Page 68 of Stony Point Summer
There’s a noise then, behind them. Someone’s whistling while walking through the bakery. He’s a big guy, over six feet tall, and wearing disheveled clothes at day’s end. His navy twill work pants are dusty, with a smear of grease at the knee; the matching navy short-sleeve button-down with a company name stitched above the pocket is wrinkled and loosely tucked; his work boots, oil-stained. His face is slightly sunburned, too. Anyone can tell he put in a hot day outside in the sun. But still he smiles, and calls out a hello to some of the staff in the bakery.
“Hey, guys,” he says, coming up behind Jason and Lauren. He bends and kisses Lauren on the side of her head. “How ya doin’, doll?” he quietly asks while touching the soft waves of her hair.
“Kyle, hey.” She reaches up and squeezes his hand on her shoulder.
“Jason, my man,” Kyle says when Jason turns in his seat and shakes his hand. “Thanks for helping me out of a jam getting here.” As he says it, he claps Jason’s shoulder. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem, guy. That’s what a best man’s for.”
“I’m telling you. After working all day, smells likeheavenin here. I could go for a slab of warm, fresh-baked bread, a little melted butter on it.Mm-mm.”
When the cake consultant returns with a pitcher of water and drinking glasses, Kyle turns to her and gives a thumbs-up. “Hey, we’re finally ready to pick our cake.”
“Kyle!” she says, her arms full. “I’m so glad. Good to see you again.”
“Likewise. Listen, you got a restroom here? I’d like to wash up before we chow down.”
The consultant points Kyle across the room, toward a hallway off the far wall. When he heads that way with a wave, Lauren says nothing. Neither does Jason. Instead they fiddle with the cake samples, lifting one, inspecting another.
As the consultant walks around the table to sit across from them, Lauren catches Jason’s eye. She tries to smile. You can see it. But it doesn’t really work. It just doesn’t.
twenty-five
— Now —
ELSA HAS SOME HOPE.
If she can make the day as sweet as those spoonfuls of chocolate frosting she just sampled with Mitch Fenwick, she’ll be all right. Everyone will be. They’ll all be smiling.
But not yet.
Leaving the beach behind this Friday morning, she cuts through the secret path again. This time, she’s barefoot, having kicked off her sandals earlier on Mitch’s deck. The sandals are hooked onto her fingers now; her pace is slow. What’s to come in a little while won’t be easy.
Beyond the dune grasses, the hot sun is shining. Her inn rises grand against a September-blue sky. The imposing three-story turret faces that skyscape over the sea. The inn’s yellow-hued new cedar shingles are pale in the morning light. And off to the side, the diamond-shaped, stained-glass window in Celia’s gingerbread cottage glimmers blue, green and red.
Just then, Celia’s front door flies open. Celia, wearing a short robe while towel-drying her hair, hurries to the stoop and waves Elsa over. She also holds up her cell phone.
“Aria wants to see hernonna!” she calls out. “Come on, we’re video-chatting!”
Elsa, just emerging from the secret path onto the inn’s lawn, veers left then. She heads to the guest cottage—certain to put on a smile as she climbs the porch steps.
“I have a surprise for you, Aria!” Celia is saying into her cell phone held at arm’s length. “Isn’t it cute? For when you come back.” She waves a plush pink hippo in front of the phone’s screen, then motions Elsa even closer. “Wave to Aria on the phone,” Celia whispers.
Elsa sidles over so that Celia can include her in the video chat. Celia’s father must be holding his cell phone in front of Aria at his Addison home. The baby is cozy in her infant rocker. And smiling—as though at only a few months old, she recognizes her mother on the phone screen. When Celia gives the signal, Elsa blows a kiss toward Aria. “Buongiorno, baby girl!” Elsa tells her sweet granddaughter.
Celia squeezes close, robe and wet hair and all, so that they’re side by side on the open front porch. “Bye-bye, little love,” she coos to her baby. “Be good for Grandpop!” When she disconnects, Celia turns to Elsa. “You look pretty today,” she says, touching the fabric of Elsa’s blue-and-white maxi dress, still knotted at the hem.
“It’s so hot out, I wanted to wear something cool.” Elsa presses out a wrinkle in the fabric. “I just took a little walk on the beach in it.”
Celia, meanwhile, is wrapping her towel, turban-style, around her wet hair. “Now Elsa,” she says while bent over and twisting the towel. “Are we still on for our business breakfast this morning?” Adjusting her robe then, she looks over at Elsa on the porch stoop.
“Oh, Celia.” Elsa’s sitting on the top step. There’s a moment when she just brushes some sand from her feet without saying more. Finally, Elsa continues while slipping on her sandals. “I was hoping to move our talk to lunch. Would you mind?”
“But it’s our big day!” Celia rushes over, bends and does her best to give Elsa a light hug from behind. “And I can get dressed quick,” she says, patting Elsa’s shoulder. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell me?”
Elsa stands and only gives her a sad smile with a slight nod.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?” Celia asks, cautiously watching Elsa now.
