One Distant Summer Read online

  Her first week in LA, she’d gone up to Griffith Park and looked out at the sprawling city, wondering, hoping, imagining. Since then, she’d barely stopped for breath—the relentless effort of trying to support herself while building a music career from nothing didn’t leave much time for leisure. The reward was achieving so much of what she’d wanted, including an ever-increasing distance from her past. But the price was realizing that what she’d wanted might not be worth it. The flip side of her fledgling success was being under the spotlight—critiqued, judged, and scrutinized by the media and the public for more than just her music. She knew it was just part of the game, but it took a thicker skin than hers to be unaffected by it all. She’d proved some things to herself though…and to her father, who’d left her and her mom to manage without him, and never looked back.

  She tipped the taxi driver and wheeled her own suitcase inside, just another traveler checking in. Now she’d made the break, she was almost thankful for the pressure she’d been under, and even for the Greg-shaped last straw that broke her back and forced her to strike out. She planned to do things on her terms now, and that meant not giving head space to people who didn’t deserve it—including record label execs, mean-spirited reporters, and her so-called father. She found a quiet seat in a corner, and called her mom, Trina, in Florida one last time to say goodbye. Her mom was surprised, but she promised not to tell anyone where Jacinda was going, and Jacinda promised to keep in touch.

  Her plan to go incognito worked—with her new hair and a makeup-free face behind her sunglasses, she made it on board without anyone giving her a second glance. And if the cabin crew recognized her as they ushered her into business class (a splurge that should increase her chances of staying anonymous), they were professional enough not to say anything.

  The minute she was on the plane, she felt like she was halfway there already. The flight attendants had accents that instantly transported her to her other, neglected home in the South Pacific—the place that was her childhood retreat, but her teenage downfall.

  She’d already talked to Hannah, but now, while she waited for the plane to take off, she wrote a quick message to her band members, telling them just enough without giving anything away. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d be gone, but with the latest string of small gigs finished, they all had other work lined up anyway. She hit ‘send’ on the message, then turned off her phone and leaned back in the soft leather seat, feeling some of her long-held tension start to recede. Twelve, or maybe thirteen, hours in the air stretched ahead—more than half a day of suspended animation from which, hopefully, she’d emerge into some peace.

  * * *

  At Auckland airport, she made a quick stop to buy a prepaid phone, then headed for the taxi stand, eager to get to the house. Nana Mac wouldn’t be there—she’d just left for a long-planned trip to Europe. Her last gasp, she’d pronounced in her lingering Scottish accent, a last hoorah now that she was in her eighth decade. But Jacinda doubted that. Her grandmother was one of the most vibrant characters she’d ever known, and being in her seventies had hardly slowed her down. If anything, she’d seemed even more vigorous and determined in their phone calls. They’d talked regularly since Jacinda had last been in New Zealand, through her slow rise in the music biz, and through the family dramas that occasionally sprang up. Even though Nana Mac was far away, she could sometimes see things more clearly than Jacinda or her mom could.

  Although she wouldn’t be there herself, she’d said Jacinda’s timing was perfect. Her cat Velvet was expecting kittens, so Jacinda could mind the house and be on kitten watch. Her neighbor, Nadia, would feed Velvet until then. Jacinda had no idea what was involved when a cat had kittens (apart from the obvious mechanics of it all), but Nana Mac sounded confident that she could manage, and Jacinda figured there’d be a local vet if anything went wrong.

  Now the taxi made its way via a winding route toward the center of the city. It felt weird to be on the wrong side of the road again, taking in the quaint wooden houses, the lushness of the landscape, and the grassy volcanic cones that dotted the city. Eventually the driver turned onto the freeway, and they skirted the city, then started up the bridge that spanned the harbor. She watched the city spread out before her as they rose higher: yachts and gin palaces in the marina, a jumble of buildings, the Sky Tower topping them all. Then over the sparkling water to the North Shore, green and suburban and homely. And beyond that, Rangitoto, Auckland’s king of volcanoes, keeping guard in the gulf just as she remembered it.

  On the northern coast, directly opposite Rangitoto, waited Sweet Breeze Bay. The little neighborhood was tucked away at the end of the road, a nook carved into a steeply forested peninsula. It was the kind of place where kids played barefoot in the street, the tang of salt was in the air, and whole families swam in the shallow bay on summer evenings. It was a tiny village retreat on the edge of the city, as though a small country town had been picked up and popped down on the suburban coast, only separated from the ‘real’ world by the tree-clad peaks of the peninsula.

  That was how she remembered it, anyway. The world was only getting tougher, and ten years was a long time, even in this idyllic part of the planet. She hoped that all her better memories of the bay would hold true, and that she could make some new ones—just herself, quietly in the sun, with a little cat family for company. And maybe then, the bad memories would lose their power.

  As the taxi turned into Tui Street—named for a native songbird—she realized she was holding her breath. When they stopped outside number ten, she let it out in a long release. It looked just the same. She paid the driver, and he looked surprised when she gave him a tip; she’d forgotten that people didn’t tip here. God, so civilized.

  She got out and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the house. The trees were bigger, and there was a new gate, but otherwise, nothing had changed. Clematis tumbled over the porch roof, the camellia hedge was neatly trimmed, and a cluster of tree ferns still stood in one corner of the garden, the spiral of each new frond just like the one over her piano. She looked back along the little cul-de-sac. Same thing. Even the tire swing was still hanging from the gnarly old tree a few doors down. She breathed in the salty-sweet sea air, still cool this early in the morning. The clean goodness of it flooded through her, and she could practically feel every cell in her body perk up. No more city fumes or stress, for a while at least.

  The driver took her suitcase up the path to the front door, and left her to it with a cheery goodbye. Then, for the first time in ten years, she turned the key in the lock and stepped forward…into her past, and maybe her future.

  Chapter Three

  Liam Ward turned over in bed, the sheet tangling around his legs. Slowly surfacing from the depths of a blank sleep, he groaned and rubbed his forehead. The neighborhood was usually quiet during the day, letting him catch up on the sleep he missed at night. But today there was music, loud enough to wake him in his upstairs bedroom. He cursed, heavy-headed, and unwound himself from the sheet, then swung his legs out of bed. The music changed to something hard rock. What the hell…was that Wolfmother? He got up to investigate, irritation joined by curiosity. Who around here would listen to anything so grunty?

  He threw the sash window open wider, and stood for a moment with his hands high on the top rim, letting the breeze glide over his bare torso. The summer days were getting hotter, and—like many of the character homes in Sweet Breeze Bay—the old house didn’t have any air conditioning. Then he leaned out. From this vantage point, he could see some of number eleven across the road, where Mrs. Marsh lived. At eighty-something, she seemed sprightly enough, but he couldn’t imagine her knitting along to Wolfmother. Over the back hedge was the beach, which wasn’t usually noisy, apart from the occasional gang of kids partying at night. And he knew that number ten would be quiet, because Nana Mac, as everyone called her, was away. She’d dropped a note in his letterbox to let him know, even though he’d never gone over to say hello when he
came back.

  Wait a second. He caught a glimpse of someone on the back deck at number ten. A woman—a curvy woman—was moving in time to the music, her body freely swaying and arching in the sun. She was wearing a short, short denim mini skirt and a black bikini top, which was barely doing its job under the strain of her ample bust.

  Then an electric guitar solo kicked in, and she cut loose into wild head-banging moves, her dark hair flying and her full breasts bouncing as she lost herself in the rhythm. Despite his interrupted sleep, he laughed. Couldn’t complain too much about being woken for a show like that. Damn, she was hot, and obviously kind of wild. Luscious was the word that sprang to mind, luscious in an old-school pinup kind of way. Who wouldn’t watch that, given the chance?

  Then she gave a sinuous twist as the chorus kicked in again, and the bikini top suddenly gave out. The strings tied around her neck came undone, and—thank you God—the little scraps of fabric fell down completely. She grabbed at her chest, covering herself up—but not before he had a glorious view of creamy flesh and generous curves. His lazily stirring interest was suddenly fully awake, and he breathed out in a hot rush. The neighborhood had gone from sleepy to sexy in one short song.

  But as she turned and made for the doors, arms wrapped around herself, he got his first clear view of her face…and his heart constricted in his chest.

  No.

  Shit, no.

  What the hell was she doing here?

  * * *

  Safely inside, Jacinda retied the bikini strings as her heart settled. No one would have seen, anyway—the hedge around the back yard meant that the deck was totally private, apart from being overlooked by the second story of number twelve. And Nana Mac had told her that the Ward family had moved to Australia, leaving the house untenanted.

  But what was that noise she’d heard as she came in—a kind of slam? Was there someone next door after all? Presentable again, she walked back out to the edge of the deck and looked up at number twelve. There was no way she’d have come back to stay right next door if they were there. She stood on tiptoe and looked again, but there was nothing to see—the upstairs windows were closed, and all was quiet. Maybe the noise had come from the beach.

  She shook her head and went to rummage in the fridge for something cold. The ghosts of summers past were all in her imagination—and the real people were on the other side of an ocean, in the Australian sun. She couldn’t be jumping at the smallest thing if she wanted to get any kind of relaxation.

  Velvet came into the kitchen, meowing as she wound around Jacinda’s ankles. She was slow on her feet, obviously feeling the heat and the weight of her kitten-full belly, and Jacinda felt sorry for her. They sat together on the cool tiled floor, and Jacinda sipped a Diet Coke as she stroked the little black cat.

  “Us girls will have to stick together,” she told Velvet, who purred in agreement. “We don’t need any guys, right? This is our summer.”

  Sitting on the floor, barefoot and makeup-free, she almost felt like the girl she’d been when she arrived in Sweet Breeze Bay at seventeen. And despite the years that had passed, she now looked more like that girl than like Cin Scott, thanks to the home makeover she’d done on herself. She smiled, remembering how Hannah had reeled back in shock at her first sight of the transformation.

  “What have you done?” she’d exclaimed, standing slack-jawed on Jacinda’s doorstep.

  Jacinda had run a hand through her hair. “Can you check that it’s even? I had to use the kitchen scissors.” She pulled Hannah inside and shut the door, dragging her through to the bathroom, where shanks of blonde hair still lay where she’d swept them into the corner.

  “Oh. My. God.” Hannah couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I have to sit down. When you phoned to say you wanted to talk about something, I didn’t expect this.” She plunked down onto the side of the bath, one hand on her head as if protecting her own blonde locks.

  Jacinda had to laugh. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

  “You should have! What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m not having some diva breakdown, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well, good.” She leaned back against the tiled wall. “That’s not your style, anyway.”

  “I do have to tell you something though.” Jacinda cleared her throat. “I’m going away for a while.”

  Hannah stared at her. “What? Why?”

  She sat on a leather-topped stool and propped her feet up on the bath, next to Hannah. How could she explain it? “It’s just…I’ve worked so hard to get this far, and I love that I get to do this. I especially love that we get to work together. But everything that comes along with it—being under the lens all the time—it’s sucking the joy out of it. And if one more person looks at my boobs and tells me to sex up my act…” She grimaced, and told Hannah the gist of what Greg had done.

  “Oh, gross. But Todd looks after that for you, right? He wouldn’t let anyone push you into something you’re not happy with, or take advantage of you.”

  She hesitated, thinking back to that conversation in the corridor, then looked at Hannah’s concerned, open face. “No, of course he wouldn’t. I guess I’m just tired of being perpetually ‘on’. You know me, music is like…my oxygen. I need it. And I know that sounds like such a stupid cliché. But all this peripheral stuff...” She shook her head. “Sometimes I just want a regular personal life. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to smack Eli Tyler in the head.” Hannah powered her fist into her opposite palm, demonstrating what she’d do to the singer who’d dated Jacinda in the full glare of the media, then dumped her equally publicly when his publicist came up with a more famous movie starlet. “But I don’t want you to go.”

  Jacinda smiled. “I know. And I don’t care about Eli anymore, but I need some time out—time away—and I won’t get it here. I’m getting out of town, and I’m going Snapchat-free, Instagram-free, email-free…like, everything-free.”

  Hannah rubbed her chin, still processing the bombshell. “What will I tell Todd? He’ll want to know where you are.”

  “Tell him you don’t know, because you won’t.” She nudged Hannah with one foot. “I’m not going to tell you where I’m going.”

  She knew Hannah adored Todd, and it wasn’t fair to ask her to keep a secret from him. She only wished that Todd was worthy of the adoration. Yes, she’d introduced them—but that was because when they finally got her record deal, and things started happening, the only person she’d wanted as her assistant was Hannah.

  She’d known from the start that Todd was creatively brutal in his approach to getting things done—which was great in a manager, who needed to be clear-eyed, ruthless, and scrappy, but not so great in a love interest. He’d first spotted her playing in yet another shady bar, on a night when she wasn’t waiting tables (a common enough occupation for a music major, she’d learned). And although he had no track record to speak of as a manager, she was ready to take a chance on him too. From the beginning, he’d made it clear that she only had to give the word, and he’d be in. In her panties, that is. Not wanting to jeopardize the income that she provided, though, he never pushed it beyond suggestion, innuendo, and the occasional drunk-on-the-road proposition.

  Given all that, it was beyond awkward when he took an immediate liking to Hannah. She never in a million years expected sweet, principled Hannah to fall for him so hard and fast. All she saw of him—all she wanted to see—was the model boyfriend and then husband he played for her. Now that he had a growing list of successful acts, Jacinda hoped he was man enough to be what Hannah needed and deserved, but she wasn’t convinced that he could keep it up. In the meantime there was no concrete reason to upset her friend’s happiness, so she kept quiet.

  Hannah frowned. “How will I get in touch with you then? What if I have to reach you, for business? Plus…I don’t want us to be completely cut off.”

  Even without that sad face, she had a point. The truth was,
Jacinda wouldn’t be able to go long without talking to Hannah either. There was no one else who’d been there through everything, the way she had. And if there was some kind of emergency, she had to be contactable.

  “I don’t want that either. I’ll get a new phone when I arrive, and send you the number. Keep it to yourself though, okay?”

  “Okay.” They stood up, and Hannah reached out to feel a lock of Jacinda’s newly transformed hair. “I still can’t believe this.”

  They both considered her reflection in the mirror. In place of the ethereal white-blonde lengths was a mane of rich dark hair. Now that it was a little shorter, and less weighed down, it had a natural wave, and the dark brown was glossy against her skin. She wore no makeup apart from tinted moisturizer, mascara and lip gloss.

  “It’s really shocking how different you look,” Hannah said.

  Jacinda snorted. “Shocking? Thanks.”

  “No, in a good way,” she insisted. “I don’t think anyone would recognize you if they saw you in the street…but they’d still think you were beautiful.”

  Jacinda turned and pulled her friend into a hug, suddenly swamped with a love rush for the girl who’d seen her through so much. “Thank you.” She gave her an extra squeeze. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” she replied, her voice breaking a little as they separated. “But it won’t be too long, right?”

  “I’m not making a plan…I just have to take myself back for a while. And I don’t have any gigs coming up.”

  Also, the likelihood of a national tour had probably lessened considerably after that knee to Greg’s groin…but it was worth it. She grinned. Shame she couldn’t include that in the book.

  They went out to the living room, where a half-packed suitcase waited on the sofa.