Page 53 of Stony Point Summer
“Oh, no. This is the most peace I’ll have in aweek, I’m sure.”
“Here, then.” He lifts a folded blanket off the log. “This’ll help.” Gently, he opens the blanket and drapes it over Elsa’s back, her shoulders. “I’ll stoke the fire, too.”
Using a heavier stick, Cliff pushes the red embers to the center of the fire. He nudges the small burning logs, too. They flare, shooting up tiny sparks as the fire flickers against the night sky.
eighteen
— Then —
11 Years Ago
The Birthday
THE LAKESIDE CAMPGROUND IS CROWDED this summer weekend.
Tents are pitched at some campsites; pop-up campers opened at others. The area is lightly wooded; the weather is cool for late summer. At night, scattered campfires burn. The flames create a flickering maze in the darkness as folks gather ’round. Most of the families are large. There are children. Parents. Family dogs. Friends, too. Much talking and good-natured laughing rises around those burning fires.
At one campfire, though, the family is small. There are only two people near it, two men. They sit in folding club chairs with padded sling seats and mesh cup holders on the chair arms. The older man is serious looking, with his dark hair graying at the temples. Wearing cargo pants and a light jacket in the damp night air, he leans forward to stoke the fire. Tiny sparks fly when he nudges the burning logs.
A younger man sits beside him and fiddles with a black leather string bracelet. “I’ll get the embers,” he says. He wears jeans and a pullover gray sweatshirt on top of an olive tee. His dark shoulder-length hair is tousled, and he has a light scruffy beard. Reaching for a long stick, he pushes the red-hot embers to the center of the fire.
“I have a little something for you, Denny,” the older man says then. He reaches into one of those cargo pockets and pulls out a small box. “It’s a gift,” he tells him. “For your birthday.”
Sitting beside the campfire, Denny takes a sip of beer, then puts the can in his cup holder. “This weekend is enough, Dad,” he says, reaching for the present. “Camping, the car show tomorrow. Good times.”
“Definitely. I wanted to get in this last camping trip before you head back to campus. But it’s your birthday, too, son.”
They’re quiet, then. The campfire crackles. Behind them, their large tent is illuminated with a lantern. And there’s a rope strung between two nearby trees. They’d hung their bathing suits to dry there, after an evening swim in the lake. Someone at a nearby campfire strums a guitar, the folksy song rising in the dark night.
Denny looks out at the silhouettes of people sitting at their own campfires. He looks beyond, to where moonlight falls on the still lake water. All the while, his hands turn the small gift box over and over. Giving it a shake, he finally looks at his father. “What is it?”
“Well, twenty-one’s a big birthday. So I wanted to get you something to commemorate that.” He nods at his son to open the gift.
“Hmm … Now what would my father, Cliff Raines—State of Connecticut judge—buy for his only child?” Denny begins peeling off the wrapping paper. “Not even a hint, Dad?”
“Okay. But just one.” Cliff takes a long swallow of his own beer. “Here’s your clue. That’s justpartof your gift. In the box.”
Denny gives a small laugh, shakes his head and opens the present. When he lifts the cover, he sees two silver keys. “What in tarnation?”
Cliff only nods at him.
“You didn’t.” Denny looks closely at the keys. “These areoldkeys. And they say GM on them?”
“That’s right. The GM you had your eye on.”
“TheNova? For real?”
“The real deal, Denny. The SS coupe. Marina blue, black interior.”
Denny stands with those keys clasped in his hand. “Are youkiddingme?”
“Nope.” Cliff stands, too, and pulls a folded photograph out of his wallet. “A lot of the car’s still original,” he says, pointing to the picture of the Nova. “The bucket seats. Console. Gauge package. AM/FM radio.”
“Manual transmission?”
“Four speed.”
“Outtasight, Dad!” Denny pulls his father into a hug and claps his back before sitting again. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and faces the crackling fire. The flames catch a happy sparkle in Denny’s blue eyes as he looks at the picture of the car. “Hope you got a good price.”
