That One Summer

Chapter One: That One Summer

Joyce

Every year for the last fifteen summers, the Bensoussan family traded our sprawling Oyster Bay home for the vibrant, coconut-infused aroma of sunscreen and surf in East Hampton. It was a ritual I cherished, a slice of tradition that anchored my childhood. As we piled into our grand Imperial Crown Sedan, the sun streaming through the windows, I could feel the weight of anticipation building inside me like a perfectly tuned chord, ready to burst into song.

Nate was in the backseat with me, his voice animated as he rambled on about the baseball season and which New York team had the best chance this year. I loved his enthusiasm, but my mind was somewhere else—lost in memories of summers past, where laughter mingled with the sound of crashing waves and the strumming of a guitar. Memories of him, the boy with the soulful eyes who once played for me. I could still hear his voice, soft and encouraging, urging me to embrace my love for music, even if my mom’s disapproving glances told me otherwise.

“Joyce, you listening?” Nate’s question snapped me back to reality, and I managed a smile, though my heart was racing with unspoken thoughts. I was on the brink of a new chapter in my life—college on the horizon, a future that felt as bright and uncertain as the summer sun.

Mom sat in the front seat, her impatience palpable. “Edgar, really? You won’t turn on the AC for us?” she huffed, her perfectly manicured fingers tapping away on her knee. I stifled a grin. It was a familiar scene, but this summer felt different. This was going to be the summer of my life, a time to find myself, to reclaim the joy I felt when I was younger, and to chase after the boy who had unknowingly woven himself into the fabric of my dreams.

As we passed the welcome sign, the salty air mixed with the warmth of the sun, and I closed my eyes for a brief moment, letting the sensations wash over me. I could almost hear the distant sound of laughter and the strum of a guitar, a melody that seemed to beckon me forward. This year, I was determined to find him—the boy who had captured my heart and inspired my passion for music.

The car rolled into our usual gas station, and Dad decided it was high time for a pit stop. As he stepped out to stretch his legs, I felt the familiar flutter of hope in my chest. Would this be the summer I found him again? Would the universe conspire to bring us together, just as it had in the past? I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was aligning, that my search for him was as inevitable as the tides.

And then, as if the universe had heard my silent plea, he appeared. Gliding out from under a cherry-red 1965 Ford Mustang, grease smudged across his cheek, his black hair slicked back like something out of a movie. My heart raced, and I swear I broke the sound barrier with my dramatic sigh the moment our eyes locked.

“Joyce, are you alright?” Nate’s voice pulled me back to the moment, confusion etched on his face. I couldn’t muster a response; I was too busy staring at the boy who had been a ghost in my memories for far too long.

“Joyce!” Mom snapped from the front seat, clearly irritated. “Don’t just sit there like a statue. What’s gotten into you?”

But all I could think was that this was it. This was the summer of my life, the one where I would reclaim lost pieces of myself, where I would chase after dreams and maybe, just maybe, find the boy who had once played the soundtrack to my heart. The air around me hummed with possibilities, and I knew that whatever happened next would define the course of my future.

**

Levi

I woke up to the blaring sun cutting through the window like a knife, my head pounding like a bass drum. The remnants of last night’s escapades were still swirling in my mind, a hazy mix of laughter, rock music, and the unmistakable scent of cheap beer. I tried to lift my head, but a heavy arm draped across my bare chest kept me anchored to the mattress. I squinted at the stranger beside me, her tousled hair spilling over the pillow like a halo.

Great, just what I needed. Another morning after.

I didn’t know if my sister Maureen had already left for work, probably taking the kids to Mom’s. I could only imagine the chaos her two little monsters, Gayle and Dexter, would bring if they found out I’d brought home some random girl. Gayle, at six, was already a little whirlwind, and Dex, at four, was just as mischievous, always getting into trouble. Their father had been lost in the war, leaving Maureen to juggle her job and the kids on her own. I was supposed to help out, but sometimes I wondered if I was just a burden instead.

Carefully, I slipped out from under the girl’s arm and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked beneath my weight as I quietly made my way to the bathroom, hoping to avoid any more awkward interactions. But just as I was about to close the door, Maureen’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Levi! I hope you were using protection, little brother!” she called, her tone a mix of teasing and genuine concern. “I’m too young to be an Auntie, and I know—” she stressed the word “know”—“I know Mom doesn’t want another kid to raise.”

I rolled my eyes and snatched the coffee cup from her hand, flipping her the bird as I walked into the bathroom. “Yeah, yeah. I’m responsible, Maureen,” I shot back, trying to hide the smirk creeping onto my face.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of last night. It was a good night—one of those rare gigs where everything clicked, and the crowd was electric. My bandmates, who also worked at the garage with me, had ragged on me all morning about my antics, but I couldn’t care less. I was still riding the high of the performance, the way the music flowed through me like a lifeline.

As I scrubbed my hair, the familiar feeling of unease settled back in. I hadn’t seen her in two years—the girl I believed to be a ghost. She haunted my thoughts like vapor, appearing only for those three precious months each summer before vanishing again. The last time I saw her, she had changed each time she arrived. She’d grown wilder, prettier, and a little more mysterious each time. But last summer, she hadn’t shown up at all. I’d felt that absence like a missing piece of myself, a hole that echoed with the sound of her laughter and the way she’d look at me, wide-eyed and curious.

Once I was dressed and ready, I joined the guys at the garage. The morning crew was already buzzing, the sound of engines revving and tools clanking filling the air. They were giving me a hard time about my late-night escapades, but I grinned and shrugged it off. I was used to their ribbing; they were my brothers in grease and rock ’n’ roll.

But then, a new car pulled into the lot, and I felt the familiar tug of something deeper within me. It was a pristine 1965 Imperial Crown Sedan, gleaming in the sunlight, and as soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew.

“Oh hell no,” one of my buddies groaned. “Not that pompous guy again. I’m not filling his tank.”

I chuckled, but I could feel my pulse quickening. “Look, we can’t ignore a customer,” I said, trying to sound authoritative, even though I was just as reluctant as they were. Something was pulling me toward that car, like a moth to a flame.

As I made my way over, I caught a glimpse of the driver’s side door swinging open, and my heart stopped. There she was—the girl I believed to be a ghost.

My breath caught in my throat as our eyes locked. “Oh shit!” I whispered the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. It was her, the girl who had haunted my dreams, and she looked even more beautiful than I remembered.

“I’d know you anywhere,” I thought I heard her say quietly, though no one responded. Her gaze was locked on me, and I noticed the way her eyes glazed over, sparkling with recognition.

I’d hoped she’d get out of the car, but instead, she remained seated in the backseat, her expression a mix of surprise and disbelief. I stood there, feeling like I was in a trance, the money for the gas still clutched tightly in my hand. The world around us faded, leaving just the two of us suspended in that moment.

The seconds felt like hours as I waited for her to make a move, but just then, the driver—some pompous guy in a pair of linen trousers and a casual, but designer polo shirt—leaned over to her, and she turned her attention back to him. My heart sank as the moment slipped away, and the spell was broken.

The car rolled forward, and I barely registered the sound of the engine revving. I was still standing there, dumbfounded, as the vehicle pulled away, leaving me with a swirling mix of emotions and a gnawing sense of loss.

Then it hit me. I had let her vanish again, just like all those summers before. “What the hell just happened?” I muttered to myself, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on my chest. The guys laughed and joked about the car pulling away, but I was lost in my thoughts, replaying that moment over and over in my head.

I gulped down a large ball of nerves, my tattoo burning on my skin as I remembered her gaze lingering on the antique rose-colored peony inked on my arm, the banner that read “JOY.” She’d noticed it, and in that flicker of recognition, I felt a spark of hope.

Maybe this summer wouldn’t be like the last. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to bridge the gap between us before she vanished again. But as the last glimpse of her car disappeared down the road, all I could think was that I’d have to be faster next time.