![]() “I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Persephone,” she said slowly, right in front of him, then turned to Dad for his input. Mom hadn’t looked happy when I asked if Sam could stay for the evening. “Almost all my clothes are,” he explained matter-of-factly. Within minutes I learned he had lived next door all his life, he was also starting eighth grade in the fall, and that he liked Weezer well enough, but the shirt was actually a hand-me-down from his brother. Given how sullen he was when we met, he was a lot chattier than I expected. We were sitting on the floor, door open at Mom’s insistence. “So what kind of name is Persephone?” he asked, stuffing a third Oreo into his mouth. Sam didn’t seem to have the same problem. As soon as we were alone, I was tongue-tied with nerves. ![]() I’d never had a boy in my bedroom until that first evening when Charlie dropped Sam off on the doorstep of our cottage. ![]() Told over the course of six years and one weekend, Every Summer After is a big, sweeping nostalgic story of love and the people and choices that mark us forever. ![]()
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