A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos
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“I’d be a selfish cold-hearted bastard not to give you the time you need with your niece.”
I’m sure he was right. Yet I was disappointed because he hadn’t jumped at the opportunity.
“Hey, why the frown?”
Before I could reply, I heard a commotion in the backyard and the sound of splintering wood. I dashed outside with Tony at my heels to find Summer scrambling to her feet, the trellis that had been secured to the side of the house in pieces on the ground, several vines to my climbing roses torn.
“Are you all right?” I asked, hurrying to her side, reaching for her.
Summer flinched away. “Yup.” She lifted her long skirt and brushed dirt off her black nylons, which had holes in the knees.
In the dim light I saw that she’d applied a fresh layer of white makeup.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Instead of using the door like a normal person, she’d tried to climb down the trellis. Where was she going? Was she running away? Since I didn’t spot her black plastic bag, I assumed she’d planned to climb back up later.
“Oh, this is Tony,” I said and saw the disbelief on his face. My stomach twisted nervously.
After a pause, his mouth curved into a crooked grin.
Much to my surprise Summer smiled back. “Is that your set of wheels out front?”
“Yes.”
“That’s cool.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I start her up?”
Silence followed.
Indecision streaked across Tony’s face.
“That’s Tony’s pride and joy,” I said. I understood his reluctance, yet I was still a bit irritated that he hadn’t replied yet.
She waved a hand weighed down with rings. Blunt, black polished fingernails sliced through the air. “I don’t care anyway.”
But she did. And because of that it mattered to me, too.
“Well,” I said with my best smile directed at Tony. “Hand over the keys so Summer and I can listen to the purr of the engine.”
“An engine like that wouldn’t purr. It would growl, right Tony?” Summer added. “So can I start her up?”
For a moment, I thought he’d refuse.
He dug in his pocket and threw her the keys. “Be gentle.”
Her fingers swiped the keys, and she threw him another smile. “Cool.”
In that instant I loved Tony more than I’d thought possible. If he’d asked me to marry him, I’d have agreed.
Until now, Summer had dragged her feet when she walked. She ran past me and raced through the house, the heels of her heavy boots thumping on the hardwood floor, as she dashed out the front door. I’d barely caught up with her and dropped into the passenger seat when the engine roared to life.
From the doorway, I spotted a worried Tony watching our every move. I couldn’t blame him, but relinquishing his keys had been the ultimate sacrifice. I appreciated what he’d done, and I’d certainly tell him so later.
“This is the coolest car I’ve ever sat in.” Summer turned on the CD player and immediately shut it off, silencing Tim McGraw. “How can anyone stand listening to that crap?”
I liked country music, but I wasn’t about to admit to such depravity. This was as close as I’d come to having a civil conversation with Summer. “That music isn’t so bad.”
Summer rolled her eyes. “If I had a car like this, I’d be the most popular kid in L.A.” She fiddled with the radio until she found a heavy metal station and turned up the volume so loud I felt the bass pulsating around me.
“Do you think he’d mind if I backed it up a few inches in the driveway?”
Tony had left the doorway and stood near his car, wringing his hands.
“Mind? He’d go crazy.”
She threw me a knowing glance and laughed, her smile directed at me.
My heart skipped a beat. She’d let down her guard, and I hoped that was a sign of good things to come.
“I’d sure love to take it around the block,” she said, wistfully.
“Maybe if you had a permit.”
“Yeah, as if.”
“You’re right.” If it were my car, I’d let her.
A moment later Summer turned off the ignition, swung the door open and threw Tony his keys. “Thanks.”
She’d thanked him.
More progress.
“I was thinking of heading out for pizza. Would you like some?” he asked.
“Sure, can I come?”
He threw me a questioning glance, and I nodded approvingly.
“Only if you promise not to play your music,” he said, a strained, crooked grin in place.
They returned some time later with two large pizzas, a liter of Pepsi and a bag of vinegar chips. I knew instantly that something was wrong.
Tony slammed the boxes down on the counter and disappeared into the bathroom.
Summer took a paper plate I’d set on the table, loaded it with pizza and chips.
“Mmmm-mmm, vinegar chips are my favorite,” I said, taking one from the bag.
She rolled her eyes, shrugged, poured herself a glass of Pepsi and, grabbing her plate, charged up the stairs. At least she wouldn’t starve.
She’d no sooner slammed the bedroom door shut when Tony entered the kitchen.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That kid has a fresh mouth.”
Tell me something I don’t already know. “She’s had a rough life.”
“That’s no excuse for her to call me an uptight prick.”
Here I’d thought we were making progress. “Why’d she say that?”
“Because she wanted to?”
Which