Page 39 of Stony Point Summer
Neil swipes his hand across his forehead, then picks up Yale’sSchool of Architecturecourse catalog. “What do you have, a year left?”
“Yeah, right. Yale’s master’s program isthreeyears.”
“No shit. One down, two to go?” Neil asks while flipping through the catalog.
“You got it.”
“Really good stuff in here, Jay.” Neil drags a finger along the courses. “Architecture, Landscape and Ecology. Studies the role of landscape in relation to architecture. You must be really stoked, man,” he says, glancing over at his brother. “The coastal landscape really ties in to the cottage renos we’ve been doing.”
“Definitely. Especially those last couple of projects.”
Neil turns the page. “They even have a class calledFreehand Drawing.”
“Took that one last year. You’d have appreciated it, for your journal sketches. We covered perceptual analysis of buildings, 3D visualizations.”
“Damn, you’ll be busy. The relationship between design, history and theory. Analysis of architectural form, from the Renaissance to today,” Neil says, still browsing. “Guess I’ll be holding down the fort at Stony Point. You’ve got a heavy workload ahead. Thematic studies, philosophy of architecture.” He sets aside the catalog. “Think you’ll be able to juggle grad classesandour side jobs?”
“I’ll manage. No rest for the weary.” Jason heads back to the front door and descends the stoop steps. “Come on, let’s finish this move.”
Still, with each armload of boxes, with each lamp or chair, they keep an eye on the street.
“Wonder what’s keeping Kyle,” Jason says once the pickup’s half emptied. “Really need his help with that couch.”
“There he is now.” Neil points to an old red truck pulling up to the curb behind Jason’s pickup. Kyle parks the vehicle, gets out and walks over. “Oh my God. What the hell hityou?” Neil calls to him from the stoop stairs.
Jason looks around the carton he’s holding. “JesusChrist, Bradford,” he says, staring at Kyle’s face. One eye is swollen nearly shut, the skin around it a mottled purple shadow. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve had better days,” Kyle says as he drops his keys into his cargo shorts pocket. “Shit, let’s get this done.”
“Hold up.” Neil grabs Kyle’s arm and steps closer for a better look. “I’m not sure you can even see straight through that swollen eye. What’d you do, get in a bar brawl?”
“Nope.” Kyle shoves Neil back. “Try abrobrawl.”
“Wait.” Jason steps closer while scrutinizing Kyle’s beat-up face. The corner of Kyle’s mouth is cut, too. He really needs a shave and his spiked hair is a ragged mess. “You mean, you fought withShane?”
“Yesterday. Went up to Maine for that small memorial service I told you about. You know, for Shane’s friends and coworkers.” Kyle walks to the back of Jason’s loaded-up pickup. “And …whatever.”
“Never mind,whatever.” Neil follows him to the truck and leans his crossed arms on the edge of the bed. “What the fuck happened?”
“Eh.” Kyle lifts out a straight-back chair. “Said a few things I probably shouldn’t have in front of the guests.”
“Youdidn’t!” Jason says, taking the chair from Kyle’s hands. “Dude.”
“Yeah, well I did. One thing led to another then, which landed us out on Shane’s deck up there in Rockport.” Again Kyle turns to the packed truck and lifts out an end table this time. He sets it on the sidewalk in front of the brownstone. “Fists were flying, but I pummeled him. Got him good.”
“Doesn’t look it, man.” Jason sets that chair down and walks right up to Kyle—stopping only inches away. He puts his hand on Kyle’s not-bruised chin and tips his friend’s head sideways while squinting at his swollen black eye. The morning sunshine catches Kyle square on the face, getting him to wince even more. “Shanereallylaid into you, Kyle. What thehelldid you say to get him going?”
“Don’t matter.” Kyle swats Jason’s hand away from his face. “I’m done with Shane. And let’s finish this move so I can at least ice my face.”
“You need more than ice,” Neil says. “Looks damn painful. You taking anything for it?”
“A few aspirin, before I came here.”
“You sure you’re all right?” Jason asks, clasping Kyle’s shoulder. “You’re pretty banged up.”
As Kyle shrugs him off, Neil carries the end table up the stoop and brings it into the apartment’s living room. By the time he returns, Jason and Kyle are standing in the truck bed. Both men are bent low, with their hands grabbing onto the couch.
“On three,” Jason says. “One. Two. And, three.”
