Page 15 of The Beachgoers
“She did.”
“When? I mean, and where? What the hell?”
“Couple nights ago. Thursday, when you were away at the conference.” Neil walks inside the old brown barn and returns holding a dirty rag.
“I guess I never really believed she’d go through with it.” Jason drags a hand through his hair. He looks toward the street, too, then squints through the sunlight back at Neil. “Shit.”
“Well, she did.” Neil looks over his shoulder at Jason. “We’re actually good now, me and Lauren. Solid, you know? We can both breathe a little easier, now that that’s done.”
The way Jason opens his mouth, then closes it; the way he turns up his hands while standing there in the twig-strewn driveway—he’s speechless. “I’m still wrapping my head around this all,” he finally manages. “Lauren left Kyle. Stopped the wedding.Everything?”
“That’s right.”
“Where’d this go down?”
“In Kyle’s truck, actually.”
“What?”
“He picked her up for dinner and she broke up with him, right there at the curb. At her parents’ place.”
“Why didn’t you call me, Neil?”
Neil bends and swipes that rag over a chrome pipe. “You were busy. Wasn’t going to bother you at your architecture summit.” He straightens and tucks that rag in his back pocket. “Regardless, they’re done.”
“Kyle must be shot.”
“He is. Came here looking for you that night.”
“Kyle camehere? Looking forme?”
“Yeah. Lights were on in the barn and he thought it was you. Found me instead.”
Jason sits on one of those deck stairs now. “Shit. You’re the last person he’d want to see.”
“Got that right.” Neil pulls that rag from his pocket and walks into the barn. When he returns to his Harley-Davidson in the driveway, he’s adjusting that rolled bandana on his head. “We had it out, but good. Me and Kyle. On the bluff.”
“He take it hard?”
“Hell, Jay. What do you think? But come on, we all knew this was coming.”
From where he sits on the old stone step, Jason leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So what are you and Lauren going to do now?”
“Nothing drastic. Just let the dust settle.” Neil crosses his arms and leans against the bike seat. “She’s at a craft fair today. I talked to her earlier. Said she wants to talk toyou, actually.”
“To me?”
“Yeah. Wants you to check on Kyle, be sure he’s okay. She’s stopping by here tonight.”
“All right. I’ll be around.” Jason stands on the deck stairs. “I know I gave you hell before,” he tells Neil, who’s still leaning on the motorcycle. “And now… it is what it is, I guess. Hope things can work out for you and Lauren after all this.”
“Appreciate that, Jay. Your coming around. I really love her, man.”
“Guess so.”
Neil looks up at the blue sky. A few wisps of white clouds streak across it. “So I’m going to take a long ride, kill a few hours. Pass the time until Lauren gets here.”
“I’ll see you later, then,” Jason tells him. But he doesn’t turn to leave. He just waits there on the third deck stair. Waits there and watches Neil mount the Harley, settle on the seat, grip the handlebars.
And he looks surprised, too, at what happens next.
Straddling the bike, Neil leans over and folds down the passenger foot pegs. “Come with me, Jay.”
The way he says it, anyone can tell he means it. Neil feels like company on this ride. It’s all there in his easy smile; in the way he hitches his head. Maybe he wants to talk about the love of his life, now that she’s his. Maybe he wants to say that he’s glad Jason didn’t turn his back on him. Maybe Neil wants someone to laugh with, bullshit with—finally free of any worries. The summer is his and Lauren’s now. Life’s good.
Jason looks at his watch. Looks over his shoulder up at the deck. Squints at Neil, who’s sitting there, hands on his legs. “Eh. Nothing’s doing today,” Jason says. He pulls his wallet from his jeans pocket and thumbs through the bills. “You’re on. I’ll come for the ride, get some lunch with you.” Walking to the bike, he cuffs Neil’s shoulder. Then, grabbing the handlebar, he sets one foot on the left-side peg and swings his other leg over the seat. With both feet on the pegs, he puts on his sunglasses. “I’m good,” he tells Neil. “Let ’er rip.”
So holding the handgrips, Neil stands the bike upright, folds up the kickstand and starts the engine. He slowly steers the Harley down the driveway beside the gabled cottage and pulls out onto Sea View Road. On the hot summer morning, they cruise past shingled cottages and painted bungalows. Parents with wagons and sand chairs and kids in tow walk toward the beach. At some cottages, the American flag flutters on tall white flagpoles; pinwheels spin in front gardens.
When the bike pulls up to the stop sign at the stone train trestle, Neil salutes the guard on duty, revs the Harley and slowly turns beneath the dark tunnel. The thrumming engine echoes there, before the motorcycle emerges into the sunlight on the other side. Turning onto Shore Road then, Neil and Jason settle into the Saturday ride, the bike engine growing more and more quiet as they leave Stony Point, and Long Island Sound, and the salty sea breezes behind.
