Page 7 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

Echo called my parents, dialing the same phone number etched in his memory.

My Daddy answered almost instantly, his voice tight with worry as Echo patiently fielded his anxious questions.

But even as he spoke, Echo’s focus never disconnected from me; silent but heavy with meaning, a language only I could understand.

“Yes, sir. I found her, and she’s okay,” Echo said, his tone composed.

“She said she’s not ready to come home rightnow, but she wanted you to know that she’s safe.

” He paused, nodding as if agreeing with whatever my mother was shouting on the other end of the line.

“Ms. Teresa, calm down,” he said. “I promise I’ll take care of her.

Yes, ma’am. You have my word.” He bobbed his head. “Okay. Bye.”

Echo ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving mine.

As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t.

He was unreadable, yet a steady anchor that rooted me in a moment filled with both chaos and calm.

His words, I’ ll take care her, played over and over in my head like the melody of my favorite song.

We were kids the last time he vowed to take care of me, but the earnest bass of his voice erased any doubts.

I didn’t need to question him, wouldn’t ask if he still meant it.

I knew Echo would always keep his promises, especially the ones left unspoken.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

I swallowed hard. “I know my mama is pissed, and Daddy is just…disappointed,” I said, my voice shaking as the words tumbled out. It felt like disgrace and shame were gripping me by the throat, tightening their hold with every syllable.

“Nah,” Echo said, his brow creasing slightly as he shook his head. “They’re just concerned. You know there’s nothing you could ever do to truly disappoint them. They love you, Sun. I’m sure they know you have your reasons.”

His reassurance settled over me, softening the storm of guilt swirling in my chest. But as much as I wanted to believe him, the weight of my parents’ expectations felt like a shadow I couldn’t escape.

I ’m sure they know you have your reasons.

I heard his words, fully comprehended what he said, but intentionally ignored them.

Confronting my reasons meant unearthing a truth I wasn’t ready to face.

Instead, I shifted the conversation in another direction.

“You look nice, E,” I said, forcing a sparse grin, a sparkle of light softening my misty eyes.

He shook his head, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, the knowing expression said it all—he saw right through my act.

He wasn’t fooled by my deflection, but he let it slide without question.

“Well,” he began, his voice low with a slight tinge of humor, “my best friend was supposed to be getting married a few hours ago, but…” He paused, then shrugged lightly. “Change of plans, I guess.”

Silence stretched between us as I turned the thought over in my mind. Yeah, change of plans .

Then I turned away, drawn once more to the gentle flow of the creek.

Snatching the glasses from my face, I swiped my cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

They kept spilling down my face—hot and relentless.

I tugged on the bottom of my t-shirt, attempting to clean my glasses again, but it was useless.

A new wave of weeping brewed in my chest, threatening to break free.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said, my voice thick, a knotted tangle of sadness and anger.

“You said you couldn’t…you didn’t want to watch me get married, remember?

” An invisible thread pulled between us, tight and heavy with the weight of our unresolved encounter from a year ago, which had caused yet another rift in our relationship, lingering like a dark cloud.

Echo turned toward me with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his features soft, carrying something I couldn’t quite name—something mature, familiar, and an undeniable trace of adoration.

He shrugged, the motion almost dismissive, as if brushing off the gravity of my words.

“Change of plans, I guess,” he muttered again, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

Finally, he eased down beside me on the old tree stump where we’d spent so many nights together—nights that felt eerily like this one.

Echo

July 2019

A Few Months Earlier

I nudged a few unpacked boxes out of the way as I stepped into my condo, shaking my head at the mess that still surrounded me. When I’d decided to buy a place, I hadn’t factored in the endless hours it would take to unpack, organize, and decorate.

Maybe I can get Kemi to help me ,I thought.

My sister, Yekemi, had an impeccable eye for design. She’d moved to Los Angeles a year ago, and while I liked to think it was to be near me, I knew her real motive—advancing her career in beauty and fashion.

Tossing the mail and my keys on the counter, my steps slowed as I made my way farther into the two-story open-concept condo to admire the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling city.

The warm hues of the July sun setting reflected off the glass, and without thinking, I let out a contented breath.

I’d called LA home for the past eight years and thought it was about time to plant some roots here.

There was a time that I thought my situation would be temporary and I would return to the Midwest. I always considered Chicago home, so maybe I’d return there one day.

Maybe return to her . But that was no longer my fantasy or reality. I was never going back.

To my surprise, my parents had settled in St. Louis for good.

My dad received tenure at his university, and my mom launched a small catering business once my youngest sister, Sadie, was in high school.

The house I grew up in became their forever home, a rarity for a family that had moved as much as we had.

I often wondered about Summer after we parted ways before college.

She headed to Atlanta, and I stayed in St. Louis.

I didn’t want to intrude on her new life, and truthfully, I needed time to adjust to my own.

I threw myself into my studies, graduating with degrees in art and English from Washington University before diving straight into an MBA program.

It was hard as hell, but over the years, I’d learned to tuck the memories of Summer away in the farthest corners of my mind.

They were locked there, only to be uncovered when I allowed myself the luxury of reminiscing.

When I first moved to LA, I landed an internship at NBC Universal, which was a fancy way of saying I was an errand boy.

Despite my degrees from one of the most prestigious universities in the country, I was scraping by, making barely a thousand dollars a month.

Thankfully, my education was covered due to my dad’s tenure benefits, so that thousand dollars was just enough to secure a closet-sized room in an apartment I shared with three other people—one of whom was my ex, Kourtni Lang.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start.

Over time, I worked my way up the ranks to become a senior graphic designer, working on popular studio films, television shows, and even a few independent passion projects that were gaining recognition.

I poured my heart and soul into my work, thriving in a competitive, cut-throat industry and flourishing within the company for years.

But recently, I’d felt compelled to step out on faith, hope, and everything in between to start my own business.

The Black creative community in LA was small, close-knit, and deeply inspiring.

Over the years, I’d made many lifelong friendships and invaluable connections that motivated the decision to take a leap.

Of course, having a father who was a stickler about saving and investing didn’t hurt either.

Once I moved beyond living on ramen noodles, he practically demanded that I set aside a fixed amount of money monthly.

He took those savings and invested them on my behalf, creating a solid safety net if my entrepreneurial dream did not go as planned.

It had been a hell of a long week, so a glass of cognac was more than necessary.

I laughed at the lone glass, plate, fork, knife, and spoon sitting in the sink—a clear sign that I’d barely settled into my new place after two weeks.

I hadn’t had time to breathe, let alone unpack.

Taking a sip of the Angel’s Envy neat, I let the warmth settle my nerves.

My attention shifted to the pile of mail transferred to my new address cluttering the already cluttered counter.

I shook my head, never understanding why I received so much mail when ninety percent of my life was managed online.

I sifted through endless sales ads, credit card offers, and outright junk until a shiny ivory envelope with an embossed seal caught my eye.

The ornate letters S and D pressed into the wax seemed to sparkle under the kitchen light.

It was addressed to me, with a PO Box in St. Louis listed as the return address.

A familiar unease settled in my chest as I turned it over in my hands.

Taking another sip of the smooth brown liquor, I prepared myself, knowing that I’d need a little liquid courage to confront whatever was inside the envelope.

I pulled out the stool at the kitchen island and plopped down, running a finger beneath the intricate seal.

The card I pulled out matched the same iridescent sheen of the envelope.

The meticulously inked handwritten calligraphy was elegant, but despite its beauty, the message it carried was downright ugly.

You are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony of Summer Sierra Knight and Deshawn Micah Towns.