Summer Rental by Mary Kay Andrews

they’re already bitching about the place.”
    “You need a new stove?” Frank asked casually.
    “Yeah,” Ty said, bending down to scratch his ankle. “I need a lot of new stuff for this house. But I can’t afford shit.”
    “Reason I ask,” Frank said, “is we just replaced all the appliances over at our place. We put the fridge out in the garage, you know, for beer and stuff. But the stove, it’s just sitting on the back porch, gathering dust. My wife’s kinda into cooking. Wouldn’t let up until we got all new stainless-steel fridge and stove and dishwasher. The old stove’s fine, she just had her heart set on stainless steel. You know how they get.”
    “Yeah,” Ty said. “I guess.”
    “You and Kendra still together?” Frank asked, shooting him a curious look before squatting down and directing the pesticide to the kick plate under the counters. Frank knew Kendra from high school, of course. Everybody on the Outer Banks knew the Wilcox family. Kendra’s father Boomer had been chairman of the Dare County Commission, and her grandfather had been a superior court judge. Kendra was the fourth generation of lawyer Wilcoxes.
    “Nah,” Ty said. “We split up a while ago.”
    “Sorry, man,” Frank said. He opened the kitchen door. “You want me to hit the porch out here?”
    “Everything,” Ty said, following him out. “The place is crawling with fleas. And it all happened in, like, a week.”
    “Yeah,” Frank said, walking up and down the length of the porch, “the little bastards run amok this time of year. You can’t let them get ahead of you. I’m not trying to sell you nothin’, but seriously, you might wanna think about signing a contract. Save you some money over the long run.”

    “I’ll think about it,” Ty said, but his voice said he wouldn’t.
    Frank stood and faced the ocean. A faint breeze ruffled the sea oats, and the plum-colored skies promised rain. Just beyond where the waves broke, he spotted a dolphin.
    “I can see why you’d want to keep this house,” Frank said, leaning on the porch rail. “My wife and kids are gonna go nuts about this place. Fall, huh?”
    “I’m wide open in October,” Ty said. “Unless the bank takes it back before then. You just name the weekend.”
    “Fishing oughtta start picking up about midmonth,” Frank said. “My youngest one? That little girl flat loves to fish. She’s her daddy’s girl all the way.”
    “My granddaddy showed me how to bait a hook right out there,” Ty said, pointing to the ocean. “I was probably about five. He used to catch the hell out of the red drum in the fall.”
    “October,” Frank repeated. He looked over at Ty, who was still gazing at the place where he’d caught his first fish. Raindrops, big fat ones, began plopping on the sun-bleached walkway over the dunes. People on the beach started gathering up chairs and towels.
    “Listen, Ty,” Frank said suddenly. “You think you want that stove, we could run over to my place and throw it in the back of the truck. Might as well haul the old one outta here and drop it at the dump.”
    Ty held out his hand and the men shook. “You got a deal.”

 
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    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Thanks!
    Dear Mr. Culpepper. I take back all the nasty stuff I said about you. The fleas and ants are gone. The new stove is a huge improvement, and I’m sure you’ll notice a savings on your water bill since the leaky faucet has been fixed. Also, the new (old) dishes are very sweet. My friends and I just love china with pink roses. Dorie, who is one of our group, says she thinks her grandmother had that exact same china pattern. So again, thanks! Ellis. P.S. What can you tell us about the guy who lives in the garage apartment here? He seems to keep very odd hours—we’ve noticed the light stays on over there all night long. He’s not a serial killer, right? (Just kidding. Mostly.)
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    To: [email protected]
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