Page 34 of Summers at the Saint
“Depends on what it is.”
“Soooo, I think my mom and your aunt used to be besties back in the day. They even worked here, together, as lifeguards, the summer after they graduated from high school.”
“Oh yeah?” Parrish was intrigued. “What’s your mom’s name? I’ll ask Traci.”
“Shannon Grayson,” Livvy said.
“Never heard her mention a Shannon. What was her maiden name?”
“Grayson. She’s never been married,” Livvy said, as bright pink bloomed on her cheeks. “All I know is, my mom and your aunt Traci went all through school together. They were really tight. But not anymore. My mom blew a valve when I told her I was coming to work here.”
“That’s so weird,” Parrish said. “Do you have any idea why they broke up?”
“I have a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with that last summer they worked here. Which was when my mom got knocked up. And had me nine months later.”
“Oh my God,” Parrish said. “So… can I ask? Who’s your dad?”
“You can ask. I’ve been asking my whole life, but my mom refuses to tell me.”
“Seriously? And you have no idea who it might be? How can she keep a secret like that from you? Doesn’t she think you have a right to know who your father is?”
Livvy let out a long sigh. “You’d have to know my mom to understand. As far as she’s concerned, it’s her secret and it’s none of my business.”
“Just… wow,” Parrish said, flopping back against the sofa cushions. “Now you’ve got me intrigued. I’m gonna ask Traci about this when I meet her for lunch tomorrow.”
“No! Don’t. I don’t wanna stir up anything. Not when I just started working here.”
“Do you think Traci knew who you were? That day you waited on us at BluePointe?”
“Not sure. When she called to offer me the job, and I told her my last name, she sounded kinda weird. Like, maybe she did?”
Parrish took another handful of popcorn and chewed slowly. “Okay. I’ll play it cool, but I’m definitely gonna see if I can find out what happened back then.”
“Let me know what you hear.”
CHAPTER 21
Traci sensed something warm beside her in the bed, a head on the pillow next to hers. She smiled, sleepily turning toward him, forgetting, again, for only a moment, that he was gone.
In the weeks and months following the plane crash, Hoke’s absence, the crushing loss, the overwhelming grief, was something that she carried everywhere, like a lead-weighted collar. Almost every morning, in those weeks, she would awaken to that moment of remembering, after she’d finally managed to fall asleep and forget that he was gone, that he wasn’t right beside her in this very bed, hogging the covers, spooning against her back, his warm breath tickling her neck.
Eventually, she remembered to stop forgetting. According to her therapist, that was progress, wasn’t it?
A wet nose burrowed into her neck, and then the licking started.
“Lola, no,” she mumbled, still half-asleep. But resistance was useless. She turned her head and stared into the dachshund’s dark, unblinking eyes. “Whyyyy?”
In answer, Lola licked her nose.
“Okay,” she said, yawning. “I get the message. Breakfast it is.”
She padded into the kitchen, started the coffee, and filled Lola’s water and food bowls.
While the coffee brewed and Lola ate, Traci checked the weather forecast for the upcoming weekend. The Beach Bash was only two days away, and she was praying for sunny, dry weather.
The weather odds for Saturday looked iffy: sunny in the morning, highs in the mid-eighties, with 30 percent chance of afternoon scattered showers.
“No lightning,” Traci prayed.
