Cold Summer Nights Page 3

  “Lucky me,” he said flatly, taking a careful sip of the hot coffee.

  Hurt flickered across her face. “Well, I’m sorry I creeped you out the other night.”

  Nick chuckled lightly. “Hey, at least you were in your underwear.”

  She tried not to laugh and failed as Madison lumbered out of the spare bedroom with sleepy eyes.

  “Hey pumpkin, how’d you sleep?” Nick asked.

  “Don’t call me pumpkin,” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “I’m not a baby, Uncle Nick.”

  “Okay, how about peanut?”

  She frowned further. “No.”

  “Honey bee?”

  “No.”

  “Freckles?”

  “No!”

  “Mr. Whitmore?”

  Madison giggled. “That’s better.”

  “Alright, Mr. Whitmore, how’d you sleep?”

  “Good,” she yawned, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

  Nick turned to Summer and arched an eyebrow. “Weird kid, huh?”

  She glanced at the loose triple A batteries lying on the coffee table and frowned. “I thought you changed those yesterday.”

  “I did.”

  Her forehead rumpled.

  “They were dead again this morning,” he said, drinking more coffee.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

  “It’s the craziest damn thing,” he murmured, staring dully at the remote. “Thing’s brand new too.” He took another slow sip and turned to meet her thin eyes. “You want some coffee?”

  “Sure, then I should probably get going,” she said, throwing her coffee colored hair into a pony tail.

  He got up and went into the kitchen. “What do you got going on today?”

  “Well, I need to find some new pants for work and hit the grocery store too.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You want some company?”

  She laughed. “The way I hunt for good deals, you don’t want to go shopping with me.”

  “I’ll wear camouflage.”

  “Maybe next time,” she said, coming to join him in the kitchen.

  “I’ve gotta get Mr. Whitmore ready to go back home soon anyway,” he smiled, handing her a cup of coffee.

  She took the white mug and planted a kiss on his cheek. “So when do I get a door poster of you?”

  “Did you want the fireman version or the naughty male nurse?”

  A laugh slipped from her lips. “You need help.”

  Chapter Four

  Later that afternoon, Nick was lying on the couch, flipping through channels on TV. He checked his phone again to see if he had, by chance, missed a call from Summer. He hadn’t so he mulled over giving her a quick call, just to see how the shopping was going. He hesitated and set the phone back on the coffee table. He turned back to the TV where Matt Kenseth’s DeWalt car was speeding around the oval track with the lead lap coming into the final turn. The speeding cars bunched up three wide into the stretch. Nick waited for the impending wreck, but somehow they cleared and Kenseth took the checkered flag by a nose.

  Nick glanced back to his cell phone. Maybe one quick call wouldn’t hurt. She was probably bored anyway. He turned down the cheering crowd in the stands, scrolled to her name in his contacts and rested his thumb on the call button. Just in the nick of time, he realized he was entering the stage-five clinger zone and backed out of the screen. Nick traded the phone for the remote and let out a relieved sigh, narrowly adverting complete disaster.

  He flipped through the channels, most of which all seemed to be in a commercial break at the same time. He should text her is what he should do. He switched out the remote for the BlackBerry and quickly typed in what r u up to? with his two thumbs. His right thumb hovered above the send button as he tried to mentally gauge her response. He figured it could range anywhere from – I’m bored, let’s hang out – to an eye rolling groan. He stared at the message and then deleted it and picked up the remote again instead.

  He held it up, studying it in the warm afternoon sunlight slipping through the large living room windows. It looked like any normal plastic remote that came with a cable company’s DVR. He pointed it at the TV and pressed the power button. The TV promptly blinked off, snuffing the roaring NASCAR crowd, entrenched in white smoke and colored confetti.

  The quiet hummed in his ears. A knock at the front door made him jump.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, setting the remote down and getting up.

  “What’s up, brother!” Rusty said, pushing past him.

  “Nice cop knock,” Nick grumbled, shutting the door behind him.

  “Hope you’re ready for your daily Madden lesson,” Rusty said, plopping down on the couch and kicking his black Nikes up onto the coffee table. His face suddenly crinkled. “What are you just sitting here daydreaming about your new girlfriend with the TV off?” he asked, snatching the remote and bringing the flat screen to life.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Are you stalking her on Facebook yet?”

  Nick’s lips pursed together. “Funny.”

  "Wow, you bought a newspaper?" Rusty asked, trading the remote for the thick Sunday edition lying on the coffee table. "You gonna buy a VCR next?"

  “You’re still bitter,” Nick said, sitting down in an espresso colored leather armchair.

  “I’m not bitter.”

  Up until four months ago, Rusty had written a weekly article in the Des Moines Register for the past five years. The Rusty Nail covered the Des Moines social scene and the thing Rusty missed the most about it was all the free drinks. The remainder of his time at work he had serviced client accounts that, for the most part, had severed their subscription with the well known paper. The Internet, combined with the recession, had resulted in a lot of servicing. Eventually, the paper had to sever his subscription to a paycheck but he didn’t hold a grudge. Not anymore anyway. It wasn’t their fault times were tough out there, but Rusty would have preferred seeing them dump the Secret Diner column instead of his.

  He was busy these days querying literary agents to represent a horror novel he had written. So far none had been interested in Two and a Half Zombies, where a famous actor catches a deadly infection from a porn star that begins a deadly apocalyptic slide into darkness. Rusty was confident that someone would pick it up soon and he’d be drinking margaritas from a floating chaise in his guitar-shaped swimming pool in no time. He knew he was capable of bigger things than comparing Sunday morning Bloody Mary bars around town.

  "Picked it up at McDonalds after Summer bailed this morning."

  "Smart move," Rusty said, skimming the front page. "Always wait for them to leave before buying breakfast."

  Nick laughed.

  "Uh-oh, Nick! Gang Violence is on the rise in Des Moines!" Rusty said, reading a headline in a feigned worried tone. "These reporters should try going to Chicago for a weekend. Maybe they'd realize our gangbangers are like Girl Scouts and stop scaring people with this crap. It doesn't make any sense. Kinda like traffic cams on the local news. I mean, what is this, Minneapolis? I can get to any bar in this town in ten minutes."

  Nick snorted. "Especially the way you drive. Speaking of bars, how'd it go last night?”

  Rusty released a long sigh. “Not too good without my favorite wing-man,” he said, dropping the paper onto the floor with a loud thud and glaring at Nick.

  “Oh come on. I’m sure Dallas isn’t that bad.”

  “Bad? He’s terrible. The guy propels chicks like he’s Phil Spector!”

  Nick laughed and got up. “You want a beer or something?”

  “Sure,” Rusty said, running a hand through his thinning black hair while flipping channels with the other. “You know what he said last night?”

  “What’s that?” Nick said from the kitchen.

  “The bar is packed and these three hotties roll by our table and he goes, “Hey ladies, let me clear off a spot for you to sit,” and then starts brushing off his face.”

  Nick
cracked up and handed Rusty a cold bottle of Sam Adams. “Get out!”

  “Those chicks kept walking like someone was handing out free purse dogs on the other side of the bar.”

  Nick sat back down in the comfy chair, took his ball cap off and rubbed his greasy face. “Oh man, that is too funny.”

  “You wanna know what's really funny? Guess who we ran into last night," he said, eyeballing Nick and taking a swig from the brown bottle.

  Nick put his cap back on and shook his head. “Who?”

  “The gruesome-twosome,” Rusty replied with a slight grin. “Stacey and Amy.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Where?"

  “Bomber’s.”

  “Bomber’s?”

  “We tried to hit on em but Dallas farted or something and blew it, but guess what else.”

  “What?” Nick said, hanging on his every word.

  “Amy and Brad are done.”

  Nick studied him while taking a casual gulp from his bottle. “Seriously?”

  Rusty held his gaze. “Would I lie about something like that?”

  “Probably. Did he find out she was sleeping with another bartender or something?”

  Rusty chuckled. “No idea. She just said they were kapoot,” he said, making quotations with two fingers on each hand.

  “Huh,” Nick said, taking it all in with another long drink.

  “Said they’re going out tonight. We should meet up with em.”

  Nick let out a short laugh. “Why would I ever want to hang out with that cheater?”

  “To help your boy hook up with Stacey, is why. Remember me? Your friend? Man, you get a girlfriend and you disappear quicker than stability in the Middle East.”

  “Dude, it’s a Sunday night tonight.”

  Rusty’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, and it’s service industry night too. The place will be packed with the hottest waitresses in town. I’m telling ya, it’s gonna be ass-soup!”

  Nick arched an eyebrow. “Some of us don’t care and have to work in the morning.”

  “Nick, listen to me,” Rusty began, leaning up on the couch. “I swear to God we’ll be home by midnight. Please, don’t be an old man. Not now. I need you.” A pleading look gripped his face. “Come on, for me.”

  Nick held his gaze and dropped it. “Not a chance. I know you, and you are never home by midnight.”

  “Scout’s honor,” Rusty said, holding up two fingers. “And you know when I say scout’s honor, it’s serious. I was a cub scout, Nick.”

  “Uh, the scout’s honor is three fingers not two.”

  Rusty looked to his hand and shot another finger out to join the other two in their rigid salute. “Hey you know what I always say, get honor and stay honor!” He grinned and raised his eyebrows twice.

  Nick wrinkled his face. “I still don’t know what that means.”

  “Come on, Nick. You won’t have to get your hands dirty, I promise. Just hold my hand while I pull a few digits and we’re out.”

  Nick sighed and leaned his head back against the chair. “We better be back by eleven-thirty.”

  Rusty clapped his hands together one time. “And hey, who knows? You may even see what you've been missing out on and get back in the game.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Nick, I need my wing-man back, you’ve got to do the right thing and dump this chick.”

  Nick frowned.

  Rusty leaned closer and looked into Nick’s eyes. “Listen to me, everyone I know is either married or almost married, and I’m too old to make new friends.”

  Nick cocked his head. “You’re only twenty-nine.”

  “Yeah, and in June I’ll be thirty. I might as well get a cat.”

  Nick laughed and spit beer out his nose.

  Rusty leaned back and went to work with the remote. "Plus your chick gives me the creeps,” he mumbled, landing on some ghost hunting show.

  Nick stared at him in disbelief, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Why?”

  “First of all, have you ever seen her in the daylight? Her skin is vampire white. I bet she burns at indoor pools."

  Nick snorted. “You’re crazy, man.”

  “Either way, you better start wearing garlic necklaces. And why doesn’t she have any friends?”

  “Probably because she just moved here.”

  Rusty raised his eyebrows. “When?”

  Nick shrugged. “Two years ago.”

  “Two years? That’s plenty of time to have made some hot little chick friends! I’ll tell you this much, Nicky, a chick with no friends is a chick who likes to scrapbook. Is that how you want to end up spending your weekends? Scrapbooking? Think about it,” he said, tipping the beer back.

  Nick grinned. “You’re just pissed she hasn’t hooked you up with anyone.”

  Rusty’s jaw dropped. “Exactly! And have you ever tried having a conversation with the girl? It’s like pulling teeth.”

  Nick snorted and took another drink.

  A knock on the red front door startled them. They traded mystified looks.

  “You expecting someone?”

  Nick’s lips did a reverse rainbow as he shook his head and got up.

  The front door opened with a suction sound. “Hey, what’s going on? Come on in,” he said, stepping aside.

  Summer crossed the threshold, a surprised look sliding across her face. “Hi Rusty.”

  He tried to smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey Summer, what’s happening?”

  “I just stopped at the grocery store and thought I’d drop off some cupcakes,” she said, turning back to Nick and holding up a plastic container of yellow frosted cupcakes.

  A smile worked its way across Rusty’s face. “That is so sweet.”

  Nick flashed him a look and turned back to Summer. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  She pressed her lips together and smiled. “Oh, I’m just on my way home so...”

  “You want a cupcake?” Nick asked, whisking the package into the kitchen.

  “No thanks, I can't stay.”

  Nick set the package on the counter and grabbed the milk from the fridge. "You want some cupcakes and milk, Russ?"

  "No thanks, I'm all good on the cupcakes and milk, Nick,” he replied, studying Summer with uneasy eyes.

  She flashed him a half-hearted smile and looked down to the car keys in her hands.

  "I'll have some later though. I mean, don't get me wrong I love cupcakes just as much as the next…heterosexual male does."

  She cocked her head at him and chuckled.

  “Not that everybody doesn't love… So, how’ve you been?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “I’ve been good. You?”

  “Real swell,” he answered, taking a big gulp of the Sam Adams.

  Awkward silence filled the room, making the walls feel like they were bulging outward.

  Rusty could hear himself swallow. He nodded for no reason, his eyes roaming the room as his foot wiggled on his knee. “You building a log cabin out there or something, Nicky?” he asked, smiling uncomfortably at Summer.

  She cracked a thin smile and shifted in her stance.

  His car keys suddenly fell off the coffee table. He bent over and grabbed them, sat back up and jumped when he found Summer sitting right next to him on the couch. "Whoa!" he said, scooting backwards.

  "Sorry," she grinned. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  "Man, you really shouldn't sneak up on guys who watch the UFC on a regular bas…" He trailed off, noticing the breath rolling out of his mouth in white waves. The color drained from his face as he slowly frowned. "H-holy shit," he sputtered, expelling another stream of cloudy air and realizing his entire body was suddenly freezing. He drew in another arctic breath that crystallized his lungs, like he had just inhaled a can of Freon. Shivering, his wide eyes turned to Summer.

  She met his pale panic with a blank stare.

  “Log cabin? What're you talking about?” Nick said, gliding back into the room wi
th a tall glass of milk and a half eaten cupcake. “These are so good,” he said with his mouth full.

  She smiled bashfully and got up from the couch. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were doing.”

  “Just discussing some politics in the Middle East, if you wanna get in on that,” Nick said, opening the door for her.

  She tilted her head back. “Ah, I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself," he smiled. “I’ll call you later,” he said, leaning over and giving her a quick peck on the lips before shutting the door.

  Rusty sucked in a huge gulp of air and Nick stopped chewing. "What's with you?"

  Just as quickly as it had come, the chill left Rusty's body, his breath returning to normal, invisible air. He inhaled one warm breath after the other. "Did you see that?" he gasped, the color slowly returning to his face.

  Nick surveyed the room. "See what?" he asked, resuming his chewing.

  "How cold it just got in here," Rusty whispered, rubbing his hands together.

  Nick frowned. "Cold? You getting sick or something?"

  Rusty's eyes nervously darted around the room. "You…you didn't feel that?"

  Nick dropped into the armchair, his brow folding into creases. "Dude, if you're getting sick, you're going to have to get on up out of here."

  Rusty gazed at him through glassy eyes. "You didn’t...”

  Nick arched an eyebrow and swallowed the bite of yellow cupcake. “Didn’t what?”

  Rusty shook his head and got up.

  Nick watched him stumble to the front door without looking back. “I thought we were going to play Madden.”

  The door shut behind Rusty and Nick stared at it, slack-jawed.

  “So are we still on for tonight?” he yelled.

  The stench of urine and old people was overpowering. Nick nodded at the heavy set nurse sitting behind the large front desk as he walked down the hall to his grandmother’s room. He dreaded this but it was Sunday and he wanted to stop by before they served up her IV drip dinner at five-thirty. It would give him an excuse to leave early, not that she would even know he had been there.

  After her husband died in nineteen eighty-six, his grandma lived alone in that house until suffering a stroke four years ago. One Easter day after church, he, his brother and mom stopped over and his grandma kept calling Nick, Tommy, his uncle’s name. Nick’s mom worried the house would burn down when frying eggs were forgotten on the gas stove and was forced to move her into this worn out nursing home. It was all they could afford and his grandma had been none too happy about it either.