A Man for the Summer Read Online Free

sure hadn’t been Maggie. More like Claudia Schiffer, wearing a bikini. But… Maggie ?
    The seconds ticked by, and Griff was frozen, trying to get his mind around the idea, when Maggie looked him full in the eye and sighed.
    “Forget it, just forget it, Griff. I’m sorry I asked.”
    She bounded to her feet and ran inside, letting the screen door slam behind her, while Griff slowly stood up and dusted off the seat of his jeans before making his way slowly home, his body aching from all his bruises.
    And those were the last words she ever said to him, because the next day Maggie Gold was killed when a bread truck rounded the corner too fast right into the path of her bike.
    Griff dropped the papers on the motel bed and pressed his palms to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight just as he had two decades earlier when he heard the news. Ruby had cried in the kitchen, wiping her eyes on the hem of her apron as she worked. Maggie’s mother cried for weeks. You could tell because she wore her sunglasses all day long, even if she was just walking down the sidewalk for the paper. Everyone at the funeral cried, hundreds of people, it seemed to Griff, as he held on to Ruby’s hand for dear life, not caring for once that he was almost twelve and too old.
    But Griff hadn’t been able to cry. He just covered his ears, trying to drown out the sobs that wouldn’t come, and Maggie’s voice as she asked him, over and over in his mind, to kiss her.
    And gradually, as the years went by, he didn’t forget exactly, but he put Maggie on a shelf in the deepest recesses in his mind, and moved on to other girls. Girls who didn’t have a mean left hook, girls whose knees weren’t permanently scabbed—girls who weren’t his best friend, and never would be.
     
     
    Junior stood on the stack of phone books on the armchair, stretching as far as she could, and still she couldn’t quite reach the cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.
    Rosie looked on, amused.
    “You know, Dottie Johnson would just love to come clean this place up for you,” Rosie said. “She’s got an opening Thursdays. I saw her at the grocery.”
    Junior took careful aim, and launched the feather duster through the air. It managed to entangle half the cobwebs before it fell into a pot of African violets.
    “You know I don’t believe in paying people to do chores I can perfectly well do myself.”
    Rosie snorted with laughter. “Yeah, right. First of all, there’s no indication that you are capable of doing it yourself, since I don’t believe you know the first thing about housekeeping. And second, the only time you ever even try is when you’re procrastinating.”
    Junior leapt lightly down from her chair and replaced the phone books on the shelf.
    “What makes you think I’m procrastinating?”
    “Well, I saw that pile of overdue accounts on your desk. You hate those. You let them pile up all year, I know you. And, I might point out, that’s yet another task that there are perfectly competent professionals just waiting to do them.”
    “I thought that’s what I’m paying you for.”
    Rosie laughed again. “Honey, I’d have those taken care of in ten minutes. You just keep ‘em to yourself because you’re afraid I’d actually make some poor soul pay their bill. Remember I keep the books, sugar. I know all about who you’re floating around here.”
    Junior shot her a look of reproof.
    “A lot of those families are struggling to make ends meet, Rosie, you know that.”
    Rosie held up her hands in mock defeat. “Last I checked, you were more or less struggling to make ends meet yourself.”
    The door swung open before Junior could think of a response.
    It was Griff Ross, and he was wearing a grin that stretched from one side of his dangerous face to another.
    “What are you looking so happy about?” Junior demanded with a scowl.
    She liked him better in pain, she decided. He was a lot easier to resist that way. His hair was wet from the shower and