Page 57 of Stony Point Summer
And they did.
But now, this.
Now, some new truth.
When they all circled the bonfire at Little Beach that summer night, when Maris whispered,Goodbye, Shane, and tossed her slip of paper into the flames—wheneveryonedid—apparently Neil didn’t.
Neil never threw Shane’s name into the bonfire. He must’ve folded the paper and tucked it into his back pocket.
He wouldnotburn that friendship.
So Neil was loyal to their old beach friend.
Somehow, this means something to Maris. Neil’s fierce loyalty can’t be denied. This comradeship between the two men. This singularity of choice that was pure Neil.
And it’s just what she was seeking. Just what her manuscript needs. So Maris takes that slip of paper that is so much more layered than it looks, and returns to her computer.
Before writing, she does one more thing. It’s a throwback to her denim design days. Opening a journal of her own, instead of creating a fashion sketch, she sketches her DRIFTLINE scene. Quick angular lines frame the character’s candlelit bedroom on the page. Her pencil fills in shadows behind the leaning envelope; the pencil’s lead tip smudges in the bed and overnight bag. Long thin lines and circles become outlines of the two characters in the room as her mind works out their dialogue.
Flipping her pewter hourglass minutes later, Maris returns to her typing as the grains of sand fall.
twenty
— Then —
10 Years Ago, March
Work It
UNDERSTAND THE BODY FIRST.”
The woman sitting at the long worktable tells her assistant this. That with each fashion design she sketches, she mustfirstperceive the body’s curves beneath the clothes it wears.
But it’s the way the designing woman sits afterward, when the assistant leaves, that reveals more. Leaning straight over several sketches, she looks to be in her late twenties. A serious focus is inherent in her unyielding posture, her fashion. The woman’s dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. She wears a thick black turtleneck sweater over black gaucho pants. Black knee-high boots finish the monochromatic look. And there are details, details, just like she adds to her sketches: a string of rawhide tied around her wrist; wide huggie-hoop gold earrings; a long measuring tape draped around her neck. Minimal makeup—slight foundation, blush, a hint of lip gloss.
Her quickly delineated pencil and charcoal figures are posed casually, though, and are dressed in varying styles of denim. The woman’s designing hand fills in the sketched jeans and denim jackets with shades of blues and grays—the rough strokes conveying energy. There’s a coveted attitude in her drawn figures, one of cool chic—that type of tony look that comes naturally in the right shredded, faded cuts of denim. Everything is minimalist about not only the fashion designer’s look, but her sketches, too.
Her large corporate office in Saybrooks’ design headquarters is also minimalist. The office studio is in a high-rise; you can tell by the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Skyscrapers tall and jagged, all concrete and steel, line the horizon. It’s obvious the fashion designer’s office is far above a busy city street. Sunlight pours in like liquid through those tall windows. To the side of her studio, tall and lean mannequins stand in various poses. One wears a sleeveless maxi dress patched together with varying pieces of denim. The other wears a bandana halter top over high-waisted acid-washed jeans. The bandana top drapes to a point in the front and is tied with a large bow in the back. More cool, easy-breezy looks.
Behind the designer’s worktable there isanothertable, where an unfinished project sits idled on a sewing machine. Gold thread is on the spool pin. The machine’s presser foot is clamped on a bunched length of denim, possibly a partially made shirt. As though the designer was suddenly called away from the machine, the sewing was stopped mid-stitch—the needle still spearing the denim material along an unfinished seam.
Beyond, bolts of denim fabric line a nearby shelf. And on the designer’s actual worktable, three more spools of thread—blue, white and red—stand beside color swatch cards and more sketches. Oh, and a lunch is on the worktable, too. The plastic, compartmentalized container holds a turkey wrap cut into quarters and sitting on a bed of spinach leaves; baby carrots and a cup of ranch dip; a handful of blueberries and almonds.
“Maris!” A young woman rushes into the design studio office. “Fitting in thirty minutes.”
“Wait!” Maris calls back. “Lily! Do you have the latest trend reports?”
“Haven’t seen them,” this Lily says as she grabs an armful of clothes for their models’ fitting and promptly leaves, closing the studio door loosely behind her.
So Maris rolls her stool over to her computer, checks a few files, then sees her pending email, too.
“Ah, damn.” Too many hours have passed without her response—and she can’t leave her friend waiting. So Maris brings over her plastic lunch tray, lifts a cut piece of turkey wrap and rereads the email she received this morning.
Hey Maris,
Hope you’re well and Chicago’s treating you okay. We’re really good, actually. Matt’s still working with the state police, been a couple of years now. Tay turned 6 and is ever a handful, almost done with kindergarten! Oh, she’s growing so fast.
But listen. We haven’t talked in so long. And I’ve been thinking about you because Kyle + Lauren actually set their wedding date: September 23! I know it’s six months away, but…think you can make it? Everybody will be there. Neil and Jason. Paige and Vinny. Of course me and Matt. Should be a big affair, knowing Kyle and Lauren. So come East for the Bradford wedding and stay a week in Stony Point! We have plenty of room in Mom and Dad’s place on the marsh. Would be great to catch up. It’ll be just like old times, remember? When you spent summers with me here. Let me know. And soon!
