My father's childhood summers had been spent at Seymour lake in Vermont. The familiar, glistening blue water was mesmerizing. It was beckoning. Adults and children alike would swim, row boats, and swing off the long rope by the large tree that my grandpa replaced every year with a new one. The lakeside housed many families and communal barbecues. I remember thinking the summertime to be eerily perfect.

My summers began much like my fathers'. The season was especially important to me, because it was also my namesake: Summer. Summer Nora Wolfe.

At four years old I was swimming by myself, my family and their friends watching on, sitting on the dock and clapping for me. At seven, the summer began much the same way. Welcome picnics, hoards of family and friends, a tour of the newest paintings in my grandfather's art gallery, seeing my cousins Ivy and Amber, and taking the first swim of the summer. That summer was memorable, not because of how it started, but because of how it ended.

Surrounded by tall trees, good for climbing, Ivy, Amber and I walked on one of the trails by the lake. It was like any other day, simple, peaceful, and free.

Amber stopped, her body stiffening.

"Ivy? Do you hear that?"

We all stopped, and listened. I was in the lead. I listened to the surroundings. A woodpecker nearby, the rustling of leaves in the trees, the distant sound of a radio someone was playing in their boat... but nothing more. Nothing strange, or shocking in any way. Ivy said

"No?"

Amber nodded her head

"I think I hear something. Something bad."

I was going to assure her that we were safe. Ivy was going to nudge her sister playfully and then keep walking... but that couldn't happen, because, Amber was right.

It was a dark blur. A giant wolf, a coat like coal and eyes like fire, blasted towards us, out of nowhere. He was coming straight for me.

/

I was on the ground, bleeding. My cousins were screaming "HELP!"

/

I was staring at the wooden ceiling of my grandparents' cabin. I was burning with fever. I was surrounded by adults. I knew some of them, others were strangers. My father and Grandpa Ezekiel were raising their voices at each other.

I finally came to in Dad's car. I felt a tight seatbelt strapped across my chest, and my bandaged left forearm throbbed, and hurt worse when the fingers of my right hand applied any pressure to it. My vision was still out of focus, and my tongue tasted like rust. Trees rushed by the windows. Such thick forests in Vermont. So much different than in California. I didn't think about those thoughts now.

I strained to speak, but the taste of iron in my mouth was so strong I couldn't get any words out. Instead, my mother hissed at my father, believing I was still unconscious

"We are never coming back, Henry. I'm sorry. We're just not. If Ezekiel wants to see us, he can visit us in San Diego!"

My father agreed with her

"He doesn't understand. I never wanted to see Summer get hurt. I thought we could leave this damn curse behind..."

My mother demanded

"You told me the pack doctor fixed her?! Didn't you? Our girl does not carry the curse. We caught the bite just in time."

Dad said, his eyes meeting mine through the rear view mirror

"Shh, Summer's waking. We cannot speak of this..."

My mother turned in her seat, long red hair dangling like a curtain

"Hello my angel. Do you remember what happened?"

I nodded, slowly

"A wolf scratched me?"

Dad corrected me

"The neighbor's black husky got out. He scratched up your arm pretty bad, my girl. But you'll be okay."

I asked

"Why does my mouth taste like metal?"

My mother assured me

"We just wanted to make sure the rabid dog didn't carry any diseases, so we got you some medicine. You should be better now. We're driving home, and once we're back you and I can spend a day at the beach. How does that sound?"

I asked, now sniffling

"But, what about Ivy and Amber?"

She rested a gentle hand on my knee

"You can call your cousins as soon as we get cell reception, baby."