Page 86 of Stony Point Summer
–Neil
thirty-one
— Now —
AFTER FILMING SEVERAL PROMO CLIPS in the barn studio and some on the beach, Trent declared the morning a wrap. So Jason packed up his SUV and stops at The Pizza Palace now for lunch—a take-out grinder. When he gets back in the vehicle, Maddy half-steps from the backseat onto the console. Her tail’s wagging as she manages a sloppy lick across his face.
“Hang on, hang on,” Jason tells her while getting situated in the driver’s seat. He reaches into the bag of food then, and unwraps the extra pieces of sliced roast beef he’d requested. “You did good, filming,” he says while giving the dog her treat.
Something happens, though, once Jason pulls back into traffic. Before picking up the highway to Ted Sullivan’s place, he’s sidetracked. Because there it is, up ahead. Yep. The bank. He shakes his head, hits his turn signal and pulls in. Better to get this done now—he’ll be too busy after Labor Day. So he parks and gets out of the SUV, walks around to the back and opens the liftgate. Everything’s in his messenger bag, which he digs through right in the parking lot. The late-morning sun’s warm on his back. Traffic is heavy on Shore Road. There’s the handful of bills Maris gave him; there’s his checkbook and transaction forms. He brings those things back to the driver’s seat, where he thumbs through the envelopes and loosely calculates a total dollar amount owed. Leaning to the side, he also pulls out his wallet and checks his cash.
“Nope,” he whispers. “Not enough.”
At least, not enough for what he has in mind. Not enough to somehow turn tonight’s Ocean Star Inn grand opening into a date with Maris. So he grabs a pen clipped to his visor, fills out his bank forms and carefully pulls up to the drive-through vacuum chute.
Maddy stands alert in the backseat as he sends his paperwork in a clear canister to the bank window two lanes over. The German shepherd steps a paw onto the console and looks out Jason’s rolled-down window while they wait.
“How do you want your cash back?” the teller’s voice comes through the microphone then.
And that’s all Jason hears before Maddyeruptsin barking at the sound of the voice. If there were a way for the German shepherd to rip that plastic tube to shreds, Jason’s sure she’d do it. She’d plunge right out his window with those bared fangs and attack—if he didn’t hold her back.
“Maddy!Maddy, quiet down!” he orders, struggling to keep sixty-five pounds of agitated dog off his lap.
The German shepherd does calm, somewhat. The whining that bubbles up her throat is half-growl; her hackles are raised; her ears, flat.
“Sorry,” Jason says to the teller via the microphone while his extended arm keeps the dog in the back. He then gives the cash breakdown. “Give me a couple hundreds, the rest in twenties.”
All the while, the dog’s whining is escalating so that low barks slip in, too. Finally, Jason’s money and receipts are sent back through the chute; the transaction done. He reaches for the canister, opens it and shakes his head. “Shit,” he says as Maddy carefully watches him handle this enemy container. “Even when you misbehave you get rewarded.” After retrieving his envelope of cash and receipts, he hands her a large dog biscuit the teller sent along. “Tough life, Maddy,” he says as she settles in the backseat and digs in.
“Will that be all?” the teller asks from her post.
Jason waves to her at the drive-through window two lanes over, returns the canister to its receptacle and drives out of the bank parking lot.
“Let’s get to Ted’s,” he tells the dog, happy behind him now. “We’ll walk off your biscuit on the beach.”
* * *
In the old Foley’s back room, the sliding windows are open. A hint of sea air drifts in on this warm summer day. And sitting there, what Celia thinks is this: Jason’s renovation of this room was brilliant. She looks over at the vintage pinball machine in the corner. At the secondhand restaurant booths, all polished up now. At the dorm-sized fridge on the countertop. At the jukebox, front and center—on the old, refurbished hardwood floor. Even the original screen door to the deck was restored.
It’s an effective renovation because it accomplishes what Jason set out to do: Sitting here, you’d think you traveled back in time. Back to the days when stopping in at the local beach hangout was, well, was everything. When everyone turned when you pulled open the squeaking screen door. When your name was called out in casual greetings. When you stopped for a moment and breathed in the scent of summer—suntan lotion and salt air, sometimes mixed with a wisp of weed, or cigarettes. Perspiration, too, when the dancing got going. The room brings you to a time when the card games played late into the night weren’t about the card games at all. Instead those games were a tool tostoptime. To freeze it on a random July or August night when the jukebox cranked and dances were had, looks given, kisses stolen. When the beer flowed and the laughs rose. So did the sharp words, Celia’s sure. She knows it from the stories the gang’s told. She senses it from the shadows holding secrets.
Oh, there’s no doubt that life—and all its drama—happens in this one historical room. Life in its every shade, every emotion, every celebration, every heartbreak.
Today, more history is going down here, right at this very booth where she sits across from Elsa. A plate of half-eaten triangle-shaped cucumber sandwiches is on the table between them, along with a bowl of picked-at organic chips.
Half-eatenandpicked-atbecause of the news Elsa just delivered. Her words were enough to have Celia, mid-bite, put down her sandwich filled with thinly sliced cucumbers set between slathered-on cream cheese. Enough to have her pick up a few organic potato chips for only a nibble. Enough to take away her appetite.
Elsa is devastated, too. Though she still wears her casual sundress, her face is serious. She lifts a pitcher of iced water and refills their glasses. A lime wheel is twisted onto each rim. All the while, Elsa’s smile is regretful.
“Why didn’t you tell me Monday?” Celia asks. “When you got the news.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“No, Elsa.” Celia reaches across the table and gives Elsa’s arm a squeeze. “You can’t hold back things like that. No matter what, youaremy family. You’re Aria’snonna.”
Elsa sips her water. When she sets down the glass, her sad smile fades. “I didn’t knowhowto tell you, Celia.”
“But this is awful and changes everything.” Celia’s voice is low, and disbelieving. Why, why, why did things have to change, right now? Right wheneverythingwas going so good. “I can’t imagine howyoumust feel. I mean, after all you’ve been through, and all you’ve done, is thisreallyhappening?”
