That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (free e reader txt) 📗

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Michael Carmody. I’m the caretaker,” said the man. He was a tall, heavyset, bearded fellow, thick through the chest and thighs, and he spoke with a broad Boston accent. She guessed that he was maybe five or ten years older than she was. He wore a barn jacket, jeans, and work boots and a Red Sox baseball cap. Beneath its brim, she could see a round face, full cheeks, pale, faintly freckled skin, and a thicket of reddish-brown beard.

“I don’t need anything taken care of,” she said.

The man looked puzzled at this assertion. “Dr. Levy and her husband hired me. I do for them every year. This place, and the other.”

“You do what for them, exactly?” She was slightly reassured that he knew the owner’s name. Then again, anyone could have looked that up.

“I caretake,” said the man, as if that single word should have been enough. When she waited, clearly expecting something more, he gave her another puzzled look, his brow furrowing. “I close up the houses at the end of the summer, and make sure everything’s shipshape for winter. I make repairs. I nail down boards and oil hinges. Check the weather stripping; put up the storm windows. I keep an eye on things through the winter. Making sure that the pipes don’t freeze, plowing out the driveways if it snows. I fix what needs fixing, order replacements for things that need replacing. Making sure nothing gets stolen, and no mice take up residence, so everything’s the way it should be when summer comes.”

“Did Dr. Levy tell you that I’d be staying here for the winter?” Standing on the porch—no, she thought, looming on the porch—he was making her small cottage feel even smaller. She hadn’t had any guests, and hadn’t realized how the place would feel like a doll’s house with another adult nearby.

The man pulled off his baseball cap, poked at his hair, which was a few shades lighter than his beard, and put the cap back on. “She mentioned that they had a tenant, but she didn’t seem sure about your plans.”

Which made sense. Diana had only called Dr. Levy three days ago to ask if she could stay on. Dr. Levy had told her that was fine, that she was welcome to stay through the spring if she liked, but the news didn’t appear to have made its way to Michael Carmody, Caretaker.

“Well, I’m going to be here,” Diana said. “I can take care of the place.”

“So you’ll put up the storm windows?”

Diana didn’t know what a storm window was, or where the ones for the cottage might be, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Tell you what,” said the guy. “Call Dr. Levy to make sure I’m supposed to be here. Once you tell me it’s okay, I’ll take down your screens and put up your storm windows.” He paused. “I usually put down mouse traps, over the winter, but it looks like you two have got that covered.”

Diana looked down to see that Willa had made her way down from the loft, nosed the screen door open and was butting insistently at the guy’s knee with her forehead. He bent down and scratched behind her ears, then under her chin, murmuring, “Are you a good girl?” Looking up at Diana, he asked, “Okay to give her a treat?” When Diana nodded, he pulled something out of his pocket that caused Willa’s entire body to convulse with delight. He offered it to her on an open palm. Willa gobbled it up, put her paws on his leg, and gave him her most beseeching look, with her head cocked to the right.

“I waitress at nights,” Diana said through the screen door. “In P-town.”

“Oh, yeah? Whereabouts?”

“So I’m gone Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays from four in the afternoon on. If that works for you,” she said. “I’ll call Dr. Levy first, though.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said agreeably. If he’d noticed that she hadn’t told him her name, or where she’d worked, or even opened the door, he didn’t mention it. He scratched Willa’s ears. Willa head-butted his calf, then thumped down on her haunches, looking up at him with her tongue lolling and her eyes bright. The guy reached into his pocket again, looked a question at Diana, and, at her nod, tossed Willa something small and round and reddish-brown. Willa hopped up on her hind legs and caught it on the fly, a maneuver Diana had never seen her perform, of which she’d never suspected Willa was capable.

“Dehydrated hot dogs,” he said.

“What?”

“You buy a pack of the cheapest hot dogs you can find, cut ’em into slices, then nuke the slices in the microwave for ten minutes. My dad taught me to always carry them around. Even the meanest dog will leave you alone if you give him a few of these.” He tossed up another treat. This time, Willa did a running leap to snatch it out of the air, and he smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “What’s her name?” he asked.

“Willa.”

“Is Willa going to give me any trouble if I show up and you’re not here?”

“Does she look like she’ll give you any trouble?” asked Diana, indicating the dog, who was, at that moment, staring up at him ardently, with her tail wagging like a metronome. Some guard dog, Diana thought, as Willa rolled over and waved her legs in the air.

The guy smiled and petted Willa’s belly, which almost disappeared under his enormous hand. “They say that there’s dog people and cat people, and I’m a dog person. Grew up with a golden retriever named Monty. Are the fireworks bothering her?”

“Not much.” Every Saturday night, kids down on the beach would set off sparklers or Roman candles. The first time it had happened, the noise had sent Willa scrambling behind the couch, but, after a few Saturdays, she seemed to have realized that the noise did