was a great way to stress the temporary nature of things. If only it were true. If only she had a goddamn clue what to do next.
Sometimes, she thought about tossing all her portable stuff into a car and driving across the country. If falling between the cracks and being invisible was the way to keep the baby safe, why not take Ari to New York City? If it didn’t matter what big city she lived in, why not?
Walt launched into a travel agent spiel about the wonders of East Coast seasons and how much he loved visiting the Big Apple. She listened politely, but inside her head, Summer fantasized about running into Arnie on a New York City sidewalk. Every scenario she envisioned ended with a joyful reunion. Until presented with concrete, firsthand, irrefutable evidence to the contrary, she staunchly clung to the belief that all they had to do was be together again, and everything would magically fall into place.
If she hadn’t believed they had something special, she wouldn’t have slept with him. Period.
Sometimes, you had to fight for the life you wanted. Should she get the chance, Summer was up for battle. She knew what was real and what wasn’t. If called to defend her family, she would.
She left the photographer’s house with a couple of business cards for people he knew on the East Coast who he was sure would be happy to help if she decided to make a cash cow out of her beautiful child.
Lynda rattled on the whole way home, but she barely paid attention. Exhausted from the long outing, all she wanted to do was shut the door and pine for the man dominating her thoughts.
After everybody returned to the house, Arnie stayed behind to make sure the firepit was properly managed. He stirred up the embers. A chunk of blazing log atop a thick layer of flaming coals put out warmth and lit up the inky night. He could have smothered the flames or poured water over the fire, but he didn’t. Glowing embers against a night sky were something he couldn’t ignore.
Glancing back at the house where the friendly and gregarious Midnight family entertained his fellow NIGHTWINDers, he felt Jon and Lorelai’s happiness. People liked them as a couple, and you couldn’t ask for more than that.
He took a deep breath. The smell and taste of a wood fire permeated his senses. A cozy bubble of warmth from the flames kept the chilly Ohio night at bay.
Moving an Adirondack chair, he angled it just so and then sat with his back to the house party. At night, the thin line between body and spirit was easier to step over. With luck, moving into the shadows would reveal hidden things. Things kept from him.
The flames lengthened and danced as the wind picked up. He stared into the red-gold blaze. Instead of fully formed thoughts, disconnected words rushed by, and murky scenes, difficult to decipher, filled his mind.
Catching one of the flying words proved much harder than he expected. Surprised because he mastered this kind of exercise years ago, Arnie inhaled deeply. The chair at his back gave him an anchor. An anchor he’d need if the fire drew him any deeper.
Relaxing his shoulders, he lightly gripped the chair’s arms and pounded his booted feet against the ground. His gaze lifted to the night sky. Tonight, the waning crescent moon was nearly invisible. Tomorrow would bring a new moon.
Arnie plugged in to the lunar energy. He thought about Lorelai’s wedding plans. She insisted the ceremony take place during the moon’s waxing phase. The happy couple was even going to plant a tree to signify their love continuing to grow in the coming years.
Planting a tree was cool. Arnie was sure that Summer would be all over it like gravy on biscuits. She’d love the symbolism.
Summer. Every thought always led back to her.
He was jealous of King and Jon. It should be him and his golden girl celebrating their union.
No, he didn’t begrudge his friends their happiness. He wasn’t trying to be a dick, but being bummed out all the damn time was draining his psyche.
The area around his heart throbbed with awareness and sucked him into the dancing fire. After falling for a long time, he felt something solid beneath under his boots and fought to find his footing. When he did, his balance was tenuous at best—a signal he was either trespassing or testing uncertain waters.