Endless Summer

“Sure. Do you want to go back to my house?”

“Will they be there?” he asked, bug eyes never leaving the horrifying threat in front of him.

“Er, no. My brother has a date with his girlfriend. I don’t know what he’s doing here, come to think of it. And Adam wouldn’t dare set foot in my house.” I wasn’t sure this was true. The longer I knew Adam, the more I realized there wasn’t much he wouldn’t dare do, even in the face of my extremely angry father.

Hey, great idea! “Yeah, let’s go to my house.” With Parker quickly losing his enthusiasm for this fake date, I needed to squeeze all the juice out of him while I could.

at meant introducing him to my dad. Over the next few days my dad would ask around town about Parker and find out about the many horrors, ideally including the time Parker and his prep school friends filled the famous fountain in the center of Birmingham’s Southside with cheese grits.

Sticking my tongue out at Adam—he just turned away—I cranked the engine of the Beamer, looked carefully behind me for football players and monster trucks and RC

Colas, and backed out of the space. I half expected Adam to follow right behind me. Half hoped he would. Because that would have given me another chance to argue with him. Arguing with him seemed to be allowed by McGillicuddy and, bad as it was, it was miles better than no contact with Adam at all.

But an entire drive of watching the rearview mirror assured me I’d shamed Adam and my brother sufficiently to shake them off my tail, damn it. As I parked the car in my driveway, I turned my attention back to Parker, who was curled into a ball in the passenger seat, shaking. “Oh God, I’m so sorry about the air-conditioner. Why didn’t you say something?” I’d cranked the cold air all the way up, and Parker was paying the price in frostbite. Not everybody got all hot and bothered when Adam stared at them, apparently.

Parker didn’t uncurl from his ball.

“Hey.” I reached over and rubbed his knee in a friendly warming-your-skin way, not a way that would earn me the hickey from Parker that had been claimed by several sophomore girls whose stories I didn’t entirely trust anymore. “Let’s go in and meet my dad.” I thought he might regain some of his bravado by the time we got inside. But as I opened the door in the garage and crossed from the kitchen into the den, he continued to trail after me like a kitten with PTSD from being shot with way too many Nerf darts. ere was a reason the Vaders’ cat did not often venture out of the master bedroom. Parker would never scare my dad while he acted like this.

I would have to rely on Parker’s reputation getting back to my dad. en my dad would say, “My goodness, that timid boy is actually a man-slut? By analogy, Adam Vader, who seems to have a death wish, probably has his shit together after all!” Of course, this was the best-case scenario, or perhaps the in-my-dreams scenario. In retrospect, this was one of the reasons my plans had a tendency to backfire.

I walked into the den and stopped so fast that Parker plowed right into me. Dad was sitting on the couch all right, and Frances was curled up next to him.

In a miniskirt!

Well, maybe not a miniskirt. It might have been mid–calf length, and I got the first impression that it was a miniskirt because she usually favored floor-length hippie garb. She’d kicked off her Birkenstocks to reveal freshly painted red toenails. In short, for Frances, she looked adorable. I was sure this was an accident.

“Hi!” I exclaimed as if I’d totally expected my ex–au pair. But I truly hadn’t bargained on Frances being there. is threw a monkey wrench in my plans, though I wasn’t sure yet whether it was a big sucker like a pipe wrench or something that would be easier for me to manage like a little Allen wrench. We all exchanged greetings and I introduced Frances and my dad to Parker.

“Parker Buchanan.” My dad stood and gave him the firm handshake and the full grin he used with clients. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yes, sir.” Parker sounded as if he might faint.

“All right then!” I a

We started up the stairs, Parker ahead of me, when my dad called, “Lori, can I have a word with you alone?” Parker paused and turned his traumatized kitten bug eyes on me. I nodded for him to go on into my room. As I bounced back down the stairs by myself, I resisted the urge to rub my hands together with glee. My dad wanted to give me a Talking-To about Parker! Hooray!

I reached the den again and my dad was still gri

“Young lady,” he said, which was a pretty good start for the Talking-To, “I am so proud of you.” DAMN IT!

“Thank you!” I beamed at him like I knew what the hell he was talking about.

“I have been Parker’s grandparents’ counsel since they founded the yacht club,” he said. “I’ve watched Parker grow up. He’s a terrific student, as I’m sure you know, with designs on Yale. But his grandparents have always been concerned about his social life and frankly, his mental health. He hardly peeks out of his shell at his private school in Birmingham. Then he comes down here to stay with them in the summer, and apparently he tells a lot of tall tales, making himself out to be some sort of Lothario.”

“You’re kidding!” I did not need to fake my astonishment, though I was not astonished for the reason my dad assumed.

“It’s wonderful that you’ve started a friendship with him,” my dad went on. “I’m sure it will do him good.” I was sure a knuckle sandwich would do him more good, but I refrained from saying this. “Dad, your pride means more to me than you know.” We gave each other a final manic grin and I headed for the stairs again, but not before I caught a glimpse of Frances watching me. She knew I was up to something.

Well, lucky for her and Dad, I was not up to a whole lot at the moment. I slogged up the stairs, into my room, and closed the door behind me.

Parker was sitting on my bed, thumbing through one of the issues of Playboy I’d stolen from McGillicuddy for fashion advice. He threw it back into the drawer of my nightstand and slammed the drawer shut, as if I would be completely fooled by this and had not been the one who put the magazine there in the first place.

I sat next to him on the bed and smiled sweetly at him. “You’re so tense, Parker. You’re not still worried about Adam and my brother kicking the shit out of you, are you? To be honest, I think they’re still mad, but they don’t have martial arts training like you do.” He stared at me. His eyes were so wide that I swore they were going to rebel and pop right out of his head and wander around the room, looking at whatever they wanted. If they ventured up my skirt, I was going to step on them.

“What am I going to do?” he cried.

“What do you mean, what are you going to do?” I asked him i

“Lori!” Parker cried. “I’m not who you think I am!”

I cocked my head and blinked at him. “You’re not Parker Buchanan, grandson to the Buchanans of the Buchanan Yacht Club, student at a fancy schmancy private school in Birmingham?”