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  Praise for Just 18 Summers

  “Michelle Cox is one of my favorite authors. Her books are in my office at the Fox News Corner of the World in New York City. She writes the kind of books that are best read with a glass of sweet tea and a box of Kleenex. This latest work, Just 18 Summers, is a must-read for moms and dads. It reminds us that our greatest legacy has ten fingers and ten toes.”

  TODD STARNES, Fox News Channel

  “A sweet, powerful novel about the brevity of the time we have with our children. Touching, laugh-out-loud funny at points, and a poignant reminder of how vital it is to make the most of every fleeting moment.”

  DEBORAH RANEY, author of The Face of the Earth and A January Bride

  “I had planned to read the book over a period of several days but found that I just could not put it down. As a father of three grown children, Just 18 Summers really made me think back to the first eighteen years I had with my own children and realize I need to make the eighteen years with my grandchildren even more special.”

  ISAAC HERNANDEZ, vice president of programming, The Parables Network

  “I love this book! Just 18 Summers will grab your heart, shake you up, and remind you of the brief, yet impacting, time we have in just eighteen summers in our child’s life. . . . Michelle Cox and Rene Gutteridge have written a book filled with characters you will fall in love with and a story we can all relate to. It will awaken and inspire you—and make you laugh!”

  NANCY STAFFORD, actress (Matlock), speaker, and author of The Wonder of His Love: A Journey into the Heart of God and Beauty by the Book: Seeing Yourself as God Sees You

  “Every word, every page . . . spellbinding. A must-read for every parent, grandparent, or anyone who has a place in their heart for a special child. Bravo to Michelle and Rene for reminding us of what we should instinctively know already—that there is a time to embrace and a time to let go, and precious little time in between.”

  EVA MARIE EVERSON, author of Waiting for Sunrise, a Christy Award finalist

  “Just 18 Summers . . . reminds us that we have such a short time to impact the next generation, such a short time to demonstrate the love we have for our family, and that we must make the most out of every day raising our children.”

  LAINE LAWSON CRAFT, WHOAwomen founder and publisher and television host

  Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.

  Visit Rene Gutteridge’s website at www.renegutteridge.com.

  Visit Michelle Cox’s websites at www.michellecoxinspirations.com and www.just18summers.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Just 18 Summers

  Copyright © 2014 by Michelle Cox and Dave Moody. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph copyright © by Digital Vision/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover texture copyright © by RoyStudio.eu/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

  Rene Gutteridge author photograph copyright © 2009 by Gertjan van der Tuuk. All rights reserved.

  Michelle Cox author photo taken by Chris Armstrong. Copyright © 2013 by Elysian Pictures. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Beth Sparkman

  Edited by Sarah Mason

  Published in association with the literary agencies of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, Inc., 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 70, Santa Rosa, CA 95409, and Jonathan Clements, Wheelhouse Literary Group, PO Box 110909, Nashville, TN, 37222, for all purposes of the Agreement.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

  Just 18 Summers is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Gutteridge, Rene.

  Just 18 summers / Rene Gutteridge and Michelle Cox ; based on the screenplay by Marshal Younger, Michelle Cox, and Torry Martin. — First Edition.

  pages cm

  “Based on the screenplay by Marshal Younger, Michelle Cox, and Torry Martin.”

  ISBN 978-1-4143-8659-1 (sc)

  1. Wives—Death—Fiction. 2. Family vacations—Fiction. 3. Parenthood—Fiction. 4. Child rearing—Fiction. 5. Domestic fiction. I. Cox, Michelle. II. Younger, Marshal. III. Martin, Torry, 1961- IV. Title. V. Title: Just eighteen summers.

  PS3557.U887J87 2014

  813'.54—dc23 2013046536

  ISBN 978-1-4143-9090-1 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4143-8660-7 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4143-9091-8 (Apple)

  Build: 2014-03-13 18:28:13

  For John and Cate

  —R. G.

  For Jeremy, Tim, and Jason

  The summers didn’t last long enough.

  —M. C.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Butch

  Chapter 2: Beth

  Chapter 3: Larry

  Chapter 4: Butch

  Chapter 5: Beth

  Chapter 6: Daphne

  Chapter 7: Beth

  Chapter 8: Butch

  Chapter 9: Beth

  Chapter 10: Butch

  Chapter 11: Helen

  Chapter 12: Larry

  Chapter 13: Tippy

  Chapter 14: Charles

  Chapter 15: Butch

  Chapter 16: Beth

  Chapter 17: Helen

  Chapter 18: Daphne

  Chapter 19: Butch

  Chapter 20: Charles

  Chapter 21: Beth

  Chapter 22: Butch

  Chapter 23: Beth

  Chapter 24: Butch

  Chapter 25: Beth

  Chapter 26: Daphne

  Chapter 27: Tippy

  Chapter 28: Butch

  Chapter 29: Beth

  Chapter 30: Helen

  Chapter 31: Butch

  Chapter 32: Beth

  Chapter 33: Charles

  Chapter 34: Tippy

  Chapter 35: Butch

  Chapter 36: Charles

  Chapter 37: Beth

  Chapter 38: Butch

  Chapter 39: Beth

  Chapter 40: Larry

  Chapter 41: Beth

  Chapter 42: Daphne

  Chapter 43: Helen

  Chapter 44: Charles

  Chapter 45: Daphne

  Chapter 46: Charles

  Chapter 47: Butch

  A Note from Michelle Cox

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Discussion Questions

  CHAPTER 1

  BUTCH

  USED TO BE, in the “olden days,” as his father-in-law called them, the seasons were predictable. Winter ushered in a chill that stayed in the bones until spring thawed the snow and ice and brought in comfortable temperatures, gradually warming day by day into summer, when stifling heat had to be endured only for a little while because fall was around the corner.

  But that was before global warming, or as Butch Browning liked to describe it, before seasons became irrelevant. Now there were tornadoes in winter and heat waves in May.

  The kind of sweat induced by both heat and extreme boredom dropped from his brow onto the face of his watch as he checked it for the fourth time in ten minutes. He tugged at the collar of the only starched shirt he owned and listened to a young woman, introduced by the principal as Madison Buckley, read from the dictionary during her valedictorian speech. She was literally reading, word for word, all the definitions of success. For the price of valedictoriandom, he thought she might be able to come up with one on her own, but it didn’t look like it.

  Butch endured this graduation ceremony at the football stadium, during record-breaking heat on a virtually windless day, only for his nephew. Jenny’s nephew, to be exact
. But this morning when he was thinking of skipping the ceremony and mailing the gift, he’d heard her displeasure, in the form of guilt, like a wave rolling him right out of his bed. She placed a lot of importance on family. Always had. When he’d had a falling-out with his father years ago, it was Jenny who worked to get them set right.

  It wasn’t Butch’s thing, though.

  He was soaking straight through his only good shirt, listening to an eighteen-year-old lecture other eighteen-year-olds on how to succeed in life. Yeah, well, life has a way of making sure you don’t see what’s coming. That’s what he’d say if he were up there.

  He glanced down at Ava sitting next to him, her hip touching his. Now that Jenny was gone, she never sat by him without touching him. It was something he’d had to grow used to. He was a man who cherished personal space.

  He’d been a lot of things before, with no clue as to what he should be now. Every day was like wandering into a dark forest with no map, no compass, and a flashlight that had pulled nearly all the juice from its nine-volt battery.

  Ava tugged at the neck of her shirt. Sweater, to be exact. Christmas sweater, to be more exact. It had Rudolph on the front, with a bright-red blinky nose that had actually worked before Butch accidentally washed the battery pack he was supposed to know to remove. But it was the only thing he could find that was clean this morning, as they’d overslept and he’d rushed to get them both ready. He didn’t turn on the news to hear the meteorologist’s prediction of unseasonably warm weather. But who was he kidding? A sweater like this shouldn’t be worn past February—any idiot would know that.

  His daughter’s cheeks were bright red and her bangs had curled into a wet mess on her forehead, but she sat upright, not complaining, focused on the young blonde woman at the podium who droned on and on about her vast achievements. Ava’s little mouth moved as she unconsciously repeated the words to herself. It broke Butch’s heart. Jenny used to do the same thing when she was intently focused on a conversation.

  Finally, at the point that his deodorant had failed its commercial claim of lasting for twenty-four hours in the Sahara, they got around to calling out the names of the graduates.

  “Nathan Anderson,” said the monotone voice over the loudspeaker. Cheers erupted and Butch clapped loudly and whistled through his fingers.

  Ava, a sweaty mess of heat and charm, grinned at him. “You gotta teach me how to do that whistle thing.”

  “Okay,” he said. At least once a day she asked him to teach her something. He hadn’t gotten around to any of it yet. He was still teaching himself how to do laundry. He’d almost gone broke buying them new packages of underwear every week for the first eight weeks after Jenny died. Now he could do the basics of throwing in a load with all the right colors, at the right temperature, with the right detergent—when he had the time.

  He remembered a moment three weeks after they were married—Jenny holding up a white shirt that had ended up smeared with pink, thanks to the lipstick she’d left in a pocket. That laugh. He missed it. He craved it.

  Suddenly hats shot high into the sky on the football field and the band started playing something triumphant. Time flies when you’re lost in thoughts of days before you had to learn to do laundry.

  Like an avalanche, the crowd rolled down the bleachers and onto the field to find their graduates.

  “Hey, Ava, stay right by my—” Butch looked down, but she was gone. “Ava?”

  He barely caught the top of her little head bobbing between people as she raced to find her aunt Beth. Maybe he should worry about her more, but sometimes it seemed his little girl knew how to take care of herself better than he did.

  With the back of his sleeve, he wiped his forehead as he made his way down the bleachers. The field was so crowded he was actually locked in place by a couple of families, unable to move anywhere. All he could do was stand there and wait for someone to step aside. Jenny used to tell him he should be more assertive, but he could only assert himself in the place he felt most comfortable—a construction site. So he just stood.

  But then his gaze wandered to the place he’d tried not to look the entire time he’d been at the football stadium. Across the field were the home team’s bleachers. And eight rows up, in the center section, was the place he’d first seen Jenny. He’d transferred over from his old school and been backup quarterback his junior year. It wasn’t until his senior year that he even had the courage to talk to her. She sat in the same place every home game, cheering and holding up some kind of poster she’d made. He’d heard she used to be a cheerleader but blew out a knee her sophomore year. She was voted “most liked” their senior year. Four days before they graduated, he asked her out.

  “Madison! Beautifully done!” a woman said. Butch snapped his attention back to the field. A striking and severe-looking blonde woman embraced the valedictorian. She swept the girl’s hair out of her face and smoothed her gown. “I thought you were going to get your bangs trimmed.”

  He imagined what Jenny would say to Ava if she were valedictorian. Probably nothing about her bangs.

  A man, presumably the girl’s father, shook her hand and nodded in agreement like they’d just signed a binding contract. The whole family seemed very pulled together, dressed correctly for the weather and weirdly sweat-proof.

  Finally the sea of people moved and Butch was able to make it to Nathan, who he swore had grown a foot since he last saw him. He was now taller than his father, but still an inch short of Butch.

  “Congratulations, Nathan,” Butch said. He handed him the small box he’d been clutching for two and a half hours. The paper was red, the corners crisp, the tape invisible. The silver bow sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Thanks, Uncle Butch.” Nathan took the box.

  “Yeah, good job,” Ava said, tugging at Nathan’s gown.

  Nathan ruffled her hair and said, “Thanks, Ava.” Was it just him, or had this kid’s voice dropped four octaves?

  Beth was now by Butch’s side, looking adoringly—not at Nathan and not at Ava, but at the package. “Wow, look at that, would you? So well wrapped!”

  “Oh, Jenny wrapped it before she . . . Well, obviously it was Jenny. She’d been eager to give this to Nathan for months.”

  He expected Beth’s expression to fade into the same one everybody wore around him these days, bobbing her head steadily as she tried to find words to change the subject without looking too obvious. If he’d seen it once, he’d seen it hundreds of times. The guys at the site were just now starting to look him in the eye, and only if it was more awkward not to.

  But Beth didn’t do that. She smiled at him, met his eyes, just like old times.

  They all watched Nathan unwrap the gift. He dropped the paper to the ground and opened the box, pulling out the small, brushed-silver pocket watch.

  Beth stepped forward, touching it lightly with her fingertips. “I recognize this.”

  “Yeah, it was her father’s . . .” Butch cleared his throat and tried a warm smile toward Beth. “Your father’s, too. There’s an inscription inside.”

  Attention shifted back to Nathan as he opened the watch and read it. “‘Psalm 90:12. “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”’”

  “Beautiful,” Beth said, patting her heart while simultaneously taking Butch by the arm, leading him to turf a few feet away.

  Beth had a warmth about her that reminded him of Jenny. The sisters didn’t look alike, but they cared alike. Beth was just slightly nosier. Her hand was on his shoulder now. “Are you okay?”

  He tried to appreciate the gesture. “Yeah. I’m fine, Beth. We’re making it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Because Ava’s wearing a Christmas sweater during a heat wave in May.”

  “Oh . . . that . . .” Butch sheepishly glanced his daughter’s way. Even while she was shaking the sweater to try to create a breeze on the inside, she still managed to look poised and
carry on conversations. She was Jenny’s Mini-Me. “I couldn’t find anything else that was clean.”

  As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t, because that kind of statement caused a woman like Beth to believe it was her moment to be a superhero. By indicating there might be a need in his household, he’d just handed her a cape and permission to dominate. He should’ve said something about misreading the weather report—thought there was a chance of snow.

  “. . . come over and do some laundry? I have to work tomorrow. Starting to sell a new line of party products. So far it’s beating my Tupperware stint. But I could definitely come over in the evening and even set up a system to—”

  “No, I can do laundry.”

  “Oh.” She sniffed. “Do you need a meal?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “I know Ava has a couple weeks of school left. Can I give her a ride?”

  “I can do that.”

  Butch could almost hear the hiss of air leaking from Beth, like she was about to collapse right into the grass. Even her hair looked to be wilting.

  “Butch . . .” She dabbed her wrist against each eye. “I promised Jenny I’d help out with you guys if something ever . . .” Beth placed a gentle hand over her mouth, pausing as the tears rested against the rims of her eyes. “Let me live up to that promise.”

  Butch nodded, fully understanding the burden that came with not being able to lend a hand. Beth had a good heart.

  “You can. I promise. At some point. But right now, I’ve got this new life. I need to get used to it.”

  For once they seemed to understand each other. Beth inflated with a smile, a warm hug, and a whispered thank-you. She came away a little wetter, but they’d had a moment Butch knew she needed.

  “You know we pray for you every day,” Beth said as she stepped back.

  “Yep. Thanks.”

  Then he felt a hard punch on his arm. He turned to find Tippy standing next to him, grinning like a ten-year-old. “Butch.”

  “Hey, Tippy. Hi, Daphne.” Butch assumed Daphne had come to support Beth, but he knew there were a thousand other things Tippy would’ve rather been doing. Butch could relate.