Summer by Summer (13 page)

It looked like something from a tropical zombie apocalypse movie.

“What is this place?”

“It was going to be an eco-resort. Beach, hiking in the jungle, rock climbing. We’re on Sovereign Island.”

My eyes flittered to Bray for a moment, then back to the stucco structures. “You know this place?”

I followed as he moved closer to the building. “I’d started thinking some of the island looked familiar. I remember my dad showing me the brochures for this place. Thought about bringing me and Joshie when the little man got a few years older. But Hurricane Shelly hit and wiped it out.”

There was no fighting the smile that grew on my face.

“Summer, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I don’t know if the place was gutted or not. The buildings aren’t safe enough to stay in, and I don’t know what, if anything, is inside.”

“Party wrecker,” I teased. Of course the structures weren’t livable. Not with the roofs caved, but still. “So, you haven’t looked inside?”

He shook his head. “I thought it would be better to get you first.”

“Well, let’s dive in.”

A felled tree blocked the entrance to the main building. We opted for a large window alongside and worked our way through the internal rubble: a mix of scattered ceiling tiles, palm fronds, bricks, and molded electrical wiring, all covered with jungle greenery.

The entire back of the building was crushed, and as we worked to clear a path, we realized the attempt was unlikely without a chainsaw. I stood in the center atop a mass of wood and junk, surveying the prospects — or lack thereof. Bray found a half-buried leg of a
plastic beach chair. After fifteen minutes of digging, he pulled it from the rubble. It was broken down the center.

Hope of provision faded, though neither of us spoke. We poked around for a while longer, but lost our initial enthusiasm with each new disappointment. Sweat ran down my spine. “How can there be
nothing
good here? It was a hurricane, right? It’s not like they had weeks to clean everything out.”

Bray stopped tugging on a board and turned to face me. “There may be some decent stuff below all the brush, but we can’t get to it without a saw.” His face was red from exertion and sweat ran off his brow. “Or maybe there’s nothing. After the hurricane, they probably returned. For a while it was up in the air whether they’d rebuild. The resort was really close to opening when the hurricane hit, but Dad told me they decided on a total loss. And after they cleared what they could salvage and the insurance adjuster came, it was probably looted. Everyone knew about it.”

“Well, that’s just rude.”

Bray used the back of his dirty hand to brush the sweat from his forehead. “No different than us taking what we need.”

I crossed my arms. “Helloooo. Survival.”

“It looks like everything is pretty picked over. Let’s get out of here.”

He took my arms and drew me off my jungle mountain.

“What about the other building?”

“Are you up for more disappointment?”

I squared my shoulders. “Always.” I started to turn to the doorway, but his grip tightened on me.

“I’m sorry, Summer. I really thought . . .” His brows furrowed, framing his eyes. Eyes that wanted to protect me. Had wanted to offer me some hope to cling to. What he didn’t know was he, with his morning coconuts and forever disposition of optimal cheer, was hope. And as long as I was with him, I felt like I’d be okay. I’d also made another hope discovery. Sometimes, I’d wake up praying. I hadn’t
gone to sleep praying, but sometimes, in the middle of the night with the wind at my back and the fire warming my face, I’d awaken with words and prayers on my lips. I hadn’t done much to reach out to God while I was here . . ., but I had to wonder if He wasn’t reaching out to me.

When I didn’t answer, Bray repeated his words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Bray. Look. We have extra firewood now. The roof is made of metal, so maybe if we can find something to cut it, we could use it to help wall up a shelter. And it will be a great wind bank.” But his frown was still there, so, I slowly reached up. First, my fingertip scrubbed at the lines drawing his brows together, the motion making the tiniest of smiles appear on his face and the lines disappear. My hand opened to cup his grimy face. “Even if we don’t find anything else, you’ve improved our situation.”

Bray pressed into my hand. “Okay. Let’s go check out the other building.”

Bray

When we first entered the second building, all I saw was more of the same. Same overgrown rubble, same junk. Summer climbed over the trash and disappeared.

“Bray.”

First I thought maybe she’d found a snake or something. I catapulted myself over the piles of debris and found her working feverishly to push away climbing vines. A seven-foot-high iron shelving unit covered one wall, and Summer was reaching to the top shelf where a folded tarp enclosed in plastic waited. From toe to fingertip, she reached, the muscles in her legs and arms taut and lengthening as she stretched. She was only inches away from claiming it when the
wood beneath her shifted. She stopped, waited for things to settle, and then stepped onto the bottom shelf. I rushed to help her, but a few more feet of rubble stood in my way.

Summer stretched up, grabbing the edge of the tarp with her fingers.

“Careful,” I said. But it was too late. The shelving unit shifted, the metal groaned, and Summer screamed as both tarp and unit came down on her.

I lurched forward, hoping to stop some of the momentum, but landed prone with my fingers inches from the downed shelves. “Summer!”

Dust rose, coating everything in a hazy cloud. I curled my fingers beneath the heavy metal unit and tried to drag it off of her. It wouldn’t budge. My throat closed and my eyes tingled with the onset of tears. Fear, real and deep, rushed through my system. “Summer!”

She didn’t answer, but I heard a cough.

“I’m okay.” The words were faint and laced with the same fear gripping my chest.

I dug my fingers beneath the cool iron and grunted as I pulled again, this time moving the unit a few inches.

“Wait.” I could hear her wiggling beneath the thing. “My leg is trapped.” Her breaths were growing shorter, faster. “Bray!” She was starting to panic.

“I’m here. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out. I swear.” My eyes scanned the area, looking for something, anything to use to pry her out. Beneath the unit I could hear her pounding on something.

“I got my leg free.” Some of the fear in her voice left. Some, not all. “Hey, I can see light on my right side. Maybe I can . . . can . . .”

I dove over the unit and began digging on the side of the shelves. I pulled and jerked until a trembling hand reached out from beneath. I grabbed it. And for a couple seconds we stayed there, breathing hard and thankful to be touching again. I continued to dig until I could pull first her shoulders, then her torso, out. She wiggled and
pushed against the prison until she finally scrambled out, and we both collapsed, her on top of me. Exhausted, we lay there for several minutes clinging to each other.

“Did I rescue the tarp?” she finally said.

I leaned up to look behind her where the tarp lay. “Yeah.”

Her face broke into a smile. I started laughing, and for a couple minutes I couldn’t stop. Summer rolled off me and laughed too, her head still on my chest, her hair splayed across my upper body. My free hand cupped her face the same way she’d touched mine. The motion tilted her chin so that we could look at each other. “Thank God you’re okay.”

It wasn’t until we stood to leave that I noticed a door. “Summer, look.” It had been blocked by the shelving unit and now stood there like one last beacon of hope and possibility.

“Can we get it open?” She stepped closer to it and turned the knob. “It’s unlocked.”

“I don’t know. The hinges are on the other side, so maybe.” I cleared what I could from the floor and gave her a nod to open the door. It slid a couple feet then stopped. It was enough to slip through and certainly enough to peer inside. She took one look, and then grabbed my shoulders. “It’s beautiful, Bray! It’s a kitchen!”

I stopped trying to clear the floor and followed Summer inside. With no windows and the roof undamaged, the place was almost pristine, with barely dusty stainless steel counters. Holes marked where appliances once rested, but other than the missing appliances, there were things in every direction. Things that could help us stay alive. A long metal wall housed a variety of knives, from simple paring knives to butcher knives to meat cleavers. The one big problem with this space, it was hot. Hot like a sauna. Hot like a stove when the oven is on.

“Why do you think they left this stuff here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe someone was trying to hide it all.”

Summer turned to face me. She stopped in the middle of the
room, hands stretching across the stainless steel island in the center of the kitchen. “You mean, hide it and come back and get it after the insurance was settled?”

I shrugged, scouring each wall and finding hope in every corner. “Maybe.”

“But they didn’t come back for it?”

“I guess not. Best-laid plans.” Off to the left was another door. Smaller than the entryway. It must have occurred to Summer at the same moment it occurred to me. We both headed toward it. She waited. I motioned for her. “You opened the last one and had pretty good luck. Open this one.”

She pulled a deep breath, took my hand, closed her eyes, and I thought she might be saying a little prayer or wishing like you do before blowing out your birthday candles. Then she reached with her free hand and shoved the door open. We both gasped.

Shelves and shelves of canned food.

I’m not sure if Summer’s laughter or crying started first. They were both in there, inside her, fighting for dominance, slipping out of her mouth in a groan and then a giggle. We entered the pantry like one might enter a holy place. Though for us, it was a holy place. It meant assured survival.

Her fingers reached out to stroke a large can of peaches. But she couldn’t contain her elation so she gripped one of the shelves and dropped her head forward. And cried.

I started to step away, give her space, but something in me pushed closer to her. I reached out and rested my hand at the small of her back. Through her shirt I could feel the muscles tighten and release with each sob. I didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just stayed there with her. I had the feeling Summer usually held everything in, until now. Until the island. That couldn’t be healthy. Her narrow shoulders rose and fell, arms bent into a V, fingers intertwined in the bars of the metal shelving unit. Hair shrouded her face, and I had
to fight the desire to move it away so I could see her. So she’d let me in. It was a special place, and I wanted to be part of it. I swallowed, not really sure why something as elemental as crying could do such a number on my head. Fact was, Summer — everything about her from her laughter to her tears — was getting to me.

Finally, the tears stopped, and she lifted her head and stared at the ceiling, wiping her cheeks. “I’m not supposed to do that,” she said.

I frowned. “What? Cry?”

“Yeah.” She angled to look at me. Her lips were red and swollen, eyes still wet. “I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t cry. Ever again.” Slowly, she unlaced her fingers from the shelf.

All around us food waited to be examined, but I couldn’t rip my gaze from her. “How’s that working out for you?” I didn’t mean to sound callous, but seriously?

“Not so good.”

“You might as well promise yourself to stop breathing. It’s an emotion, Summer. There’s no controlling it.”

She crossed her arms, one brow raised in a peak. “You haven’t cried.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “Not fair.”

The brow rose higher. “Why?”

“Because I’m the big, strong ape man with a very delicate ego. I can’t cry in front of you. You might laugh at me.”

Aaahhh. There it was. Her smile. And even the barely lit room got a little brighter. “Ape man, huh?”

My hands found their way to her shoulders, because I had to touch her. “Summer, it might be chauvinistic, but I want to be strong for you. I’ve gotten close to tears a few times, you just haven’t seen me.”

Her head tilted slightly and her green irises became a strange shade of wonder. “You have?”

“Yes. About ten minutes ago when the shelf fell on you.”

A series of emotions skated across her face before she looked away. I wished I knew all the things that went on in her head. Like why she’d stopped going to her youth group, but sometimes at night I awoke to the sound of her prayers. I wished I could peel back the layers and find out what was inside.

Her attention returned to me so fast, it took me by surprise. “I’ll never make fun of you, Bray. Not for . . . feeling.”

“I don’t know. I’m really just a big marshmallow. Give me a good TV commercial and the waterworks start.”

“You cry at commercials?”

“Well, only the really poignant ones,” I teased.

She raised her hands between us. “Okay, you’re right. I like Ape Man better. Delicate ego and all. Real men don’t use words like
poignant
.”

“You’re safe from emotional guy. We don’t have a TV. But you know what we do have?” I reached behind her and snagged the can from the shelf. She hadn’t seen it yet, that was certain.

“What?” Her face beamed.

“Coffee.”

I’ve heard Hollywood pays young girls to scream and that the playback is used in horror movies. Summer could get a full-time job. I wasn’t sure if my eardrums would recover.

Summer

We downed a can of peaches and a restaurant-sized can of tuna. Some of the food was out of date, but not by much, as the island had only been struck by the hurricane a year ago. We inventoried food for what Bray figured to be two hours — according to the movement of the sun, which was the only clock we had — and gloried
in the idea that we didn’t have to live on coconuts any longer. The kitchen was well stocked with pots and pans but no actual plates or glassware. We ate food right out of the can, and by the time we’d finished, I felt like my shrunken belly had been inflated with a tire pump. I was exhausted and ready for a nap.