Page 49 of Stony Point Summer
So he sits there, and touches her auburn hair, and listens to her talk.
“Your brother called a boardwalk meeting Tuesday morning. To share some news.”
“Boardwalk meeting. What’s that?” Shane asks.
“Something we do at Stony Point, when there’s news to announce. Or if we have something on our minds. It’s a gathering place. Elsa started the meetings last summer when she formally announced her inn’s name.”
“She got everyone on the boardwalk at the same time?”
Celia nods. “A group text is sent out, which seems to be S.O.P. Then we all meet up—with coffee and pastry, of course—as the news is divulged to everyone.”
Shane squeezes a lime wedge over his Dark and Stormy before sipping the drink. “So what was Kyle’s news?”
Celia gives him a sad smile and touches his jaw. “That he was wrong about you.”
“Wrong?”
“About the misunderstanding that kept you apart for the past fifteen years? And about your character. The type of person you are.”
Shane only nods, listening closely to Celia’s story.
“Kyle was upset and took full blame for the falling-out, and for things he’d said to the others over the years.”
Shane sits back on his barstool. “I’m really surprised to hear this, Celia. You know, from my brother. That he’d take the heat for our fracture.”
Celia tips her head, watching Shane. “Kyle actually asked for forgiveness,” she goes on. “And asked us to welcome you back into our lives.”
“Who was there?”
“Everyone.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Eva, Matt. Jason. Cliff. Maris, Elsa. The gang.”
“Holy shit. And what did people say?”
“It was a mixed bag. Some had to process Kyle’s confession, and realize the time lost with their friend. With you.” Celia sips her Seven and Seven, then twirls a swizzle stick in the drink. “But I didn’t need convincing.”
Shane clinks his glass to hers. “Appreciate that, Celia.”
“Which is why I’m really sorry.”
He sets down his glass. “Sorry? For what?”
“For lying to you.”
Still facing her on the barstool, Shane says nothing. There’s a change in her expression; he notices it, sitting so close to her.
“I lied in my letter,” Celia says.
“The one in my mailbox this morning?”
She nods.
“It’s okay—”
“No. It’s not. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for whatever I put you through driving down here today. To see me.” She pauses, and touches his face. “The things I wrote … that I only tried to visit you in Maine Sunday on a foolish whim. Telling you not to think much of things between us.” She shakes her head. “They weren’t true.”
