The Summer of Lost Wishes (5 page)

Sunday, at sunset, I’ll be at the Crane
Pavilion. Will you meet me?

Mom hovers in the doorway of her office,
waiting impatiently for me to get my stuff together for the day. I
should’ve grabbed the stack of letters and crammed them into my
beach bag earlier, but who knew she had the flooring guys coming in
today? That was supposed to be next week.

“Piper, please hurry,” she says with a groan
in her voice. “I need to have a talk with you before the Carters
get here.”

I nod. “Let me change clothes, and I’ll meet
you in the kitchen,” I say.

She pulls the door shut to give me privacy. I
instantly grab the paper stack and put it in the oversized beach
bag. I toss a few things on top of it and quickly change my shirt
just so she won’t think I was lying. I leave the bag just inside
the doorway and head to the kitchen for whatever home interior talk
she wants to have today.

She leans against the counter, sipping from
her black ‘a yawn is a silent scream for coffee’ mug. She motions
to the bar stool close by, so I take a seat, a bit reluctantly.

“We need to talk about Rooks,” she says,
wasting no time. She glances to the front door, as if she’s making
sure the Carters didn’t sneak in. “Let me just be honest. I don’t
have a good feeling about the boy, and I don’t want you getting too
attached.”

Too attached? This isn’t some lame teen flick
where I see a hot guy and instantly am obsessed with him. I mean,
yeah, he’s hot, but any girl my age with two seeing-eyes can tell
that the boy is hot.

Mom clears her throat and sets the mug on the
counter. “Do you even know why he’s staying with his dad this
summer? It’s not for a family visit,” she tells me. “I think Mr.
Carter is a nice man, and I know he just wants his son to grow up
and get it together. I know he’s a teenage boy, and some of them do
grow out of it, but I don’t want you excluding your other options
before you even have chance to explore them.”

I stare at her, a bit unsure what in the
world I’m supposed to say to that. Rooks and I aren’t talking
marriage…or dating for that matter.

“I know it’s early, and you’re still working
on your coffee, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I
admit.

She takes another sip, like it’s for good
measure, and tries again. “You’re going to meet a lot of new people
at school this fall, and Rooks will be back at his mom’s house,”
she says. “I don’t want you investing too much of your time or
attention in a cute boy with a bad reputation who won’t even be
here in a few months. You have too much ahead of you, and I don’t
think he’s cute enough to risk your feelings. That’s all.”

Obviously, she hasn’t taken a good enough
look at the boy because, aside from that gorgeous guy on Pretty
Little Liars, I think he pretty much wins at hotness. And Rooks is
a civilian without Hollywood glam, so really, he’s a step
ahead.

“Okay,” I say, wishing I had a better
comeback. I’m sure in about fifteen years, I’ll be all ‘oh, my mom
was right about everything,’ but that day is definitely
not
today.

Mom doesn’t have a chance to argue with me
between her coffee-sipping and the ring of the doorbell. She greets
the Carters with a high-pitched ‘good morning’ and asks if they’d
like any coffee. Mr. Carter, of course, would love some. Rooks
declines, giving Mom another reason to dislike him because coffee
is the drink of gods.

After giving Mr. Carter the rundown on what
time the flooring guys will be here and which rooms they’re working
on today, she turns to Rooks and me.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she
asks, looking at him more than me.

Rooks clears his throat. “Breakfast at
Waterfront Café and then I’d planned on showing Piper around. You
know, just the basics of Coral Sands. See where everything is,” he
says.

Mom stares at him for a second, like she’s
not sure if she believes him. “Well, I hope there’s more to see
than when I used to live here,” she says. “Please just be safe
today. Stay out of trouble. And don’t come back until after six
tonight.”

I’ll never quite understand my mom. She
thinks Rooks is a bad influence and nothing but trouble for me, yet
she sends me out of the house for the entire day alone with him.
All for new floors. Is throwing your daughter to the wolf the price
for hardwood these days?

Then again, the daughter doesn’t really mind
being thrown to this wolf.

Rooks says that he’s going to crank his truck
to get the air flowing. I grab the beach bag from inside Mom’s
office and rush out behind him. I barely have the passenger door
shut before he backs out of my driveway.

“Alright, Davenport,” he says. “Spill it.
What’s in the papers?”

“Letters,” I tell him. “But I only made it
through the first one.”

He exhales harshly, like he’s shocked. “One
letter? Are you kidding me? After all that excitement and secrecy,
you only read one letter?” he asks.

“I was exhausted,” I say in my defense. “I
would’ve read every last one of them if I could have, but I had to
sleep. My mom’s on a crazy schedule. I sleep when I can.”

“Fair enough,” Rooks says to his windshield.
“So, what’s the story?”

I tell him about Seth’s letter and how I
think it’s a series of love letters between him and Hanna. I may
not have read the other letters because my eyelids were like a
landslide, but skimming through the stack, it was obvious that not
every letter was Seth’s chicken scratch. I chose sleep over Hanna
Calloway. I don’t think she could’ve held my interest last
night.

“So you think there’s something in the
letters that will explain why they went to Shark Island that
night?” Rooks asks.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. There has to
be a reason why those letters were in the wall, and someone was
clearly sorry for something, but I hadn’t thought all the way to
their deaths. I guess I wanted to let Seth and Hanna have a moment
to live again, even if it was only through me.

“I have no idea,” I say, adding a shrug for
good measure.

Rooks sighs. “Fine. Just keep reading, and
read faster so you can pass them on to me,” he says. He fights a
smile, and I think it’s way too cute that he’s this interested in
the letters.

When we pull up at Waterfront Café, it’s not
what I expected. I’d imagined a chic little downtown-type
restaurant down near the beach, with a waterfront view. I’d
pictured it as a pastel blue building, sort of like a diner, with
an old jukebox and decor from the 1950s. I figured it was just an
old piece of the town history.

But Waterfront Café is actually a lighthouse
building. It’s stony and gray, like it used to be white but the
weather beat the shiny paint away over the years. Blue and white
stripes wrap around the tower, and a black metal railing stretches
alongside the staircase that leads to the second floor.

“There’s a gift shop above,” Rooks says,
pointing up the steps. “But they have the best biscuits in town,
and all the old guys come down here every morning for coffee.
Starbucks is a joke compared to this place.”

A black metal sign with curly letters hangs
over the entrance. A faux driftwood wreath decorated with seashells
and starfish hangs on the door. Rooks leads the way inside. It’s
not as modern café as Starbucks, but it’s much nicer than an
old-timey diner. The hardwood floors are gray and rustic, almost
like they belong back in Tennessee rather than in a beach town.

I follow him toward a back table, my heavy
beach bag still over my shoulder. As Rooks predicted, a group of
older men sit around a table drinking coffee and literally
discussing the weather. Rooks pulls out the gray metal chair and
motions for me to sit first.

“Told you,” Rooks says. “They sit at that
same table every single day. They talk about the swells that come
in and how it’ll affect tourism and the fishermen. Sometimes they
talk about their time in the military or some old car they used to
drive, but it’s almost always about the seafood business.”

I study them in their khakis and golfing
shorts, their polo shirts and their glasses, their gray hair and
their wrinkled faces. How many of them are Coral Sands natives? How
many retired here for the sushi and nice weather? I wonder if any
of them were here in 1965. I wonder if they were friends with
Seth.

A young girl approaches our table, shielding
my view of the men. “Good morning,” she says a bit too cheerfully,
sort of like my mom. She places two plastic menus on the table.
“I’m Olivia and I’ll be taking care of you guys this morning. Can I
start you off with some coffee?”

“Sweet tea, please,” I reply.

Her faces scrunches like she can’t believe
anyone would digest anything other than coffee at this hour. “You
don’t want something to wake you up?” she asks.

Rooks laughs. “She’s from Tennessee,” he
says. “That’s how they wake up there. Make it two sweet teas, if
you don’t mind.”

She mutters something that sounds like ‘suit
yourself’ and walks away much less perky than she was when she
approached our table. A pallet of driftwood rests against the wall,
adorned with rope and seashells. My mom should really come down
here and check out the competition or at least ask who was in
charge of the design. If she wants to be an interior designer for
the coast, she needs to see what she’s up against.

I drop my beach bag under the table but keep
it tucked between my leg and the nearby wall. I wish I’d had more
time to read last night. I wish Rooks would’ve taken me somewhere
away from the general public so I could keep reading this morning.
Breakfast could have waited.

The waitress brings our drinks and takes our
order. Once she’s out of earshot, Rooks leans forward on his elbows
to speak.

But the words that come out of his mouth are
eaten away by the noise of metal chairs scraping against the wooden
flooring. The congregation of Coral Sands elders disperses, and one
of the old guys walks our way.

“Mr. Carter,” he says. “Nice to see you back
around here. You staying with your dad for the summer?”

Rooks nods. “Yes, sir. He’s got me working
hard,” he says. “It may not look like it, but I’m actually on the
job right now.”

The man glances my way, barely, and returns
his gaze to Rooks.

“This is Piper,” Rooks says, nodding across
the table to me. “She just moved in next door to me. My dad and I
are helping her and her mom restore the place.” Then he looks to
me. “Piper, this is Mac.”

Mac smiles. “Michael Alan Crawford, the
third,” he says. “But it was always easier just to be Mac. It’s
nice to meet you. I wasn’t sure if the Calloway Cottage had really
been bought or if it was just a rumor. You never know in this town.
Full of myths and gossip.”

I wonder for a second if there’s any logic
behind that statement or if he’s just making small talk. Do people
really believe the Shark Island tragedy was just a myth? Foul play,
maybe? God. Why does some old guy have to get me questioning all
the things I’ve already questioned even more? And where the hell is
our breakfast so we can hurry up and get out of here?

Mac tells Rooks to let him know if he and Mr.
Carter need any help and then tells us to have a great day before
exiting the restaurant.

“Okay, so what was that all about?” I ask, as
soon as the old man is officially in the parking lot. I lean
forward on my elbows waiting for an answer.

“Oh, I’ve known Mac for years now,” Rooks
says. “He’s retired from carpentry work, and he helped my dad and
me redo our driveway last year.”

I shake my head. “No, not that. Coral Sands
has myths?” I ask.

Rooks checks around us before he says
anything. “Some people think maybe there’s more to the story,” he
explains. “You know, like maybe one of them actually set the whole
thing up or maybe it was a suicide pact. People talk in small
towns, and when you have a legendary tragedy like that, things get
twisted.”

I glance up at the lighting above us. Wooden
slats line the ceiling with saucers and coffee cups hanging upside
down, like someone set the table and flipped it. Light bulbs dangle
from inside the cups.

“What do you think?” I ask, looking away from
the clever coffee shop lighting and back at Rooks. “Do you think
there’s more to it?”

He shrugs. “I think there’s a reason they
went out there,” he says. “But I don’t know if I believe in a set
up or anything like that. Something happened or maybe something was
meant to happen, but whatever it was, it was cut short. And I’m
hoping you have the key to unlock whatever their reason was.”

I heave my beach bag onto my shoulder as
Rooks leaves a few dollar bills on the table for a tip. Mom
demanded that I take cash with me this morning – before the Carters
showed up – and instructed me not to let Rooks pay for anything
because she didn’t want him thinking this was a date in any way,
shape, or form. But I wasn’t about to step on the boy’s ego when he
insisted that he pay for breakfast.

“Waterfront Café isn’t all that popular with
the tourists,” Rooks says as he pulls his seatbelt over his chest.
“But it’s the best place around here for coffee and breakfast.
That’s why all the locals go there. It’s not in the heart of
town.”

I place my bag in the floorboard of his
truck, even though I’m dying to pull that paper stack out right now
and read the next installment in Love Letters of Seth and Hanna.
But I don’t. I don’t want to look obsessed when the cutest guy in
Coral Sands is showing me around town.

“So where’s the heart of town then?” I ask,
clicking my own seatbelt.

“Downtown,” he says. He glances behind us to
make sure he’s clear before backing out of the parking lot. “All
the bed and breakfasts are there, a few cafés, expensive beach
shops… And all the seafood restaurants. This town would be famous
for its seafood if not for the Shark Island tragedy. It sort of
steals all the glory.”