Page 1 of Five Summer Wishes


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HARPER

The last time I’d stood on this street, I was wearing a black dress two sizes smaller and promising myself I’d never come back. And yet here I was again; car tires crunching over the gravel drive, coastal wind lifting the hem of my silk blouse, the same sinking feeling in my stomach I used to get every time we pulled into this town.

I turned off the ignition and sat there a moment longer. The car clock said 2:17, but time felt strange here. Like Wren Bay didn’t care about deadlines or court schedules or the perfectly curated calendar I kept in the top drawer of my desk. This place had always moved at its own sleepy pace.

The house hadn’t changed much. The paint was still that faded sea-glass blue, chipped in places where the salt air had gotten to it. The wraparound porch dipped slightly on the left side, like it was sighing under the weight of a long winter. One shutter hung crooked on the second story, and the garden—if you could call it that—was mostly crabgrass and the brittle remains of whatever flowers our grandmother had last planted.

It looked smaller than I remembered. But then again, I wasn’t a girl anymore.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat, and stepped out into the wind. The air smelled like brine and pine needles and something sweet I couldn’t quite place. Honeysuckle maybe. Or memory.

The front steps creaked beneath my heels. A loose floorboard near the porch swing wobbled beneath my foot, same as always. Iris had promised for years she’d get someone out to fix it. Of course, she never had.

I slid the key into the lock, and the door gave way with a soft groan. The sound of my childhood.

Inside, everything was quiet. Dim sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, catching dust in the air like suspended fireflies. The scent of lavender and old paper hit me instantly. And lemon polish,alwayslemon polish. Iris had loved her rituals.

I set my bag by the door and stood there for a moment, unsure where to go. I didn’t really belong here anymore, but I didn’t belong anywhere else either. Not since Daniel and I split up.

Not that I’d told anyone that part yet.

The kitchen was just as I remembered it; white cabinets with mismatched knobs, a chipped farmhouse sink, and a clutter of teacups along the windowsill. I ran my fingers across the worn table and imagined the three of us—Willa, June, me—arguing over cereal boxes and borrowed sweaters. Back when we were still awe.

The sound of a car pulling into the drive snapped me out of it.

I moved back to the porch and watched as a dusty SUV came to a stop behind mine. The door opened, and June stepped out, her dark blond hair pulled into a low twist, her daughter Lily climbing out of the back seat before the engine had even gone quiet.

June looked tired. The kind of tired that went deeper than sleep. She smiled when she saw me, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, squinting up at the house. “It’s even more crooked than I remember.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Same.”

She came up the steps slowly, Lily trailing behind with a stuffed unicorn tucked under one arm.

“Did you go inside yet?” June asked.

“Just now.”

She nodded, then glanced toward the road. “Is Willa here yet?”

“Not yet. Classic.”

June let out a breath. “Well. That gives us time to unpack and prepare for whatever chaos she brings with her.”

We stood there for a beat, the breeze tugging at our clothes, the silence settling between us like dust on old wood. I didn’t know what to say to her. Or maybe I did, but none of it would come out right.

So instead, I said, “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

June followed me inside, her suitcase wheels thumping against the floorboards. Lily wandered in behind her, already halfway through a granola bar, the wrapper crinkling in her small hand.

“Still smells like Iris,” June murmured. She walked into the living room and ran her palm over the back of the sofa like she was petting a sleeping animal. “Lavender, mothballs, and something lemony.”

“She always used that spray polish. She said the house should shine even if she didn’t.” I didn’t add that toward the end, nothing had shined much at all.

Lily tiptoed to the fireplace, where a worn armchair sat angled toward the window. She climbed into it like she belonged there. “Is this where Grandma Iris read all her books?”