Page 48 of Secrets at Seaside
“It was no big deal, and it seemed important to Amy.” Evan shrugged.
“Well, it was a big deal to both of us. We appreciated it.” He handed Evan his surfboard and took his own off the rack. “Stay out of trouble tonight.”
Evan was going on a double date with his friend Bobby and two girls from high school.
“I told you it wasn’t a big deal. They’re just friends. We’re going to the drive-in. Wanna catch some waves tomorrow?” Evan called over his shoulder on the way to Bella’s cottage.
“Wish I could, but I think I’m going to spend tomorrow with Amy.”
“See why I don’t want a real girlfriend?” Evan teased.
“I’ve got more than fifteen years on you. I’m pretty lucky to have her.”And I’m not doing anything to mess it up this time.
Tony glanced at Amy’s car in her driveway. Either she was inside or at the cottage of one of the other girls. How many times had he looked across the street and wondered what Amy was doing? He loved the feeling of knowing she was finally his and that whatever she was doing, she was probably thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her. He headed inside to shower.
They had spent the night at Tony’s cottage, and the bedroom still smelled like Amy. He stripped off his board shorts, went into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He’d been thinking about the slide show all day, and darn if he wasn’t even more confused than before. He had slotted his father’s memory into a place in his head that he rarely visited. The breakup had not been easy to move past, and his father’s death had come on its heels, magnifying his hurt and anger. At a time when Tony was doing all he could to remain sane and focused on keeping his career, he’d thrown himself into surfing and training and tried to be there for his mother as best he could. But Tony knew he’d barely made it through each day, much less been any help to her. He’d been determined to prove his father wrong about his career—and he’d hidden from that well of devastation by throwing himself into surfing—and he’d succeeded.
Or at least he’d thought he had.
Until now.
After seeing the pictures of his father last night, smiling, joking, being the man Tony had once admired so greatly, he wondered if the harsh memories had deluded him into forgetting the good ones. His father had been at his worst that last summer at the Cape. Tony hadn’t even known he was a drinker. How he’d missed that, he had no idea.
After his shower he put on a pair of cargo shorts and a tank top and sank onto the bed with a loud sigh. It was time he dealt with his father’s memories once and for all.
Tony grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table and called his mother. She answered on the second ring.
“Tony, how are you, honey?” Her smile was evident in her warm tone. Tony pictured her sitting in the living room of her Rhode Island waterfront home, knitting needles in hand. His mother had knitted for as long as he could remember, and since his father’s death, the knitting needles seemed to be her constant companions.
“I’m okay, Ma. How are you?”
“Oh, you know me, honey. I’m fine. Knitting tonight. I’m making a baby bonnet for Lisa Cross’s granddaughter. She’s such a cute little thing. How’re the kids this year?”
“Good, Ma, but they’re not kids. We’re all over thirty.” He laughed.
“Honey, you’ll always be kids to me. Even when you’re old and gray. How was the wedding? I was so sorry to have missed it.” His mother had missed the wedding because she’d had a bunion removed from her foot the week before, and her foot was still tender.
“It was wonderful. Jamie looked really happy, and Jessica was beautiful. How’s your foot?”
“Oh, fine. It seems to be healing well; it just takes a little time, that’s all.”
“Good. Mom, I’m glad it’s healing up. I have something I want to talk to you about, but if you would rather not, then just tell me, okay?”
“Don’t be silly, honey. What is it?”
Tony rose from the bed and paced. “It’s about Dad.”
“Okay.” Her voice turned serious.
“I was looking at pictures last night of our summers here at the Cape, and the pictures didn’t match the image I have of him in my mind. I’m a little worried that what I remember of him is skewed.” He rubbed a dull ache creeping across the back of his neck.
“Well, honey, why don’t you tell me what you feel was different?”
“I don’t know. Everything. The look in his eyes. I don’t know when most of the pictures were taken, but—”
“Where did you see these pictures?”
“Amy’s mother made a slide show a few years back.”
