Once a Marine. Loree Lough
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the truth about who she’d allowed herself to become.
Oh, she’d kept up with physical therapy—what else was there to do, all alone in her house every day!—but she hadn’t been outside, not even to pick up the mail or newspaper at the community box on the corner. She eased the guilt by telling herself that her parents were actors, accustomed to disappointment. But that frustration had come in the form of producer-and director-delivered rejections. Finding out that she’d deliberately misled them, no matter the reason, was a completely different kind of distress, and she knew it.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” her mom had said as she packed for the trip to Botswana, “but your dad and I miss the plucky risk-taker you were before the accident.”
Accident, indeed. If they couldn’t deal with the facts, how did they expect her to face them?
Again, Alex’s words echoed in her head: you don’t have to live this way.
The oven beeped, telling her it had finished preheating. She slid the pizza onto the top rack, set the timer and changed the channel. Not even watching a young man trying to coax his aging mother to give up years’ worth of hoarded possessions could distract her from Alex’s wise advice. The boy was right. She couldn’t stay in this house forever.
Summer combed her fingers through her bangs. It had become a nervous habit, like feeling sorry for herself and hiding from the world. Things needed to change, and the sooner, the better.
She grabbed the flyer. What could it hurt, she thought, picking up the phone, to talk to the Amazing Zach?
ALEX PRESSED THE receiver to his chest and waved his boss closer to the reception counter. Zach draped a towel around his neck, using the corner to blot perspiration from his upper lip. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Remember that lady I told you about? Well,” he said, pointing at the phone’s mouthpiece, “this is her!”
Like a one-man PR firm, Alex had brought clients of all genders, sizes and ages to Zach’s studio. “You’ve told me about lots of ladies,” he said, grinning. “Help me out here, kid.”
“Summer Lane. You know, the one who lives next door to Mom and me? Who’s afraid to come out of her house ’cause she was attacked couple years ago?”
Oh. That one. What kind of people named their daughter Summer? “Hippies!” his dad would say. Zach pictured a long-haired, cringing spinster, darting from window to window, checking locks and peeking at the world through dusty Venetian blinds.
“She wants to ask you a couple questions. About signing up for classes, I hope.” He put the phone back up to his ear. “Hey, Summer, Zach is—”
Based on the sudden disappointment on the boy’s face, Zach could only assume the poor old thing had changed her mind.
“No, wait! Please don’t hang up, Summer, he’s standing right here!”
Alex thrust the phone into Zach’s hand. “Go easy on her, will ya? Mom says she’s kinda fragile.”
Fragile. The very word Zach’s mom had used to describe Libby right after her ordeal. But unlike the woman on the phone, Libby bounced back quickly, due in part to the unwavering support of friends and family...and her own stubborn determination to put the nightmare behind her. He knew next to nothing about this Summer person, but from what little Alex had told him, Zach guessed she wasn’t made of the same sturdy stuff.
“Miss Lane? Zach Marshall here.” He caught a distant glimpse of himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the room. What are you smiling about, you big idiot. She can’t see you. “What can I do for you?” he said, putting his back to his reflection.
“You’ll probably think I’m being ridiculous,” she began, “but I don’t know enough about your studio—or self-defense, for that matter—to even voice an intelligent question. What I do know is that Alex speaks very highly of you. And that he swears that what you’ve taught him has improved every area of his life.”
That smooth, sultry voice sure didn’t go with his image of a cringing spinster. She’d roused his curiosity, for sure.
“Just so happens Wednesday is our slow day,” he said. “If you’re not busy now, c’mon down. I’ll give you the nickel tour, and do my best to answer whatever ques—”
Alex heaved a frustrated sigh and slapped a palm over his eyes. “She never leaves her house,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Not ever. Remember?”
“Trust me,” Zach mouthed.
“On second thought,” he said into the phone, “I have a better idea. Alex needs some behind-the-wheel time before his big driver’s test. How about we drive over, pick you up and bring you back here. There’s a small class starting in about an hour. You could watch, and maybe that’ll answer some of your questions.”
“I, well, but...”
Alex leaned closer and said into the mouthpiece, “Say yes, Summer. Please? I could use the driving practice. You’ll be doing me a really, really big favor.”
Her sigh filtered into Zach’s ear. Frustration? Angst? Uncertainty? Not that it mattered. Patience had been the main ingredient in Libby’s recovery. That, and an ample supply of tenacity. Maybe Miss Lane had both, and just didn’t know it. Yet.
Alex, palm extended and fingers wiggling, asked for the phone, and Zach gladly handed it over. He had no patience and very little pity for people who didn’t at least try.
“If we leave right now,” the boy told her, “we can be there in ten minutes.” He hung up and grabbed his parka from the hook beside the door. “Let’s make tracks, before she changes her mind.”
“She said yes?”
Alex shrugged. “She didn’t say no...”
Zach told his assistant, Emma, that he’d be back within the hour then tossed Alex his keys to his pickup. As the teen unlocked the doors, Zach shrugged into his jacket. “Don’t make me regret this, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. My entire driving future is riding on it.” Alex laughed and climbed in behind the wheel. “Hey. That’s a pun.” He stuck the key into the ignition. “My entire driving future is riding on it. Get it?”
“Yeah, I get it. And my good-driver insurance policy is riding on it, too, so keep that in mind.”
Zach buckled his seat belt. “To be honest, I’m not half as worried about what you’ll do behind the wheel as I am about what she’ll do when we get there.”
“Do? What could she do?”
“Oh, I dunno. She could meet us at the door, brandishing a shotgun, for starters.”
“Summer?” Alex laughed. “No way. She won’t even squish a spider.”
Probably afraid to, Zach thought as Alex backed out of the parking space.
A car horn blared, and the boy slammed on the brakes.
“Crazy kid!” an elderly man bellowed, shaking his fist. “Where’d you get your license, in a bubble gum machine?”
Alex’s shoulders slumped, and Zach raised his eyebrows. “You know what you did wrong, right?”
“Didn’t check the mirrors.” Smiling sheepishly, he added, “Sorry. Won’t happen again. Promise.”
“Let’s hope not. Your entire driving future is riding on it, remember.”
For the duration of the short trip, Alex kept his word, even while chattering about the attack that turned Summer Lane into a recluse. The kid didn’t have many details,