The Summer Between

By Eva Simmons

Sisters share everything. Bedrooms, secrets, adventures. But Rowan can't share Jenny's cancer.

Seventeen-year-old Rowan Clarke is used to playing it safe. But when the doctor's decide there's nothing more they can do to cure Jenny's cancer, Rowan pushes her Harvard preparations aside to give her sister the summer road trip she's always dreamed of.

On the road, Rowan and Jenny find themselves in places they never expected. Playing chicken on the train tracks, getting lost in the Aspen forest, and picking up a mysterious hitchhiker with a trail of burn scars up his back.

But everything has an expiration date. If Rowan and Jenny rush their journey to check off the last items on Jenny's bucket list, Jenny's body might give up sooner than either of them is ready for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Simmons
• Release date: Apr 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9798224826643

Book preview

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Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

1.Leaving

2.Stalled

3.All Fun and Games

4.Late Night

5.Badlands

6.Mount Rushmore

7.The Rusty Bucket

8.Yellowstone

9.Secrets

10.Crash

11.Fall

12.History

13.Mom

14.What Happened

15.Chicken

16.Cheyenne

17.Moving On

18.Trouble

19.Killer

20.Aspen Forest

21.An Early Fall

22.Fate

23.Lost

24.Letting Go

25.Drive

26.Heartbeats

27.Waking Up

28.Breakout

29.The Last Good Bad Idea

30.Dip

31.Epilogue

32.Acknowledgments

About the Author

For

Michaela

One last adventure.

1

Leaving

I cave straightaway.

It’s the first day of summer vacation and Jenny’s crystal-blue eyes are brighter than usual. A laugh roars across her cheeks as she says, Even good girls have things worth being bad for.

This should have been my first clue.

It took Jenny two weeks, but she finally convinced me to go on a road trip with her. She said the world has bigger things in store for us than watching Lake Erie beat against the sand for another three months.

We’re going places, she said. Even if it’s just for a little while.

Maybe I shouldn’t have given in as easily as I did. Now I’m standing beside the car, packed and ready to go, watching the sun wash over Jenny, I can’t help but notice how delicate she looks. Her white-blonde hair is thinner, her arms are skinnier, and her skin is so pale she’s fading away. If it weren’t for her beaming at me, I would probably throw in the towel and cancel the trip altogether.

You’re sick, I remind her one last time.

Jenny lifts her chin and raises her eyebrows. That’s the point, Roe. I’m not going to let something as lame as cancer ruin my whole summer. So don’t let my sickness ruin yours either. Now, get in.

It would be nice if I could pretend my sister’s leukemia didn’t exist. Amazing even. But there’s one problem with Jenny’s bold declaration: in the battle between her and cancer, cancer is winning.

Before we have a chance to climb in the car and sneak away without the messy goodbyes, Dad shoots through the front door with two more bags in his hands. His bottom lip is clenched between his teeth as he looks from me to Jenny.

Oh no, Jenny sighs. He’s not . . .

I give her a sideways grin. Oh yes. You know he is.

Blankets. Pillows. Heating pads. Water bottles. Snacks. And anything else you could possibly need, he says, a wrinkle etched into his forehead. Just in case.

He gives me a final kiss on the cheek and for some reason it feels like goodbye more than it should. As he tucks his hands in his Levi’s and the wind kicks his salt and pepper hair across his forehead, I catch a bit of sadness in his hazel eyes.

He walks around the car to Jenny and cups her face with his palms. He lingers on her features, memorizing every detail.

You have your medicine? he asks her.

She nods. It was the first thing I packed.

Dad smiles and wraps his arms around Jenny’s shoulders. He tugs her against his round belly and squeezes a groan from her. His eyes glisten.

Jenny, Rowan, promise me you’ll take care of each other. Dad looks at me when he says it. Even though Jenny is the older sister by a year, it’s up to me to take care of her. And call me every chance you get.

Promise, we say at the same time.

Dad’s boyfriend, Russell, doesn’t come outside until Jenny is in the car. His eyes are red and puffy, and for the hundredth time today, he is crying. Russell waves goodbye from a safe distance.

Say hi to your mom for me if your trip takes you that way. Russell forces a smile and his horse-like teeth draw out the length in his face. He’s a lanky man, and everything about him seems longer than it is. From his sloppy posture to his shaggy, auburn beard, he is a perfect mix between a hipster and a mountain man.

I nod, and Jenny yells, will do, through the window.

With a crooked smile, Dad walks me to the passenger side of the 1981 Cadillac Seville. The car is older than we are, and the door lets out a metallic screech as Dad pulls it open. I climb in and Dad slams the door behind me. He steps back and wipes the flakes of what once was baby-blue paint on his jeans.

After a final wave behind us, Jenny presses down on the gas pedal and I watch in the side-view mirror as a cloud of dust billows from the tires and swallows up Dad and Russell.

Jenny spins the dial on the radio and lets Florence + The Machine take the wheel. The windows are down, and her hair tie can’t stop her white-blonde curls from dancing with the wind. She tucks a wild strand behind her ear and puckers her lips in the rearview mirror, painting them with a thick coat of raspberry burst lipstick. It’s a color I grew up remembering distinctly as Jenny’s red. I tried it on one time myself, but I’m no Marilyn Monroe. In my eyes, she was always the pretty sister, even if people said we looked like twins.

Cali, here we come, Jenny says, her face glowing.

Jenny is convinced California is where people go when they want to be somebody. Look at the movie stars, she always says. Everyone who is anyone is out west. So why not us?

I’ve never been as sure about California as she has, but she says it with conviction and I want to believe things might be different across the desert. Anything is better than sitting around in the small town of Port Clinton, watching another summer pass us by. If Jenny has anything to say about it, we’ll be in Hollywood this time next month and I’ll be taking a picture with Lucille Ball’s star on the Walk of Fame. I’ll style my strawberry curls the way Lucy did, and for one moment, I’ll be Lucy myself.

I turn to Jenny and watch as she powers down the road, her red-rimmed sunglasses drawing out the rosiness in her cheeks. My belly turns a little knowing I’ll never quite be as beautiful and confident as her. But at the same time, Jenny will never be healthy like me.

Time to get wild, Jenny says. She tips her sunglasses down on her nose and winks at me.

It’s official. This trip is going to be a mess.

By the time we hit Findlay, Ohio, Jenny has to pee. It’s amazing she made it this long with a bladder the size of a kidney bean.

She pulls the car into a small gas station and leaves me to pump while she makes her way into the bathroom on the side of the run-down building. I watch her as she disappears behind the splintered door, and as I tug the handle of the gasoline nozzle, it drips all over my sandals.

Need some help? a voice asks, coming from behind me.

I jump and almost drop the hose.

When I turn, the sun shoots me straight in the eyes and I have to shade my face with my hand to keep from being blinded. I squint, but I can barely make the person out until he moves in closer.

He’s younger than I expected from his deep voice, and his ridiculous green eyes are shaded by his thick eyebrows. His lips are full, but his sharp jaw and even sharper nose make his face seem angular. If he’s older than me, it’s not by much.

When he finally stops, he’s uncomfortably close.

Well? A smirk that could give the devil a run for his money flashes across his face.

I . . .

He folds his arms over his chest, forcing his Call of Duty T-shirt to stretch between his shoulders.

Thanks, is all I manage to get out.

He takes a step closer, and a wicked smile crosses his face. There are a million little things about him building a lump in my throat. The way he stands close enough for me to catch a scent of cinnamon from his cologne. The way he playfully pushes his hair off his forehead. The way his absurdly green eyes collapse my heart with one look. And the way he tips his head far enough to the side that I catch a burn scar peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, making me think twice about everything else.

He reaches for the gas nozzle, and with a final tug, the tangled hose stretches far enough to reach the car. His hip leans against the door, and with his free hand, he pushes his black hair off his forehead.

You alright? he asks.

I dip my chin and kick at the dirt with my sneaker. I’m fine. You just surprised me. I didn’t know anyone else was here.

I slip my hands into my pockets.

He lifts an eyebrow and we both scan the empty parking spots. The gas chugs through the nozzle and into the tank.

Thanks for the help, I manage to strangle out. What do I owe you?

I don’t work here. He laughs. I’m just passing through.

And you decided to help some random girl filling her gas tank?

He shrugs. It was a good excuse to strike up a conversation, at the very least.

Blood rushes to my cheeks.

Where are you headed? I change the subject.

I’ve got some family in Arizona. Phoenix area. I’m thinking I’ll go visit them for a bit. Anywhere is better than where I’m coming from, I guess, he says.

And where is that?

Jersey, is all he says. He smirks, turning his attention to the horizon. Nice day, right? Hitched a ride across two states in a truck bed, and I swear not one cloud dusted the sky.

He looks down and I realize I’m staring at him. Luckily, the gas tank gurgles, giving me an excuse to look away before he notices.

Thanks for the help, I say. You were too late to save my sandals, but at least my clothes made it through.

No problem. He secures the nozzle back in place and wipes his palms over his dusty jeans. I’m Fenton, by the way. Fenton Myers.

He throws a hand out in front of him.

Rowan Clarke. I take his hand and hope he won’t notice my sweaty palms. But most people just call me Roe.

A wide smile corners Fenton’s cheek, and it makes my insides rattle like bees trying to escape their hive. He squeezes my palm before letting it go, and I can’t help but make a mental imprint of how his fingers fit perfectly in mine.

You from around here, Roe? he asks. The way my name leaves his lips brings my feet back to Earth.

I shake my head. Passing through. My sister is hellbent on getting out of Ohio for the summer, so we’re driving to California.

Sounds like you’re running away.

You think you’ve got me all figured out, do you? It comes out flirtier than I planned.

Fenton cranes his neck to the side and smiles.

What? Something about the way he looks right through me makes my insides squirm.

You just have a look in your eyes. He shrugs.

What look?

The same one staring me in the mirror every night.

I grin, and for a moment, I think I see what he’s talking about. Deep in his eyes.

I’m not daring like Fenton or Jenny. I’d rather stay in one place, with people I know, and in places I’m comfortable with. The only reason I’m on this road trip is because Jenny didn’t give me much of a choice. But now that I’m out of Port Clinton, looking at Fenton’s face under the summer sun, I feel free for the first time in months. Free from school, college applications, hospital waiting rooms. And running away sounds tempting as hell.

2

Stalled

Fenton manages to duck away before Jenny comes out of the bathroom. We pass him on our way down the road, and he waits to throw his thumb up until he’s a speck in my side mirror.

Everything alright? Jenny asks when I’m quiet for a long time.

I nod, even though I’m not sure. There’s something gnawing at the back of my mind and I can’t quite figure out what it is.

Luckily, she doesn’t ask twice. She pushes her sunglasses over her nose and sinks into her seat. I’ve been thinking, she says. Why not visit the Grand Canyon while we’re at it?

Sure. I plaster a smile across my face. I’ve always wanted to see a giant, empty crack.

I can’t see her eyes, but I’m sure she rolls them. Sorry, smarty pants, some of us are impressed by things outside of the pages of giant, boring books.

Ever since I got my Harvard acceptance letter in the mail, she’s been giving me crap about it. I know she’s over-the-moon excited for me, but she can’t pass up the chance to rib me at every opportunity.

At first, I was scared to tell her. Even though Jenny had college acceptance letters of her own, we didn’t know if cancer would stop her from going. But when I finally blurted out the words I got in, she jumped up and down for a full minute out of sheer excitement. It was real. I was accepted. It was all I ever wanted. And at the same time, it felt like my own personal prison sentence. My life up until then had been marked by Jenny’s condition. My moods fluctuated with her health. My days depended on her hospital stays. I wasn’t sure how to live my own life anymore.

Thinking about it now, Fenton’s words don’t sound out of place at all. Running away. Maybe escape is exactly what this trip is. I’m suddenly glad we took the chance to do this while we still have it.

The car jolts.

What was that? Jenny yells over the radio as her foot hits the brake.

I listen, but don’t hear anything but the music. There is a faint stench of gas coming from my foot. It reeks, even after I tried to scrub my sandal clean back at the station.

I look at Jenny and shrug.

Jenny shakes her head. Nothing, I guess.

My head whips back as Jenny speeds up again.

She lets me pick the next round of music, and I can’t resist playing The Pixies. She cringes until halfway through the album when she finally gets numb to it. I know she hates this band, but I can’t help losing my mind with Black Francis. I’ll never get tired of music like this. Of songs that still mean something no matter how many times I hear them. Of feeling anything other than the knot in my stomach.

The sun beats through the windshield. Its warmth washes across me. The dips in the highway are hypnotic, and as we roll over them, they almost put me to sleep.

But as my eyes shut, the Seville revolts, and they fly open again. The entire engine sounds like it blows up all at once. First, something is snapping and it sends a reverberation through the cabin. Steam blows out from under the hood, and within seconds, a final gurgle stalls the car. The Seville shudders, and just as Jenny pulls off the road, the wheels roll to a perfectly poetic stop.

Jenny hops out first. She pops the hood of the car like this isn’t her first time looking at an engine. Knowing she can’t even work an Easy Bake Oven, I’m not holding my breath. We won’t be driving away anytime soon. I climb out of my seat and round the car. Jenny looks up at me with confusion wrinkling her forehead.

That sounded bad, I say.

Ya think? She frowns.

I follow her stare down to the mess of machinery and tanks making up the engine. It might as well be the inside of a computer. I have no idea what I’m looking at.

I look up to the silhouette of Richmond, Indiana in the distance. We entered the city limits only a few minutes ago, so I know we’re not as far away from the city as it looks. But I also know Jenny. There is no way we’re walking far without her relentlessly complaining about it, even if her body could handle it in the first place.

I’m about to call Dad in the hopes that he can rescue us before it gets too late, when a Chevy Silverado screams to a stop beside the car and a familiar face pops up from the back.

Well, this doesn’t look good, Fenton says with a lively grin.

Jenny’s jaw almost hits the road as he hops out of the truck bed. Fenton adjusts his damp T-shirt over his perfectly solid stomach and I find my thoughts trailing.

You, uh, how are you here? I stammer.

Fenton chuckles. Lucky for you girls, Terry happens to be going the same direction. He throws his thumb over his shoulder and points to a short, round man struggling to get his belly past the wheel.

Don’t trouble yourself, Ter, Fenton yells through the side window. I’ll take care of these ladies and catch the next ride.

Terry crinkles his eyebrows and looks Jenny and I over. You sure ya’ll be okay? he asks in a thick southern drawl.

I nod, and Jenny, who has her arms crossed over her chest, leans over and whispers out of the side of her mouth. "Really? How do you even know this guy? I mean, I get it. Serious cutie. But it kinda screams serial killer in the middle of the desert, doesn’t it?"

I give Fenton a sideways glance and his stare is directly on me. His black wavy hair blows with the breeze and brushes his forehead. He ticks the corner of his mouth upward and for some reason it feels like a dare.

We’ll be fine, I decide.

Terry doesn’t give us a chance to change our minds. His tires spin against the pavement, leaving a stench of burning rubber hanging in the air behind him. He disappears around a turn and the desert is quiet again.

Fenton points at the Seville. You mind? he asks.

Jenny shakes her head and Fenton makes a beeline for the car. He rests his hands on the front of the grill and sinks against it. The movement pushes his shoulders up and tightens the fabric of his T-shirt against the curves of his arms.

This thing is crap. Fenton sighs as he