Not Our Summer Casie Bazay (which ebook reader .TXT) 📖

to the game from the funeral, so apparently I get a free pass to screw up today. Too bad it doesn’t keep me from being mad at myself. What a stupid mistake.

“Nice game,” Maddie tells me, but I’m not sure she means it. That was the worst I’ve played in forever. She gives me that sympathetic look I’ve gotten to know so well lately. “And I’m really sorry about your grandpa.”

I wave her apology away with my hand. “Thank you. I’m okay, though.”

Maddie looks skeptical. “Text me if you need to talk, ’kay?”

I nod, knowing full well that I won’t. At least not about my grandpa. “Sure.”

After Gatorades and a talk from Coach, which I barely hear thanks to my loud, self-chastising thoughts, we all head our separate ways. Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder as we walk toward her Jeep. Neither one of us says a word.

Back at home, dinner is some kind of cheesy casserole Mom microwaves and serves up on paper plates. Someone from church has dropped food off every day since Grandpa passed.

I take a seat across from her at the kitchen table. “This one looks good. Or at least better than that meatloaf thing yesterday.”

She gives me a half-hearted smile. Now that her makeup is washed off, the dark circles beneath her eyes are more prominent. She looks exhausted. Older, too. “It’s Mexican lasagna, I think. That’s what Mrs. Rayburn brought last time…”

Neither of us wants to talk about last time, though, so instead we dig into our dinner. For a while, the only sounds are those of silverware scraping on our plates and the ticking clock on the nearby wall.

“So,” I say, trying to make conversation, “when’s Tim coming home?”

Mom takes a sip of water and settles back into her chair. “Next Tuesday.”

In some ways, my stepdad lucked out. He’s been in China on business and missed this whole ordeal with Grandpa. “It’s weird that they wouldn’t let him fly back early for the funeral.” I take another gooey bite. Only there’s a jalapeño hiding inside this one, and I need to guzzle half my glass of sweet tea in order to soothe the burn on my tongue.

Mom shrugs. “It was an important deal. It would have cost too much to fly him home and then back to China again.” She pokes at the casserole with her fork. “And it’s okay. I handled things fine on my own.”

She did, but I know she would have much rather had Tim here. At least it’s all over now. I shake my head, recalling the scene with my cousin and aunt outside the chapel. “Can you believe what K. J. did today? She’s such a jerk.”

An odd-looking smile crosses Mom’s face. “Can’t say I was all that surprised. And besides, you know that apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

“True.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” she says, perking up a bit. “We need to meet with Grandpa’s lawyer Monday evening to go over his will.”

I’m not sure why mentioning K. J. made her think of that, but I nod. “Okay.” Then I can’t help but laugh. “I hope he’s not leaving me all his bug collections.”

Mom smiles—a real smile this time. “No, I believe he’s left all those to the Entomological Society.”

“Thank goodness.” I swipe at my forehead with pretend relief. “I didn’t know where in the world I was gonna put them.”

“Very funny.” Mom’s phone buzzes and she goes to the kitchen counter to grab it. Her face brightens as she looks at the screen, and I know it must be Tim. He’s likely calling before his morning meetings in Beijing. “Hey baby!” she says in that honey-sweet voice reserved only for him. “How are things?”

Gag. They’ve been married a little over two years, but they’re still in that mushy honeymoon phase. Even though it grosses me out most of the time, it’s at least nice to see my mom happy. I just hope that, unlike the last two marriages, this one actually lasts.

While Mom curls up in the living room chair, still talking to Tim, I finish the rest of my dinner and trash our plates before heading back to my room. I fall onto my bed with a sigh, my mind drifting back to the funeral. It could have been worse, I guess. Mom was relieved people at least attended. We honestly weren’t sure who would show. Grandpa knew people in the entomology world—especially from back when he was an adjunct professor at the University of Arkansas—and I think he had a few friends who came over to play cards on occasion, but it was a surprisingly good turnout for someone who’d lived with agoraphobia for so long.

Not that my grandpa and I were ever super close, but it’s hard to believe he’s really gone. No more Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners at his place. No more trying to act interested when he went on and on about his latest insect find. Or following him around his woods as he tried to spot a Great Crested Flycatcher. Actually, the bird-watching was interesting at one time—back when I was about ten—but it all got old after a while. Now that he’s gone, it’s hard to know how to feel about things. I’m sad, for sure, but not in the way I might have expected. Certainly not in the way I was when Ricky died.

I stuff in my earbuds and close my eyes, hoping the music will soothe my mind. Before long, I’m bobbing my chin to a catchy beat as the lyrics repeat a line about moving on. That is so what I’m ready to do.

I’ve had more than enough of this awful day.

After practice Monday, I rush home to shower and change since we have to be at the lawyer’s office by six o’clock. Mom’s especially quiet on the drive and seems distracted. Or maybe even agitated. She keeps clicking her ruby red fingernails against the steering wheel and bouncing her free foot