Page 64 of Stony Point Summer
Just then, the guy at the barricaded window starts a leaf blower and clears plywood sawdust off the front walkway. He moves back and forth, swinging that blower until every bit of dust is gone. The racket gets the other guy to bend into the phone call, covering his other ear as he talks more before disconnecting.
“Yo, Jason,” the guy at the patched window yells over when the call’s done. “Who was that?”
“Kyle.”
“What’d he want?”
“Asked me to pick up Lauren and go cake-tasting with them.” Jason lifts a hammer from a window ledge and drops it in his tool belt. “You know, Neil. For theirwedding?”
Grabbing a rake and giving the grass near the front step a go-over, this Neil looks up at Jason. “You kidding me?”
“I guess the wedding’s on.”
Neil stops raking then. He just stands there, leaning on the rake while eyeing Jason. Neil’s shoulder-length hair is a mess. A rag hangs out of his back jeans pocket. His work boots are covered with dust.
“What?” Jason asks.
“Lauren told me she was going to end it.”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
“Jesus Christ.” Neil props the rake against the cottage porch. With his gloved hands, he lifts large pieces of broken glass leaning against the cottage and tosses the glass in the nearby dumpster. “A cake tasting? Why areyougoing?”
Jason unhooks his tool belt from around his waist and tosses it in his truck parked at the curb. “Kyle’s held up at the shipyard,” he calls across the weedy lawn. “Asked me to pick up Lauren when she gets off work at Book Buoy and get her to the bakery.”
“Why can’t she drive herself?”
“Her parents are using her car. Theirs is in the shop for a day or two.” Jason takes off a dusty denim shirt and tosses it behind the driver’s seat. “Kyle’s meeting us at the bakery later.”
“That’s fuckin’ bullshit.” Neil’s walking toward Jason at the truck now. He lifts the fabric of his sweaty tee and swipes his face. “I’llgo get her. You can finish things here.”
“I don’t think so, bro. Nice try.” As he says it, Jason pulls a key ring from his pocket, walks across the chipped and broken stone walkway to the cottage’s front door and locks up. “Let’s call it a day. We’ll be back at it tomorrow.”
“Ah, man. Time is money and we’re getting behind on this flip. Longer it takes, the more it eats into our profit. Profit we need to buy a legit studio and workshop.”
“One thing at a time, Neil. Tomorrow? It’s ripping down those cabinets. But for now? I’ve got to grab a shower before I get Lauren.”
Neil says nothing. Instead he walks to a slivery picnic table on the side of the cottage and retrieves a hefty lunch cooler sitting there. When he gets back to their vehicle, he tosses it banging into the truck bed, then slams the liftgate closed.
“Get a move on,” Jason yells from the driver’s seat. “Let’s go,” he says as Neil walks over to his open window.
Neil stops there, too. Stops there and squints at Jason. “Don’t you dare sayanythingto Kyle about me and Lauren.” Walking around the truck to the passenger side, he slaps the rear quarter panel. “Got it, Jay?”
* * *
Well, now. Sometimes an opportunity presents itself that’s impossible to ignore.
And the way Jason half glances at the woman in his pickup truck’s passenger seat, he’s not about to let this opportunity go.
He throws her that look right as the drawbridge rises over the Niantic River a few blocks ahead. Any regular traveler on these roads knows that rising drawbridge means you’ll be stopped in a long, long line of traffic. This time of year especially, pleasure boats, fishing boats and commercial vessels returning to port or headed out to the Sound need to pass beneath that lifted bridge.
In the warm late-day sunshine, metal gates block the road ahead. Jason brakes to a stop in heavy traffic. Rolls down his window, too. And yes, he looks across the passenger seat at the woman there. It’s apparent she prettied herself up for the evening. Her long blonde hair is freshly crimped. She wears a cropped white peasant blouse with a lace-up front over hip-hugger bell-bottoms. With her legs casually crossed, she’s talking about wedding cake flavors while quickly flipping through photo after photo on her cell phone.
“The baker wanted to know my wedding details,” she says. “So I sent her pictures of my gown, and the tux Kyle will be wearing.” She flashes the phone screen in Jason’s direction, then continues scrolling through the pictures. “The event hall seating is pretty standard fare,” she prattles on, then flashes another photograph to Jason. “You know, because our budget’s small. So the chairs and tablecloths are basic white. But we added chair sashes to match the color of the bridesmaid gowns.” She holds the phone aloft, her arm extended across the front seat. “Blue.”
Sitting in the unmoving pickup, Jason looks from the cell phone image to the woman beside him. “What the hell are you doing, Lauren?”
“What’s it look like? I’m planning a wedding.”
