Summer by Summer (21 page)

Summer didn’t want me sleeping out on the porch anymore. On the one hand, being out there meant a lookout, someone to stay guard. On the other, it was hard to be a guard when you were asleep. Plus, if someone happened to wander by, they’d see me. Whereas if I was inside, they may not give the old hut a second glance. Neither was a great option, but I scavenged one of the other huts and found a mattress. Summer had her own room. I’d be in the living area.

The mattress I found was ripped on the top and covered with vines, one growing all the way through, but the bottom side was intact, so I dragged the thing back to our hut and hoped any resident critters would get out on the way. I returned for the swing, and found it in good repair other than a couple of cracked slats. The chain was easy to fix, so after manhandling it back to the hut, with one good arm and one at half power, I fixed it. It now dangled a couple feet off the ground. I lowered my frame onto the new seat, hoping the rafters weren’t rotten. They groaned, but held my weight even as I bounced a couple times. All good.

“What’s going on out there?” Summer called from inside.

“Nothing. A surprise.”

I heard her move to the window. “Well, which is it?”

“Nothing.”

She huffed, and I heard pans clanging. “Can I come out yet?”

“Nope.”

I stepped off the porch and stood back to look at the hut. A warm fire billowed smoke up over the roof while the sounds of the lagoon serenaded me. I’d created a place of at least pseudo-peace.

I fixed dinner quickly, using a grate from the kitchen as a stove top on our fire. I’d just set the pot aside when Summer yelled through the window for me. “I’m done waiting.”

“Okay, but close your eyes. I’ll lead you.” She was dressed in her same T-shirt and jean shorts, but she’d twined tiny flowering vines into her hair. Her skin glowed and as I took her arm, the scent of coconut filled my nose. “You look great,” I said.

“Coconut. The brown ones work the best because the fluid inside is more like thick milk than water. Your skin soaks up the oil. You’ll have to try it one day.”

“I have my mud.”

She flashed a smile. “And a treacherous hike to get to it.”

“True.” My hands remained on her. Couldn’t help myself. “Take a look at the hut.”

She turned and her eyes grew round. “Where’d that come from? I wondered what those hooks were for. And all that banging around you were doing.”

“I carved it while you were inside.”

She glanced over at me, feigning annoyance. “You did not.”

“Okay, fine. I got it from one of the other huts. There’s also a window intact on one, so I can repair the broken one in our place.”

Summer filled her lungs. I fought the urge to stare. “Bray, this is incredible.” Her eyes skated across the landscape. Fire blazing, scent of hot food, the swing. It was good, normal. We needed a dose of normal right now.

“The boat’s gone,” I told her. “I checked. But that doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods. They could come back.”

I watched the relief then the apprehension spread across her face. She took a small step toward the swing.

“Want to try it out?” I offered.

“A seat. An actual seat.” I watched Summer shake off her earlier tension and run up the porch steps with me right behind. We
lowered our bodies onto the swing like it was something spiritual. She leaned back. “Aaaahhhhh.”

I rocked us slowly. “We can eat dinner up here if you want.”

Her eyes opened at the very moment the wind shifted and tossed the smell of cooking food to us. “No. You made such a nice table by the fire. Let’s sit there, then come up here and watch the sunset.”

I’d poured water into two coconut halves and coconut milk into two large oyster shells. Our plates were pie pans from the kitchen and we had actual utensils, making this almost feel like a real dinner. We sat on either side of our cooler-table, close enough to the fire to hear the creaks and pops of wood being consumed. I ladled up a generous helping of the beef stew.

Summer took a bite. “Mmm.”

I never thought canned stew could taste like a gourmet meal, but right now I didn’t think anything could taste better. My plan was to keep the conversation and her thoughts away from what we’d seen earlier.

“I’m more aware of flavors since we’ve been here,” Summer said.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What do you mean?”

“This, for instance. Back home, I would have just tasted beef stew. Here, I notice the carrots, potatoes, even the small bits of onion. It’s like I’m savoring all the flavors.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. Going without anything to eat for the first few days made us appreciate food more.”

“Maybe that’s it. Or maybe we actually slow down enough to taste it.” The breeze from the lagoon worked its fingers into Summer’s hair. I reached over and touched it.

“Did you mean what you said about taking me to church?”

“Of course.” If God got us out of this, back home to our families — like Summer was so certain He would — I’d want to explore this whole thing that made Summer filled with faith against
such difficult odds. At the same time, I would keep watch over her. Faith could be tested. Right now, she was solid, but what if things continued to work against us?

“I wanted to tell you thanks for earlier, Bray.”

Her hair was soft. I slid my fingertips through the strands. “For what?”

“My commitment to wait. I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“And?”

“And I’m really getting back in touch with my relationship to God. How did I let it slip so far away from me?”

I propped my hands on my knees. “You tell me.”

“I thought I was mad at Him. I thought I blamed Him for Michael’s accident. Now I realize, I blamed myself and pushed God away because I knew He would forgive me. But I couldn’t forgive myself.”

“And now?”

“I know it wasn’t my fault. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling and acting irrationally some times. Old habits die hard.”

We finished eating, sitting in comfortable silence and watching the sun sink lower on the horizon, our cue to start clearing the table. I stood and took the pie plates to drop them into a pan of water. Summer started helping clean up, but I stopped her. “Go sit on the swing. I’ll join you in a couple minutes.”

“If you’re sure.” But before she left, she reached over, planted her hands on my arms, rose on her toes, and kissed me on the cheek.

I finished in record time, knowing she was waiting for me, only pausing to feed the fire that had died down while we ate. Bright burning flames rose, casting soft light on the porch and Summer’s face.

I joined her on the swing and knew the moment the tension of the day left her. “Summer?”

The sun was a far-off orange glow, throwing shades of rainbow colors onto the sky and the lagoon water. Deep reds bled into purple and eventually faded back into softer orange and yellow. “Yes?”

“I think you should write.”

She pivoted to look at me. “What?” Her green eyes glowed in the flame’s light.

“Write. You told me you used to do it a lot. I think you should write. In fact, I put some stuff by your bed in case you wanted to start tonight.”

The atmosphere changed around us. “I don’t know, Bray.”

“Why not?” It’s not like I was asking her to pen the great American novel.

Her hands kneaded together on her lap. She was quiet for a while. “I used to have story ideas. You know? They ran through my head all the time and wouldn’t go away until I sat down and wrote them.”

“Like short stories?”

“Yeah, some. Some were longer, novella length. But the point is, they were
there
. I didn’t try to make them up; they were just there in my head.”

I brushed the hair from her face. “And now?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“When did the stories stop coming?”

She looked out over the water. A seagull tilted his wings, searching out a last meal before nightfall. “When Michael died.”

I laid my hand over hers where they rested on her lap. “I think it’s time for the stories to come back.”

She pulled a deep breath. “I’d like that.” So much sorrow filled those few words. I knew Summer wasn’t just grieving for Michael — she was grieving for the loss of everything she used to be.

I couldn’t help but press a little deeper. “What did it mean to you? Writing?”

She blinked at the question as if never really considering it. “It meant . . .” She tucked her hair behind her ears, a look of longing on her face. “For me, writing was the warm cup of hot chocolate after getting caught in a cold rain. It was rushing down to the tree on
Christmas morning and knowing you got that one thing you’d been hoping for. Writing was the strong hand holding mine when I felt off balance. In some ways, it completed me.”

Our fingers interlocked. I lifted them to my face and kissed her knuckles. “I think you should write. You have a poet’s way with words.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“Will you try?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“I know you can, Summer.”

She turned to look straight at me. Fear and determination mingled. “Okay, I’ll try. No promises, but I’ll do it.”

My hand slid out of hers and brushed across her cheek. She’d try. Because I asked her to. Heat pooled in my stomach. Summer’s skin was silk, and rather than pull away from me, she nuzzled into my hand, her eyes drifting shut. When she opened them, there was nothing in the world but us. No island, no hut, no lagoon. Just Bray and Summer. Who we both were had been stripped down to the barest of essentials. There were no walls stopping us or causing us to be anything or anyone but ourselves. And that was something worth fighting for. Summer was someone worth fighting for.

I leaned closer and her eyes smiled. Green and beautiful, filled with mystery and magic. She ran her tongue over her lips, and I knew I had to kiss her. But I didn’t want to break the spell, didn’t want this moment to end. When I didn’t move, she leaned toward me, her intention as crystal clear as my own. Our lips met. Held. Neither of us moved except for the pounding of our hearts. We stayed like that for several seconds, her lips so lightly on mine that the slightest breath could make it all disappear. The intensity of the moment became too much for me and I sank my hands into her hair. Summer responded by opening her eyes for the briefest of seconds and locking on my gaze, then her eyes closed as if knowing,
seeing whatever it was she needed to see. Her body, tense from the interaction, softened and she moved in, closing her lips on mine in a longer exploration. She melted against me. The kiss became a rush, something inexplicable and primal, and I knew I’d have to break the bond or we’d both end up somewhere I’d sworn I wouldn’t take her.

Already aching, I broke the kiss, having to cradle her face in my hands to create the needed space because I just wanted to continue, to consume.

She blew out several quick breaths, her eyes widening as the moment settled around her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

A slow grin spread on my face.

She huffed, swallowed. “That was um . . . it was . . .”

Why she felt she needed to verbalize
everything
, I didn’t know. But it made me chuckle. “Yeah, it was.”

We stayed on the swing for a long time. I’d turned her into the crook of my arm and she nestled against my collarbone. Around us, the beach was alive with crickets and various bugs making a hollow hum that played off the lagoon’s gentle waves.

And even though we were lost and alone on a deserted island and had no idea when or if we were going to be rescued, all seemed right with the world. I was learning what it meant to be a man. With Summer in my arms.

Summer

I hadn’t kissed anyone since Michael. And since Michael was the first and only boy I’d kissed, what I’d shared tonight with Bray was monumental. He’d swept me away. There’d been electricity, one that zapped my strength and left me tingling like I’d just grabbed a frayed wire. With Michael, we’d both been awkward, new at the
whole
couple
thing, and it all had a sweet innocence to it that, looking back, I guessed I’d treasure forever. But this was different. And somehow the same. Bray didn’t have the awkward innocence, the sense of discovery. But that didn’t make it any less new or fresh — at least, if the look in his eyes was any indication of what was happening inside him. But it wasn’t just discovery.

There was something else. Something more. Like he’d been searching for a long time and finally found what he’d been looking for. With Bray, there was easy companionship intensified by that sudden crackle of fireworks when we touched. How could I be so comfortable with a person one second, then edgy and needy and tingling only moments later? I didn’t know.

It was beyond my understanding, and from Bray’s reaction, it was beyond his as well. We both felt it. The chemistry. The power. But it was okay because we’d made a commitment to each other. Bray had saved my life over and over again, often at his own suffering. I could count on him to not let me down. I could count on him for everything. Even life.

What Bray and I were building went far beyond human comprehension. It was deeper than the ocean that held us captive from the mainland. It could be more powerful than the crushing water on the rocks. We deserved to give it a chance.