Three Summers

Prologue

ONE YEAR AGO

“Stop it, Rowen,” I said through my fits of laughter. I hate being tickled, but it’s one of those love-to-hate kind of things. I fumble with putting my shirt back over my head because Rowen’s taking his fingers and jabbing them into my ribs.

“Seriously, stop! We’re gonna ge—,” More laughter. “We’re gonna get caught; now, stop!” I swat his arm playfully and he jumps back just in time to hit the broomstick; it crashes to the ground with a loud swish and bang, sending a tremor throughout the restaurant. I guess that’s what you get when you dip out of work and end up in the supply closet with your boyfriend/co-worker.

We both pause at the sound of the broomstick falling, waiting for someone to come investigate. I stare at his deep brown eyes and he stares back at mine, both of our ears perked. We wait a few more minutes and no one comes. I quickly throw on my red polo and Rowen tucks his shirt back into his pants, then he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the supply closet, quiet as can be. We both peek our heads around the corner, and no one has even noticed that we’re missing.

Rowen takes my arms and pulls me to his chest, and I giggle. He whispers, “I love you, and our supply closet adventures.” He kisses the top of my hair and adjusts my visor so it’s straight on my head.

“I love you more.” And I do. I love him with my entire heart. He has it, and he always will. I’m young. I know, trust me, my mom tells me every chance she gets. “Sweetie, you’re only seventeen. You’re too young to be in love.” I stay quiet every time the words leave her mouth. I don’t care what she says; Rowen is my true love. When you know, you know.

“Let’s go before we get caught.” I nod in his direction and I make my way to the back side of the counter. Rowen grabs his yellow bucket full of bleach water and starts mopping the tan tiled floor.

This chicken restaurant isn’t the most ideal job I’ve ever had, but it works for now. I think I’ll always be thankful for this job, despite smelling like fried chicken every night and having to wash the layer of grease off my face when I leave, because I get to spend most of my nights with Rowen.

My head whips in the direction of the glass doors as Samantha stumbles inside. She’s soaking wet and she brings in a ton of rainwater with her. It’s always storming this time of the year. In North Carolina, we normally have good weather for most of the year but when spring hits, it pours and drives me crazy, but I love still this little town more than anything.

“Thanks, Samantha. I just mopped over there,” Rowen rolls his eyes at Samantha’s soaking wet boots and she laughs.

“Sorrrrrrry!” she grins at him and makes her way over to me. “Got any free chicken for yours truly tonight?” Samantha comes in almost every night that Rowen and I work. She wants free chicken and since it’s so late when she comes, I always give her the leftovers.

“You know it. Wipe your feet and go sit down. I’ll bring it out.” she gives me a wicked smile and wipes her feet rather obnoxiously on the rug under the register, making sure that Rowen is watching her. She skips to the backside of the restaurant and I go sweet-talk our kitchen crew.

“Hey, James, Samantha is here. Can I give her some of your delicious crispy chicken thighs?” I smile sweetly at James and he shakes his head with a little smile playing on his lips.

James is the head cook and he’s been here for over fifteen years. They’ve offered him the manager job so many times, but every time he denies it. He says, “I just like to make chicken. It’s in my blood,” and turns the offer down. He’s an older guy—in his forties. He was born and raised here in this tiny town, and he also tends to his tiny farm. He sells collard greens on the side, and he says, that collard greens and chicken make him happy, so everyone needs to leave him alone. He can appear like a grumpy old man on the outside, but the truth is, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s especially sweet towards me, and I can’t figure out why; he just likes me. I half-think he knows that Rowen and I disappear every so often to the broom closet and he never says anything. Only glares at Rowen and then smiles his wide, white smile at me.

“Here ya go, darlin’.” He hands me a batch of chicken and I turn around to take it to Samantha when I hear the ringing of a bell towards the door. It’s strange having anyone else come into the restaurant this late at night; it’s nearly ten on a weekday. No one comes in this late unless they’re desperately wanting chicken at a strange hour, or if they’re Samantha. When my eyes make their way to the door, I’m frozen in my spot. My feet feel like they’re cemented into the tiled floor.

My gaze meets the two slits cut into the black ski mask and my heart stops as all the blood is drained from my face. The person is wearing all black. Black shoes, black pants, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a black ski mask. It feels as if time has slowed. I watch as he looks around the room. He spots Samantha who is cowering in the back booths with her hand over her mouth; he spots Rowen who is also frozen in his place with his mouth slightly ajar; then he looks in my direction, quickly glances to James, then Amanda, who is standing with her back to the entrance with no idea that the devil just walked in.

I see the man’s beady eyes dart back and forth between me and the register, and then to Rowen. He’s deciding what to do first. Everyone is just… stuck. Time has stopped. I hear nothing but my own heartbeat in my eardrums, pounding wildly with every breath I take. He whips out a gun and points it at Rowen and my heart plummets. I drop the bag of chicken as soon as he opens his mouth. “Move and I’ll kill you,” he snarls towards the love of my life and I have the sudden urge to scream. Rowen’s eyes are trained on mine. I shake my head no at him and he continues to stare at me with fear clouding his eyes. I swallow loudly as I avert my eyes to see Samantha; she’s hunched in her seat with widening eyes.

The attacker continues to point his gun at Rowen, but makes his way over to me. I’m standing directly behind the counter by the register, with hot chicken splayed at my feet. My breathing is rapid and I’m holding on to the cold metal counter, inching my thumb towards the red panic bu

tton placed on the bottom.

“Open the register!” He screams so loudly that spit flies out of his mouth. I find the panic button and my heart flutters with relief. I press it and his eyes widen as he looks down at my hand. “You dumb bitch!” He brings his gun up and belts me in the head with it. I bend down, covering my forehead with my hand as a white pain courses through my vision. The blood rushing down my face is warm and sticky when I reach up and touch it with my shaking fingers. I hear my name briefly leave Rowen’s mouth, and then a gunshot. I bring my head up and see the gun pointed in his direction, but it looks as if the bullet has only grazed Rowen. The bullet clatters against the glass window and it cracks, all the way up to the top of the building. I look back at Rowen once more and he is holding his shoulder, crouched on the ground. Before I can even fathom what I’m doing, I leap across the counter and jump on the man’s back. My instincts took over the second he shot the gun in Rowen’s direction. The man moves wildly, grabbing me by my tiny arms and throwing me beneath his feet, kicking me swiftly in the stomach. I hear nothing but his kicks pounding into my lifeless body. I feel one last hard blow to the head and I’m met with a haze. My vision is blurry, my stomach burning with pain. I feel the blood dripping down my face and onto the floor. I slowly reach up and touch my face, feeling the puffiness of my right eye, and then the bell chimes in the background. I wait. I wait for someone to help me, but no one comes. I look up and I see Samantha cowering above Rowen’s body on the ground. He’s holding his shoulder and looking up at her shining face, her blonde hair cascading down towards his. My stomach drops when I think he’s actually been shot, but I was right before. He was only grazed. His shoulder is bleeding a little but he’s staring at her face.

Confusion fills my body and I wonder why she’s not making sure I’m okay, too. I’m confused that Rowen is looking up at her like she is an angel sent from God. He hasn’t even looked in my direction. I look up at the ceiling tiles and then back to Rowen. His eyes meet mine and they’re filled with remorse. My vision goes blurry again and I shake my head in protest, but it feels like my brain is bouncing off a brick wall. I bring my hands to my head and white spots crowd my vision. I pry open my one eye at the sound of James’ frantic, southern voice echoing on the phone. He’s over to me in seconds, searching my face. He presses his rag on my forehead and soothes me. “It’s gonna be okay, sweets. The ambulance is on its way.”

“Where’s Rowen?” I ask, although my voice comes out weak and in a whisper. Where is Rowen? Why isn’t he over here with me, making sure I’m okay? I see James look up in the direction of the back, and he glares. If looks could kill, his would in that very moment.

“It’s okay Sadie. I see the ambulance.” And I’m met with darkness.

Part One

Summer, 2010

One

“So, how does it feel to be done with your first year of college?” My mom’s voice has reached its highest octave as she helps me unload the boxes from my Ford Focus. I have officially ended my first year at Duke. It’s been a whirlwind of a year. I’ve grown a lot in this year, emotionally, that is. I’ve decreased my therapy sessions from once a month to never. And I’ve even made some decent friends, Alicia being one of them. Alicia is my roommate, and the first person to actually see me since the attack and not as just this ‘fragile’ girl with a giant scar on her face.

My therapist’s voice echoes in my head at the thought of ‘giant’ scar. “Don’t use words like that to describe your scar, or your attack. If you use words like ‘big, giant, scary,’ you’ll always attach those words to that time in your life.” To be honest, the scar isn’t that bad. I used to think it was terrible and huge and ragged-looking but half the time, people don’t even notice it. Or maybe they pretend to not notice. Either way it’s not that bad. It’s very thin. It follows all the way from the arch of my eyebrow down to my cheek bone.

“It feels like five thousand bricks have been lifted from my shoulders. If I never have to read another Shakespeare play, I’ll die a happy girl.”

“Oh, come on. Shakespeare isn’t that bad!” I smile at the sound of my dad’s voice coming from the house. Of course he would back up Shakespeare; he teaches high school English.

“Hi, Dad!” I place my pink shower caddy on the porch and reach up and hug him. His big arms envelope me and make me feel like I’m five years old again.

“Hi Sade, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Dad.” My throat constricts like a boa at the hug from my dad, but I distract myself by carrying my shower caddy and boxes inside the house, and I realize that I suddenly feel comforted by calling more than a 15x15 room home for the summer. I loved college and it was good to get away from this town and everyone in it, but I missed home. I missed my parents. I wasn’t technically the typical college student. I didn’t necessarily want to leave my parents to go off to college to “find” myself, but after the attack and what followed, I was desperate to get away.

“I like your long hair.” My dad playfully flips my chestnut colored hair over my shoulder. It’s much different than before I left for school. I used to keep it short, to my shoulders, in a spunky type of way, but once I went to college I let it grow. I let it grow because I felt more secure with it. I know, that sounds wacko and it probably is, but somehow my hair feels like security to me now, like it allows me to blend in.

“Thanks. It’s kind of annoying, to be honest.” My dad chuckles and throws back some peanuts into his mouth.

“I’m gonna run up to my room and get my things settled before dinner, okay?” My mom and dad both nod their heads adoringly and watch me climb the stairs to my old bedroom.

It’s strange being back in my house. I didn’t come back for Thanksgiving, and then for Christmas, we went on a family vacation to Disney World. I told my mom I didn’t want to come back, it was too soon. Honestly, it had nothing to do with the actual attack, but all to do with Rowen. The thought of seeing him over Christmas break made me want to run to the icy mountains of Antarctica. Even the sound of his name made my heart stop dead in its tracks. I couldn’t take seeing him. Not then and not now. I’m terrified I’m going to run into him this summer, but there wasn’t much I could do to stay away. I had to come back, eventually. Alicia offered for me to stay with her and her mom for the summer, but how would I explain that to my parents? They thought I was over the situation with Rowen, they mainly focused on my attack and my therapy sessions following it. They didn’t know that my main concern was this brown-eyed boy. He took preference to everything, which is why I had to stay away… apparently, until now.

When I walk into my bedroom, it’s exactly the same as I left it when I went to college. My white and pink flower comforter lays on my bed, untouched. There’s stuffed animals on my shelf, followed by an empty picture frame. On my night table, there’s a lamp and an old snow globe that my grandparents bought me when they visited the Grand Canyon. My dresser still sits in the same spot, up against the wall near the closet door and my old books are neatly stacked below the oval mirror. I glance in the mirror and my eyes take in my long hair. I decide to pull it up into a high ponytail, not needing the extra comfort of it. Not today, not in my house.

Two

Work. My therapist and my parents thought it would be good for me to get a summer job, and I very eagerly agreed. I stopped working after what happened last year, and my parents gave me money to use while at Duke. Not that I really needed it; basically everything was paid for with my scholarship, but my parents argued to me that they wanted to help with anything “extra”. My phone pings as I shimmy into my new work uniform, already feeling claustrophobic with its tightness. I glance down and see a text from Alicia.

Alicia: How are things? Have you seen him yet?

I know exactly who she’s talking about.

Me: Not yet, and I hope not to. I think I can successfully avoid him all summer, if need be.

She texts back within seconds.

Alicia: Don’t

be a hermit just to avoid him. Don’t give him that satisfaction. He’s probably avoiding u too. G2G, just wanted to check on u real quick.