I sigh and lay the stack of books I’ve been shelving on the counter. Anita walks around and faces me. “This is ridiculous.”
“Show me.”
I lift up my shirt, revealing the red blotchy skin that’s already starting to peel. Gently she reaches out and tugs at a piece of skin, slowly pulling it off my body. “Gross.”
She holds up my dried, crispy skin. “I can’t help it! None of us burn like this!”
“You have a problem.”
“Maybe I do, but you need to wear sunscreen if you don’t want to peel.”
She had me there.
We’re interrupted by the sound of the chiming doorbell. A woman walks in looking like a confused, lost tourist. Anita and I glance at one another. It’s not the woman’s pale skin that makes her appear out of place, it’s the stylish pants and flowy blouse. The sensible shoes.
None of those are acceptable in Ocean Beach. This is the home of flip-flops, cut-off jeans and bikini tops. Anita jumps in before I can react. “Welcome to Books by the Ocean, can I help you with something?”
She smiles, “I’m looking for Summer Barnes.”
Instantly it clicks. The reporter.
I drop my shirt.
“I’m Summer,” I say, pretending Anita hadn’t just been picking at my skin like a gorilla.
The woman gives me a broad, professional smile. “Summer, I’m Shay Merrill from the New York Times. So glad to finally meet you.”
We’d been emailing for a few days. She’d sent me a few questions to think about—things about my mother, being raised by an author, learning about her story. This wasn’t the first time I’d been involved with an interview, but it was the first time someone wanted to talk to me alone—as an adult. I felt a strange sense of pressure.
I introduced Shay to Anita, clarifying she’s my cousin and Sugar’s daughter, since Sugar is part of the Donald Gaskins story. We give her a tour of the shop and I suggest we sit in the office for the interview.
“I was hoping maybe you’d take me on a tour.”
“Around Ocean Beach?”
“We can walk around and talk—I’ve never been here before.”
I take in her outfit. No. Apparently not.
“Sure, we can do that.”
I tell Anita I’ll be back a little later and we leave the shop. I pull my sunglasses off my head and cover my eyes. It’s super bright today.
“What do you want to see first?” I ask.
“How about the ocean?”
“You’ve got it.”
We walk down the block, past Hullabaloo to the corner. We cross over the street that’s much more crowded now that summer has officially begun. The public beach parking is packed and the strip of ocean by the pier is crowded. We walk over to the boardwalk and then to the pavilion, feeling relief from the heat of the day.
“This is really quaint,” Shay says, taking it all in. “So, if I understand your history correctly, you came here for the first time last year.”
“Yep.” I led her past the concession stand and down the wide planks of wood that jut into the ocean.
“So your mother spent her childhood summers down here, but stopped coming after the attack by Gaskins.”
“Yes. The whole thing was traumatizing—she withdrew from the family. It took her a long time to decide to return.”