That One Summer (The Summer Series), Page 2

  “Um … Are you sure you can’t move over?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s a saxophone case digging into my spine.”

  “Saxophone case? How can you possibly tell?”

  Chris’s shoulders shifted in awkward shrug. “We’re in my room.”

  Chapter Three

  Oh …

  Okay, so I didn’t know what to say to that exactly. It wasn’t every night of my life that I found myself pressed up intimately against an Onslow Boy, in the dark, in his bedroom, in his bed. Well, okay … under his bed. Still, it did make for interesting conversation.

  So what did you get up to on the weekend, Tammy? Oh not much, just front spooning with the local publican of the Onslow Hotel.

  Maybe I wouldn’t say that. To a lot of people, Amy’s dad was still the publican! He’d just recently sold the pub to his daughter’s boyfriend, Sean, and her cousin Chris (on paper, they officially took over in the New Year), but still, after decades of Eric Henderson being at the helm, it might take people a fair while to get their head around the change. Yes, I most definitely wouldn’t mention that, especially seeing his daughter Amy was my best friend. Gross. That would be disturbing on so many levels.

  The building was eerily silent now; there was no sound from outside the room. No sound at all. My neck was beginning to ache from the awkward position I was trapped in, pressed up against Chris, holding my head off the ground. Maybe now that Ringer had disappeared into the night to murder the others I could relax. But if I did that, I would be resting my head on Chris, and that would be weird. On the other hand, we couldn’t really get much closer than we were now. And this was all his bright idea, anyway.

  I tried not to think about it as I let my rigid posture melt against his. My head rested against his shoulder and I found instant relief. I could feel Chris’s muscles tighten as I relaxed against him. I could tell he was looking down at me, his scowl probably deepening as I settled in for the night. Oh well … what else was new?

  I sighed. “I don’t think Ringer is very good at this game.”

  Chris scoffed. “Ringer couldn’t find his way out of a brown paper bag.” I felt his body shift, almost as if relaxing too … but not quite.

  “So … a saxophone, huh?” I said.

  “Yeah. Year Seven band. I wasn’t very good.” He said it as if it was an embarrassing confession.

  Ha! Chris Henderson not good at something? Mr Perfectionist, ‘you do it my way or the highway’, control freak.

  Not likely.

  “I find that hard to believe.” I yawned, closing my eyes. Mmm, Chris’s shoulder was actually quite comfy.

  “Hard to believe what?”

  My eyes snapped open.

  Oh crap, had I actually said that out loud?

  “Oh, I just meant that …” I was saved by the creak of the door opening. This time it was my hand that instinctively flew to cover Chris’s mouth. Covering his warm, soft lips I was momentarily distracted by the foreign sensation of it, until the torchlight danced around the edges beyond the bed. Chris’s hand slowly clasped my wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. Instead of remaining still like I thought he would now that we were under threat, he drew me closer. His hand splayed along my shoulder blades, protectively pushing me into his chest. My face snuggled into the alcove of his neck; I could smell the remnants of his musky cologne and couldn’t help but smile. In all of my mum’s romance novels a man always smelled like sandalwood and pine. I thought that was just in trashy novels, but as I breathed in, Chris really did smell like that; he smelled divine.

  Oh God, now was not the time to be thinking of Mills and Boon. I knew why Chris drew me near; my back was at risk of being exposed by the searching torch beam should it skim past. I leaned further into him, away from the edge of the bed. If the saxophone wasn’t digging into him before it sure would be now. I bet he was glad he never took up the tuba.

  Wait a minute … Why was it so quiet? Where was Ringer’s cliché horror movie commentary? I waited for shadows to dance around the dark room, but they didn’t. The torchlight had gone. Holy crap, while I’d been too busy thinking about romance novels and tubas … where had Ringer gone?

  I lifted my head from Chris’s shoulder. He was so still, as if he was wondering the same thing. I wish I knew Morse code; I could have tapped out the question on Chris’s chest.

  Where was Ring …

  “BWAHAHAHAHA …”

  A hand latched onto my leg and dragged me out of my hiding spot only far enough until my ankles were exposed. I let out a blood-curdling scream, right in Chris’s face.

  “Ringer! Let go, you …!”

  “Are you ticklish, Maskala?” Ringer asked, threatening to take my shoe off.

  I kicked out against him. “Don’t you dare!”

  He let go of my foot, there was a click and the room flooded with light. I scurried my way from underneath the bed, Ringer standing by the doorframe hunched over in fits of hysteria.

  “Oh yeah, laugh it up.” I army crawled out from under the bed, struggling to find my footing. “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you, it took you long enough to find us.”

  Ringer’s eyes lit up. “Us?” His smile soon faded as Chris crawled out after me, a look of surprise lining his face as his eyes flicked between the two of us.

  “Oh … I see.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  I burned crimson; I wanted to tell him not to look at us like that, that it wasn’t what it looked like, but I was cut off by Chris.

  “Of course you bloody see; where did you get the torch, you cheat?” He brushed imaginary dust off his jeans. He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by Ringer’s smug expression.

  “Hey, there’s nothing in the rule book that says you can’t have a visual aid,” Ringer defended.

  “What rule book?” Chris’s younger brother Adam appeared in the doorway, his best friend Ellie standing next to him with her arms wrapped around her body.

  “You took bloody long enough.” She glowered at Ringer.

  Ringer held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I looked, I really did, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “Well, next time, try checking the cool room,” Ellie said, rubbing vigorously at her bare arms. Maybe there were worse places to hide than in a wardrobe or under the bed.

  Adam puffed out his chest. “See, I told you it was a good spot to hide.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes, something she did often around Adam. “You’re right, why would he think anyone would be stupid enough to hide in there?” She turned to us, as if seeing us for the first time. “So where were you guys hiding?”

  All eyes focused expectantly on me and Chris. I tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound so lame as hiding under a bed, but there was no sugar-coating it.

  Just as I was about to openly confess our location, Chris beat me to it.

  “Oh, Ringer found us in bed together,” he said, brushing past me with a parting wink.

  My mouth dropped open. “No, he didn’t,” I insisted, quickly following him out into the hall to avoid their knowing smirks.

  “You may be ashamed of our love, Tammy, but sooner or later we must declare it to the world,” Chris called over his shoulder as he headed down the hall.

  Stunned, I paused in the hallway. “H-he’s only joking,” I stammered, turning back in time to see him head down the stairs.

  Adam’s smile broadened. “Of course he is, and that’s the most interesting thing of all.”

  I spun back around to face him. “Why?”

  They were all looking at me. Ellie glanced at Adam and then Ringer, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Because Chris doesn’t joke … ever.”

  Ringer elbowed Ellie. “Must be love.”

  “Oh, shut up!” I scoffed, before marching down the hall and leaving their sniggering behind.

  Yep! I was way too old for this.

  Chapter Four


  Now was my chance.

  A chance to escape before Amy appeared from hiding and bullied me, as usual, to stay longer, drink more, and play Cupid with any red-blooded male within a ten-kilometre radius. It was her thing. And Chris was most definitely within a ten-kilometre radius.

  I noted, relieved, that the Three Stooges didn’t follow; instead, they headed to Adam’s room. I tiptoed across the landing, ready to turn onto the staircase.

  “Hold it right there, Maskala!”

  I paused mid-step; at first I thought I was being paranoid, that maybe I had conjured up Amy’s voice in my head. I looked around, confused when I didn’t see anybody, worried that I was losing it.

  “And where do you think you’re off to?”

  I was losing it. The voice trailed down from above me, like some heavenly being. My head darted to where I thought it was coming from and, sure enough, I was met with a familiar, beaming smile.

  The manhole cover had been shifted to the side and Amy’s face peered down at me from beyond.

  “Boo!” She grinned. With expert ease, one leg appeared from the opening, then the other. She climbed out, lowering herself by swinging like a monkey, something she had obviously done a hundred times before. She dropped onto her feet with an ‘ooph’ before straightening and dusting her hands.

  “I have never lost a game of Murder in the Dark yet,” she said triumphantly.

  I shook my head. “A misspent childhood,” I said as I picked a cobweb from her hair.

  “That’s what I said.” Sean dropped to the floor after her, making a much louder thud with his six-foot-three frame. He still managed it with the agility of a jungle cat; it would almost have been graceful if it wasn’t for the over-obsessive, paranoid brushing off of imaginary creepy crawlies and cobwebs. He shuddered.

  “Next time we hide in the cool room,” he declared.

  Amy rolled her eyes. “That’s the worst hiding place you could ever think of.”

  “You could always hide under a bed,” I added.

  Amy scoffed. “No one would be stupid enough to hide under a bed; you might as well have a neon arrow pointing to you.”

  My smile faded as I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I better get going, I have to …”

  “Go for a run in the morning,” Amy said in a robotic, bored voice as she looked at me. “I know.”

  I smiled coyly. Was I really so predictable?

  It was my morning ritual to go for a good run; my body craved the outlet, having my muscles burn and my adrenalin soar with the crisp, fresh morning air. Most people thought I was mad, but in a lot of ways it was my sanity; it calmed my overactive imagination. I didn’t expect anyone to understand, I sure knew Amy didn’t.

  “Off you go then, GI Jane, I’ll see you at twelve.”

  My brows lowered in confusion.

  Twelve? Twelve?

  “You are still coming?” Sean asked.

  My eyes glazed over; I bit my lip and tried for the life of me to remember what the hell was happening at twelve.

  “Hello?” Amy laughed. “Sleepy Sunday Session at the lake house.”

  “Oh,” I said, “riiiighhhht. Of course … TWELVE.” I nodded.

  Amy looked at me side on as if contemplating something, that maybe I had lost my mind for forgetting such a momentous occasion.

  Truth be known, I was still getting used to the sudden change in my social life. Since Amy had returned to Onslow from being away all these years, I had suddenly been plunged into a new scene with new acquaintances and situations that I still didn’t exactly know how to deal with. It seemed I was part of ‘the gang’, since I was involved in every drinking session, lunch, dinner, lake excursion, party and ritual Sunday sessions at Sean’s lake house. It was nice to be included, to be around people that were funny and friendly.

  Then why was it that I felt like I didn’t belong? Amy had been my best friend until she was shipped off to boarding school after we’d snuck out together late one night. It sounds a little extreme, but considering what happened that night it really hadn’t been.

  My parents had been mad too, but they wouldn’t have dreamed of sending me away, not that they had the money. Now she was back in Onslow we had picked up our friendship where we’d left it, but now that she had Sean too, I couldn’t help but feel like a third wheel sometimes. I knew they tried their best to include me in everything and they liked having me around, but they often drifted off into knowing smiles and glazed, mushy looks that made me want to sidestep away. But who could blame them? It was the honeymoon period and they were crazy about each other. Who was I to rain on their parade?

  A flash of light flickered across our faces, momentarily blinding us.

  “There you are!” sing-songed Ringer. “Where were you two love birds nesting?”

  Amy cut me a dark look, a light shake of her head as if warning me not to say a word.

  “We were up in the ceiling,” Sean said proudly.

  Amy closed her eyes and breathed deeply as if counting silently to stem her anger; all she could manage was a whack to Sean’s arm.

  “What?” he asked, surprised. “What was that for?”

  “Cut it out, you two,” Adam said from the stairs in his best mock stern voice, as if imitating his Uncle Eric. Ellie, as usual, was not far behind.

  “Hey, guess what?” Adam said, leaning on the stair bannister. “Chris made a joke.”

  Amy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Chris doesn’t do jokes.”

  “Chris doesn’t so much as smirk, let alone joke,” Ellie agreed. “It was the equivalent of unearthing a volcanic ash-ravaged village after centuries of …”

  “It’s not that rare,” said Sean.

  “I don’t know, it’s pretty rare,” said Amy.

  Sean smirked, rubbing the whiskers on his jaw line, throwing a cheeky grin toward Ringer. “We’ve seen it before.”

  Ringer grinned and nodded. “Yep! The one and only time you’ll see Chris happy is when he’s getting some; am I right or am I right?” He held up his hand to Sean.

  Sean just looked at him. “Mate, I’m not high fiving you.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I loved the way the Onslow Boys would rough-house and trash-talk each other. I looked at Ellie and Adam expectantly, to exchange our own amused smiles, but when my eyes met inquisitive stares from Ellie, Adam and now Ringer …

  Coldness swept over me.

  “You don’t say?” mused Ellie, staring at me.

  Wait, surely they didn’t think …

  My eyes widened with horror. Their curious gazes and smirks made heat flood to my cheeks.

  “GOODNIGHT!” I said too loudly as I brushed past a confused Amy and Sean and headed down the stairs, quickstepping through the restaurant, dodging a Christmas tree, and into the bar. Chris was propped up on the bar watching TV. I couldn’t even look him in the eye as I rushed past, clasping at the front door handle and tugging violently, almost jarring my arms as the door refused to give. I fumbled at the deadbolt, attempting to lift and tug, but it was stuck.

  Come on, come on, come on!

  I felt the press of Chris next to me as he moved to unbolt the door from the bottom, then the top with expert ease.

  “I’ll do it, just calm down. You okay?” he asked, the usual serious gaze back in place.

  I scoffed, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Next time do me a favour – hide in the bloody ceiling.”

  Chapter Five

  There was one thing that was for certain: no one wanted to be in Onslow for New Year.

  “I would sooner die than be here at the stroke of midnight,” said Ellie as she smeared a palmful of tanning oil over her shoulder.

  “Turn!” called Amy.

  Without missing a beat, Ellie, Tess, Amy and I turned from our backs onto our stomachs like synchronised rotisserie chickens, at least according to the boys.

  Resting our chins on our forearms, our view changed from the shiny lake stretching toward a long deck that led up to Sean�
��s lake house. The deck was the perfect sunbaking platform; sure, it was hard as a rock, but there was no chance of sand in the belly button so that was a definite plus.

  I straightened my towel and repositioned myself as best I could to notice that my view had altered since our last rotation. I lifted my sunnies to spy a figure sitting at the outdoor table near the barbecue. Elbows resting on the tabletop, leaning over an open binder, chewing on the end of his pen, scowling intently at the page, was Chris.

  He wore his practically trademark Levi jeans and black T; it didn’t scream summer attire, but then nothing about him ever did. His lips moved gently as if talking to himself, shaking his head in frustration as he heavily marked something on his page. Any moment of lighthearted jokester from last night was clearly long gone.

  He was, like most times I saw him, sporting the same serious exterior, as if he was always working a shift behind the Onslow bar, not off the clock, hanging with his boys. My gaze shifted toward the lake again where Sean and Toby stood, shirtless, in the distance at the end of the jetty, wrestling with tangled fishing line and arguing over whose fault it was. Ringer and Stan were fishing on the opposite side, casting each other dubious looks as they suffered through the long-standing tradition of Sean and Toby’s alpha male dance with one another.

  I suppose I should have been relieved; during my warm-up before my run that morning I had suffered more than one moment of dread at the thought of meeting up with everyone at twelve. In fact, like usual, I had psyched myself up into a state, to be prepared for taunts about what Chris and I had gotten ‘up to’ last night that had caused Chris to crack a smile. I had even gone so far as to take a deep, steadying breath as I walked down the steep incline of Sean’s driveway, preparing for the array of questions that would surely follow. Even though there was nothing to tell (like, seriously, nothing), it didn’t matter. I had always hated confrontation and it seemed like that would never change.

  So when I arrived at Sean’s place and was met by nothing more than cheerful hellos and earnest smiles, it became perfectly clear: I didn’t know these people at all. No wonder I always felt so out of place.