A Long Walk Home

She’d hidden her face with white makeup and painted tiny black stars at the corners of her eyes lined with black. I inhaled a fortifying deep breath. Nothing today would mar my good, positive mood. Well, except for Dana’s selfishness. Today I’d break the hardened shell Summer had erected around herself. Today we’d become friends.

Picturing the lost little girl I’d seen curled in bed last night, I gave her a bright smile. “I just got off the phone with your grandma. Your mom is feeling much better this morning, but she has strict orders to rest so we can’t call her. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to talk to her.”

“Whatever,” Summer said, waving her hand, her frown deepening.

“I’m sure your mom misses you a great deal.”

She shrugged. Disbelieving eyes met mine.

I’d expected Summer to vent her anger over not being able to speak to her mom. Was she disappointed? Maybe after everything she’d been through, she didn’t want to talk to Dana.

Hoping to change the subject and boost Summer’s mood, I asked, “Would you like blueberries in your pancakes or do you prefer them plain?”

She lowered her head. “You don’t need to go to all that bother. Coffee will do.”

What kind of breakfast was that for a growing child? Did she skip breakfast most mornings? “It’s no bother. I like to cook.”

“Yeah, right. I hope you don’t expect me to do the dishes and all that cleaning up shit.”

I winced at her language. “I hate doing dishes, too. That’s why I have a dishwasher.”

A look of satisfaction claimed her face as she shrugged and dropped into a chair.

I remembered Tony’s conversation with her, and I didn’t want Summer to consider herself a burden. “I might have gone a little overboard on preparing for your arrival because I was so excited. I had such a good time shopping that I couldn’t stop myself, so if you don’t like something, feel free to say so. I only wish you were here under happier circumstances. After your mom’s better, I hope you can come see me every few months.”

She lifted her right shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.

I tried a new subject. “Oh, Tony’s daughter, Chelsea, is about your age. She’s invited you to hang out with her and her friends at the mall this afternoon.”

“Why’d she want to do that?” she asked, suspicion darkening her eyes.

“She thought it would be cool to hang out with someone from L.A.”

“Oh.”

I’d expected her to refuse. Oh sounded promising. “So will you go?”

“Maybe.” Her lips twitched, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

More progress.

“I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to. The other girls will want to shop for clothes, and I thought you would, too.”

“I got plenty of clothes.”

That was a matter of opinion.

Why was I so judgmental around Summer?

Because I cared, deeply. “You can still take the cash in case you find a CD or something else you can’t live without.”

Her wary gaze met mine. “What do you want from me in exchange?”

“I want you to have a good time while you’re here.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it. Do you remember how much fun we had the last time you were here?”

A faraway look came into her eyes. “No.”

Disappointed, I forced a smile. “I’m surprised you don’t remember, we had such a great time.”

Directing a stony gaze at me, she said nothing.

I glanced down and adjusted the dial on the electric frying pan. “So what’ll it be, plain or blueberry pancakes?”

“Can I have some of both?”

“Coming right up.”

A few minutes later I placed a stack of pancakes on a plate in the center of the table along with a half gallon of milk and two glasses of orange juice. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat in the chair nearest Summer. “Help yourself.”

She slid three pancakes onto her plate.

I took two and handed her the syrup.

She drenched her pancakes and put a large bite into her mouth. She polished off her serving before I’d eaten half of mine.

“Can I have those, too?” she asked, her fork poised over the dish.

“They’re there to eat.”

Needing no more encouragement, Summer ate the last few pancakes. Some time later she wiped her mouth with the paper napkin beside her plate. “I lied to you earlier. I do remember the last time I was here. We had a blast.”

Her comment took me off guard. “We certainly did.”

“I ran after the seagulls when they stole my bag of cookies,” she said with a giggle that reminded me of the child she’d been.

“I have a picture on my mantel of you feeding the gulls French fries on the pier.”

“I noticed it when I first arrived. I was surprised you still had it.”

I reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. “I’ve missed you.”