Perfect Summer (19 page)

Lilly wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out and carve her up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Lilly smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt, finger combed her hair, shoved her shoulders back and her chin up. Ladies did not scratch out eyes. They smiled and ignored. Davis was out of her life. Good riddance…. She hardly remembered his face or the feel of his body next to hers or his wit or his gentle manner or the ring he’d offered. Her smile faltered, and her shoulders drooped, so she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood and straightened her spine. A lady glided into a room. Lilly stuck out her chest, head held high, put one foot in front of the other, and fell flat on her face.

Note to self, rubber boots don’t glide.

“Good gracious, what happened?” Leticia stood in the kitchen doorway. She glided over to Lilly to see what was the matter. Ladies didn’t run, even when their best friend was facedown on the garage floor.

“I tripped.” Lilly rolled back on her heels and stood.

“What in the world”—Leticia’s nose scrunched up like Lilly had a couple of marijuana bongs strapped to her feet—“are those?”

“Boots.” Lilly smoothed her hair.

“Hon, Prada makes boots. I don’t know what those are.” She patted Lilly’s shoulder. “Let’s get you in the house. It looks like you’ve skinned your knee.”

And broken my heart
.

“I’m sorry. Did we have plans this evening?” Lilly grabbed the HEB grocery bag off the passenger’s seat and decided to unload her other bags tomorrow. The only plans she had involved a half gallon of chocolate ice cream and gorging on ’80s chick flicks.

“No. I was worried about you. I’ve left you twenty voice mails and dropped by several times. Where were you?” Leticia followed her into the kitchen. “Inez said you were out of town taking care of a sick friend, but by the looks of you, I’d say you were kidnapped and made to do manual labor.”

Inez, looking every inch like her idol, Charo, sat at the kitchen table flipping through the latest
People
magazine. “Thank God, you’re finally here. I told Mrs. Harrington you’d be back this evening and that you’d call her.” She looked up only long enough to glare at Leticia, and then she resumed page flipping. “She insisted on waiting.”

Leticia’s round, piggy face turned red. “Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with such insubordination from a maid. I’d have fired her long ago.”

Insubordination? When had Leticia become a four-star general?

Inez flipped and glared…flipped and glared. She hated Leticia and made no bones about it.

“I don’t know what she’s so upset about. I made a fresh pitcher of tea. It’s not my fault it’s sweet tea, and she’s on a diet.” Inez licked her index finger and turned the page.

“I’m not thirsty.” Leticia’s eyes squinted to slits. “Not after last time.”

Inez didn’t even look up. Last Christmas, there had been an incident involving Ex-Lax ending up in Leticia’s hot chocolate.

Inez stood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She left the room without making eye contact.

She’d been with Lilly for going on twenty years. In her world of ass-kissers, Inez was her only friend—at least she thought of Inez as a friend. Lilly realized that her maid was more family than Leticia.

“Why do you keep her?” Leticia sighed. That was the deepest emotion she ever displayed. “I know, I know, it’s hard to find good help, but attitude is never appreciated.” She shook her head and smiled. “Puddy Hanover’s spring tea is tomorrow. We must go. She just got new boobs, and I heard her nipples are lopsided.”

Lilly wanted to be alone with her broken heart, drown herself in chocolate and Evian, and watch her Molly Ringwald marathon in peace. The last thing she cared about were Puddy’s cockeyed areolas or her tea or snotty women gossiping about their boring little lives. It seemed like such a waste. Why didn’t these women do something constructive with their vast amounts of free time?

Why didn’t she?

It was a random thought that carried the weight of the world.

Why didn’t she? She could do lots of things. Why, before Summer was born, Lilly used to…she’d done…well…she was good at—her mind was blank—nothing.

There must be something she could do. She concentrated. Nothing came to mind. She was useless. She shook her head.

Davis had dumped her, she was alone…no—she glanced at Leticia—lonely but not alone. Not for long.

Lilly sneezed, hocked up a good-sized loogey, grabbed a tissue from the kitchen counter, and blew her nose. “Sorry, I think I caught the flu.”

Germaphobe Leticia clamped a hand over her nose and mouth. “Look at the time. Gotta go. Don’t worry about tomorrow’s tea. I’ll make your regrets. Stay and rest.”

She was out the door in record time.

Just for good measure, Lilly hocked up another unladylike loogey, walked over to the trashcan, and let her fly. Once upon a time, she’d been pretty good at it. Her father had called her Loogie Lilly. Everyone had a gift—maybe that was hers? She smiled. He’d had his faults, but Daddy had always been good for a laugh or a hug. Both of which she could use right now.

On the nights when there had been extra money or any money, he’d buy Haribo gummy bears—only brand name for his Lilly—and they’d stay up all night watching movies on the old black-and-white TV and stuffing their faces. He’d let her eat all of the pineapple ones because he knew they were her favorite.

Grief wrapped her in its cold arms. She’d been so mean to her father, and he was gone…forever.

The hole in her heart doubled. Her sweet, unambitious daddy. She missed the gaiety he’d lived for, the sound of his voice, the deerskin moccasins he’d loved to wear, and his long straggly ponytail.

She’d trade everything to have him pull her into a hug and say, “Hey there, baby girl.”

Lilly smiled. She sure could use a big, fat dose of his weird wisdom right about now. Henry-isms, her mother had called them.

Life is as full of delight as the night is full of stars or Now is tomorrow’s perfect memory
or
Life is what you make it, not what it’s made you
. They were bumper stickers waiting to happen.

Grief grabbed her heart and squeezed tight. Every molecule in her body missed him.

Why didn’t grief come with an expiration date? It had been ten years since he’d died, but the finality trickled a little deeper every single day. Time didn’t heal all, it piled layers of mundane memories on top of sadness.

She’d driven all the men in her life away.

Tears finally stung her eyes. She needed a good, long cry…and gummy bears…lots of gummy bears.

Summer was a Tasmanian devil of cleaning. She shoved a tower of mail into the kitchen junk drawer, threw the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on, and then scooped up the papers she needed to finish grading from the coffee table. It wasn’t that she was a slob, but living alone, she’d adopted a laissez-faire approach to housecleaning, and Clint looked like the type who liked order. He was always tidy and impeccably dressed, while she was messy and comfortable. They couldn’t be more different.

By the time five forty-five rolled around, Summer’s house—except for her guest bedroom, which was where she’d dumped everything—was presentable. As she ran a dust cloth over the hall table, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Several clumps of hair had escaped her ponytail and stood out in tufts of frizz around her face. Did it really matter how she looked?

She ran her tongue around her lips. Pressing her lips together and closing her eyes, she remembered the gentle touch of his kiss. It had felt way too good, and she’d liked it way too much.

He wanted her. A blush started at her toes and worked its way north.

Summer opened her eyes.

Moving closer to the mirror, she zeroed in on her lips. The top one was too puffy for the thinner bottom lip. She rolled her eyes. Imperfection made the world go around. She swiped at a smudge of dirt above her right eye and noticed the dark sweat rings at her armpits. As she leaned in and sniffed, the smell burned the inside of her nose.

She glanced at her watch. Five forty-seven. Clint would be here any minute, and she needed a shower.

How pathetic would it be to pretend that tonight was actually a date? He was handsome and charming, and he genuinely liked her. The chubby girl inside wanted so badly to go on a real date with a man who enjoyed her company and who was proud to be seen with her. All those high school, dateless nights, stuffing her face with contraband chocolate chip cookies and wishing on the evening star, would never be forgotten. Tonight was her chance to pretend that she was beautiful…cherished…special.

***

Ten minutes later, Summer stepped out of her shower, shoved her arms into her pink chenille bathrobe, and wound a towel around her wet hair. Her doorbell rang.

“Crap.” She pulled the belt of her robe tight and ran to the front door, the towel flopping with each step. She stood on her tiptoes and peeked out the peephole.

Clint stood on the other side of the door holding an espresso machine and a single yellow rose. She tucked an errant lock of wet, curly hair under the towel and opened the door.

“Sweet Jesus.” Clint’s eyes landed on her chest and lingered.

She couldn’t tell whether he was horrified or happy—“Sweet Jesus” could mean a lot of things. Summer fought the urge to fidget and cover her cleavage. Pulling the robe together wouldn’t do much good since there wasn’t enough material to cover her double Ds.

“Would you like to come in?” Summer opened the door wider.

“Huh?” His eyes stayed on her chest. “Nice.”

“You can stare at my boobs better from inside the house.” No doubt he was comparing her breasts to the perfect specimens he played with on a daily basis. No, he liked her…wanted her.

“Wow. You look…wow. I want to go on record as saying I was attracted to you
before
I knew you had those. Now, I’m a…” His eyes glazed over. “I’m going to shut up now before I make an even bigger ass of myself.”

She looked terrible, and they both knew it, but he got points for trying.

"This is for you." He extended the rose to her.

Whether he'd brought it because he'd felt sorry for her or he'd been moved by her grandparents’ story, it didn't matter. This was the first flower she'd ever gotten from a man. She took it and brought it directly to her nose and inhaled. The tangy scent made her smile. "Thank you."

Even though he’d probably given hundreds of flowers to hundreds of women, she was still charmed.

Clint stepped into her front hallway and looked around. She’d finally finished painting it last week. The café au lait walls went nicely with the chocolate and white travertine tiles she’d laid on the diagonal.

“Want to set that down?” Summer led him through the great room and into her kitchen. She rubbed the cool, velvet rose across her cheek.

Clint set the espresso machine on the bar she’d created by knocking down the wall between the kitchen and living room. He took up a lot of room in her modest house.

From under the sink, she pulled out a small bud vase, filled it with water, and gently placed the flower.

“Would you mind starting the cupcakes while I get dressed?” Summer pointed to the rows of yellow, chocolate, and pink cupcakes she’d baked yesterday that were lined up on her kitchen table. Three stainless steel Kitchenaid mixing bowls held frosting and spreading knives. She pulled out a sturdy, wooden, farmhouse kitchen chair that had belonged to her great grandmother and patted the back. “Have a seat, pull up a cupcake, and get to work.”

“How do I do this?” He slid into the seat.

Summer leaned over his shoulder, picked up a yellow cupcake in one hand and spreading knife slathered with chocolate frosting in the other. “Just swirl it on.”

She replaced the cupcake to its original position. “Easy.”

“Can you show me another one just to make sure?”

She snagged another one and frosted it.

“One more and I’ll have it.”

Summer frosted another one.

“Could you do one of those chocolate ones?”

Summer reached farther, her breasts resting on his shoulder. She sprang back. “I’m sorry.”

They were so big they got in the way. Here he was offering to help her, and she’d rubbed her chest all over him.

“I’m not. I was hoping to get you all the way to the pink ones before you realized.” He grinned and stared at her cleavage.

“You did that on purpose?” Was he making fun of her, or did he really not mind?

“Yes, ma’am.” There was no apology in his voice. “I like your boobs.”

Summer didn’t know what to say. No one had ever complimented her body. She scanned his face for the smallest hint of sarcasm but only found sincerity. “Um…I probably would still like your butt, but I haven’t seen it in a while.”

He was out of the chair and bending over before she had figured out what he was up to.

“Looks like my shoe is untied.” He straightened and sat back down. “What did you think?”

She patted his shoulder. “Very nice.”

“I have a fragile ego.”

“I can see that.” She turned, heading to her bedroom, but he took her hand.

“I need some pink cupcake action to distract me from that probably-still-like-my-butt thing.” He tried to sound forlorn, but he didn’t quite make it.

Self-confidence…how come some people had it and others didn’t? She glanced down at her cleavage. There was no way she could do it. On the other hand…being a pain in the ass came naturally. Summer walked around to the other side of the table, picked up a pink cupcake, frosted it, and set it back down. “Happy?”

“Nope.” He pulled the pale blue cupcake wrapper away from the first cupcake she’d frosted. “I liked it better when I could feel your nipple on my neck.”

“Pervert.” It was stupid to feel this happy about a boob comment.

She walked to her bedroom door. He liked her boobs—no qualifier, just liked them. She’d never thought of any part of her body as likeable, but a man who was balls-out gorgeous liked her boobs and earlier had wanted to rip her pants off. Every cell in her body wanted to believe it.