Page 2 of The Beachgoers
“Son of a bitch,” Jason whispers. “It’s you.”
The sun beats hot; waves of the sea break on the beach past the dune grasses. Jason sits back, phone still in hand. All the pieces fall into place then. The photograph is atleastten years old—taken when Neil was still alive. Of course, the partial motorcycle visible off to the side is his brother’s Harley. And the rocky coastline is most likely Maine’s—where Shane lives.
Other things Jason doesn’t know. Like the when, and where, and why Neil made that bike trip.
And he’ll probablyneverknow, because his brother’s dead and gone. Not to mention, Shane Bradford is long gone, too, back to Maine. Back to his fishing life there—surely glad to leave the shackles of Stony Point behind. Glad to board some lobster boat and live his days far out on the Atlantic Ocean.
Live as free as the sea.
Jason sets the phone on the deck table again. The weekend’s here, and he has to get ready for Elsa’s shindig tonight. So there’s little time for guessing games.
Regardless, one thing’s for certain. And now he’ll be stewing onthatwhile showering and changing his outfit. Because what that one photograph tells him is this: Neil apparently never shunned Shane back in the day. After the long-ago bonfire night when Shane’s name was tossed to the flames, Neil privately kept in touch with his old beach friend.
The proof is in the picture.
But Shane Bradford is the only person on Earth who knows why.
