The summer that smelled like lemonade

The Letter Under the Gate

The summer began with a blue suitcase, three lemons, and a letter that had no name on it.

Mira discovered the letter before she had even finished arriving.

Her grandmother's house stood at the end of a sleepy little road in Willowmere, where white cottages leaned toward one another as though sharing secrets. Every garden seemed to have more flowers than it had room for, and the narrow lanes smelled of salt, warm bread, and roses.

Beyond the houses, the sea stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sky.

Mira had spent the entire journey imagining what her summer would be like.

She had imagined sleeping until noon.

She had imagined eating ice cream for breakfast.

She had imagined spending her days on the beach with a book and absolutely no responsibilities.

She had not imagined finding a mysterious letter beneath a garden gate.

Her blue suitcase bumped behind her as she dragged it along the path.

Then she stopped.

Something white was lying beneath the gate.

Mira looked around.

Nobody was there.

She bent down and picked it up.

It was an envelope.

There was no stamp.

No address.

No name.

Only four words written across the front in neat green handwriting.

FOR THE GIRL WHO LISTENS.

Mira frowned.

"That's rather specific."

The envelope felt warm in her hand.

She turned it over.

Nothing.

She looked toward the house.

The curtains on the upstairs windows moved gently in the breeze.

"Grandma?"

No answer.

Mira slipped a finger beneath the edge of the envelope and opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of pale yellow paper.

There was only one sentence.

Meet me where the sea forgets its name at sunset. Bring three lemons.

Mira stared at it.

Then she read it again.

And again.

"Where the sea forgets its name?"

She glanced toward the beach.

The ocean glittered beyond the rooftops.

"That's not a real place."

"Of course it is."

Mira nearly dropped the letter.

Her grandmother was standing behind her.

June was wearing a large straw hat and carrying a basket of freshly washed clothes.

Mira pressed the letter against her chest.

"Grandma! You scared me."

"I've been calling you for nearly a minute."

"I didn't hear you."

"I noticed."

Grandmother June looked at the envelope.

For the briefest moment, her expression changed.

It was so quick that Mira almost missed it.

"Where did you get that?"

"It was under the gate."

June set down her basket.

"May I see it?"

Mira handed it over.

Her grandmother read the sentence.

Instead of laughing, she folded the paper carefully and gave it back.

"Well," she said.

"Well what?"

"You'll need three lemons."

Mira blinked.

"That's it?"

"What else would you like me to say?"

"Maybe something like, 'Mira, this is extremely strange and possibly dangerous.'"

June smiled.

"If it were dangerous, whoever wrote it would have asked for four lemons."

Mira stared at her.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Most interesting things don't."

June picked up her basket.

"Come inside. Your room is ready."

Mira remained where she was.

"Grandma?"

"Hmm?"

"Where does the sea forget its name?"

June paused.

For a moment, she looked toward the distant lighthouse.

It stood on a rocky point beyond the village, its white walls faded by years of wind and salt. Nobody used it anymore.

Then she looked back at Mira.

"You'll know when you get there."

And with that, she walked inside.

Mira looked at the letter.

Then at the lighthouse.

Something about the whole thing made her nervous.

But beneath the nervousness was another feeling.

Curiosity.

And curiosity, Mira had always discovered, was considerably stronger.

That evening, she walked into the village.

Willowmere seemed to have been designed by someone who disliked straight lines.

The roads curved around gardens.

The houses leaned at impossible angles.

Even the old clock tower appeared slightly crooked.

Mira passed a bakery, a flower shop, and a little grocery store with a faded sign that read:

BELL'S — GROCERIES, JAMS & THINGS PEOPLE FORGET TO BUY

Inside, an elderly man was arranging peaches.

"Hello," Mira said.

He looked up.

"New girl."

"Yes."

"June's granddaughter."

"How did you know?"

"Small village."

He pointed toward the lemons.

"Three?"

Mira stared at him.

"How do you know I need three?"

Mr. Bell shrugged.

"Summer."

Mira decided Willowmere was full of people who answered questions without actually answering them.

She bought three lemons.

As she stepped outside, she noticed something odd.

The sun was already beginning to sink.

And somewhere in the distance—

ding.

A tiny bell rang.

Mira turned toward the sea.

The sound came again.

Ding.

She tightened her grip around the lemons.

Tomorrow, she decided.

Tomorrow she would find out what it meant.

But as she walked home, she had the strange feeling that somewhere beyond the lighthouse, summer was waiting for her.

And it knew her name.