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

why they chose not to tell you—it was out of love and the belief that they were protecting you—but you are both adults now and I believe you can handle the truth.

I’m going to be completely honest: I have no idea where I’ll go after I die. But I’d like to think that, as you’re reading this, I’m still with you in some small way. People say you carry your loved ones with you in your heart, even after they’re gone. I think of it a little differently, though.

I miss both of my parents dearly, and even all these years later, I can still hear certain sayings my father had or the sound of my mother’s soft laughter. I like to think they now occupy a small, but very real, space in my brain. They’re a part of me and will remain so even after I die.

It’s the same with you and me. Maybe you get annoyed when you think about my insect collecting or all of my issues that prevented me from going to the places I’ve asked you both to go. However, I’m sure there are a few things you recall fondly, too. At least, I hope so. Even with as little time as we spent together, I believe I’ll always occupy a small part of your brain as well.

Please know that I’ll be cheering you both on at that rodeo. I’d say break a leg, but that’s the wrong sentiment in this type of sport. So go get ’em, cowgirls!

This will be the last letter you receive from me. I’m afraid my hand is growing too tired to write much more. I’m just tired in general these days.

The trips you’ve now gone on were intended to both create and solidify what I hope will be a lasting bond between you two. I also hope your relationship will continue to grow from this point forward, but that, of course, is up to the two of you.

So goodbye, my dearest granddaughters. Go live the life you’ve always dreamed of. I hope the money I’m leaving will help you get a good start.

Love always,

Grandpa

CHAPTER 29K. J.

FOR A SECOND OR TWO, I CONSIDER CHANGING MY mind and doing the rodeo after all, but then I remember the look on my mom’s face when I confronted her. She wasn’t sorry for lying to me all these years; she was only sorry she got caught.

Becka finishes the letter and hands it back to me. “Don’t you want to do it for Grandpa?” she asks.

“He’s dead. What does it matter?”

Her eyes widen, like she can’t believe I just said that. She still doesn’t know me, apparently, the way I can turn my emotions off like a switch whenever I want to. I pull my phone from my back pocket and check the time.

“I’ve gotta get ready for work,” I say, even though I still have a few hours before my shift.

“You’re being completely selfish, K. J.” Becka’s mouth forms a thin, tight line.

I hold her gaze. “You know what? I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think. You and your mom don’t need the money, you said so yourself, and my mom doesn’t deserve anyone’s last dime.” I push up from the couch and glower down at her. “Now get out of here. I don’t remember inviting you over anyway.”

We stand within an arm’s length of each other, and even though it shouldn’t, my three inches over Becka makes me bold. I know I’m being shitty right now, but I can’t seem to stop. We hold eye contact for several silent seconds before she finally looks away.

“Fine,” she says, “be like that.” She turns to leave but stops at the door, looking back over her shoulder. “You know what the sad thing is? You’re only screwing yourself by doing this. That seems to be your biggest talent.”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Becka.”

Becka’s visit leaves me in a foul mood for the rest of the week, and the stormy weather pattern isn’t helping things. Friday evening, Dax and I have the six o’clock news on to make sure no tornadoes are heading this way. Even though it’s July, you just never know in Oklahoma.

“This is some freaky weather we’ve been having, huh?” Dax says. He’s perched on a kitchen barstool drinking a Red Bull while I sit on the carpet, experimenting with painting my toenails black. I’ve never painted my fingernails or toenails any color, but I’m feeling a little more adventurous these days. And black totally fits my mood right now.

“Guess it’s all part of global warming.” I glance back at the television, taking a small amount of comfort in the fact that we’re only in a yellow “watch” area.

“Could be.” Dax takes a long sip before tossing his can across the room and into the kitchen sink.

I don’t know why he always does that, but it’s not my house, so I can’t really complain. The news anchor lady comes on blabbing about all the cancellations in the area, and I focus in on painting my big toe nail. “Crap,” I say, accidentally smearing polish on my skin. I use my fingernail to scrape it off. This is way harder than it looks. When I hear something about the “Dog Days of Summer,” I look back up at the TV.

“… one of the most anticipated festivals in our area each July, but it looks like both the festival and the rodeo will be rained out this evening. This is also the case with the 49th Annual Dickinson Outdoor Car Show that was supposed to be held tonight. Hopefully, tomorrow will be drier and both events will be back on. What do you think, John?”

The gangly-looking weatherman laughs. “Oh, I believe so, Randi. Tomorrow’s looking to be a typical sunny July day. In fact, we’ll get up to ninety-six degrees, and it’s gonna be a steamy one, folks!”

“That guy is such a doofus,”