Feels Like Summertime (Lake Fisher 1)

His dad looks around Jake to talk to me again. “I had a stroke and I still can’t get this boy to do anything.”

“I’ll do it, Pop,” Jake replies. “Can you wait a minute?”

“Why?” Mr. Jacobson barks. “You going to kiss her goodbye, or something? I’ve seen you do that before.” He motions for Jake to continue by rolling his finger. “Get on with it. You have work to do.”

“It was good to see you, Katie,” Jake says, his eyes intently staring into mine.

“You too, Jake,” I say softly. “It has been a long time.”

“Too long.”

Suddenly, Mr. Jacobson barks out, “What time is supper, Katie?”

“What?”

“Supper. What time should I arrive?”

I point to my chest. “You want me to make you supper?”

He scratches his belly. “A man’s got to eat.”

“I haven’t exactly been to the store yet,” I admit.

“No problem,” Mr. Jacobson says. “I’ll bring steaks.”

“Oh…well…okay.”

“You don’t have to, Katie,” Jake rushes to say. “I’ll cook your damn steak, old man.”

Mr. Jacobson grins. “Good. You can do it at Katie’s cabin. We’ll use her grill.” He revs the engine on the gas-powered golf cart. “The day isn’t going to get any longer, boy,” he says to Jake. “We’ll see you at six,” Mr. Jacobson calls out to me.

“See you then,” I call back. Jake hops on the golf cart with Mr. Jacobson and they start to drive away. Then suddenly the cart screeches to a halt, with sand and gravel flying.

“My dog!” Jake yells.

The dog is still covered in soap and my youngest daughter is laughing as she makes a cone of bubbles on the dog’s head. “You can get him later,” I yell back.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Positive.” They start to leave again. “Hey, Jake!” I yell.

He turns back and looks at me. I cup my hands around my mouth.

“Bring a salad! And some potatoes! Wrap them in tin foil! And a loaf of bread would be nice!”

Jake looks at me without saying a word for a beat longer than I’d expect. Then they drive away.

Gabby comes to sit next to me on the sand and dusts her hands together. “Was that old man talking about your boobs?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“They’re joining us for supper.”

“Okay.”

“What kind of dog is that?” I ask.