Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter twenty-three

I sleep in late, and the interruption in the middle of the night means I sleep through Lou leaving the bed to prepare for her day of lessons. I don't stir until I hear the clunky sounds of a kid on a piano, and then I'm wide awake, leaping out of bed because that means it's after nine and I only have two full days with Ashley and Connor. I don't want to waste a moment.

They're both up already, dressed and drinking coffee in the kitchen. Shit. I'm a terrible host, stumbling down the stairs as I drag a brush through my hair even though I'm only going to stick it in a ponytail anyway.

"God, I'm so sorry, how long have you guys been up?" I race to pour myself a coffee from the dregs in the pot.

"Relax, it's fine, literally like fifteen minutes," Ashley says. Her eyes dart to the living room and back to me. "She is hot."

"Affirmative." Connor nods. "And the woman clearly has the patience of a goddess." He winces when this morning's student — a newbie, according to the timetable on the fridge; the kid is starting fifth grade next week — absolutely butchers a scale. Impressive, really, to make it sound that bad.

"Or the hearing of a naked mole rat," Ashley says. We both turn to look at her. She raises her eyebrows and says, "They're deaf!" Like that's a normal fact everyone knows.

The minute the coffee's finished and we've filled a cooler with sandwiches, snacks, and plenty of water, we get on our way. I text Lou from the kitchen with my itinerary for the day and duck into the living room to say goodbye, and then we're off. I drive us into town, which is pretty dead at this hour on a Saturday. Most people are still in bed or relaxing over breakfast, so I find a parking space with ease, opposite the hotel. The tree has been removed and work has started on repairing the damage. There's a lot, though, and the building's old. They'll have to rebuild that whole wing.

The boat club has had a facelift since I was last here, a fresh lick of paint and a new marina, a sleek new sign that puts it in a whole new market. It used to be a tired place mostly used by the locals. Now it's geared towards the tourists with money, with its own posh bar overlooking the water, but I spot a friendly face behind the counter.

"Hey, Talia," I say, with a dorky wave. In the week since I had dinner with her at Lou's, she's dyed her hair from almost white blonde to a stunning shade of purple caught between lilac and mauve.

Ashley bumps against me and says, "Seriously, Charlie, you're way more entrenched in this place than you realize."

Talia beams at me when she hears her name. The light catches on her sparkly purple earrings, which are more discreet than the pom poms but only slightly. "Hey, Charlotte. I heard you had a couple cousins in town. More mad Martins?"

Connor laughs. "Guilty as charged. Any chance we could rent a boat for the day?"

"Hmm." She purses her lips and taps a short, bright blue fingernail on her keyboard. "I think that can be arranged. Either one of you belong to Harry?"

Ashley raises a hand. "That'd be me."

Talia smiles. "I always liked Harry. Nice guy, your dad. Your mom, now she could be a bit of a pill, but — you know what, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Ashley leans against the counter like they're best friends and in a conspiratorial tone she says, "Trust me, you could say a lot worse about my mom and it'd be nothing I haven't thought before. She is a total pill. She never should've married my dad, but I wouldn't be here if they hadn't tied the knot, so I can't complain."

Talia cracks up at Ashley's candor and her over-familiarity, the two of them shooting the shit as we sort out the boat rental. Connor's an expert now — amidst his years of wildlife wrangling and tourist rescuing and nature exploring, he's gotten himself certified in pretty much every vehicle on land and sea. If only he could master flight and get himself a private plane, that'd slice his journey from here to West Yellowstone into a fraction of what it will be, come Monday.