One Hot Summer

Her eyes widened, but before she could retort, a young girl came through the door at the back.

“The last batch is done, boss. You want me to start on some cookies?”

Sunny stepped back. It was then I realized how close we had leaned toward the other. I rose to my full height, moving away from the counter.

“Yes, Shannon. Let’s do the ginger ones today.”

Shannon eyed me curiously, then smiled at Sunny, before disappearing through the door. “On it, boss.”

We stared at each other.

“As much as I’d love to go down memory lane with you,” Sunny informed me, her voice cold, “I have a business to run. Do you want anything, or did you just come in here to bring more upheaval into my life?”

I blinked. “I smelled biscuits.”

She barked out another laugh. Even that sound was foreign. I recalled her sweet, low laughter. Her lighthearted giggle. This was neither of those.

She reached below the counter, and grabbed two biscuits, shoving them in a bag. “There.”

“I was going to—”

She cut me off. “No. You’re going to take the biscuits and get the hell out of my shop and my life, Linc.”

“Sunny, I just want to talk. I need to—”

Again, she cut me off. “I said no. You had plenty of time to talk while I pined away for you. I no longer care what you need.”

“But I—”

“Get out, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

I stared at the angry, cold woman in front of me. This wasn’t Sunny. Not the Sunny I remembered. Then again, I wasn’t the same boy.

“All right, I’ll go. But I’m coming back. I’ll see you soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that before. I guess we already know that won’t be happening.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

She was on my mind all day, no longer a ghost, but a living, breathing woman. Beautiful. Sad. Angry.

Here. Right here in Mission Cove. I had looked for her years ago, unable to locate her, finally deciding to let her go and move on. Concentrate on my plan and make sure my father no longer had the power to hurt people. I knocked over the pieces in his intricate game of chess, taking his queen and leaving him with no moves left.

The day I received the call that he’d had a massive heart attack in his office and died had produced only one emotion: relief. I didn’t go to see him. There was no funeral. A simple statement in the paper and I had his ashes shipped to me.

I found great satisfaction in driving them to the local dump and tossing them in a pile of rotting garbage.

His soul was rotten, and that was where he belonged.

I shook my head clearing my morbid thoughts. I glanced at the two boxes of possessions I was taking with me. Small mementos I had found in searching the house all day. Things my father would have overlooked since they were sentimental, and he would have had no idea they could mean something to me. One box was of items that belonged to my mother that was in the basement, the cardboard covered in dust and forgotten. The other a few photos and various things I’d picked up as I walked around.

“Are you sure that is all?” my lawyer, Ned Jenkins, asked. “Some of the things in the house are incredibly valuable, Lincoln.”

“I’m sure. Send all the books to the library. They can sell the first editions and use the rest. Open the place up. Biggest ga

rage sale in the history of Mission’s Cove. All the money goes to the town.”

“The place will be swamped.”