Ian
"That was Jenny on the phone," I said, descending the stairs to join the others. "We're supposed to pick her up on the way."
We were heading farther into South Myrtle tonight, where local bands played on the beach and venders sold hush puppies and various other unhealthy foods. Locals and tourists alike crammed into pavilions and onto the dunes to celebrate, drink, and lose sight of inhibitions. The third of July bonfire has been a tradition since childhood.
Summer glanced up from the wicker chair she was curled in, looking past me instead of at me. The mention of Jenny's name should have pulled some reaction from her, but no. Nothing. Summer liked Jenny, always had. Well, maybe more like tolerated her. Jenny was a local woman I hooked up with once a year while we were on vacation
