Summers End

By Tim Ranney

A modern-day Stand by Me, this coming of age story is set in 1969 against the backdrop of the moon landing and Woodstock. Grant is finishing his freshman year of high school in small town, Connecticut. While summer vacation looms large and enticing, his best friend, David, has other plans and drags the boys into all sorts of predicaments. David

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638372110

Tim Ranney

Tim Ranney is a small-town boy who came of age in the '60s and '70s and remembers a simpler life and time. Since then, he's grown to be a successful business executive, student of history and a supporter of the arts. He resides in Connecticut and Vermont with his wife, Susan, and a pair of Cavalier King Charles spaniels. Author may be contacted at: Tim-Ranney.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

DELIVERING NEWSPAPERS

G

rant could feel the sweltering heat of the late afternoon sun beating down on the back of his neck. Using his left hand, he wiped away beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead so they wouldn’t run down and drip into his eyes. Walking along the edge of the road where the pavement ended in loose gravel and dirt before surrendering to crabgrass and tall weeds, he could feel the uneven surface give way ever so slightly beneath the soles of his worn-out sneakers. The temperature was so hot, the asphalt was blistering in places, and droplets of shiny black oil were collecting in cracks and crevices.

At the intersection of an old country road, Grant paused to look both ways before crossing. Off in the distance, he could see a mirage in the shape of a giant puddle in the middle of the road with faint, wavering lines of heat radiating off the pavement. He was on the last mile of his paper route, and the frayed canvass pouch at his side with the orange strap slung across his shoulder was half empty. Today was Wednesday, and it was the last full week of high school in June. His freshman year was coming to an end, and he couldn’t wait for summer to begin.

Plodding along, he pulled out a paper and scanned the front page news. Yesterday there was another race riot in Hartford, and more than forty people were arrested. The picture above the fold showed the smoldering ruins of a tenement building that had been set on fire. On Sunday, Mickey Mantle was retiring from the New York Yankees. Although everyone said it would be the end of an era, an exciting future lay ahead. In Houston, the Apollo astronauts were preparing for their journey to the moon, the culmination of years of practice and planning. Once they landed, there was no telling where man might go next.

Grant returned the paper carefully so moisture on his fingers wouldn’t smudge the newsprint. He had been delivering the Hartford Times since sixth grade. It wasn’t hard work—not like when he mowed lawns, raked leaves, or shoveled snow for extra money—but it was work, nonetheless. No matter the weather—rain, shine, sleet, or snow—it was his job to have every paper delivered by six o’clock. He took the responsibility seriously and was never late. Each day he kept track of two times: how long it took for the last paper to be delivered and how long it took to return back home.

For the first few weeks, delivering papers had been more fun than work, but eventually it was harder to go faster, so the novelty wore off. His best time for completing delivery was forty-eight minutes, ten seconds; roundtrip took seventy-six minutes, twenty-seven seconds. At first he was surprised the return took so long, since there were no stops or papers to carry. Then he realized it was mostly uphill, which made all the difference in the world. Still, his times were remarkable, considering he was on foot.

After this weekend, his job would be easier. He had saved enough money to buy a bike, and on Saturday, his father would take him to Manchester to pick it up. Grant figured delivering papers on wheels would cut his times in half. That would free him to do other things, although exactly what he didn’t know. In the meantime, as each day proved hotter than the last, it was safe to assume no records would be broken.

Most of Grant’s customers were in a housing development he lived in with his parents. The rest were scattered along an old country road, most on the slightly elevated east side overlooking open farmland to the west. Unlike his neighborhood, where every house looked the same on their quarter-acre lots with meticulously manicured lawns and perfectly pruned, nursery-bought trees, the houses on the country road were larger and older, all weathered and worn. Their front yards were rolling expanses with imprecise boundaries bordered by brush and dense woods. Here the trees stood like majestic sentries with massive trunks and thick limbs, knotted and gnarled. Importantly, in the late afternoon, they cast huge pools of shade on the road, and on days like this, a seasoned paperboy like Grant knew the exact number of steps between them.

After leaving a paper on the Rumford’s front porch, Grant had a long stretch to walk before his next customer, the Kurkova Brothers Farm. The family was a significant landowner and among the town’s first settlers. Although their primarily business was growing shade tobacco for wrapping cigars, they were also known for their heirloom russet potatoes, which they sold to independent grocery stores as far as Springfield to the north and New Haven to the south. The old farmhouse at the end of a long dirt driveway was built in 1707. Grant knew this because the date was on a bronze plaque to the right of the front door.

The oldest of the Kurkova brothers lived here with his wife and three children—two sons and a daughter. The girl’s name was Jessica, but everyone called her Jesse. She was a wisp of a girl with short dark hair, large brown eyes, and a contagious smile. She was shy and studious. Although she was in the same homeroom as Grant this year and they’d shared many of the same classes in the past, they hadn’t spoken much since fourth grade, the year boys stopped paying much attention to girls, until recently anyway.

Trudging along the dirt driveway, Grant scuffed his feet on purpose, creating an enormous cloud of dust in his wake. He knew it would upset his mother when she washed his clothes, but he didn’t mind the fine dirt that collected in his pant cuffs and settled in his hair, irritating his eyes and sometimes making him sneeze. He dragged his feet because he liked to see how large a cloud he could create, especially on windy days.

The Kurkovas’ farmhouse was the original colonial structure, enhanced by additions and modernizations over the years. The driveway curved in front of the house and turned left before a large barn, passing through a grove of blue spruce before ending in front of three large sheds built into the side of a hill. Inside these structures was where the prized potatoes were stored after harvest each summer, the earth providing natural insulation and constant temperature year-round.

Today the farmyard was quiet, but Grant knew, by summer’s end, it would be a scene of great commotion as trucks, fresh from the fields, would line up, filled with harvest. After being emptied into a large hopper, the potatoes would be taken by conveyor inside the first barn, where vibrating screens and giant fans would remove any dirt before sending them into the second barn for sorting and packing into burlap bags. On such days Grant would hang out in the yard as long as he dared, just out of harm’s way, thoroughly engrossed in the hustle and bustle of activity. Some days he would sneak inside and marvel at the migrant farmhands scurrying about like worker bees in a hive. For a young boy of fifteen, the tremendous might of man and machine was an impressive sight to behold, a dangerous distraction, and an easy way to lose track of time.

As Grant approached the front porch today, he pulled out a newspaper. Without losing step, he folded the paper in thirds and tucked the loose ends into the crease on the opposite side. Then he swung his arm back and brought it forward, snapping his wrist to send the paper sailing through the air. He watched as it tumbled in flight and landed with a loud thump before skidding across the uneven porch floor. If his toss was just right, the paper would slide into the welcome mat with sufficient force to somersault forward, unfolding as it did. Such precision was more art than science, but after three years of forty-one tosses a day, six days a week, he was quite good.

Turning to leave, Grant’s eye caught a faint disturbance in the tall, narrow window to the right of the door. If he squinted really hard, he could see the outline of someone standing behind the sheer drapes. He didn’t know why, but Jesse was always in hiding when he delivered the paper. Some days he had to search longer than others, but he almost always found her, or evidence of where she’d been—a noise in the hayloft above the barn, a rustle in the bushes at the side of the house, the faint movement of a curtain inside. On those rare occasions when there was no sign, he always had an eerie feeling someone was watching as he made the long trek back to the road.

If Jesse thought she was cleverly hidden this afternoon, she was mistaken. Grant wasn’t sure why, but today he felt different about this odd game of hide-and-seek she liked to play. For some unexplained reason, he wanted her to acknowledge he was wise to her antics—a simple nod or wave was all it would take—and so he waited, staring at the window while she remained motionless, hiding in plain sight.

Thirty seconds passed and then a minute, but Grant wouldn’t yield. Jesse had to know he could see her, that she wasn’t fooling anyone. Sure enough, moments later she raised her hand and waved. In return, he nodded his head and watched as she stepped back and vanished from sight. Strangely, now that he’d proved he was no fool, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be. He didn’t understand why Jesse lay in wait every day. Maybe tomorrow he’d break their silence and ask her in homeroom.

***

As soon as he rounded the bend, Grant saw David waiting on his bike at the end of the driveway. He had known his best friend since third grade. Sometimes, when David had nothing better to do, he joined Grant on the route, lazily riding his bike in overlapping circles while Grant delivered papers on foot. Time passed quickly whenever David was around. They would talk about everything—what had happened in school that day, who was pitching for the Yankees that night, and what shows they planned to watch on TV when homework was done. They were both Star Trek fans, and sometimes Grant would imitate the voice and cadence of Captain Kirk, and David would answer in monotone like Mr. Spock.

Every now and then, Grant would show his appreciation by treating David to a soda at the Five Corners service station about a mile down the road from his last customer. Leaning against stacks of old tires, they would hang out, sipping cold Frosties while watching cars pull in for gas. Although they saw each other every day at school and shared many of the same classes, Grant missed his friend when he wasn’t around. Last week he’d realized David hadn’t been on the route for a while, at least not since joining the Current Events Club, which met twice a week after school. Earlier today he’d learned why.

David was known to be one of the smartest kids in school. Although many classmates thought David was antisocial, Grant knew better. David wasn’t a loner; he just wasn’t a joiner. That was why his sudden interest in an after-school club was suspicious. According to David, a dozen students and Mr. Brenner, the faculty advisor, would discuss world events such as Nixon’s recent decision to withdraw troops from Vietnam, the Pope’s trip to Geneva, or the dangers the astronauts might encounter on the moon. David said it was like a debate club without all the formal rules. He said the boys would make up any excuse to start a war while the girls tended to be pacifists but were still pretty cool.

While they made their way to the main lobby after final bell today, Grant could tell there was something on David’s mind, probably the same thing that was always on his mind. Aside from math, science, and baseball, he was preoccupied with girls. Specifically, David had a crush on Lisa Westerly, and in this regard, he was not alone. Half the boys in high school had a thing for one of the Westerly sisters—four all told, one in each grade.

After taking a seat on the bus, David leaned over and began talking in a hushed tone. He said he had an important favor to ask, but instead of getting straight to the point, he began extolling the virtues of double dating. According to David, a double date eliminated the pressures typically associated with a first date. There was no stress or awkward moments to endure. It was just four friends hanging out together, having a good time, even though the boys were still expected to pay for any tickets and refreshments. Best of all, since it wasn’t a real date, it didn’t count as one, in the event things didn’t work out. No date, no harm, no foul. Anyone listening would have thought David invented the concept. He said double dating was like baseball spring training. It was warmup for the regular season.

By the time the bus was moving, Grant had pieced it all together. His best friend had set his sights on dating Lisa Westerly, and for some reason, it had to be a double date. Lisa had been on David’s radar for some time, but Grant had no idea it was this serious. When the conversation shifted to the new John Wayne movie playing in Manchester, Grant realized the extent of David’s planning. Lisa Westerly had become an obsession.

So a week from Friday. What do you think?

Grant pointed out it was short notice and he needed time to mull it over. What he didn’t say was he had no idea who to ask. It wasn’t like he had a crush on anyone. The only girl he talked to on a regular basis was Jesse, and their last conversation had been four words the day before Christmas break (Merry Christmas! and You too!).

Not used to being put off, David acquiesced as they got off the bus. He said he’d call later. Now, as Grant approached his best friend, he realized later had come sooner than expected.

***

So, did you think about it?

Grant stopped scuffing his feet and played dumb. Think about what?

Come on! You have to do this, David implored. Think of double dating as getting a head start on the best years of your life. Sophomore year is synonymous with dating. We’re like the Apollo astronauts about to be launched on the greatest journey known to man.

Is this really happening? Have you even asked Lisa out?

Are you kidding? The double date was her idea.

Grant hadn’t expected that. Look, don’t get me wrong. I think Lisa is cool, but we’re talking next week. Who am I supposed to ask out on such short notice?

Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.

You do?

Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind. Remember, it’s only a double date.

Grant didn’t like the sound of that. Why do I have to promise anything?

Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do. I’m asking you to be my wingman. It’s a sacred honor. One day, when we’re rich and famous, biographers will look back and compare us to the greatest friendships of all time. I’m talking Lewis and Clark, Mason and Dixon, Grant and Lee. You get it?

I don’t think Grant and Lee were best friends.

They were classmates at West Point.

Yeah, we read the same book in sixth grade. Just because they were classmates doesn’t mean they were best friends. They fought on opposing sides during the Civil War. Remember? Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox.

That’s beside the point. One day you’ll need a wingman, and I’ll be there for you. That’s how it is with friends. We share an implicit pact.

We share a pact?

Yeah, you know—an understanding.

I know what a pact is. It’s how World War I started.

It started when they assassinated Archduke Ferdinand and his wife.

The suspense was killing Grant. Are you going to tell me who she is?

Her name was Sophie.

Not the Archduke’s wife, you idiot! Who’s the girl you want me to double date?

What? Do you think I’d set you up with someone disappointing?

I guess I’m about to find out.

Can you say, Rebecca Rogers?

Now David had Grant’s complete and undivided attention. Rebecca Rogers was one of the prettiest girls in the freshman class, perhaps the entire school. She was sure to be a varsity cheerleader in the fall. If Grant went on a date with Rebecca Rogers, it would be the talk of the school, maybe even the town. For that reason, it was probably too good to be true. This couldn’t be something David came up with by himself, so he pressed his best friend for more details.

Evidently, David had been asking Lisa about dating for weeks, but her parents were strict and thought she was too young. After seeing his daughter moping around the house for days on end, her father had relented on three conditions: he had to meet the boy first, the date had to be in public, and it had to be with another couple.

At first David thought that meant he’d be going on a double date with Lisa and her parents, but fortunately that wasn’t the case. All David and Lisa had to do was find another couple. That was when Lisa thought of Rebecca. The girls lived a few houses apart and had been friends since fifth grade. Naturally, David suggested Grant. He thought the whole thing was rather amusing. He said Lisa’s parents had made a serious miscalculation.

This was all a revelation to Grant, and he needed time to take it all in. He realized that, unbeknownst to him, David had been actively pursuing the opposite sex. This was not the sort of thing you kept from your best friend. It was one thing to have a secret crush on a girl, but David had ventured into unknown territory without saying a word. So much for being like Lewis and Clark; Grant and David were more like Martin and Lewis. He wondered how long this had been going on. And when had he given David permission to negotiate a date on his behalf? He wondered what David had told Lisa and what Lisa had told Rebecca.

Then again, if Rebecca Rogers was onboard with a double date, why should Grant object? There was nothing to be gained by turning her down. If he was skeptical and asked too many questions, he might offend her. There was no point in starting off on the wrong foot or, worse yet, giving her a reason to change her mind. As best he could tell, there was no downside to dating Rebecca Rogers. Still, there was at least one flaw in David’s plan: neither of the boys had a car, let alone a license to drive.

While Grant was thinking it through, David was rambling on again about the benefits of double dating, trying to close a sale that was already made. When Grant asked how they would get to the theater, David said his mother would take them, which made Grant wonder what other decisions had been made.

So what do you say? This is when the men get separated from the boys. A great philosopher once said, if you spend all your time thinking instead of doing, you’ll miss out on a world of opportunities. In matters of love and sex, it’s best to throw caution to the wind and just go for it.

And who was that great philosopher?

Why, me, of course!

Since when did you become an expert in matters of love and sex?

Well, if you won’t take my word for it, how about a famous ruler? You know what Julius Caesar would say: Carpe Diem! Seize the day! Or better yet, seize her. Get it? Caesar! Seize her!

Grant got it all right. It just wasn’t that funny.

Fortunately, David was in a rush to get home. In algebra class today, Mr. Alan had given them a preview of sophomore geometry, and David was intrigued by Pythagoras’s theorem. He was determined to find out if the square of the height of his bedroom wall plus the square of its length was equal to the diagonal squared. To that end, he had gone to the store and purchased string and tape. Although David was skeptical, Grant had no doubt. He knew the math department wouldn’t teach something if it could be easily refuted by any fifteen-year-old with string and tape. Every class had a David, which is why they waited until senior year to teach calculus.

As David pushed off, he looked back over his shoulder and said he’d call after dinner. Remember. Don’t think of it as a double date. Think of it as a favor for me.

Grant chuckled. The last time he’d done David a favor, it had cost him three dollars and fifty cents.

CHAPTER TWO

THE SHERIDAN’S

A

fter the Kurkova farm, there was a long stretch of road before Grant’s next customer. As he continued walking under the relentless sun, he couldn’t help but think of an ice-cold soda, which only made the heat seem more oppressive. He glanced at his Timex and made a quick calculation. If he hurried to deliver the remaining papers, he could walk to the service station, buy a soda, and still be home in time for dinner. On a hot day like this, an orange Frostie would be a refreshing treat, even though David said the flavors all tasted the same. He swore the only difference was food coloring. The price of a soda would set Grant back ten cents, but he could offset the cost if he kept his eyes open for empties along the side of the road. His record find was seven, and at a penny apiece, they added up quickly.

His next stop was the Sheridan’s place. As he came to