Page 16 of Stony Point Summer
Kyle says nothing then. Enough quiet passes that Maris looks over at him after pouring ketchup on her plate.
Kyle looks at her, too. And hesitates. Then spins back around and puts his elbows on the countertop before talking again. “You know something?” he asks. “I have an idea. Wonder what you’ll think.”
“An idea?”
“You know, to helpget Jason back home,” he says, air-quoting the words. “When you’re ready. Because it’s not the same in these parts without Barlow around.”
“I’m listening.” Maris drags a sweet-potato fry through ketchup. “Go on.”
Kyle checks his watch and glances over toward the kitchen. “Eh, I should probably run it by Lauren first.” He grabs a paper napkin from the dispenser and swipes his forehead then. “Well. I’ll lay it on you, Maris. And tell Lauren later. I can text you if she’s on board.”
Maris sets down her fork and turns on her diner stool to fully face Kyle. “What theheckdo you have up your sleeve?”
“Just an idea, like I said. We’re headed into Labor Day weekend, right? And I mentioned that my truck’s been acting up.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything. If you’re game.”
“Kyle! Spill it already.”
“Hang on.” He stands and walks over to the countertop pastry case lined with chilled pie. After pulling out a slice of banana-cream with a hefty dollop of whipped topping, he leans across the counter and calls out to Jerry. “Taking ten, Jer. You got me covered?”
“For now, Captain,” comes back from the recesses of the kitchen.
Which is all Kyle needs to hear to sit again, apparently. And he does. He also proceeds to fork off a hunk of his chilled pie. “Okay,” he begins, leaning close to Maris. “This willonlywork if Jerry or Rob can cover the diner this weekend. That’ll free me up to get that husband of yours back where he belongs. At Stony Point.” Kyle lifts his pie-laden fork to his mouth. “With you,” he says around it all.
* * *
Some people believe the twists and turns of our lives are all up to fate. Funny, but right now? Maris thinks maybe it’s all up to Kyle Bradford. His diner brought her and Jason together in the first place.
And now, this.
As is Kyle’s way—in between pie bites, and with passing customers slapping his shoulder, and as someone drops a dish—he does it. Kyle starts the impossible. He pitches Maris his Operation Get Jason Home idea. And while eating pork chops and snagging sweet-potato fries, she hears him out. At the long counter, Kyle diagrams time frames and locations, drawing them with his pen on a napkin or two.
Most importantly, he realigns some stars in her life, some in Jason’s. She feels it.
“Easy as pie? Right?” Kyle asks, raising his banana-cream-covered fork in a toast.
And just like that, in the busy Dockside Diner, a plan is laid.
eight
— Then —
20 Years Ago
The Disappearance
OH YEAH,” ONE OF THE teen girls says, “what a plan you laid—to hot-wire the commissioner’s boat on the Fourth of July.”
As she says it, several things simultaneously happen among the eight teenagers on the Stony Point boardwalk. A few groans rise. The teen girl resenting the stolen-boat plan stops painting the boardwalk planks long enough to swipe a hand across her perspiring forehead. Another girl—this one wearing a fitted tie-dyed tank top over frayed denim shorts—sips the last of a bottled water.
But with that afternoon sun blazing down on the boardwalk, and on the scorching sandy beach, tempers are short. Blame comes fast and furious. They’re all finger-pointing at the person who landed them here today—slapping a fresh coat of paint on the boardwalk during the hottest week of July.
“Any other boat, Kyle,” a thin guy says as he peels off his damp tee, “and we’d have been scot-free.”
“If I recall, Matt,” Kyle shoots back at him while carefully dragging a narrow brush down the seatback rails, “youwere first to raid the liquor down in the boat’s cabin that night. Which isalsostealing andalsogot us this community service.”
