Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (android based ebook reader TXT) 📗

the place before taking a seat on a faded tan couch. It’s surprisingly tidy, but the smell of stale cigarettes cancels out any nice first impression I might have had. Jackie sits in a chair opposite me.

“Is K. J. around?” I ask, filling in the long silence.

She shakes her head, eyeing me with a look of apprehension. “I was hoping maybe you knew where she was.”

“No, I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

Jackie wrings her hands together and frowns. “She was so angry with me. I don’t blame her, but I’m worried. She won’t answer any of my texts or calls.”

Hmm, that sounds familiar. “How long has she been gone?” I ask.

Jackie’s frame seems to wilt before me. “Since that night you two came back from the Keys.”

Her appearance makes more sense now.

“I’ve talked to her,” I say, hoping to put her at ease. “It was about a week and a half ago, but she’s okay.” At least I hope that’s the case. I honestly don’t have any better idea of where she is than her mom does.

“I have a feeling she might be with her friend Carter,” Jackie says. “I’ve tried his phone, but he doesn’t answer either. I can give you his number if you want. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Okay, sure.” I remember K. J. talking about Carter.

Jackie rises and heads toward the kitchen where she writes something down on a blue sticky note. She also grabs a white envelope from the counter and hands them both to me. The letter is addressed to both K. J. and me, written in Grandpa’s familiar cursive.

“This came in the mail the other day,” she tells me. One corner of her mouth turns upward, like she wants to smile, but can’t quite find the energy to do so.

“Thanks.”

Jackie sees me out, and it strikes me as I get back into my car that this is the first time I’ve felt pity instead of hatred toward my aunt. She’s made some big mistakes in her life, more than I probably know about, but unlike my mom, she’s never been able to get away from them. She’s still knee-deep in the muck.

After K. J.’s phone goes straight to voicemail again, I give Carter’s number a try. To my surprise, he answers on the second ring. I explain who I am, not at all shocked when his voice suddenly turns cold. Still, after some semi-pleading on my part, he gives the phone to K. J.

“Hey. Can we talk? Please?”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding completely unenthused. “What’s up?”

“In person maybe? Plus, I have something for you.”

She hesitates before responding. “I guess so.”

Then she gives me an address, which I scrawl down beneath the number on the sticky note. After tapping End Call, I read the address to Siri, and she directs me to another mobile home park a few miles away. K. J.’s silver Honda sits outside the fifth trailer on the left. I park between it and a beat-up pickup truck—the one I’d seen her get into that day at Pour Jons.

K. J. answers the door. “Hey,” she says, looking less than thrilled to see me. Even so, I’m relieved to see that she’s okay.

She lets me inside and I try not to gawk. I didn’t know trailer houses were all that different, but this one is much older and dumpier than her mom’s. The same stale cigarette aroma hangs in the air, only here it’s mixed with the scent of something else, like mildew. I try to ignore it as I hand over the envelope.

“Your mom gave me this.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “So that’s how you got Carter’s number. I was wondering.”

A blond boy wearing a red Reynold’s Auto Parts shirt and jeans appears from the hallway. Carter, I can only assume. He has one of those skater hairstyles and a sort of hardened look about him, but he’s not bad-looking.

“This is Becka,” K. J. says by way of introduction. “Becka, Carter.”

He eyes me somewhat warily before looking back at K. J., who has settled onto the couch now, her feet tucked up under her. A folded blanket and pillow sit on the other end, and I’m guessing this must be her bed for now. “See you after while,” Carter says to K. J. before heading out the front door.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I came to talk to you about the rodeo. It would be stupid not to do it.”

Her eyes narrow, and her whole demeanor changes. She crosses her arms, leaning back into the couch. “I told you. I’m not doing it.”

“But don’t you want to go to school? And get your inheritance?”

She shakes her head. “You know as well as I do that I’m not cut out for that shit. Besides, I’ve got a decent job now. Pays nine bucks an hour.”

“Where at?”

“Reynold’s Auto Parts.”

I want to tell her she’s too smart to spend her life working at an auto parts store or living in some dump like this, but I don’t. Sometimes the truth only makes people angrier. I nod toward the letter sitting beside her on the couch. “You can read it first if you want.”

K. J. glances down at the envelope before giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Fine.”

At first, her face is unreadable as her eyes move over the words, but at some point, her expression darkens, the corners of her mouth shifting downward. Her forehead creases, like she’s become lost in thought. A few seconds later, her eyes shift from the letter to the floor.

“Well?” I ask.

K. J. doesn’t say anything, just hands the letter to me.

I sink into the couch beside her to read it.

CHAPTER 28ELI

Dear Katherine and Rebecka,

I hope you don’t hate me for sharing the news you both deserved to hear long ago. I hope you don’t hate your mothers, either. They’ve both made some mistakes in their lives and, in my opinion, not telling you two the truth earlier on was one of them. At the same time, I understand