That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

morning in April, when her parents were both at work, there was a knock on the door. Diana tried to ignore it, but the knocking persisted, loud and ceaseless, like a cold spring rain. She pulled on sweatpants, went downstairs, and yanked the door open, preparing to hurl abuse at whatever inconsiderate delivery person or proselytizer had disturbed her. But it wasn’t a Mormon, or the UPS guy. It was Dr. Levy, dressed in a belted trench coat and leather boots, with a worried look on her face, a look that quickly turned into shock.

“Diana?”

Diana looked down at herself. She wasn’t fifteen anymore, and she knew she’d changed since that summer. Her face was a pale, bloated moon, and her hair was long and wild, witchy and untended. Dr. Levy looked different, too. Her hair was sleek. She wore red lipstick and gold earrings and an expensive-looking bag on her shoulder.

“Can I come in?” She held up a white cardboard box tied with twine. “I brought cannoli.”

Wordlessly, Diana held the door open. She led her former employer to the kitchen, a small, cheerful space, with goldenrod-yellow walls and a red-and-yellow floral-patterned tablecloth on the table, and her mother’s prize Le Creuset Dutch oven, enameled deep blue, sitting on the back burner of the stove. “Can I get you something to drink?” Diana asked. Her voice was a rusty croak; her tongue felt thick and balky. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Nothing for me, thanks.”

Diana gathered a tea bag, a mug, a bottle of honey, plates for the pastries, forks and napkins, which let her keep her back to her visitor. She turned on the radio to fill the silence with the sound of classical music.

“How are you?” Dr. Levy asked as Diana turned on the gas beneath the kettle, wishing she’d had time to shower, or at least comb her hair.

“Fine,” Diana said. Dr. Levy didn’t ask anything else, so Diana didn’t speak again, until she’d made the tea and there was nothing left to do but take a seat.

Diana sat and groped for the tools of polite conversation. “How are Sarah and Sam?”

Dr. Levy’s expression brightened. “They’re fine. In fourth grade, if you can believe it. They’re growing up so fast! Sam’s taking saxophone lessons. He can’t really play notes yet, but he can make these noises…” Dr. Levy made a squeaky honk, and Diana startled herself by laughing. “And Sarah’s in Girl Scouts. She’s taking it very seriously. Trying to rack up as many badges as she can.” Dr. Levy looked right at her. “But I came because I want to talk to you.”

Diana looked down, straightened the salt and pepper shakers at the middle of the table.

“Your mother tells me you’ve been struggling.”

“I’m fine,” said Diana reflexively.

“She thinks,” Dr. Levy continued, as if Diana hadn’t spoken, “that something happened on the Cape. When you were staying with us.”

“Nothing happened,” said Diana, shaking her head.

“Are you doing all right, though?” Dr. Levy’s voice was as gentle as a hand on her forehead, as kind as Dr. Emmerich had been, years ago.

“I’m fine!” Diana’s voice was too loud for the little room. And what right did Dr. Levy have to come swanning in with her leather boots and her fancy bag, asking about things that were none of her business? Diana lowered her voice. “Really. I’m okay. I’m figuring things out.”

“I want to make you an offer.” Dr. Levy clasped her hands and set them on the table. “I don’t know what happened that last weekend you were with us, or if anything happened at all, but I suspect that something did. On my watch.” She spoke each word clearly and deliberately. “You got hurt while I was supposed to be looking out for you, and I feel terrible about that. I can’t undo it, but I’d like to try to help you now.”

Diana felt her throat tighten and her eyes begin to sting.

“I told you that my parents used to bring me to Truro when I was a girl, right? That they had a little cottage?” When Diana nodded, Dr. Levy said, “The cottage is still there. My mother died, my dad’s not well enough to be up there alone, and my sister’s in California, so I’ve been renting it out for the summers. But it isn’t rented for this year yet.” She refolded her hands on the table. “I don’t know, maybe the Cape is the last place you’d ever want to be. But if you do want a place to stay, to get away from the city, and be on your own, and clear your head, and figure things out, like you said, I’d be more than happy for you to stay there.”

Diana blinked. Even in her misery, she could recognize that she was being offered something significant. She felt her heart lift, and realized that there was some part of her that remembered Cape Cod, and how it had felt before it had gone bad: the particular slant of the light in midmorning, the exact green of the marsh grass and the darkness of the water, the sun setting over the bay, in a swirl of flame and molten gold.

Dr. Levy was still talking. “It’s not like the big house, but it’s a sweet little place, right on top of the dune. I used to go there, when I was single, and then Lee and I went, when we were first married.” A smile curved her lips. “It’s just one room, with a sleeping loft, but there’s a full kitchen, and a deck, and an outdoor shower, and—”

“Yes,” Diana blurted. She felt a spark of something unfamiliar and faint, something she recognized as hope. Maybe there was a path forward; a place she could go and hide, and heal. She took a gulp of her tea, scalding her tongue, swallowed, and said, “Please. I’d like that very much. But could I go after the summer’s over? I could pay you rent…”

Dr. Levy shook her head. “No, no, don’t worry