A New Shade of Summer Read online

  Chapter Two

  CALLIE

  I cruised past the WELCOME TO LENOX sign with my arm fully extended out the car window and my freckles happily populating under the sun’s intoxicating rays. Of all the places my sister and brother-in-law could have chosen to raise their family, this sweet-as-a-box-of-chocolates town ranked near the top of my Favorite Places Ever list. The mountain backdrop, the friendly residents, the less than ten blocks of cafés and shops referred to as “downtown”—it was such a refreshing change of pace from the nonstop bustle of city living. Although, I believed anything in life could be enjoyable for a season.

  I hummed along to the soothing acoustics of the indie rock piping through the barely-hanging-on speakers of my Subaru and slowed to a crawl. Turning into the parking lot at Eighth and Lincoln, I scanned my next job site. Clementine hadn’t been kidding. The bakery, with a sweet curlicue sign reading FOR GOODNESS CAKES, was in dire need of a face-lift.

  The east end of the exterior cement wall bore a web of eyesore fractures—an artistic challenge I’d enjoy taking on. Even now as I studied it, a swirl of possibilities and color ignited my imagination. Of all the mural work I’d contracted for this year, this project couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Or in a more perfect place. I filled my lungs with another deep inhale of Oregon air.

  This summer would be everything I needed it to be.

  After weaving through several neighborhoods, I reached my sister’s charming country road. Gratitude shot through my chest at the sight of the Cascades, how they folded in on each other with swooping peaks and sharp crests—a red-carpet greeting to ease the ache I’d felt for months over missing my family. Where Sleeping Beauty required a kiss to make her world bright and new again . . . I required a bear hug from my niece and nephew.

  My two favorite people on the planet were only a block away, but just as I spotted their driveway, a marbled white-and-gray dog darted in front of my tires. A high-pitched squeal ripped from my throat. I pressed the brake to the floorboard. Boxes thudded hard against the back of my seat. Heaving a shaky breath, I slumped over the steering wheel and watched as the scrawny little guy shuffled over to the opposite curb and made a break for the field behind my sister’s property. He disappeared into a thick patch of trees. A part of me wanted to chase after him, check for a collar . . . but now that I’d finally arrived at my destination, I had a surprise entrance to plan.

  Leaving behind my purse, luggage, and any traces of common sense, I stepped out of my car and shut the door, pondering my options. My gaze traveled across the two-story remodeled farmhouse until I spotted the open bathroom window on the main floor. Yep. That will do just fine. Front doors were for conventional relatives only.

  Channeling the covert ways of Nancy Drew, I scurried across the recently irrigated ground, my sandals slipping over the damp grass. I rounded several perfectly pruned rosebushes and well-groomed garden beds on my trek to the window. Chris had definitely upped his landscaping game since last summer. I gripped the chest-high windowsill and attempted to pull myself up. My first try failed miserably. This had the potential to be one of my better surprise entrances to date, but it would require a bit more physical exertion than I’d expected. Activating muscles I hadn’t used in some time, I heaved myself up again, using the shiplap siding as a ladder. My biceps—or lack thereof—shook from the effort.

  I grimaced at the sound of an approaching car. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t . . .

  The passing sedan slowed to a rough idle, and a balding middle-aged man leaned out his window. The afternoon sun glinted off his waxy head as he gawked at my sad acrobatics.

  “Uh . . . should you be climbing that, miss?”

  Refusing to lose the hard-earned ground I’d gained, I released my hand only long enough to offer him my most convincing thumbs-up/wave combination, as if to say, All is normal here. Feel free to move on. Pay no attention to the redheaded hippie breaking and entering in broad daylight.

  His suspicious gaze held a few seconds more, and I could practically hear his internal debate: Should I ask for identification? Should I alert the police? Should I warn Chris and Clementine that there’s a freckled lunatic about to crawl inside their house? Thankfully, his ogling came to an end when a jogger in a leopard-print spandex onesie sprinted past. Without further comment, he drove on.

  I inchwormed my way into the bathroom headfirst. Planting my palm on the back of the toilet, I propelled the rest of my body to the tile floor in a graceless heap.

  Perhaps my antics weren’t the usual Friday entertainment for the quiet community of Lenox, but even still, I had a reputation to uphold. Fun aunties were anything but predictable.

  Untucking my hair from the back of my blouse, I navigated over several land mines of soppy towels and crumpled clothing and stepped into the hall, which was littered with even more laundry, books, and sports equipment. Considering my sister’s OCD tendencies, the mess came as a shock. Maybe Clementine was between chore chart systems? Though that was doubtful, since chaos of any kind was my sister’s greatest foe. Clem tackled clutter the way I brushed color onto a blank canvas, with passion and vigor.

  Tangled voices coming from the kitchen drifted to where I hid in the shadowed hallway. I waited to hear a familiar banter over lunch choices. My sister, world-class organizer and made-from-scratch foodie, offered her children meal options I could hardly pronounce, much less prepare.

  But as I edged closer to the kitchen, back flat against the wall, and prepared for my Pop-Goes-the-Weasel entrance, the sound of my sister’s voice gave me pause.

  “Just make a PB&J sandwich, Corrianna. I don’t have the energy to make lunch today.”

  Doesn’t have the energy?

  A foot from where I stood, a miniature hand with chipped aqua nail polish reached for the pantry doorknob. I leaped out.

  “Surprise!”

  Corrianna squealed—first in terror and then in delight. “Aunt Callie!” She threw her arms around my middle and squeezed tight. “You’re here! You’re really here! A whole week early!” She jumped up and down, encouraging me to do the same. Nine-year-old girls held the market on celebration. “Do you really get to stay all summer this time? Mom said you’re going to be painting the bakery downtown!”

  “You know I always stay as long as I can.” I smacked a kiss to the crown of her unruly auburn curls and scanned the kitchen in search of my sister. “Where is everyone? Where’s Collin and your dad and your—”

  A throat cleared behind me, and I turned toward the open living room. My sister stood ten feet away, leaning against the back of the sofa. And the instant I saw her, the instant our eyes locked, I felt it anew—the tireless tether that had bound us to one another since childhood. Clementine, my big sister, and the North Star to my wandering soul.

  Her lips curled into a wry twist as my niece snuggled deeper into my side.

  “The bathroom window, huh? Creative.” Clem tilted her head, the overhead light glinting off her golden blond highlights, revealing nearly three inches of ashy roots. When was the last time I’d seen Clem’s natural hair color?

  “It’s a good thing I hired someone to prune the rosebushes or else you probably wouldn’t have made it inside unscathed.”

  “Hired someone?” My sister had a honey-do list a mile long, and yard maintenance had always fallen to Chris. “As in you paid Chris with a batch of his favorite contraband cookies?”

  Clem shifted her gaze to her shoes, and I noticed the tired circles under her eyes.

  “Daddy’s in China again. Until the end of July. He got a huuuge promotion,” Corrianna supplied. “But he took a big souvenir list for us this time. When he comes home, it’s gonna be like Christmas in summer!”

  “What? No way! That’s so cool!” I framed her sweet cheeks between my palms. “You and Collin have the best dad ever.”

  Corrianna beamed.

  “You certainly gave Ned Thompson quite a fright,” Clem said, changing
the subject.

  “Who’s Ned—” Oh. Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Beige sedan? Bald guy?”

  Slow and exaggerated, Clem nodded.

  “He called you?” That certainly explained my sister’s anticlimactic reaction to my surprise party entrance.

  “Ned’s the head of our neighborhood watch.” She gave me her best big-sister smirk.

  Oh, how I’d missed that smirk.

  Unwilling to wait another second, I lunged forward and folded her into a hug, noticing the lackluster response immediately. While there wasn’t a physical inch to spare between the two of us, I sensed another kind of distance. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Corrianna tugged my hand away from her mother’s back and fingered my mood ring, twisting it around and around the same way she had when she was a toddler. “What does blue mean again?”

  I tore my gaze away from my sister and pretended to think hard about the answer to my niece’s question. “Hmm . . . I believe blue means that we’re going to have the most fun ever together this summer—after I find that stinky big brother of yours, of course.”

  But before I went on a hunt for my nephew, I needed to get Clem alone. Figure out why my spidey senses were on high alert.

  An eruption of boyish laughter echoed through the hall. “Come on, that’s Collin and Brandon.” Corrianna yanked on my hand. “They play video games in the basement like every second of every day. Let’s go scare them.”

  Since when did Clem allow video games on a beautiful summer afternoon? My sister inclined her head toward the lower staircase. “Go ahead. You and I can catch up in a bit.”

  The exhaustion I detected in her voice left a stinging sensation in my conscience. How much had happened in the time I’d been away?

  Pretending to be ninjas, Corrianna and I crept up behind the boys seated on the couch. I waved a hand in front of my nose like a fan, and she snickered. Preteen boys certainly knew how to violate the air quality of a room. On a count of three, we sprung around the sofa, making our presence known with shouts and giggles.

  Collin and his friend barely flinched, their attention firmly glued to the cars racing on the big screen that dominated the far end of the basement. Fine, then. He left me no other choice.

  I hopped in front of the giant television and blocked their view of the virtual racetrack. Collin’s eyes snapped to mine, and finally, recognition dawned. He pushed off the sofa and lumbered toward me, although, apparently, his too-cool-for-school attitude allowed for only a side hug and a mere “Hey, Aunt Callie.”

  “Um, I don’t think so, pal. You better give me a proper hug, or I’ll be forced to take action.” I waggled my eyebrows, and Collin wasted no time in wrapping me in a genuine embrace. How is it possible this kid is nearly as tall as me?

  I released him and then took him in fully, my now twelve-year-old nephew who once ate the tops off a pan of Clem’s super-food muffins and claimed he could qualify for the Olympics.

  He had the lanky build and height of his father, but his eyes sparkled with the same golden hue as his skin, making him the spitting image of my sister. Corrianna’s freckled ivory complexion, ruby locks, and silvery-blue eyes matched that of my own. The mystery of genetics never ceased to amaze me.

  “How did you possibly grow two feet since I saw you last?”

  Collin shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t grow. Maybe you shrunk.”

  “Nice try, but I’m not to the shrinking age yet. I’ve got another thirty-plus years before you can start cracking those jokes.” I slung my arm around Collin’s shoulders and nodded to the dark-haired kid who sat studying us without comment. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “Oh. That’s Brandon,” Collin said with a nonchalance that matched every teenage boy I’d ever encountered.

  “Well, hey there, that’s Brandon,” I mimicked. “I’m Callie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Game controller still clutched within his grip, Brandon lifted his chin in reply, a movement so minute I nearly missed it.

  “Are you two school friends?” I asked.

  Brandon shot Collin a guarded look, and my nephew responded with a simple “Yep.”

  “So you live nearby, then?”

  Again, Collin answered for his friend. “Close enough. We have bikes, you know?”

  Brandon shifted on the sofa cushion, and I noticed a ratty black notebook tucked underneath his right thigh. No, not a notebook, a . . . sketchbook?

  Whatever it was, the instant he caught me staring at it, he shoved it farther beneath him.

  “Well, I guess I’ll let the two of you get back to your riveting game of . . .” I checked the paused picture behind me. “Crashing Cars on a Dark and Bumpy Highway.”

  Collin rolled his eyes and laughed. “It’s called Race City, Aunt Callie.”

  “Mom calls it brain rot,” Corrianna added.

  It was my turn to laugh. Now that sounded like my sister.

  Collin plunked himself back onto the couch and picked up his controller. “At least I’m not the one going into fifth grade who’s still playing with dolls.”

  Corrianna’s cheeks brightened to a shade of pink I knew all too well. Sure enough, her gaze flickered between the stoically silent Brandon and her smirking big brother. Someone had a crush.

  “I do not play with dolls anymore, Collin. I’m an artist. Like Aunt Callie.” She marched to where I stood and linked her arm through mine. “She’s staying for the whole summer, and while you’re in here doing this”—she hitched her thumb to the video game behind us—“I’m going to be using my creativity.”

  Corrianna always did have a flare for the dramatics. No idea who she got it from.

  I gave her a wink and started to turn back toward the staircase when Brandon’s focus narrowed on me. “You’re an artist?”

  He speaks! “I am.”

  “What kind?”

  “The crazy kind,” Collin blurted.

  Where was a throw pillow to chuck at his shaggy blond head when I needed one? “I think what my nephew means to say is the crazy talented kind.”

  Corrianna perked up. “Yep. She’s been in magazines and has worked in, like, every single state in America. She’s super famous.”

  A gross exaggeration, but I’d go with it. I wasn’t one to dismiss a captive audience. Or a compliment.

  “I mostly paint murals, Brandon. But I love to sketch and paint and even mess around with clay and metal on occasion. It just depends on my mood.”

  “She uses that old warehouse out back for her supplies when she’s here,” Collin said.

  “The one next to her cute Tiny House,” Corrianna added. “She lives there when she visits.”

  I fought a smile at the memory of my brother-in-law standing in the center of his driveway, an arm looped around my sister’s waist, clearly amused at the sight of my borrowed pickup pulling a sunshine-yellow Tiny House up to his curb. But unlike he’d guessed, my purchase wasn’t an early April Fool’s joke. It was my home. And I simply needed a place to park it. Eventually, he’d agreed it could remain on his property, but not before he’d told every single Tiny House joke in existence.

  Brandon scooted to the edge of the couch cushion, his gaze sharp. “Are you getting set up today? In the warehouse?”

  “Yes, but first I was planning to—”

  “Can I help?” Brandon asked, not bothering to include his friend in the volunteering. “I mean, if you have supplies that need to be carried over or whatever, then . . . I could . . .” He shrugged, as if just now realizing what his mouth was saying.

  Despite my desire for a hot shower after my long road trip—and my even bigger desire to corner my standoffish sister—I found myself unable to deny the kid’s enthusiasm.

  “I’d never say no to free muscle.”

  Corrianna let out a delighted squeal. “Ooh! Then I’m helping, too. I’ll go grab my shoes and a pair of Dad’s work gloves.”

  My niece skittered up the stairs while Brando
n tugged a navy backpack from around the side of the sofa. He unzipped the top and slipped his sketchbook inside.

  I hooked an arm through Collin’s, pulling him up from his seat to plant a sloppy smooch on his cheek. He promptly scrubbed it off.

  “Aren’t you glad I’m here with you alllllll summer long, Collin?”

  He groaned, and together we stepped toward the staircase. I peeked over my shoulder at Brandon and said, “Don’t let him fool you. He really does adore me. If you plan on sticking around, you’ll get to see just how much.”

  I could sense Collin’s eyes roll.

  At the top of the stairs, Brandon dug out his phone and glanced at the home screen.

  “How much time do you have left?” Collin asked him.

  “An hour and twenty-one minutes.”

  “An hour twenty-one?” I laughed at the odd number. Most of the twelve-year-old boys I’d known weren’t so aware of time.

  The two boys shared a coded look.

  “Don’t worry, though,” Collin interjected. “He’ll be back here tomorrow at nine fourteen. Anyway, just tell us what you want brought to your studio, and we’ll get it done.”

  “Oh, okay, great. Go ahead and unload everything except for the green tote. That one can stay put.” It’d been back there for three years, so what was another few months?

  Before I could give any more instruction, the two darted out the back door.

  “Thanks, boys!”

  For free labor, the boys did an excellent job unloading, right up until Brandon’s phone alarm beeped. And then Brandon was off, peddling his bike as if he were afraid the clock would strike midnight and he’d turn into a pumpkin.

  Worn out from the long morning, I left Collin to his brain rot in the basement and wandered through the quiet house, searching the empty kitchen and hallways. But Clem was nowhere to be found.

  Secrets seemed to line every room of my sister’s house like wallpaper. And suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to uncover them all.

  Chapter Three

  DAVIS

  I swept the cloudy plastic drape aside and entered what used to be a restaurant kitchen. A stainless-steel sink lay upturned near the floor-to-ceiling fridge. Ancient pots and pans were piled high in the corner like abandoned weaponry. Yet what caught my eye was not the renovation mess but the jackhammer propped in the center of the room. Whoever had loaned Ian Shepard a jackhammer certainly hadn’t bothered to check his credentials.