Falling for Summer by Bridget Essex Page A

smile.  “Where do you keep your popsicles?”
    “My Ann turned out to be one of those bisexuals,” says Morrie thoughtfully, bringing up her granddaughter, who was another of Tiffany's friends.  Morrie sucks on her dentures.  “But she married Bob, so...”
    We stare at one another thoughtfully over the mound of junk food and beer. 
    “And you?” asks Gramma Morrie, waggling her eyebrows.  “Did you ever find a nice girl to settle down with?”
    I stare at Gramma Morrie for a long moment that seems to drag on forever.  Then I just start to laugh.  Yes, it's true: Gramma Morrie is sharp as a tack, but so were a lot of other people in Lake George.  So how many people in town knew about me?  Dear God...  Maybe it was just Gramma Morrie. 
    “Maybe,” I tell her, raising one of my eyebrows as I think about Summer.  My heart skips a beat as I give voice to that small word in relation to the possibility of my settling down with Summer.  Even though I'm just talking to Gramma Morrie, it feels very strange, and very real, to say it aloud. 
    I...like it, even though my heart is now thundering in my chest. 
    “Do you have any popsicles?” I ask her then plaintively, with a little laugh.
    “By the door, honey,” she says, crooking a finger toward the small freezer that I didn't notice holding open the front door.  I lift the freezer door and grab a few ice-encrusted popsicles from the bottom of it, scooping them out of the block of ice.
    “I'm happy for you, honey.  We all need someone, right?” says Gramma Morrie, pinning me in place with her bird-black eyes again.  And then she sniffs.  “You know, that Summer,” says Morrie, shaking her head.  She sounds sad as she trails off, but she lifts her gaze to my eyes again, the intensity in them unwavering.  “She's never stopped swimming.  Have you seen?  She's in the water as often as a fish.” 
    “Yeah,” I tell her, taking my wallet out of my purse.  “She swims a lot—”
    Gramma Morrie cuts me off like I didn't even speak.  “And it's good, too, because she saved our Ann a few years back,” she tells me then, her eyes flashing.  My brow furrows.  “Ann never learned how to swim, and she was out on a boat...  Well, she went over,” Morrie explains, “and Summer saw it from the shore.  Well, that girl was out in the middle of the lake before anyone could blink, dragging Ann back.  She saved her life.”
    I stare at her.  “Never stopped swimming,” I repeat, my mouth suddenly dry as I realize what she meant.
    Gramma Morrie nods.  “Yeah, you know, she's never stopped swimming since that night.  Since Tiffany...well, you know, poor dear,” she tells me, watching me closely.  “Summer was in the water every day that summer Tiffany drowned, and every day since, 'cept when it's too ice-covered for even a polar bear.  And sometimes, even then.  I thought she was training for the Olympics, but I don't think so anymore.  I think she just wanted to be the best.  Because she couldn't...”  Gramma Morrie trails off.  “Everyone wanted to save your poor sister that night, you know, dear,” she says quietly.  “But no one could.  Not even Summer.”
    “Thank you...for everything,” I murmur, laying two twenty dollar bills onto the counter with a shaking hand.  “Please keep the change.”  I take everything up in my arms, and then I'm bolting and halfway across the room, aiming for the front door before Morrie says anything else.
    “Be good to Summer, dear,” she calls to me. 
    For a long moment, I wonder if I heard her correctly, but when I turn around, she's smiling beatifically, her hands clasped over her stomach. 
    “Have a safe drive back,” she tells me.
    “Thanks,” I manage, and then I'm out the door, chucking the food and beer into the backseat of my car and peeling out of the driveway so hard that gravel sprays up from my back tires.
    Okay, so that was...weird.  And upsetting.  I wish, so much,