Summer by Summer (34 page)

She helped herself to the scrambled eggs.

“Do you know him?”

She reached across the banquet table and placed a croissant on her plate. “Not officially. He wants me to read his one thousand and ten-page manuscript.”

My eyes widened at the sheer volume. “One thousand and ten
pages
?”

She shot a glance behind her. “Says it’s so brilliant, it will change the world.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, making me instantly like her.

When she stretched to get the butter, I grabbed the small dish and handed her the knife. My dad spoke up. “That’s a very
long
book, isn’t it, Summer? The one you wrote is only about three hundred pages, right?”

Heat crawled up my face.
You didn’t just say that.
“We have homemade apple butter — it’s a hotel specialty. Can I get you some? It’s really good on the croissants.”

Her eyes narrowed with an inquisitive stare, and then her effervescent smile returned. “That sounds like an odd combination, but yes.”

I started breathing again after walking away from them. There were stations of jelly and apple butter on each end of the buffet, but I walked to the farthest, trying to release the mortification. It didn’t go easily.

Her name badge said Kay Ballinger, and she wore the green name tag that labeled her as an agent. A
literary
agent, and my dad had just made the cardinal mistake. I wondered how many times she’d been approached by fathers saying things like, “My little girl wrote a book, and I just bet you want to read it. It’s probably going to be a bestseller. Hey, we’re doing
you
a
favor
by letting you have the first shot.”

Nausea swirled in my stomach. I placed my hand there, but the contents didn’t settle. I couldn’t stay away forever. After all, she was waiting on apple butter, so I gathered my courage and returned.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Summer.” A smile. Her hand went out to shake mine.
Oh
,
Dad.

“Thank you.” We shook hands and I pointed to her plate. “You
don’t want that to get cold. Plus, your stalker will be back before too long.”

“Right!” She turned and shook my dad’s hand. “See you two tonight, then?”

My heart stopped.

“We’ll be there. And like I said, feel free to use that service elevator anytime you need to duck out of the line of fire. No one will say anything. If they do, just tell them Jerry Mathers told you to use it.”

She grinned. “I feel like I’ve been given the keys to the kingdom.”

He nodded. “Anything you need. Don’t hesitate to ask. The manuscript is at the front desk. I’ll call over so they know to give it to you.”

Black spots materialized in front of me as she walked away. Had I heard that right? Manuscript?
My
manuscript? Dad reached over with a steadying hand. “You gonna pass out, Baby Girl?”

I shook my head. My manuscript. She was picking up my manuscript.

“Close your mouth then. It looks like you’re trying to catch flies.”

Through the hazy swarm of people in front of me, I found his eyes. “I’m . . . not ready.”

“You’ve been polishing it for days. When
will
you be ready?”

“Never.” It was an honest answer. My heartbeat finally began to slow as I watched Kay Ballinger take a seat across the room and toss all that pretty hair behind her chair. The alligator bag found a spot on the seat beside her.

“This is how it works, sugar. Don’t worry. She knows it’s your first attempt. But when I told her who you were, she was intrigued. She followed you in the news just like half the country.”

“I’m really nervous.”

Dad’s arm came around and gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. “Nothing to be nervous about. She said she has a little down time before dinner. We’re meeting her after the banquet tonight. Around
nine by the pool. I’ll reserve a back table at the tiki bar and let the staff know to deflect any interruptions.”

My eyes turned misty. “Dad, you’re the best.”

He hugged me and I hugged him back. Then he cleared his throat and took his post back at the corner, a giant smile lighting his face.

Kay Ballinger sat at the wicker tiki table, a stack of papers on her lap. A pen hovered above the pages, and when I realized she might actually be reading my book I got queasy all over again. She pulled a set of reading glasses from her face as we approached and dropped the pages on the table.

“Thanks for letting me take a look at this.” Her smile was genuine. Or practiced. Or genuinely practiced. I didn’t know for sure, but expected the ball to drop any second. She stood and shook my dad’s hand. “Your staff is fabulous, Jerry. They’ve been great. As far as your story, Summer . . .”

My heart geared for the worst as Dad interrupted her to excuse himself. Kay motioned for me to sit.

“I’m sorry my dad asked you to read this.” It’s all I could think and it popped right out of my mouth.

She flashed a frown. “He didn’t.”

I glanced over my shoulder where Dad disappeared into the small kitchen of the tiki hut.

“He told me who you were and that you’d written a book about the experience. I
asked
to see it.”

“Oh.”

“Honestly, Summer, I thought it might be possible to take the adventure and give it to a ghost writer. Often, when a celebrity wants to tell their story, a professional helps with the writing.”

My heart started the long sink into my feet. “But this one isn’t on
that level?” It had to be worse than I thought. What was I thinking, writing a book without any formal training?

She chuckled. I failed to see what was so funny. “No. This one isn’t on that level.”

My nose tingled.

She leaned forward, trapping me in her gaze. “Summer! What I’m trying to tell you is I love it. There are a few technical things, of course, but the essence of the story, your voice, it’s all great. I tore through it.”

My eyeballs dried out, surprising because only a moment ago, I thought they’d be filled with tears.

“You should blink,” she said. “Or your eyes are going to stick like that.”

I obeyed and slumped into the chair. An agent. A real literary agent liked my book. “This is for real?”

“Real as it gets. I mean, it’s not fighting a live crocodile with a handmade spear, but yes. It’s real.”

“Wha — what happens now?”

She leaned back in the wicker chair. “Now, I offer you representation. If you agree and sign the contract, I get to work on selling this little jewel to a publisher. I have a few in mind who I think would definitely be interested. You may have revisions to do for me or them. Are you comfortable with that? It won’t be much for me though, as it’s pretty clean.”

“My English teacher said that too. She gave me a few suggestions.”

“Great. You understand about the revision process then.”

Stunned, I just kept staring at her.

“So, Summer, would you like to work with me?”

Beside me, I heard a small child squeal and jump into the pool. That’s what I felt like, like a little kid being catapulted into a giant body of water. “Yes. Yes of course.” Excitement burst inside my chest. “I have a literary agent.”

She nodded. “You’re the youngest client I’ve ever signed.”

My face clouded.

“Don’t worry. It’s good that you’re young. Gives the story even more punch. And my goodness, Summer . . . all you’ve been through.”

The tabletop rested beneath my fingertips. I moved my hand back and forth, feeling the grooves. “Do you think it could help people?”

She pressed a hand to my arm. “It’s very inspirational. Yes. I definitely think it could. I’ll be back in my office on Wednesday and will send over the contract.”

Dad stopped by the table. “Everything okay?”

I tried to look up at him with a sad face, but couldn’t do it. “I have an agent!”

He pulled me up and hugged me so hard it hurt my ribs.

We said our good-byes and drove home in silence. I was on top of the world. Or should have been. Something was missing, and I knew exactly what it was. Bray. Even though the agent loved my book, it still didn’t fill the void left by Bray’s absence.

I thought about him all the time when I wasn’t writing, and when I was, I was writing about him. I should never have left. I should never have let that stupid Katie win. Summer Mathers had faced an island and won the war only to be run off by a scrawny bleach blonde wearing too much makeup.

As soon as I got home, I’d call Bray. I had to tell him about the book anyway. He needed to be okay with our story being out there, and if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t put him through that. I’d have to tell my agent, thanks, but no thanks. After all I’d put Bray through, I owed him that much.

It was late when we got home, but I couldn’t wait to talk to him. I dialed Bray’s cell phone number, but he didn’t answer so I tried the house phone. A sleepy-sounding Sandra answered.

“Hi, Sandra. Sorry to call so late.” It was only ten thirty. But maybe she’d gone to bed early. “Can I talk to Bray?”

“He’s not here, Summer.”

Something in her voice. Something wasn’t right. “Is everything okay?”

“No, Summer. It’s not.”

My hands grew sweaty, palms gripping the phone tighter. I knew that tone. “What’s wrong?”

There was a long pause before she answered, and I could feel every bone of my body coming unhinged. Giant invisible hooks tearing into my flesh and pulling it apart. “Sandra, what’s going on?” Panic in my voice, closing off my throat.

“Bray is in the hospital. He’s in a coma.”

CHAPTER 20

Summer

I dropped to the floor, legs giving way beneath me, and landed with a thud. The accident, Michael’s accident roared through my system. I tried to form words, but my throat had tightened, making it almost impossible. “He . . . was in an accident?” I finally uttered.

“No. He had meningitis. Despite being vaccinated, they think he contracted it in Belize somehow.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Another pause. “We don’t know.”

“Sandra, why didn’t you call me? I should be there.”

“We didn’t know what was happening at first. Then they had to determine if it was bacterial or viral, so they put him in isolation.”

My mind tried so hard to form around the idea of Bray in the hospital. “How?”

After a long exhale, she answered. “We’d been at home, and he’d just finished filling out his paperwork for school. He’s decided he wants to work for the US Forest Service. Bray loves to be outside. Anyway, he finished the paperwork and started complaining that he was nauseous. By the next day, he had a headache. His eyes
were so sensitive to the light that I had to keep the shades closed. I thought maybe it was a migraine. He’d never had one, but I didn’t know what else would make him so light sensitive. When he started complaining his neck was sore, we took him to the ER. Luckily, the doctor on staff knew what it was. He took a sample of spinal fluid. Summer, can you come? I think he’d like to know you’re here.”

“Of course, I’ll leave tonight.”

“Wait until morning. We’re all beat, and I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’ll meet you at the hospital early tomorrow.”

“He’ll be okay tonight?”

“Yes. There’s been no change in four days.”

Four days.
My lungs squeezed tighter and tighter. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to leave now. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. I hung up with Sandra and she sent me a text with the address to the hospital.

I flew through my room, packing a bag in record time, then told my parents. It was eleven thirty by the time I was ready to go. My dad argued about driving me there, but he was still in the middle of the conference. Mom had already promised to watch the neighbor’s kids tomorrow. She wanted to go with me but I told her I’d be fine. I wasn’t tired. My mom didn’t like to drive at night, so I would have been the one behind the wheel anyway. Finally, and knowing they were still warring with the whole our-daughter’s-an-adult-but-she’s-still-our-baby-girl thing, I convinced them to let me go alone.

I cried as I drove. It was ninety-nine miles from my house in Sarasota to the hospital in Naples. Tears kept me company most of the way. If anything happened to Bray . . .