Page 87 of Stony Point Summer
Elsa nods. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve been sick about it all week.AndI’ve been trying to figure out how to combat it.”
Celia looks at her and suddenly stands.
And straightens her gingham sheath tank over her cuffed denim shorts.
And—not knowingwhatto say, what to do—she takes a quick breath.
With her hands on her hips then, Celia circles the room once, then again, stopping finally at the screen door. Paper lanterns are already strung across the deck for tonight’s celebration. She stands there looking out onto the day. The sunny day that started with anticipation. And happiness. And promise.
And now, this.
Now some unforeseen circumstance yanking the rug from beneath Celia’s life, leaving her in a scary free fall.
Looking out toward the beach beyond the dune grasses, Celia’s almost dizzy with worry. Her thoughts, they spin. What will she do now? Can she and Elsa quickly recover from this news? How will Elsa get things back on track? Celia takes a long breath of that salt air. Oh, if only it were really true. If only it held that magic. If only it cured what ails you.
If only.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” Elsa says from the booth. But she doesn’t get up. Doesn’t walk to Celia. It seems this has all plumb tired her out. “You’re so busy with Aria,” Elsa goes on. “The baby’s been up at night and you’re not sleeping. And it’s just that I wanted you to have a beautiful summer with your daughter … withoutthisnow, too.”
Celia turns toward Elsa, but still stands near the screen door. Birdsong comes in through the screen—a happy robin trilling a tune. There’s the gritty sound of fat wheels on a beach cart being pulled down the sandy road.
“Is this what your hushed phone calls were about all week?” Celia quietly asks. “And your paper shuffling?”
“Yes.”
“But what about tonight? I mean, the festivities. Thecelebration!” Celia whispers, afraid to even hope for it still.
From the booth, Elsa looks long at her. Celia can tell she’s weighing something, back and forth, this way and that. There’s some information, some idea Elsa’s keeping from her.
“Elsa?” Celia dares to ask.
“We arestillgoing to celebrate,” Elsa insists then.
“But howcanwe now?”
“I’ll tell you how.” Elsa pats the tabletop. “Come here, dear.”
As Celia walks across the room to the booth, Elsa picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. Where she finds the appetite, Celia’s not sure. Not when their world is completely falling apart.
“I’ve thought about this,” Elsa says around a mouthful of her cucumber sandwich. “Oh, have I thought about it. And Icanget through this, with your help. If you’ll stick by my side.”
“Of course I will! You know that.” As she says it, Celia scoots into her seat at the booth. Sitting back, she cautiously reaches for an organic chip—just one—and silently waits to hear more. All while that robin still trills outside—tra-la-la-inga tune from the branch of a nearby tree.
“Remember when we took the ferry to Long Island, before Sal’s surgery last year?” Elsa asks.
Celia nods while chewing that potato chip.
“I told you about my mother. About a picture of her on a boat arriving at Ellis Island. She was about fourteen years old.”
“Coming to America.”
“That’s right. And nearing the New World, her eyes were afraid. But determined, too. The look on her face said it all as she stood on the ship’s deck and clutched her travel trunk. And I told you last year there was somethingelseI saw in her eyes. Something that would get Mama through difficult times here. Remember?”
Celia’s own eyes fill with tears then. “Hope,” she whispers.
“Yes. And that’s what we need now, too. We’ll handle things with nothing but determination. And hope.”
“And ifthatdoesn’t work?” Celia swipes at an escaped tear. “What will become of you? And me? And our plans?”
