Summer
It’s dark.I should be sleeping. I turn over onto my back and watch the water hit my skylight in breezy waves, trickling down the glass panes in endless rivulets.
Trying to collect my thoughts.
I don’t know how long I stare at the water running down my window, watching as the rain ebbs and the sky clears. I should be dressing and preparing to open the museum. Hopkins has been gone a week, and this is the longest I’ve ever run the shop on my own. The work is beginning to take its toll because I’ve started imagining things.
Hopkins would be so proud.
With a groan, I reach for my phone on my nightstand, only to remember I left it at the shop. Thank god I know Ella’s number by heart, but I still hate being without my phone—I’m already so isolated out here as it is. My next groan is rife with agitation as I throw off my blankets, grab fresh clothes, and head to the bathroom downstairs.
“You’re running late, sweetheart.” Dad yawns when he sees me, a coffee in one hand and a Kindle in the other. He’s seated in his cushioned reading chair at the end of the hall, his right leg crossed over his knee. It’s his favorite reading place. Behind him lies a circular window overlooking the front yard and our driveway.
“I know.” I duck in and close the door to the bathroom. Less than five minutes later, I’m showered and dressed, and soon I stand before him, having already recited the plea on my lips a dozen times. “Dad…”
It’s his day off. Tuesdays are historically his worst day for doing business, and so he traded it with his Saturday. Such is the sacrifice of a small business owner.
He peers up at me. “What is it?”
I hang my head. “Can you come with me to the museum?”
He gives me that look, that squinty, I’m-trying-to-understand-why look that always ends in a sigh. “You were pale as a ghost last night. What happened? Your mom’s upset with how you behaved, and she even made your favorite food.”
“I had a rough day at work.” It isn’t a complete lie.
“Did it have to do with our guest? He seemed rather apologetic. He told us you two met earlier, under bad circumstances.”
Bad circumstances?
Hah.
The man my dad brought home had been the same one who’d been upset about the gargoyle. He is new to town, here for business. He must have given Dad a much better first impression since he invited him over for dinner.
I was shocked when he came through the door, already perturbed by my delusion that the gargoyle came to life. He apologized for being rude, claiming he had just finished a long drive and had been excited to see the statue, but it was the sort of apology that didn’t meet the eyes.
It was the last straw. Even Mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese, the type with breadcrumbs and bites of sausage, couldn’t keep me from running upstairs and calling Ella on the landline.
Dad sets down his Kindle and leans forward. “I know your mom’s pushing you. I keep telling her to back off and let you find your way. She’s worried about you. You haven’t been happy since you returned, and she doesn’t know how she can help.”
“It’s not that.” I shift on my feet, feeling guilty. “I mean, I was startled to see him. It’s just… It’s been a crazy couple of days. You don’t need to worry—I’m figuring it all out.”
Am I?
I’d laugh if I weren’t trying to convince my dad I’m fine.
Dad stands and downs his coffee, squinting at me again like he knows I’m bullshitting. “All right, I’ll do it, but why do you need me to come with you? You can tell me that at least.”
“I forgot to lock up and left my phone—”
“Summer. Really?”
“Yeah, yeah. As I said, it’s been rough. Will you come with me? I need to call Hopkins and ask for some time off.”
Dad shakes his head, turning for the stairs. “He shouldn’t have left you to manage the museum—and you should have told him that before he left. Let’s hope no one broke in overnight. Next time, tell me earlier. We could’ve taken care of this last night. Now I’m stressedforyou.”
My guilt compounds as I follow after him. Someone breaking into the museum would be bad, although that’s not what’s bothering me. I can’t tell my dad the truth. He doesn’t need to worry that I’m imagining things too. He hurries down the stairs, grabs his wallet and keys, and heads straight for his truck without putting on a jacket.
Town hall’s clock tower looms over us as Dad parks. The museum’s historical, red-brick facade is one of many along Elmstich’s Main Street. According to the town records, Hopkins purchased it in the seventies, and to this day, he claims the standalone building was the perfect home for his collection.
