an electric saw came from somewhere in the cottage, and he wondered if Mr. Cato was still building furniture in the Sea Shanty’s workshop.

“It’s been a while,” Chloe said. “You remember Shelly, I guess?” She looked at her sister.

“Very well,” he said. “Although I can’t say I would have recognized her.”

“I’ll get Daria,” Chloe said, heading for the door to the porch. “She’s down in the workshop. Shelly, why don’t you get Rory something to drink?”

“We have lemonade or iced tea or soda pop,” Shelly said once Chloe had left the room. “Orange, ginger ale or Coke.”

“Orange sounds good,” he said.

“Be right back. Don’t go away!”

He watched her disappear into the kitchen. It was strange to be in this cottage again. The furniture was different—of course it would be, after all these years. Poll-Rory’s furniture, purchased for him by the real estate agency, was the boxy wood and nubby upholstery type that would hold up to the abuse of renters. The Catos’ furniture, with its blues and yellows and traditional lines, had a homier feel to it. The walls were lighter, and he noticed that the wood paneling had been painted a soft cream color. Were Mr. and Mrs. Cato still living? he wondered once again. Daria was in the workshop, Chloe had said. Was she with her father down there? He remembered that workshop. It was on the ground floor, built into a space among the stilts, and it smelled of wood and metal. He recalled that every time a major storm came through, the Catos would have to pack up the tools and carry them up to the first or second story of the cottage to get them out of harm’s way.

“Rory!” Daria strode into the living room and over to him, wrapping him in a welcome hug. “I can’t believe you’re in Kill Devil Hills.”

He drew away to look at her. She’d probably been about fourteen the last time he’d seen her. He guessed she’d been pretty back then, but now she possessed the rare, exotic sort of beauty that had once attracted him to Chloe, with those dark eyes and long, thick, unruly black hair. Unlike Chloe, though, she still had the body of a tomboy—tight, small-breasted, compact and tan in her shorts and T-shirt. Her hair was barely contained in a ponytail and there was something pale and feathery scattered through it. Sawdust?

“I’m happy to see that you guys are here,” he said, glancing at Chloe, who stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, a small smile on her lips. “I was hoping you would be.”

Shelly walked into the room and handed him a glass of orange soda. “We’re always here,” she said.

“How long are you staying?” Daria asked.

“All summer,” he answered. “My son is with me.”

“Well, sit down,” Daria said, motioning toward one of the chairs.

He took a seat. Chloe and Daria sat at opposite ends of the sofa, while Shelly sat on the floor, her back against one of the other chairs in the room. She was wearing a deep purple sundress, and her long, slender legs looked very tan against the pale carpet.

“So, bring me up to date,” he said. “Your parents? Are they…?”

“Mom died fourteen years ago,” Daria said. “And Dad, just last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rory said. “I guess you know I lost my parents.”

“Yes,” Daria said. “The real estate agent who handles your cottage told us. What about Polly? How is she doing?”

“She died two years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rory,” Daria said.

“Me, too,” Chloe added. “Polly was truly special.”

“Mmm, very,” he said.

“I read about your divorce,” Daria said.

He laughed. His life was open to the public. “I guess I have no secrets,” he said.

“That must be strange,” Daria said. She sounded sympathetic. “But the news just reports the facts about a celebrity. So and so got divorced. So and so landed in a mental hospital. They don’t say how so and so feels about what happened to him.”

“Good point,” Rory said. “Well, I can sum up my feelings about those events pretty quickly. Losing my parents was the pits—they were too young. Losing Polly was even worse, as you can imagine.”

“I bet,” Daria said.

“My divorce was…difficult, but a relief in the long run. And my son is the best thing that ever happened to me, although he hasn’t figured that out yet.”

“Who is Polly?” Shelly asked.

“My sister,” he said.

“Why did she die?” Shelly asked.

“She had Down’s syndrome,” Rory said. “It affected her heart.”

“She was so fair,” Daria said. “I remember she’d always burn, every summer, no matter how much lotion your mom put on her.”

“That was Polly,” Rory agreed. “She wasn’t much of a beach person.” He looked at Chloe. “So,” he said, “now all of you know what I’ve been up to. How about the three of you? Chloe? You were so smart. You were in college before I could even spell the word. I remember you were studying history, right? You wanted to be a teacher. Is that what you are?”

The three women laughed, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I’m wrong, I take it?” he asked.

“Well, no, you’re not wrong,” Chloe said slowly, coyly. “I teach history and English at a Catholic school in Georgia during the year.”

Shelly giggled. “Chloe is really Sister Chloe,” she said.

“Sister Chloe?” he repeated, confused.

“I’m a nun,” Chloe said.

“Oh!” He knew he couldn’t prevent the shock from showing in his face. Chloe Cato was a nun? He suddenly remembered that the Cato family had been very religious. Mr. Cato had gone to church early every morning, and he and his wife had been very strict, requiring Daria and Chloe and their cousin, Ellen, to come inside as soon as it got dark, while the other kids were still playing on the beach. Still, this was hard to believe. Chloe’s head might be telling her she was a nun, but her body and beauty were doing their best to deny it. He still remembered how she looked in a bikini: those large breasts, tiny waist and narrow hips. The boys on the beach had followed her around with their tongues hanging out. He remembered everyone ruling Chloe out as a suspect in the deserted-baby incident because, except for those breasts, she had been notoriously thin. Anorectic, almost. Yet that body was hidden now beneath long, loose shorts and a baggy T-shirt.

“I think you’ve rendered him speechless,” Daria said to Chloe with a laugh.

“I just…hadn’t expected that.” He laughed himself. That explained Chloe’s reserve in greeting him. “So, do nuns get the summer off? Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m working at St. Esther’s, the Catholic church in Nag’s Head, for the summer,” Chloe said. “I’ve been doing that the past few summers, running a day camp for kids.”

“Well, I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re doing, Daria,” he said.

“I’m a carpenter,” she said.

Rory laughed. “I should have guessed,” he said. “For real?”

“For real,” she said. “I probably have sawdust in my hair right now.”

“I was wondering what that was,” he said. “I thought maybe it was a new Outer Banks trend.”

“It’s just a Daria Cato trend.” Shelly grinned.

“I was working on a bookshelf for a cottage in Duck when Chloe told me you were here. There’s always a lot of building going on in the Outer Banks.”

“Are you living here year-round?” he asked. Despite the fact that Shelly’s letter bore the Kill Devil Hills return address, it was hard for him to imagine anyone living here year-round. For him, the Outer Banks had always meant summer and the beach.

“Uh-huh,” Daria said. “Shelly and I have lived here for the past ten years.”

“Wow.” He wondered what it would be like to live smack on the beach during the winter.

“Daria’s also an EMT,” Shelly said. There was pride in her voice.

“An EMT?” he asked. “Emergency medical technician?”

“Well, I was,” Daria said. “I’m taking some time off.”

“A lifesaver.” Rory studied her with admiration. “You started that avocation early, didn’t you?” He looked at Shelly. “She was only ten years old when she saved your life.”

“Eleven,” Daria corrected.

“I know,” said Shelly. “People around here call her Supergirl.”

“I remember!” he said, flashing back to the newspaper articles that followed Shelly’s discovery on the beach. “They still call you that after all this time?”

“’Fraid so,” Daria said. “I’ll be sixty and they’ll still call me Supergirl.”

“It’s because she’s kept on saving people,” Shelly said. “She’s the local hero.”

“I’ll never forget that day.” He wondered if he should tell them now that Shelly’s letter had prompted his visit to Kill Devil Hills this summer, but he had more catching up to do first. He set his empty glass on the coffee table. “Is there anybody else left on the cul-de-sac from the old days?” he asked. “I noticed Cindy Trump’s cottage is gone.”

“There was a bad storm more than a decade ago,” Daria said. “The ocean swallowed their cottage in one gulp. It did a lot of damage to the Sea Shanty, too, but your cottage was spared.”

“The Wheelers are still around,” Chloe said. “Do you remember them? They live next door.”

“Still?” He remembered a quiet older couple who often strolled on the beach in the evening, hand in hand. “They’re still living?”

“They’re only in their seventies,” Daria said. “Their cottage is filled with their grandchildren all summer long.”

“Did he know Linda and her dogs?” Shelly asked.

“Yeah, you knew Linda, right?” Daria asked.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration, picturing a mousy young girl lying on the beach with her nose in a book. “I think so,” he said.

“She lives in that same cottage with her partner, Jackie,” Chloe said. “They raise golden retrievers. Linda is a lesbian.”

Chloe revealed that fact as easily as if she’d said that Linda was a teacher or a swim coach. Rory had had little experience with nuns, but he’d assumed that Chloe had become moralistic and judgmental. He hoped her matter-of-fact description of Linda meant that she had not.

“Well, you never can tell how people are going to turn out, can you,” Rory said. “What about your cousin? Ellen? What’s she doing?”

“She’s married,” Chloe said. “She comes down every few weeks or so with her husband and kids.”

“Not this summer,” Daria said. “I mean, Ellen and Ted will be here, I guess, but not her daughters. They’re traveling in Europe as part of a high-school exchange program,” she explained to Rory. “Ellen’s a medical technician. She does mammograms all day.” Daria and Chloe laughed at that. “I don’t know if you remember what she was like, but that job suits her perfectly.”

Rory smiled. “She had a bit of a…sadistic streak, if I recall,” he said.

“You’ve got it,” Chloe said.

“What about the twins who lived next door to me?” Rory asked. “Jill and…her brother. I can’t remember his name.”

“Jill and Brian Fletcher,” Daria said. “Jill is still around.”

“The bonfire lady,” Shelly said.