Page 3 of Stony Point Summer
— Then —
44 Years Ago
The Sister
ANYONE CAN TELL THEY’RE SISTERS.
It’s apparent in their similar mannerisms. In the way they both tuck their hair casually behind an ear. It’s in their matching stride as they cross the Stony Point boardwalk this summer morning. Their assured steps reveal they’ve walked these same wooden planks a thousand times together over the years. The tank tops they wear are fitted; their frayed bell-bottom hems drag behind their bare feet. The two sisters are no more than fourteen and sixteen, maybe. The thing is, there’s a freedom to their gait, the type of loose freedom that comes only to the young. At no other time than now will their lives be as unbridled.
So today? They’re still at ease together, and in this place. Free. Beach life stirs around them. Slow waves lap at the shore. An egret rises from the distant, misty marsh. In the boat basin behind the boardwalk, minnows swish just beneath the water’s surface. At this early hour, the sisters’ talk is wistful—wanting only to stay here at Stony Point forever. But their high school classes start next week.
“Not yet, though. So come on,” the older girl suddenly says as she breaks away and trots ahead. Her auburn hair flies behind her; her smile is warm when she glances back. “I want to show you something.”
“Wait, June!” the younger calls after her. She shields her eyes and stops for a second, watching her sister hurry down the boardwalk.
June takes a few more quick steps. She looks across the sand to Long Island Sound first, then turns and walks backward while motioning with her hand. “Hurry, Elsa! Or you’ll miss it.”
By the time Elsa catches up, June is sitting on the very edge of the boardwalk. She’s toying with a turquoise stone on her silver choker. Elsa, her dark brown hair windblown, sits beside her. She leans back on her hands and presses her bare toes into the already-warm sand.
“What am I missing?” Elsa asks. “I don’tseeanything.”
“It’s right in front of you.”
Elsa looks across the sand. No one’s even on the beach yet. It’s just her and June and a few crying seagulls swooping low. Next Elsa looks to the left at the sleepy bungalows on the hill, then right—toward the last-standing cottage on the beach.
And, nothing. Nothing more than golden sand and blue water as far as the eye can see.
So she leans further back on her hands behind her, closes her eyes, tips her face up to the sun and tells her sister that she’s seeing things, because nothing’s there.
“That’s because you don’t know where to look,” June insists, nudging Elsa’s arm.
Which gets Elsa to open her eyes and straighten. She twists around her silver spoon bracelet while looking left again, then right. Yet still, the beach is empty.
“Right there,” June whispers. Her hushed voice is filled with some wonder; her gaze, riveted to Long Island Sound. “On the water. The stars!”
Elsa takes in the water view then, too. And in the morning quiet, with only that mist rising near the marsh, it happens. June, like a beach enchantress, casts the sea’s spell.
Because,there! As the sun rises, its light sparkles on the rippling waves—giving the illusion of thousands of scattered stars.
June explains the sight to Elsa beside her, all while watching those shimmering sparkles. “They’reactualstars, you know. Stars that fell from the sky.”
Really, Elsa seems skeptical at this fantastic story. She glances up at the sky that was dark just hours ago, then looks out at the seawater again. But, no.Noone could deny that those twinkling lights aren’t fallen stars, Elsa included. June would haveanyoneconvinced. It’s in her soft tone, some truth. Some awareness of the power of the beach skies, the sea.
“You especially notice them in the early morning,” June goes on. “Do you know why?”
Elsa shakes her head, her eyes ever on the magical water now.
“It’s because those stars floating there? They fell to the seaovernight.”
“Fell from the sky?” Elsa asks. “But how?”
June’s words, they create a visual. A dream. A fairy tale. She stands barefoot in the sand and demonstrates the stars’ descent. Spinning beneath the sun, June holds out her arms and tips her head to the sky. As she gracefully spins, her long auburn hair fans out around her. “Stars, stars tumbling from above,” her breathy voice exclaims. “Drifting from the heavens,” she says, waving her fingers as her arms drop. June moves in some mystical beach ballet then, sinking low on the sand as she wraps her arms around her bent legs. “Stars leaving misty streaks behind them as they twist and turn in their dance down, down to the sea.”
Elsa looks past her to those stars that rise and fall and shimmer atop the gentle waves—all while her sister’s voice still weaves its summer spell. “But why would the stars fall out of the sky?” Elsa asks.
From where she sits on the sand, June slowly stands. She turns to the sea, looks to the sky, and finally faces Elsa. “That’s the beautiful, but sad, part of the story. Those stars? On the water? They’re out of wishes.”
“What do you mean?”
