Cruel Summer Read online

  I turned in the passenger seat to look at him.“It’s great. I love it. It’s awfully familiar, though.”

  Which I couldn’t figure out, unless I was having the world’s strongest case of déjà vu.

  “I thought you might recognize it. The last owners filmed part of their reality show here.”

  Well, that totally explained it.

  “It’s great,” I said again, unable to think of another way to describe the place. Or this whole thing, just being here with him.

  “Hoped you’d think so.” Dad smiled as he moved by my passenger door, my suitcases looking even more glaringly shiny and metallic in the bright California sunlight. “Well, come on, let me give you the grand tour and get you settled. I know your mom’s probably anxiously awaiting your texts.”

  “How long have you been in this place?” I asked as we headed up the stone walkway to the double front doors.

  “A year and a half. Bought it when I finished filming in Australia.”

  Within moments, he’d fumbled with his keys, gotten the front door open, and we were stepping inside.

  Cool air rushed towards us, and I smiled in relief to be out of the heat, even from the brief walk up the driveway. I watched him key the security code into the panel by the door and took a moment to look around. The place appeared bright and airy—the whole front of the house to the right was open concept; the left had a wall and the staircase. I could see part-way into the stainless steel and pale blue kitchen from where we stood.

  Two colors that seemed to be the decorators’ favorite choice, from what I could see.

  It was a lot more homey than I expected from all that glass. There were pale gray curtains and shades in almost every room I could see, and I had the distinct impression that half of them were remote-controlled.

  Dad shut the door behind us and set my bags down by the stairs off to the left. He surveyed things, looking more anxious than I’d ever seen him.

  “You want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  He smiled and took off down the hall to the kitchen. I slipped off my sneakers and walked into the living room, surprised to see pictures of the two of us when I was little, not to mention my school photo from last year in a shiny red frame sitting on one of the glass end tables where anyone and everyone could see it.

  “Here…”

  I looked up to see Dad carrying a couple cans of my favorite soda. “Great, thanks.”

  “Should we start the tour?”

  “Why not?”

  I opened my drink and took a careful sip, trying not to spill any on me or the floor as we headed down the hall. The kitchen seemed huge and open with a double set of French doors that led onto the patio. Dad held one open as we stepped outside. A huge pool, the answer to my earlier prayers, glistened brightly in the afternoon sun. A little patch of grass covered the far side, between the pool and the back of the triple car garage we’d parked in front of a few minutes ago. A couple flower beds and a stone wall stood beyond on that side of the yard. To the right was more patio, a fire pit, and some lounge chairs, and another grassy area with flowers. Every few feet were small potted palms and other plants I didn’t quite recognize. Everything looked out towards the amazing view of the hills from the back of the house.

  We walked further down the patio, past a couple of lounge chairs, the oversized umbrella that seemed attached to a couple of loungers, and the fire pit. A sudden breeze brought up the sweet smell of the flowers planted here and there. He turned.

  “See that first balcony?” He pointed to the far side of the house.

  I spun—the same one I’d seen from the SUV. From here, though, it was evident there were more than one. More than two, even. There were three, at least, one bigger than the next as they jutted out from the house.

  Each one looked like it had its own similar décor, potted palms, flowers, and loungers.

  I was definitely going to be spending a lot of time outside this summer.

  “Yeah?”

  “That one’s yours.”

  I squealed, and he laughed.

  “Guess that means you’re ready to see your room now?”

  “Absolutely!”

  We headed back in so he could grab my gear, and then, we headed upstairs. The staircase took a moment to get used to, with the glass sides, you could look straight over and down.

  I followed him along the wide, sandy colored hallway with a feeling he had a thing for the beach with the color scheme he had going. All shades of sand and blues with that gray from downstairs here and there.

  Soft sandy colored walls? Check.

  Even lighter sandy colored hardwood floors? Check.

  All he was really missing was a huge painting or photograph of the ocean somewhere on one of the walls. But all the walls we passed were pretty bare, like maybe he hadn’t fully decorated the hallway yet.

  I still had to pinch myself that I was actually here. If this happened to be a dream, I wasn’t sure I wanted to wake up.

  Evidently, I missed a bit of the tour guide spiel he was giving, and I quickly peeked into a few of the open doors as we passed. A study with bookshelves lining the walls and a giant leather couch with a lamp towering over the side, perfect for curling up in to read.

  A bathroom with yet more glass and chrome in it.

  A couple of guest rooms, one in soft grays with the bed facing what I could only guess was the patio doors that led to its own balcony, its mirror image next door done in soft beiges and gray.

  Then, we headed up another smaller set of stairs and along another hallway.

  “And this one’s yours.”

  I stopped behind him, and he motioned for me to open the door.

  A little dramatic, but hey, he was an actor. I’d play along. I smiled and put my hand on the doorknob, pushing on the door.

  It gave way, and for the first time in my life, I found myself speechless as I stared at a pale blue wonderland.

  The far wall was completely glass, floor to ceiling, and it took me a moment to realize the sliding door off to the side led out to my own balcony, no doubt complete with the hint of lounger and potted plants I’d seen from below.

  The huge bed lay in front of another massive window, pale blue satin draped around the posts. A bright blue sofa with white and silver stars covering its surface sat in the corner of what looked like an attached sitting room to the left, with a large, flat screen TV mounted on the wall facing it.

  There was a glass desk fitted in the other corner of the sitting area.

  Was that really a mini stainless steel fridge tucked next to it?

  And a single serve coffeemaker on that little counter in the main room?

  I took a step forward and noticed small silver stars on the one wall, barely noticeable until the light hit them.

  All in all, the room looked amazing.

  I let out a low whistle of admiration as he came in behind me.

  “The decorator did a great job.”

  “Didn’t use a decorator.”

  I turned to peer at him, a frown scrunching my face. Please don’t let this be where he introduces me to his latest twenty-something girlfriend who wants to bond—at least in front of Daddy Dearest. Been there, done that. Wasn’t up to it again. I had bad flashbacks of a forgettable Rangers game one December and shivered, wishing them quickly away as I cast a weary glance to the door, but the house still sounded silent, like it held just the two of us inside.

  “Did everything myself.”

  I took one more look around.

  “I’m impressed.” Truly.

  He looked up at the far wall where those stars were. “I hope you still like stars. I remember taking you to the Griffith Observatory when you were little.”

  He did? I smiled in memory. I’d loved that place back then. Even though the memories were faint, I remembered happily walking along with him, holding his hand as we looked up at the stars through the telescopes and went to the Planetarium.

  “L
ove them.”

  Despite what Mom said, he did show signs of wanting this; I mean, really wanting this visit to work out.

  Why else would he do all this?

  Knowing he had picked out the bright blue curtains and the glass desk near the windows sorta gave me the warm fuzzies. And he’d painted those stars? Or at least had thought of them and someone else had; it didn’t matter, he’d remembered the smallest things about me, what I loved, and that’s all that mattered.

  Okay, I was still a total Daddy’s girl. So what?

  I gave him a huge hug as he set my luggage on the bed. “Thank you.”

  He kissed my forehead, wrapping his arms around me for a quick hug before he glanced at his watch.

  “It’s the least I could do for you.” He smiled and stepped back. “Bathroom’s through there…” He pointed to a partially open door. “Closet’s there.” Another door I hadn’t noticed. “I’ll let you get settled in. I’ve got the stuff to barbecue burgers, if you want? Or we could try and get something somewhere.”

  Let’s take the selfish route. My first night in town, and I wanted my dad all to myself. “Burgers sound great.”

  He nodded, hesitating on his way to the door, and gave me another awkward hug. “Take your time. Unpack, change. Don’t forget to call your Mom. She’s probably wondering if I’ve left you loitering at LAX.”

  I laughed lightly; he didn’t know how true that statement was. There was probably several texts already from the moment my plane had landed, wondering how I was and if I’d seen him yet. It was probably a good thing I’d kept my phone on mute. “Will do.”

  He walked out the door, closing it behind him.

  Left alone in my new room, I turned in a slow circle.

  This was…wow.

  I headed to the mini fridge and opened it slowly, surprised to see it fully stocked with water and my favorite root beer and juice.

  He remembered.

  See?

  Mom was so wrong about all of this. She was so sure I’d end up disappointed.

  I grabbed the rest of my soda from where I’d set it on my desk in my walking-around daze and headed to the bed to unpack. Best to put things away so I’d have room to stretch out before calling my no-doubt over-anxious mother. I figured a phone call would be more reassuring than replying to her—I picked my phone up and turned it on, checking my messages—twenty-two unread texts.

  Maybe a phone call would be better?

  I bit my lip, checking the time stamps of when she’d sent the last one. Ten minutes.

  Just got home to Dad’s. I’ll phone you in a few.

  I hit send on the text and put my phone down on the dresser before I took a long sip of my soda, bracing myself for the phone call.

  I needed a few more minutes to figure out what exactly I should say to put her mind at ease.

  “Well?”

  I heard the worry in my mom’s voice fifteen minutes later. I’d hung up the clothes in my walk-in closet, which seemed bigger than my entire bedroom back home. Not the sort of thing to mention, though.

  The bad airline food, yes.

  Dad picking me up—alone and on time?

  Definitely, as that would have to put him in some sort of good light in her eyes. I mean, he didn’t send his assistant or a driver or anyone else.

  Just him.

  And no photographer in sight.

  “All good,” I sighed, rolling over on the king-sized bed, a far cry from my ancient twin one at home with the brass headboard I’d had since I was little.

  A girl could get used to this.

  Easily!

  “Really, all good,” I added at her silence as my gaze lost itself to the amazing view from my corner window. The pool glistened warm and welcoming below. I’d have to take a swim later after supper.

  “Okay. You know I’m just a text or phone call away,” she repeated for what I swear must be the billionth time. Enough times to drive me crazy, anyway.

  “You’ll be my first call. But I know this is going to work out.”

  Even though I wanted to reassure her, I still heard a small harrumph, the sign that, yet again, she doubted my decision to try a little father-daughter bonding. She would have to get used to it, if I did decide to go to UCLA… I mean, who knows? Maybe I could stay here. Save money if I didn’t have to pay for a dorm room.

  I’d decided to take a year off, think about what I wanted to do, and where I wanted to be.

  I’d gotten almost straight A’s through school, so it wasn’t like there was anything to complain about. I’d earned a little time off; even Mom agreed on that point. I’d taken extra classes, done tutoring on the side… I needed a break.

  We talked for a few more minutes, and I promised to call her in a few days and text every day in between, before we hung up. I lay there, the phone still in my hand, wondering what she had to be so worried about. Dad hadn’t backed out at the last minute like she’d kept hinting he would, and I couldn’t imagine anything that might ruin the perfect summer I’d been picturing since he’d first suggested the idea of me coming to visit.

  I still had that email.

  Screencapped.

  Had a printed copy in my wallet, folded up. Sometimes, I kept it in my pocket.

  Emails could get deleted, and that was one I wanted to keep.

  The one reminder that…

  “Chey?” Dad hollered from downstairs. “You want to help me grill the burgers?”

  I jumped up from the bed, ready to kick off my summer in Los Angeles. “Yeah, let me change. I’ll be right there.”

  2

  The next morning, I sat at the granite island counter, fixing my morning java—one teaspoon cream, one and a half of sugar, and five quick stirs. A couple sips, and I’d be as wide awake as I could be.

  “You drink that?” Dad asked as he came into the kitchen in a faded T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.

  Apparently, he still visualized my ten-year-old self. Mom often suffered from the same affliction. I was tempted to tell him I was driving, too, but I figured one traumatic moment at a time.

  “Why not? It gets me going in the morning. Besides, I’ve been drinking it since I was fifteen, two, almost three whole years now.”

  He wiped his sleepy eyes as he poured his own mug of coffee. “Like father, like daughter, I guess.”

  I watched in surprise as he followed my coffee regime almost exactly, though he stirred a few extra times.

  He gave me a smile over the rim before taking a long sip. “I’m working today, so that leaves you the run of the place.”

  He took a seat at the counter across from me.

  “Great! I mean, not that you have to work, but…” I couldn’t quite hide my excitement over the prospect of having a place like this to myself and on my second real, full day in Los Angeles. What could be better?

  He chuckled. “I pulled out some blu-rays for you in the living room, if you want to watch them. Plus the Apple TV’s hooked up. Netflix, everything’s there, all yours. All the passwords you need should be on a notepad on the coffee table.”

  “Sounds good.” I still had a bit more unpacking to do. Hadn’t touched my carryon, so I still had to my laptop to take out, plus all my charging cords. My phone could probably do with a quick charge. No doubt Mom would want to check me over on Face Time to make sure I was all in one piece. No matter how many times I texted her, no matter how many pictures, she’d still worry.

  The sound of nearing footsteps in the hallway caught my attention, and I turned to see a pretty brunette in jeans and a black T-shirt walking towards us.

  “’Morning,” she called, smiling as she laid eyes on me.

  “Hi.” A trickle of unease flowed in suddenly as I glanced back at Dad. I hadn’t heard anyone pull up. ’Course, I’d slept in somewhat, and she could have been here for hours already.

  Dad jumped to his feet, a grin on his face. I studied him for signs of who this woman might be, but nothing. He still looked like the same ha
ir-mussed father who’d walked into the kitchen a few minutes ago.

  “Chey, I want you to meet—”

  Oh, man, it was way too early in the day to play nice to one of his girlfriends.

  I waited for the inevitable introduction, chewing the inside of my bottom lip as all my plans for my summer started to evaporate in my head.