Page 36 of The Beachgoers
“What are you saying? I saw you burn yours that night.”
“I did.” Maris pauses. “But your brother did not.”
“Neil?”
“That’s right.”
“How would you know this?”
Another pause; another moment of only watching each other. “It’s just that… I was working on the book this morning, Jason, you know that. And when I was flipping through one of your brother’s journals? That fell out,” she says, nodding to the paper scrap in his fingers.
Jason looks at the paper again. “But what does this have to do with anything here? And now?”
“Everything. Neil never turned his back on his old beach friend.”
“Maris.”
“No.” Maris clasps his arm. “Listen. Neil wouldn’t do it.” She steps closer, whispering, “And neither are you.”
“What?”
“Neil kept his loyalties. He wasn’t swayed by some emotional falling-out. Wouldnotsupport a brothers’ breach like that. And fifteen years later, neither are you.” Maris glances past Jason. Shane is walking toward the veranda now. “Especially after this week, when we heard Kyle explain the misunderstanding at the heart of it all. During his boardwalk meeting?”
Jason steps back, eyeing Maris. “So now what? I’m going to Maine to mend fences?”
“No,” she whispers again, pointing behind Jason to where Shane stands on the lawn and talks to Nick. “You’re going right there.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jason asks, spinning around.
Maris steps beside him and leans close. “Remember how you regretted Neil’s memorial this year? Because you didnothingdifferent to honor your brother that day?”
Wordlessly, Jason looks at her. And waits.
“Well, Jason. Here’s your chance to honor Neil. Because, let’s face it. All those years ago, Shane simply took the heat for one contentious brother rift. And now? Well. Do right by your old beach friend.” She nods toward Shane. “Just like Neil did.”
Jason looks long at her. Looks down at the scrap of paper in his hand, too. Still he doesn’t move, other than folding the paper and dropping it in his jacket pocket while slowly shaking his head.
“Take the walk, Jason.”
Jason draws a hand down his whiskered jaw. But he doesn’t take that first step to Shane—not until Maris reaches over and gives his dog-tag chain a tug, then slowly backs away and leaves him be.
* * *
Jason’s far enough from the crowd so that the guests’ voices are nothing more than a low hum. He stands there in shadow at the path, near the swaying beach grasses. It’s a lot to take in, all in the course of one day. First, identifying Shane in the old mysterious photograph in Neil’s scrapbook—and piecing together Neil’s presence in Maine. And now, this. A slip of paper from fifteen years ago. Neil’s slip of paper—thought to be burned in a bonfire.
A piece of paper that says everything.
Jason feels a shove then. Not too strong of one, but a shove indeed. Friendly, but insistent. It comes from behind, where those grasses rustle in a sea breeze. He glances back, but it’s not Maris. She’s sidled off in the direction of Paige and Vinny. But oh, Jason knows damn well where that shove came from. “Fine, Neil,” he whispers, then drags his hand through his hair before crossing the lawn.
Toward Shane Bradford. He stands there wearing a black vest and well-worn chambray shirt over black jeans. Nick is talking to him, intent on some conversation that gets Shane laughing.
As Jason emerges from the shadows, Shane’s just turning away from Nick. “Shane!” Jason calls out while raising his hand. “Got a minute?”
Shane squints into those shadows. “Hey, Barlow,” he says, turning his way.
Jason walks toward him and extends his hand now. “Put it there.”
Shane—with good reason, Jason supposes—stops in his tracks. Stops and actually backs up a step, all while holding his hands up in front of him. “Do I dare?” he cautiously asks.
