Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Five – Evening Rain and Cozy Nights
The car was a little cocoon of its own, warm air blowing from the vents, faint music trailing from the speakers, the windows fogging slightly at the edges from the difference between the night chill outside and the heater’s hum inside. I hugged the plush Samantha had handed me against my stomach, pressing its soft body into my lap like a buffer between me and everything I didn’t want to think about.
The boardwalk lights disappeared in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the dark. Every few seconds, another lamppost would roll by, casting the interior of the car in brief golden flashes before returning us to the muted glow of the dashboard. Each time the light swept across my shorts, my eyes darted downward, convinced the dark patch on the fabric would blaze like a neon sign.
But of course, Samantha already knew.
The thought made my throat tighten again. I shifted in the seat, legs drawing together, heart kicking as if the simple act of moving might somehow draw attention to the wet spot that I already couldn’t forget.
“Comfy enough?” Samantha asked quietly, her eyes flicking toward me for only a second before returning to the road.
I hesitated, then nodded, hugging the plush tighter. My voice came out small. “Mm-hm.”
She didn’t push, and I was grateful for that. Instead, she adjusted the radio volume lower, until the soft music melted into the hum of the tires on asphalt.
The rhythm of the road filled the silence. The rise and fall of the car as we crossed small hills, the occasional swish of passing vehicles heading the other way, the faint tick-tick of the blinker when we changed lanes—it all stacked into a gentle rhythm that was almost hypnotic.
But my mind wouldn’t settle.
Images replayed: the line for the restroom, the slow shuffle forward, my body shaking as the pressure mounted; the moment the leak slipped past my control, hot and humiliating. I could still feel it, even though the rush of adrenaline had long since burned itself out.
I twisted the plush’s ear between my fingers, wishing I could rewind time. My cheeks burned just thinking about how obvious it must’ve looked, how the spot must’ve shown when I stumbled into the stall.
I must have shifted too restlessly, because Samantha’s voice came again, calm and steady. “Hey,” she said. “You’re awfully quiet over there. Still stuck in your head?”
I bit my lip and nodded. My eyes stayed fixed on the plush in my lap, on the way my thumbs kneaded into its soft belly like I could bury the embarrassment in its stuffing.
Samantha let a moment pass before she spoke again. “You know,” she said gently, “the funny thing is… no one else noticed a thing. You were the only one who felt like the world was watching.”
Her voice carried that teasing lilt she always seemed to have, but underneath it was a weight I couldn’t quite ignore—a weight that made me believe her even though I wanted to argue.
My chest tightened. “It… it felt like everyone could see,” I whispered.
“Mm, I know it did.” She reached over briefly, her hand brushing my knee in a light squeeze before returning to the wheel. “But that’s why I keep an eye on you, silly. If it really had been that bad, I’d have whisked you out of there before anyone could blink.”
My lips parted, but no words came. The knot in my stomach loosened just a fraction.
The road stretched on, the headlights catching reflective paint on the highway. I leaned my head back against the seat, the exhaustion from the day beginning to crash over me like a wave. My eyelids grew heavy even as my mind kept replaying the earlier moments. The plush rose and fell against me with each slow breath, and for a second, I let myself hide behind its softness.
Samantha started humming again—a soft, familiar tune. It wasn’t anything special, just the kind of absentminded sound she made when she was relaxed, but the steadiness of it tugged at me, grounding me more than words could have.
“You were braver than you think,” she said after a while, her voice low enough that it almost blended with the hum of the engine.
Brave. The word didn’t fit, not with the damp fabric clinging uncomfortably against me, not with how small I’d felt shuffling out of that bathroom stall. But hearing her say it, so casually, made my throat ache.
The streetlights blurred past. I blinked slowly, fighting the weight of my own body. The plush slipped lower against my stomach as my arms slackened.
Samantha noticed. Her voice was softer now, almost coaxing. “Go ahead and close your eyes, sunshine. We’ll be home before you know it.”
I made a small sound of protest, but my body betrayed me. My head tipped slightly toward the window, and for the first time since the panic on the boardwalk, I felt my muscles begin to unclench.
The last thing I registered was the faintest chuckle from her seat, warm and amused. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Rest up. You’ve had a very big day.”
The hum of the tires slowed as the streetlights outside grew more familiar. I barely noticed Samantha’s careful turns, though each one rocked me deeper into that soft, swaddled haze. My head lolled toward the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass, but I could still feel the plush she’d tucked in my lap grounding me with its faint fuzz.
The car gave a final long glide before easing into the driveway. The vibration beneath me softened to a gentle tremor and then stilled, like the whole world finally letting out a sigh.
Samantha shifted into park. A brief click, then the low, steady purr of the engine cut away. The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my own breath, slow and shallow, mixing with the faint tick of cooling metal under the hood.
For a moment, it felt like everything held still with me — the car, the night, the quiet street. My eyelids were heavy, and the plush slipped slightly from my fingers.
Then, almost too soft to be real, Samantha leaned closer and murmured, “We’re home.”
Her voice settled over me like a blanket, and I let myself float in that hush, balanced on the edge of sleep and waking.
The outside air startled me more than I expected. It wasn’t sharp exactly, but it carried that damp coolness only night could hold, brushing over my skin and slipping down the collar of my shirt. I shivered automatically, clutching the plush closer, its fuzz tickling my chin.
Samantha’s hand never left me. First steadying me as my foot touched the driveway, then adjusting at my elbow when my knees wobbled like they weren’t quite ready to hold me. “Easy,” she breathed, softer than a whisper, almost carried away by the hum of crickets and the far-off swish of a passing car.
The porch light glowed amber ahead of us, casting a small halo across the steps. The boards creaked faintly under our weight, each sound sharp against the thick hush of night. The scent of cut grass lingered from the day, blending with something faintly earthy — damp soil, cooling wood.
I leaned toward her shoulder without meaning to, heavy with that bone-deep tiredness that wasn’t only sleepiness. It was the kind that tugged from everywhere at once — the drain of nerves, the faint ache in my chest, the quiet relief of being guided instead of having to lead. Samantha didn’t comment, just shifted her arm more firmly around me, as though she’d already expected I might fold toward her.
The key rattled gently in the lock, metal against metal ringing brighter than it should have. Then the door eased open with its usual low groan, and warmth spilled out like a sigh — not heat exactly, but the close, familiar air of inside. A safe cocoon against the vast cool darkness behind us.
Crossing the threshold was almost disorienting. My shoes brushed against the mat, and I swayed slightly, blinking against the faint golden glow from the hallway light Samantha must’ve left on. The difference hit me all at once — outside’s damp air giving way to the faint smell of laundry soap, wood polish, and a candle that must’ve burned earlier, leaving a lingering sweetness.
I exhaled, the sound shaky but quiet, as though my body had been holding tension all the way up until that doorway finally gave me permission to let it go.
The door shut behind us with a soft, rounded thud. It sealed the crickets and the night out, leaving just the muted hum of the refrigerator deeper in the house and the stillness of our little entryway.
“You made it,” Samantha murmured, turning her head toward me with the faintest smile. The words weren’t loud, but they felt like they echoed in the space — warm, almost teasing, yet tender enough to anchor me right where I stood.
I hugged the plush tighter, my cheek pressing against its worn fuzz, and let my eyelids sink halfway closed again. I didn’t have words left in me, only that fragile drifting — the strange mixture of being safe and embarrassed, tired and held, small and relieved all at once.
I didn’t realize how much I was leaning until Samantha eased me back against the wall, her hands gentle but firm on my shoulders. The cool plaster steadied me, cool against the heat that clung to my face and neck. I blinked slowly, adjusting to the glow of the hallway lamp.
“Stay right there,” she whispered. Her voice carried the kind of calm certainty that made arguing impossible, not that I had the energy to try.
I let my head tilt back, eyelids drooping. The faint scuff of her shoes across the mat was the only sound until she crouched at my feet. I startled faintly when her fingers brushed my ankle, but she only murmured, “Shhh, just shoes,” and tugged at a knotted lace.
The sound of the knot giving way felt absurdly loud in the hush of the entryway. My balance wavered as she slipped the first shoe off, and I caught myself on the wall, socked foot brushing the mat. She did the same with the other, setting both neatly aside.
The relief was strange, like shedding more than just sneakers. Standing there in socks, toes curling against the rug, I felt smaller somehow — more tired, more exposed, but not in a way that scared me.
Samantha rose slowly, brushing her hands against her thighs as if dusting them off. She studied me for a moment, head tilted, then leaned down just enough to nudge the plush closer to my chest where I’d let it droop. “Hold onto him,” she murmured, “he’s helping.”
The words coaxed a faint, drowsy sound out of me that was almost a laugh. I clutched the plush tighter, chin sinking into its fur. My whole body sagged in the silence, every muscle pulling toward sleep even though we were only two steps inside the door.
Samantha reached up and smoothed my hair once, fingers lingering at my temple. “You’re okay,” she said softly, like it was both a statement and a promise.
I nodded against the plush, though it came out more like a slow roll of my head. The quiet entryway seemed to press around us, not heavy but cocoon-like, and I let myself stay there a little longer — held by the wall at my back, the plush at my chest, and the steady presence of Samantha just a breath away.
When Samantha finally coaxed me from the wall, I followed more by instinct than decision. Her hand brushed against mine, not gripping, just guiding, and I let her lead me down the familiar hall. Each step seemed softer than the last, the house itself wrapped in a blanket of night silence.
The bedroom light was low when we entered, just a lamp casting a warm pool on the dresser. I sank onto the edge of the bed without needing to be told, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. The plush was still clutched close, its fur carrying the faintest trace of the car’s upholstery, grounding me more than I realized.
Samantha crouched to tug gently at the hem of my hoodie. “Arms up,” she whispered, as if she were tucking in a child instead of helping me peel off something heavy. My arms moved slowly, sluggish, but I obeyed. The fabric slipped over my head with a faint rustle, leaving me cooler, lighter.
She folded the hoodie neatly on the chair, then turned back with that same calm look. Her hand brushed my knee before resting on my shoulder, a quiet tether. “Better,” she murmured.
I let out a sound that was half a hum, half a sigh. My eyes stung with exhaustion, and I blinked hard, clinging to the plush in my lap.
“Lie back,” she said gently, patting the sheets behind me. I let myself tip slowly, shoulders sinking into the pillow. Samantha drew the blanket up without fuss, smoothing it over me in careful lines, tucking the edge lightly against my side.
Her movements were so practiced, so steady, that for a moment it felt like the whole day was dissolving into the folds of the blanket. My thoughts slipped and blurred, caught between the rough edges of memory and the soft promise of sleep.
Samantha’s voice came one last time, barely above a whisper. “You’re safe. Rest now.”
The words seemed to carry weight, as if they could press down all the leftover jitters, all the heat of embarrassment, all the tight knots in my chest. I clutched the plush tighter and let myself drift, the bedroom fading into the steady rhythm of my own breathing.
The blanket’s weight settled me deeper into the mattress, my body too heavy to resist. My eyelids fluttered shut, the soft glow of the lamp dimming to nothing behind them. Samantha’s touch lingered for a heartbeat longer on my shoulder, then slipped away, leaving only warmth in its place.
Sleep should have claimed me instantly, but instead it came in ripples — gentle at first, then oddly sharp in places, like stepping into waves that don’t quite know if they want to cradle or drag you under.
Images flickered across the back of my mind. The shimmer of boardwalk lights. The sound of the restroom door creaking shut. The hot prickle of shame when I’d looked down and seen the damp spot on my jeans. Each memory was distorted, stretched into something larger than it had been, echoing through the quiet of the room.
I turned slightly, clutching the plush tighter, as if I could anchor myself to it. The fabric smelled faintly of Samantha’s car, of safety — but even that comfort blurred at the edges when the dream-currents pulled stronger.
A shadow of laughter — maybe real, maybe imagined — curled at the edges of my thoughts. My stomach tightened in my sleep, body reacting before my mind could. Somewhere deep in the fog, I whimpered, though my waking self wouldn’t remember.
And yet Samantha’s words, whispered earlier — You’re safe. Rest now. — clung to me, faint but present, like a lantern in the dark.
I let myself sink further, knowing unease was there, but hoping her words would hold.
The End of Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Five – Evening Rain and Cozy Nights
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