Page 22 of Stony Point Summer
“Fine.” He sits back in his chair and watches her. “But we’re filming forCastaway Cottagetomorrow morning. In the barn studio. There’s no cancelling that. Trent will be there. The whole crew.”
“And?”
“And I’ll get what I need then?”
“Okay. Butnotin the house.” She spoons the rest of her chocolate ice cream. “You can text me later what you need for clothes. I’ll leave those in the studio for you.”
Jason says nothing more. As they sit there, a train suddenly blows past on the tracks behind the convenience store. The rails screech; the train rumbles. The whole time, Jason’s eating his ice cream. He’s doing something else, too. He’s watching her.
Maris knows, because she’swatchinghim watch her.
“Take a walk on the beach with me?” he asks once the train is gone.
“I’m not sure, Jason. I’m tired.” After she says it, she can’t miss how he slightly nods, as though he sees that fatigue on her.
“Just a walk,” he tells her, collecting his food wrappings and their ice-cream cups to toss in the trash. Standing, he looks back at her. “Just a little …date, you know?”
* * *
Okay, so Jason’s still not used to this dating thing. When he reconnected with Maris a few years back, they easily fell into step with each other. Just like that, they went from being old beach friends to a beach couple living together in his cottage on the bluff. Which led to a quick engagement, followed by their August wedding two years ago.
Datingdidn’t play a big part in it all.
But one thing’s for certain. Dating works. After their first picnicdatetwo days ago at the New London docks, Jason felt … hopeful. Like he was seriously getting to know Maris in a new way. To notice what he hadn’t before. To make a challenging type of conversation.
Dating forces him to see her differently.
Still, he thinks as he parks his SUV in the parking lot behind the Stony Point boardwalk,it’s not easy, this dating thing. Because she has to get to knowhimdifferently, too. So his life is more under scrutiny.
When Maris pulls her car beside his, Jason gives a quick look in his rearview mirror and drags a hand through his unkempt hair. A stop at Coastal Cuts is definitely overdue. Soon. But for now, he gets out and yes, they fall into step together—like always. They walk side by side across the boardwalk, but the difference this time is this—they walk, and that’s it. They don’t touch. Maris doesn’t hook a finger through one of his belt loops. He doesn’t take her hand in his and fold it to his face for a kiss. They just walk, their bodies apart.
As the sun sinks to the horizon, they step off the boardwalk onto the sand—still not touching—and head across the beach. Long Island Sound is slate blue and calm, like glass in that low sunlight. The skyline is blushed with reds and oranges. And the beach is nearly empty.
“Have you been working on the book?” Jason asks, thinking there it is again—just like on their last date. Small talk. Forced words breaking some recent ice between them.
“I have.”
They walk slowly and he listens. Fiddling with a silver medallion necklace, she tells him about a passage she wrote. It’s one that haunts her, even after finishing it.
“Hauntsyou?” Jason asks.
Maris nods and talks about the characters dancing at night in the shadowed living room— illuminated only by candles. “Flames flicker on the mantel, on the hearth, on the end tables. But there’s no music playing, because the hurricane knocked out the power. So the couples slow-dance to only the sounds of the storm. You know, to the wind whistling. And to the sound of seawater splashing beneath the raised cottage-on-stilts.”
“Interesting,” Jason says. “And sort of a juxtaposition, no?”
“Exactly. Their bodies move with a quiet grace counter to the storm chaos beating at the cottage. The night is dark, but their steps are light. In the story, another character refers to the dancing couples as storm ghosts.”
“And you’re trying to convey …”
Maris stops and looks out over the water. “I was inspired by that empty cottage you showed me. The one you and Neil were going to flip?”
Jason picks up a stone and joggles it in his hand, waiting.
“Thatcottage seems haunted, too. With ghosts. Fears. Anger. Yet it was purchased with suchhope, which really struck me,” she says, looking to him then. “The contrast ofthoseemotions. So I tried to capture that feeling in this particular dance scene.”
Jason turns sideways and skims his stone far out over the tranquil evening water. The stone skips across the surface, leaving a plume of the sea trailing behind it. “And I have no doubt you nailed it.”
They start walking again. Still apart. Still not touching.
