28 Summers: The gripping, emotional page turner of summer 2020 by 'the Queen of the Summer Novel' (People) by Elin Hilderbrand
Authors: Elin Hilderbrand
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Mallory says. “I’ll get the hors d’oeuvres ready, and in a little while we can light the charcoal. I made burger patties.”
“That’s funny,” Cooper says. “It’s just like last year.”
Rewind, repeat; it’s just like last year.
There is something different this year, however: an outdoor shower. Mallory shows it off, calling it “the mansion.” It is roomy and beautifully crafted, made of pressure-treated lumber that has only just started to weather to gray. It has a changing area with a bench and towel hooks that look like anchors. Jake is just tall enough that he can peer over the top—ocean to one side, pond to the other. The water is hot and plentiful. It’s the greatest shower in the world.
Then he notices a pair of men’s board shorts hanging from one of the anchor hooks.
He scrambles for a second. He was the first person in the shower; Cooper is in the kitchen, talking to Mallory. So these belong to…
Someone else.
Cooper grills the burgers while Mallory tends to the corn and tomatoes. Jake plays music—Dave Matthews, Hootie and the Blowfish, and then “Hard Headed Woman.” This gets Mallory’s attention; he can see her looking at him through the billow of steam from the pot of corn. Whatever they had is still there. Ursula doesn’t matter, and whoever the other guy is doesn’t matter.
Cooper comes in, holding the platter of burgers and grilled buns. “What is it with you and this song?” he says.
Over dinner, Mallory is direct. “Do you want to talk about Krystel or not talk about Krystel?”
“Not talk about Krystel,” Cooper says. He piles pickles on top of his burger, and Jake notices Mallory doing the same. Without warning, Jake thinks about Jessica—the diving contests they used to have at Potawatomi pool, the way she would flip her wet hair over so that she looked like Dolley Madison. He misses having a sister.
Mallory raises her wineglass. “Here’s to not talking about Krystel.”
They touch glasses and drink.
“I don’t understand love,” Cooper says. “How many times have I eaten out in my adult life? Hundreds. Which means I’ve had hundreds of servers, and half of them were female. Why did I fall in love with Krystel Bethune at the Old Ebbitt Grill? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“She’s beautiful,” Mallory says. “Was that it? Did you succumb to surfaces?”
“She wasn’t the most beautiful girlfriend I’ve ever had,” Cooper says. “Tiffany Coffey in high school was prettier. And Stacey Patterson from Goucher…”
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Stacey was hot.”
Mallory kicks Jake under the table and suddenly the night comes alive. She’s jealous!
“It was timing,” Jake says. “You were ready to meet someone and she was there.”
“I was wearing my Hopkins Lacrosse T-shirt,” Cooper says. “She mentioned that she knew a bunch of players from the ’87 championship team. I was impressed, I guess. But that’s the kind of thing that keeps me up at night. What if Krystel hadn’t mentioned Petro and Wilkie? Or what if I’d worn a different shirt? We wouldn’t have started talking, I wouldn’t have asked for her number, and I would not be sitting here on Nantucket a broken man.”
Mallory kicks Jake again, only this time the kick is more of a nudge, her bare foot on his shin. If she gets any more intimate, he’s going to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, Cooper be damned.
“What about you, Jake? Do you understand love?” Mallory asks.
Jake sets about buttering his corn. “No.”
“You do, though,” Cooper says. “You love Ursula. You’ve always loved Ursula.” He looks at Mallory. “They’ve been dating since the eighth grade.”
“On and off,” Jake says. “There’s been a lot of off, actually.”
“But you’re together now?” Mallory asks. The light is fading. There’s only a single votive candle on the table, but even so, Jake sees the question in her eyes, which are green
“That’s funny,” Cooper says. “It’s just like last year.”
Rewind, repeat; it’s just like last year.
There is something different this year, however: an outdoor shower. Mallory shows it off, calling it “the mansion.” It is roomy and beautifully crafted, made of pressure-treated lumber that has only just started to weather to gray. It has a changing area with a bench and towel hooks that look like anchors. Jake is just tall enough that he can peer over the top—ocean to one side, pond to the other. The water is hot and plentiful. It’s the greatest shower in the world.
Then he notices a pair of men’s board shorts hanging from one of the anchor hooks.
He scrambles for a second. He was the first person in the shower; Cooper is in the kitchen, talking to Mallory. So these belong to…
Someone else.
Cooper grills the burgers while Mallory tends to the corn and tomatoes. Jake plays music—Dave Matthews, Hootie and the Blowfish, and then “Hard Headed Woman.” This gets Mallory’s attention; he can see her looking at him through the billow of steam from the pot of corn. Whatever they had is still there. Ursula doesn’t matter, and whoever the other guy is doesn’t matter.
Cooper comes in, holding the platter of burgers and grilled buns. “What is it with you and this song?” he says.
Over dinner, Mallory is direct. “Do you want to talk about Krystel or not talk about Krystel?”
“Not talk about Krystel,” Cooper says. He piles pickles on top of his burger, and Jake notices Mallory doing the same. Without warning, Jake thinks about Jessica—the diving contests they used to have at Potawatomi pool, the way she would flip her wet hair over so that she looked like Dolley Madison. He misses having a sister.
Mallory raises her wineglass. “Here’s to not talking about Krystel.”
They touch glasses and drink.
“I don’t understand love,” Cooper says. “How many times have I eaten out in my adult life? Hundreds. Which means I’ve had hundreds of servers, and half of them were female. Why did I fall in love with Krystel Bethune at the Old Ebbitt Grill? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“She’s beautiful,” Mallory says. “Was that it? Did you succumb to surfaces?”
“She wasn’t the most beautiful girlfriend I’ve ever had,” Cooper says. “Tiffany Coffey in high school was prettier. And Stacey Patterson from Goucher…”
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Stacey was hot.”
Mallory kicks Jake under the table and suddenly the night comes alive. She’s jealous!
“It was timing,” Jake says. “You were ready to meet someone and she was there.”
“I was wearing my Hopkins Lacrosse T-shirt,” Cooper says. “She mentioned that she knew a bunch of players from the ’87 championship team. I was impressed, I guess. But that’s the kind of thing that keeps me up at night. What if Krystel hadn’t mentioned Petro and Wilkie? Or what if I’d worn a different shirt? We wouldn’t have started talking, I wouldn’t have asked for her number, and I would not be sitting here on Nantucket a broken man.”
Mallory kicks Jake again, only this time the kick is more of a nudge, her bare foot on his shin. If she gets any more intimate, he’s going to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, Cooper be damned.
“What about you, Jake? Do you understand love?” Mallory asks.
Jake sets about buttering his corn. “No.”
“You do, though,” Cooper says. “You love Ursula. You’ve always loved Ursula.” He looks at Mallory. “They’ve been dating since the eighth grade.”
“On and off,” Jake says. “There’s been a lot of off, actually.”
“But you’re together now?” Mallory asks. The light is fading. There’s only a single votive candle on the table, but even so, Jake sees the question in her eyes, which are green
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