A Midsummer's Nightmare(55)

I didn’t open my eyes even when I heard the door of the guest room open.

“Hey, Whit,” Nathan said. “Bailey and I are going to the movies. You want to come?”

“No,” I muttered.

“You sure?” he asked. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m sure.”

The latch on the door clicked, and I figured Nathan had gone. But of course he hadn’t. The end of the bed sank a little beneath his weight, and I sighed loudly.

“What?” I demanded, opening my eyes and finding Nathan sitting next to me.

“Did something happen today?” he asked. “With you and Greg?”

Every bone in my body told me to scream, None of your goddamn business! But looking up into Nathan’s chocolate eyes, I just couldn’t. As much as I wanted to blame the Caulfields for the way Dad had changed, I knew now that he’d been flawed for a long time. And they—Nathan, Bailey, and Sylvia—had been good to me, no matter how I treated them in return.

“Yeah.” I sat up. “I tried to talk to him, but he just doesn’t care. I brought up the Internet stuff, and he said he was sure I could handle it. That was all.”

“I’m sorry,” Nathan said.

“There was more, but… You know, I think he’s always been this selfish, I just didn’t want to see it.” I pressed my fingertips to my eyes as the tears I’d fought off at Dairy Queen began sliding down my cheeks. “I hate this. I’ve spent years being an apathetic, coldhearted bitch, not caring about anyone. But he’s turned me into a sniveling little girl with Daddy Issues.”

He lifted his arms a bit, then hesitated. I shook my head and scooted closer to him, resting my forehead against his shoulder. He smelled like soap and spice, and his cotton T-shirt was soft against my face. His arms were around me then, hugging me. I didn’t cry long—just for a few moments. One of Nathan’s hands stroked my hair gently, the way someone should always do when they comfort you. The way mothers do in movies when their little girls wake up from nightmares. The way fathers on TV do when their daughters have their hearts broken for the first time.

The way no one ever had for me.

When the tears were done, I sat up, swiping my wrist across my wet cheeks and eyes. “I’m sorry. God, I’m ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not.”

We sat in silence for a long time, just breathing the stale air of the guest room together. After a moment, Nathan looked at me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with Bailey and me?” he asked. “The movie’s a comedy. Maybe it will cheer you up.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. I’m just going to stay here and…”

He stared at me, waiting.

“And do something. I don’t know.”

“You think you’ll call Harrison?” Nathan asked. “Maybe he’ll come hang out with you or something.”

“Maybe.” No. “Have fun,” I told Nathan, pulling my hair over my shoulder and absently twisting the brown strands around my fingers. “I hope the movie is good.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. He reached over and squeezed my arm before standing up. “Well, we aren’t leaving for half an hour, if you change your mind.”

Then he was gone.


Nathan and Bailey had already gone to the movies by the time I finally left the guest room that night. I was starting to get hungry, and Sylvia hadn’t called me down for dinner or anything yet. So I slumped into the kitchen and began digging through the cabinets, hoping I might find some Pop-Tarts to snack on.

I’d just located a box of strawberry ones—my favorite—when the screen door slid open and Sylvia walked in, wearing her swimsuit and laughing loudly. She stopped when she saw me, her cheeks turning instantly scarlet.

“Whitley,” she said. “Hey. I thought you’d gone out with the kids.”

“No,” I said, unwrapping my Pop-Tart. “I decided to stay home.”

“Oh, sorry,” Sylvia said, putting a hand to her mouth. I could see a small key dangling from a chain around her finger. “Sweetie, if I’d known you were staying here, I would have made something for you to eat. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

She walked past me and reached for the cabinet above the sink, sliding the little silver key from her finger and opening the lock.

Liquor cabinet.

Somehow, I couldn’t believe she kept alcohol in the house.

Sylvia pulled down a bottle of wine. “You sure you can fend for yourself tonight?” she asked, relocking the cabinet.

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Good,” she said, and she turned to me with a sigh. “Sometimes I need a night off.” She laughed and ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, Whitley.”

“See you.”

She smiled, and I noticed the bounce in her step as she headed toward the screen door. When she walked outside, I could hear the music playing. Familiar and sweet.


… Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know…



The door slid shut again, silencing the sounds of Jimmy Buffett and “Margaritaville.” But I’d heard it. I could have recognized that song by two notes alone. I’d listened to it so many times during summers at the condo.