Page 31 of Stony Point Summer
All the while, the rain hasn’t let up; it comes in a steady drum against the truck. The lightning and thunder are relentless—violent and threatening.
“Hey, Maris.” Jason waits until she looks at him again through the shadows, across the truck’s front seat. His words are subdued now in the enclosed truck cab. “Back there. In the water, well …” He turns up his hands with a regretful smile. Regretful because, what? Does he wish she werehisgirl? Or since she’s Shane’s, does he regret that he and Maris crossed a line? Does he regret their kisses stopped? Or does he regret the new awkwardness it all led to?
The silence then, well there might as well be miles of it between them as they look across the front seat, then away, then back at each other.
“Still friends?” Jason practically whispers as the rain pours down outside.
Maris’ eyes are surprisingly moist as she watches him. There’s some conflicted emotion in them. Again, she looks away, then back at Jason. Her wet hair clings to her face. Her chest rises with each breath. Her nod, when it comes, is slight. But it’s there.
eleven
— Now —
ONCE JASON CLEANED THE SAND off his prosthetic leg, he set it beside the tub. It’s been a long day, one that ended on a good note with Maris earlier on the beach.
Still, he can’t crash yet. Maris is waiting for his text.
Hooking on his crutches, he heads to the guest bedroom in Ted Sullivan’s cottage. There, Jason brushes through the random clothes hanging in the closet. It’s a damn sparse sight. When he packed a bag and moved in here at Sea Spray Beach a week and a half ago, Lord knows what he was thinking. It certainly wasn’t anything about his work wardrobe, orCastaway Cottagefilming outfits. It helps that Maris gave him an armful of chinos, short-sleeve button-downs and a linen jacket after their first date two nights ago. But he still needs a few key pieces. So leaning against the closet doorjamb, he finagles his phone in his left hand, slips his forearm crutch off his right arm, and texts Maris the items he needs.
“My good denim shirt,” he whispers while typing. Behind him, Maddy lies beside the bed and chomps on her new rubber fetch stick with the built-in squeaker. “Black jeans. Striped button-down,” Jason continues, glancing from the open closet to his open dresser drawer across the room. “White tees, too.”
His phone dings with her message back:Got it. Will leave in barn for you tomorrow morning.Thanks for the walk, g’night.
Just as he’s about to change out of the navy polo shirt and cargo shorts he’s been wearing, well, it feels like for days—that’s how long this day has been—someone gives a loud knock downstairs. Maddy drops her chew toy and scrambles to her feet before running out to the stairs and down to the first floor.
“What now?” Jason asks himself while getting his crutches back on and heading to the stairs, too. As usual, his thumping crutches do one thing: They get the growling dog away from the door. Now she’s at his feet on the stairs and nipping at the rubber crutch tips. Problem is, when she gets too aggressive, Jason almost wipes out and has to grab at the handrail to save himself.
“Maddy! Quit it,” he scolds the dog. Hell, if the stress of the past few weeks doesn’t do him in, Maddy will.
The whole time, he’s also wondering who’d be visiting at this late hour. Ted, maybe? Or even Ted’s wife, stopping by for something? But Jason doesn’t have long to ponder. Not when there’s another loud knock before the front door opens and a voice calls out.
* * *
“Dude! I brought you dinner.”
Jason rounds the corner to see Kyle standing in the doorway. He’s in his chef clothes—black pants and tee—with an insulated bag in hand. “Oh, man. I already ate,” Jason tells him, motioning Kyle to the kitchen.
“Shit. You should’ve texted me.” Kyle bends to pat the German shepherd prancing at his feet and sniffing at the food bag. “Been racking up the miles on that odometer of mine.”
“Didn’t know you were coming,” Jason says to Kyle in the kitchen. He pulls out a chair at the round table in a corner nook, takes off his crutches and sits.
“No matter. The food’ll freeze fine.” Kyle’s back is to him as he’s putting the packed meal into the stainless-steel freezer. “Have it whenever. Over the weekend. Next week. Maybe backhome?” He glances over his shoulder. “In Stony Point, guy?”
Jason nods, but pretty much ignores Kyle’s inferred order to get himself home. “Hey,” he says instead. “While you’re in the fridge, grab a couple of brews.” From the looks of Kyle, seems like he could use one. His clothes are wrinkled and bagged out at day’s end. His spiked hair’s a mess and he needs a shave.
“Will do. A cold one sounds good.” Kyle leans into the fridge, snaps open two cans of beer and sits at the table. “What a place Sullivan’s got here.” Taking a long swallow of his brew, he eyes the kitchen.
Jason gives it a once-over, too: the planked, hardwood ceiling; the cream-colored cabinets, some with glass-paned fronts; the stainless-steel farm sink; Neil’s burlap-wrapped happiness jar on the massive gray-swirled marble island. Above the island, three pendant lights glimmer.
“Amazing work you did for Ted.” Kyle lifts his beer can in a toast. “Puts my house to shame, Barlow. Sure wish I could afford you.”
Jason turns in his chair and opens one of the windows lining the kitchen nook. The slow chirp of crickets comes in on the misty night air. “I can work on your place, too. Little at a time,” Jason says, turning back to Kyle. “Like I did for Eva and Matt. Reconfigured their porch first, then Matt’s sports room in the attic.”
“We’ll see.” Kyle sits back, lifts a black-sneakered foot to his knee and sighs. And fidgets, setting his foot down. Bouncing his leg.
“You seem wired tonight, Bradford.”
“I am,” Kyle tells him, then spins his beer can on the tabletop. “Been a helluva long day. And driving that old rattletrap jalopy of mine up and down the coast? It gets to me. I’m helping you. Helping your wife. Feeding you. Feeding your wife.”
