Page 12 of Stony Point Summer
“Oh, Cliff.” She sits and sips her wine again. “I can’t believe my son’s been gone a year now. I’ll hear no more of Sal’s words. See no more smiles. He’s just … gone.”
“It’s hard. A loss like that can really take the wind out of your sails,” Cliff says while lighting two candles on the table. “That’s why I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Elsa nods. Slightly.
“Well, Sal will be smiling down on you tomorrow, that’s for sure.” Cliff pats her shoulder, then asks, “Are you all set for the inn’s grand opening?”
“Yes. Celia and I have beensobusy with last-minute things, but we’re done. And I’m actually glad to have a break and be here for dinner.”
“Always happy to have you, Elsa.” As he says it, he checks the food in the toaster oven before lowering the heat on his dual-burner hot plate.
And Cliffisalways happy to have her. These are cherished times—the two of them talking over dinner in his well-camouflaged trailer-apartment. Cherished,andabsolutely unexpected. When he accepted the beach commissioner position and moved to Stony Point last year, he didn’t think much of it. His only hope was that this little community would keep him mildly busy after he’d retired as a State of Connecticut judge. And surely a stint as commissioner in this sleepy beach town would be easy.Ha!Was he ever wrong, with all the quirks and demands of persnickety folks here.
But Elsa’s been his biggest surprise at Stony Point. Now, nothing compares to the evenings spent in his temporary digs with this beautiful woman who stole his heart.
Not that they started out friendly. He’ll never forget the day she swept into his life last summer. Clutching a new-fence violation he’d issued, she stormed into his trailer-office. Literally. Blew in through that industrial door and blustered over to his desk. Oh, how she argued the fine.
Threatened to appeal it to the Board of Governors.
Waved it in front of him.
Stamped her sandal-clad foot.
Argued she had notimeto plant a living-hedge fence.
Tossed in that healsomisspelled her name.It’s DeLuca. With a capital L, she’d hissed.
Then she snatched the appeal form, turned on her heel and stormed out.
He glances at Elsa now. None of it’s there tonight, that lively Elsa energy. That spark in her eye. That smile in her voice. That zest!
Yes, something’s definitely amiss.
* * *
It always catches Elsa off guard when it happens.
Even now it does, after Cliff disappears on the other side of his four-panel room divider separating the kitchenette from the rest of his living quarters. The surprise comes when she hears the scratchy sound rising from his old tabletop record player there. He’s done it again, found some Dean Martin song to accompany their dinner. First there’s the static sound of needle-to-record, then that crooning voice, followed by the easy, steady swish of brushes on a cymbal.
“Care to dance with me?” Cliff asks from behind her. “While we wait for the food?”
Elsa turns in her chair. Cliff stands there, holding out his hand. He wears a pale gray short-sleeve button-down that matches his salt-and-pepper hair. A half-apron covers his black pants. And his blue eyes? They hold only her in their sight.
“Oh, Cliff. I’m not sure.”
“Come on.” He steps closer and takes her hand in his. “One dance.”
Elsa relents, and so they slow-dance in his trailer. He glides her around the two café chairs at the little table, past the countertop where those mashed potatoes simmer on the hot plate. Candlelight flickers; the a/c hums. She and Cliff take small steps beside a framed seascape painting near the futon. Two white seagull statues perch on a shelf there, too.
As Dino serenades, Elsa can’t help it. The way he sings about his happy heart makes her own heart feel even heavier. Thesinger’sheart may have wings, lifting it high. But a particular certified letter flew in like wings thatstoleElsa’s happiness this week. Hijacked it right out of her life. As she rests her head on Cliff’s shoulder, he holds her closer.
“I know,” Cliff says, touching her hair. “I know.”
Elsa knows, too. Cliff thinks her sadness comes from missing Sal. And a touch of it does. But mostly she’s sad about what’s to come tomorrow, when she announces her news to all.
Still, that’s a day away.
For now, she just slow-dances with Cliff in his trailer. Barely sways in his arms while Dean Martin sings about hearts lifted by love and happiness. For a little while anyway, maybe—just maybe—these few minutes that span a scratchy song can liftherheart, too.
