Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion

I smile, pocket the thing and shake Dirk's hand. "I'll treasure it. And I'll give you a great writeup."

His grip is firm. "Good luck with everything, my friend."

With that, we part ways.

I quickly get in my car and crank the engine. I put the round object in my cup holder and peel out.

02:01:12:14

The first step is transcribing the interview. With a tape recorder it's much easier to quote the subjects word for word.

I rewind the recorder, then stop it. There's significantly less tape remaining than I thought. I rewind it a little and press 'play.'

"...raining down like God's punishment. It was because of her that I..."

Shit. Apparently hitting 'pause' didn't stop the tape. I go back further.

"...saw me talking to her or picking her up...."

Yep, I've definitely captured Dirk Frierson's secret confession. I rewind the interview to the beginning and leave the forbidden part out of the transcript.

But as I build the story, writing important background information and inserting quotes where they're appropriate, I leave the recorder playing.

Y'see, I didn't just watch that girl vanish. She walked up to me. I took her home...

I roll the weird coin in my hand and continue typing with the other.

We were together all night, she and I...but when I woke up the next day, she was gone. Not a note left, nothing...

It's unlikely that Summer was a 'moon nymph.' In all probability she's as she appeared: a girl who got fucked and left at dawn. Still, it's unusual for this part of the country to ever get snow, and that muchbesides.

They'd appear with unusual weather. Heavy rain, sandstorms, snow...

I'm arguing with myself. It's a coincidence. But Dirk described an exact replica of my meeting with Summer. But that still means nothing.

I curse and hastily delete stream-of-consciousness about Summer from the document.

That night I met this girl it was raining down like God's punishment...

I stop the recorder and pull out the tape. The room is so cold that I wrap a blanket around myself. My small house has fallen into an odd, eerie quiet where I hear nothing but snow hitting the windows.

The story's nearly done. I type a couple more paragraphs and then read the article over from the beginning, fixing and tweaking whatever I need.

Halfway through the reread, I walk to the living room window that looks over the backyard. Snowflakes fall in droves.

"Are you out there?" I whisper to the darkness.

I wait a moment. When there's no response, I return to the computer. After another half hour of typing I do another read and a spell-check. What I have is suitable enough.

01:16:58:43

"Leon," Randy greets me, "do you know a Mrs. Fara Jenkins?"

I almost cringe at the thought. "Yes sir. She's my next door neighbor."

"Well, she called the paper. She's worried about her cats out in all this snow. Who better than you, her ol' neighbor?"

I fake a smile. "I'll get right on it!"

Shit. Fara Jenkins and her fucking cats. Animal Control's already been to her place at least twice. I've chased her beasts off my car and property dozens of times. If it's my job to interview her about those little monsters, we'll conduct it outside. God only knows how that house smells.

In the meantime I conduct extra research. Dirk's recording plays over and over in my mind. Curiosity leads me to Amazon, where I search for Moon Nymphs. Sure enough, there's a cheap Kindle Edition. I do a one-click delivery. I pull out my Kindle, which I've brought to work with me. This one has a 3G connection, so I don't have to ask anyone for the wireless password.

Moon Nymphs almost instantly appears in my collection.

"Uh oh, Rabbit's reading for pleasure at work," Terry says in a sing-song voice.

"Not really," I respond. "Just getting something I ordered is all."

"Well don't let Randy catch you with that," Terry warns.

I look around. Randy's disappeared into his own office.

01:05:07:29

God, she smells like cats, as in cat piss. I survived the interview without asking one burning question: "how the hell can you live this way!?"

I take a shower and throw on clean clothes. I check my phone and find no calls or texts from Jen. That's good. It means I get to be alone with the book.

I skip over the acknowledgments, skim Dirk's introduction, and start reading. Moon Nymphs is a collection of short stories, with Frierson's observations sandwiched between each one. Every story has the same framework: guy or girl meets girl or guy, sex is involved, and then the one-night stand ends with a mysterious disappearance. The one sign that it was a 'Moon Nymph' is always weird weather the local meteorologist never predicted, like rain, hail, and in the third story, an eclipse.

As if to emphasize my growing weird feelings, the wind howls. The snowstorm got particularly brutal toward the interview's end, and I was thankful for it. I was sick of Jenkins and her cats.

The bluster peaks my curiosity.

I open the Kindle's toolbar.

Don't do it, my conscience begs me.

I'm apprehensive, but my hands work before my uneasy gut feelings stop me.

I open the search bar.

I type 'Summer Madison' with the onscreen touchpad, making four mistakes in my haste.

The Kindle starts to search.

Results.

There are results.

There's an entire chapter at location 2390. "Summer's Warmth," it's called. I start reading.

"Her name was Summer Madison," he told me.

As we sat on his pool deck, sipping his wife's homemade lemonade, he described her to me.

Oh my God. Oh my holy Christ Jesus God.

I'm so shocked that I stand up. I wander, clutching the Kindle, scanning, reading. My heart races.

...met her at a college party...

...was vague about her past...

...was dressed rather unusually for the weather, a blazing blizzard that had come out of nowhere...

I back into my bookcase, knocking several volumes to the floor. I'm breathing heavily. My palms are swampy floods.

"...She was everything I'd ever wanted for a first time..."

"...I was naked, the sheets were tangled, and her scent lingered in the room..."

Fleeting blackness overpowers me.

00:21:14:36

"Not just your ordinary recurring dream anymore, is it?" Para asks.

I'm trembling. "You again."

"And you again. Where the hell else would I go?"

"Never mind that!" I protest. "The book, Para. I typed her name. It showed. She really is coming back, isn't she?"

"She is," Para clarifies.

"And she's, what, a ghost? One of these Moon Nymphs?"

"It's better to ask her," Para says.

"Great," I grumble.

Para stares inquisitively. "Why are you so angry, Leon? Isn't this what you've always wanted? To see her again? To get answers?"

"Yeah, but..."

"...but you're confused," she answers for me, "and impatient. And you need your answers right now. Kind of like me and my problem."

"Right," I remember, "your time paradox thing. Can you explain something? If, I mean when, Summer comes back, how is meeting her supposed to cause a time paradox?"

"It's not your reunion with her that's the problem, Leon. It's what could happen after," Para replies.

"What do you...? Oh, right. You can't tell me."

Para sighs. "Look. I apologize for confusing you. I'll tell you what's going on when the time's right. I'd rather not say anything until I'm sure things are solid. Can we leave it there?"

She holds out her hand. We shake it on it.

"Deal," I agree. "I won't bring it up again."

I'd like to, though I change the subject anyway.

"So Para, is this is all you ever do?"

"Let me think...giant clock. Guardian of time paradoxes. You're calling me 'Para,' out of. Yes. That's all I ever do. It's all I've ever done. There was literally nothing before this."

"Do you enjoy this line of work?"

Para is taken aback by the question.

"Wow. No one's ever asked me that."

"How many people have ever been here?" I wonder.

"It's more interesting than you'd probably realize, Para says. "When you have as much time on your hands as I do—heh, time, no pun intended—there's lots of room to think. About life, the universe, everything."

"I'm guessing the answer's not 42. Here's another question: can you see into the future?"

"No," she replies. "But I can see the past and the present. And I can see where past events influence the present. If the slightest thing changes, the whole structure of everything either rearranges or tumbles down, a great cataclysmic Jenga puzzle. That's why it isn't boring. I have feeds on every event that's ever happened on Earth."

"I'm sure you're not bored, then."

"Not really."

"But aren't you lonely?"

She's surprised again. "What?"

"Lonely," I reiterate. "Aside from the people you're always watching, am I the only one who's ever been here, talking to you?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For me," I answer. "I'm always bitching and moaning about my own situation, calling myself lonely."

"Even though you've got an ex-wife and a child between the two of you?"

"Well, yeah, except you might have noticed that they're not exactly the best company. But I hear your story and I...well, you understand."

Para smiles. "I think I understand why she's coming back."

Now it's my turned to be confused. "What?"

"You've got a good heart, Leon."

Para gets off her clock and takes my hands into hers. "And I am lonely. I can watch and study the world as much as I want. There's still some things I don't understand."

"What kinds of things?" I ask.

I have an idea about where this is going. I smile.

"You've still got a while before you need to wake up," Para whispers in my ear.

"I do?"

"And no attachments," Para reminds me. "You're single and free."

She leans in for a kiss.

I lean in as well.

00:19:52:12

Snow slams into the living room window, startling me awake

I'm on the floor, where I apparently fainted. The Kindle landed safely beside me. During my bout of unconsciousness the e-reader went into 'sleep mode.' I don't find any damage.

I, on the other hand, am in serious pain. Aside from the blow the back of my head took, my joints are strained and achy from the hardwood floor. I manage to stand. Clutching my ailing back, I stagger toward bed.

My pants have tightened. Under normal circumstances, this hard-on would receive immediate attention. But it's past 3:00 AM and I've got work in the morning.

I fall into my empty bed and for the next couple hours, struggle to go back to sleep. The wind ferociously roars.

Not just your ordinary recurring dream anymore, is it?

Is that wind Summer, calling out to me the only way she can?

00:11:27:14

I didn't dream about Para again. Too bad. My nerves could have been calmed by sex with Ellen Page.

This entire morning has been a struggle to do, well, anything. Over coffee I read the rest of "Summer's Warmth," and wouldn't you know it, it didn't calm me down. Dirk's interview subject had my Summer's mannerisms down 100%. It's the same Summer Madison. I have no doubt of that whatsoever.

How can I describe my feelings? My emotions are so jumbled up and Boy Scout knot complicated it's impossible to pick one from the clusterfuck. I'm excited that Summer is coming back. I'm terrified that there are spirits in this world and that I lost my virginity to one. I'm apprehensive about what meeting Summer under these circumstances means for me, and what could happen to me. I'm curious about Para's mystery dilemma. I'm debating over whether to tell Jen any of this.

I've returned to the coffee shop, which boasts the best lunch counter and sub sandwiches in town.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Lewis observes.

"If you only knew the half of it, Lewis," I respond. I take a badly needed bite out of my Italian Sub.

"You wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head. "I dunno, Lewis. It's a hell of a story."

"You in some kind of trouble?" he asks worriedly.

"Trouble? No, not trouble."

"Alright, all this suspense is messing with my head," Lewis says. "Now you have to tell me. Otherwise I won't be able to quit bugging you about it."

I gather my courage. "Lewis, remember when we talked about our college days, and how I met this girl at a party, took her back to my dorm, and said hello to manhood?"

"Summer?"

"Yeah, her...name, was Summer." I exhale. "Well, I just found out some stuff."

"What kind of 'stuff?'"

"Lewis..." I look at him with eyes that plead for him to take me seriously. "...what if I told you that Summer was a ghost?"

"A ghost? Then I'd ask you to explain it better."

I explain everything: Dirk Frierson, Moon Nymphs, the Summer Madison chapter. He insists I'm lying. I let him read my Kindle.

"And she's coming back?" Lewis asks.

"That's what I've been led to believe."

"You're sure this isn't something you need to see a doctor over?"

"I'm not sure about that at all, actually."

"Maybe you should discuss this with your psychologist girlfriend," Lewis suggests.

"Okay, first of all, she's not my girlfriend. Second, she's not my psychologist. And third, I don't think that'd be a good idea, Lewis."

"Why not? What are you worried about? Jealously? You said she's not your girlfriend."

"I know. It just doesn't feel right."

Nearby giggling makes us both turn. Sitting at a small table are Jess Callahan and a girl I've never seen. They're holding hands and staring at each other in a fascinated way. They continue giggling as they leave.

"Speaking of not right," Lewis mutters.

"What do you mean?"

"That pretty redhead, Jess Callahan. What do you know about her?"

"I know her mom is pretty famous for her erotica," I say. "I see Jess in town during holidays. Why?"

"I heard a rumor about her," Lewis says. "Something wrong."

"Wrong? They looked like lesbians. That's not something I'd call strange."

"Not what I meant," Lewis says. "I've heard other things."

"Now I'm in suspense."

"Between you and me, something's going on in her family. The women, they do things that sisters, mothers, daughters shouldn't do with each other."

I finish a sip of Sprite. "You mean, incest?"

"Lesbian incest."

I shake my head. "You're nuts, Lewis. But thanks. Now I feel better."

He chuckles. "How's that?"

"I'm not the craziest one sitting here."

00:04:49:35

I drive slow. The roads are iced over, and the storm doesn't help. I was going to replace my wiper blades after Christmas, but I should have done it much earlier. The blades just turn my windshield into a sludge painting.

Jen texted me before I left work. She's at the house with Kara, which means I need to hurry home to play The Game of Nuclear Family. Still, this storm is no comedy special.

When I first met Summer, it was snowing. Now I'm booked to meet Summer again, and it's snowing like a frozen hell. I suppose if Moon Nymphs are tied to weird weather, blizzards are Summer's signature pattern.

Why, I wonder? What's the significance?

00:01:32:05

Kara is finally asleep.

Now Jen and I are alone, our bodies tangling and meshing under the sheets. I've just entered her missionary; her big tits quiver with each thrust.

Normally I'd be giving it my all, but something's different tonight. Part of it's the whole Summer thing, and the fact that I haven't told Jen the truth. I hate holding back information. To me it has the same impact as a cruel lie.

Except I'm not in a 'relationship' with the woman who's writhing under me. She has her need-to-knows and I have mine. We're just friends with benefits, nothing more.

Or are we?

"You alright, Leon?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

She's caught on. It's impossible to fool this psychologist; I know that from experience. My rhythm must be off. Normally I can give Jen an exhausting fucking. I try to get back into it, save face.

"No, something's definitely up," Jen says.

I stop thrusting. "No, I'm good. I swear."

"Okay, Leon..." Jen moves, breaking us apart. She props herself on an elbow; in the darkness, her milky tits hang downward by gravity.

"What's on your mind?"

There's no escaping this. There's no way out.

"Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Do I need to give you my insurance card?"

"Come on, Leon," Jen insists. "I don't want to leave this a problem. Let's just talk it out so we can move on."

"Move on." I gulp. "Okay...here's what's bothering me, Jen. You and I are divorced. You come over here and you bring the baby, which is fine. But then you put the baby to sleep, and we come in here and I fuck you. I'm just, I'm starting to wonder, what it all means."

"What do you mean 'what it all means?' I thought it was sex."

"I know it's sex," I exclaim, getting frustrated, "but I can't help, but, wonder..."

"Wonder?"

"Wonder if..."

"Just say it, Leon."

"I wonder if it means you want to get back together. And, and I guess..."

There. I said it, at least part of it. The rest is impossible.

"So the sex is confusing you?" Jen asks in disbelief.

I shrug. "If that's the word you want to use."

"Leon, we split for a reason."

I grimace at the ugly memories. "I remember."

"Well, it was a nightmare for both of us. It taught me a pretty harsh lesson, and I'd rather not risk dating, or marrying again."

"But the sex is fine?" I ask.

Jen sits up. "The sex, Leon, was the only good thing that was still left. I, thought you felt that way too. So I was bringing it over, for what I figured was a favor for both of us. I...I guess I figured wrong."

She gets off the bed and collects her clothes.

I stand as well. "Jen, wait. Don't go."

Jen reapplies her bra and slides her panties back on.

"I think I should," she says with some detected resentment.

She continues getting dressed. "I'll keep bringing Kara over, butt we shouldn't do this anymore. It's going to hurt us."

Fully dressed, Jen walks to the door, but then stops.

"Or hurt you, rather."

Jen storms out.

00:01:21:09

The front door slams shut. I throw a pillow over my face, intent on sleeping the rest of this terrible night away and starting Christmas Eve afresh.

I'm also anxious to see Summer again. Sleep takes me by the hand and I start fading into a peaceful black.

Clattering and clamoring from the kitchen, followed by a child's "uh oh!" forces me awake.

Goddamnit. No. Jen left Kara here. Not only did she leave Kara here, Jen woke her up, put her down, and dumped the burden on me.

I curse and grumble as I dress in the dark. Then I rush outside to deal with Hurricane Kara. Sure enough she's in the kitchen, sitting amongst a pile of fallen plastic bowls and containers.

"Stuff fell," she explains.

I clutch my forehead, already suffering a mean headache.

"I see that," I say carefully. "Kara, it's late. You should go back to bed."

"Don't want to go to bed. Want to play."

"You can play all you want in the morning, okay?"

How can I describe this? She folds her arms, inhales a lungful of air, trembles, throws her head back and screams "PLAAAAAY!" like the most frightening and nameless creature from three levels beneath the ninth.

"Alright, goddammit!" I snap.

"Bad word."

"Whatever. What do you want, Kara? Blocks?"

"No."

"A glass of milk?"

"Nope."

It's a kid. It's only a kid. Get a grip, Leon. Be patient.