Page 38 of Stony Point Summer
Andwith surprise when the dog leaps onto the couch cushion beside him, spins around and rests her front paws right on his lap. She reaches her muzzle across his chest and licks at his face, getting him to wince with another quick laugh. Still, she’s sprawled right there—half on top of him, half on the couch—right where she’snotsupposed to be.
“Onetime, Maddy. But no more after this,” Jason warns while roughing up the scruff of her neck. The dog couldn’t be happier hanging out with him on the off-limits sofa; it’s obvious. Her panting mouth looks like she’s genuinely smiling—even though Jason has to turn away at the scent of her dog breath. But only briefly as he then pats her neck. “You’re a good girl,” he tells her, right as her wagging tail thumps on the couch cushion, and as she sets her muzzle across his bare chest.
fourteen
— Then —
15 Years Ago, Early Summer
Moving Day
THE PICKUP TRUCK’S BED IS neatly packed to capacity, and then some.
Even though a navy tweed couch takes up a lot of the space, it’s surprising how much else is in the truck. There are cartons—two rows of them—stacked on top of that couch’s cushions. A few straight-back wooden chairs are propped upside down, their legs pointing skyward; an end table is on its side, resting against the couch; a kitchen table is somehow flat against the pickup’s cab window, with the table’s legs extending beyond the couch.
“Grab that end, Neil,” one of two guys says as he reaches for a bungee cord securing packing blankets covering the load. The truck is parked on a city street outside an old converted two-story brownstone.
Neil walks around the vehicle. He wears jeans and a faded concert tee. A red bandana is knotted around his shoulder-length hair. “Good day to move,” he says. “Perfect weather, Jason.”
“No shit,” Jason answers with a glance at the June day’s blue skies and sunshine.
Together they unhook bungee cords and lift the heavy blankets off some furniture pieces. Everything is methodical about their working: cords looped and tied; packing blankets folded into neat squares and set aside. All is done with care.
“This the last of your stuff?” Neil asks, glancing over at the brownstone. “You actually moving in today?”
“This is it.” Jason folds back the cuffs of his denim shirt, then hefts a taped carton off the truck bed and hands it to Neil. “Start stacking these on the front stoop there.” As they walk up the stone stairs, Jason looks over his shoulder. “It’s getting late. Where the hell’s Bradford?”
“Yeah,” Neil says. “We need his muscle to get that couch moved in.”
“Said he was going to his brother’s place in Maine yesterday.”
“To Shane’s?” Neil asks, setting the carton on the stoop.
“Guess so,” Jason tells him while carrying another heavy carton up those front steps.
“Man, there was some real ice between those two at their dad’s funeral.”
Jason sets his box down and leans on the stoop’s cast-iron handrails. A curbside tree throws shade on the renovated brownstone. “Even with all the family and friends at the service,” he says, “the tension was amped between those two. Something went down with them.”
“Didn’t Kyle tell you?” Neil asks, sitting on the stoop’s top step.
“Tell me what?”
“Hell, he’s been pretty pissed since that funeral. Told me Shane dragged their father up to Maine to live with him, and then the old man died on Shane’s watch. Like it was his fault.”
“Eh.” Jason waves off the idea. “I’m sure Kyle didn’t mean it. He must be feeling tense with everything. Heck, he could probably cite some statistic about family deaths being a huge stressor.” Jason looks out at the street for a sign of Kyle. “Maybe they worked it out yesterday.”
“We’ll see.” Neil stands then and heads back to the truck. “Can’t imagine losing Dad like that,” he says over his shoulder. “That’ll be one sad day.”
While Neil grabs another carton off the truck, Jason unlocks the apartment’s black-painted front door. Grabbing one of the boxes stacked on the stoop, he shoulders his way inside to the living room. Sunlight shines through the large bay window. A nearby shelf is covered with textbooks and architectural tools. As Jason opens some windows, Neil hefts a few more boxes inside. His work boots clump on the wood floor; the boxes drop with a thud.
“Not bad digs, bro,” Neil tells him.
“Sure beats commuting. Was a haul last year.”
“I hear you. Dad see the place yet?”
“He came with me yesterday. Mom, too.” Jason motions to the shelf. “We brought my books and some gear.”
