Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans (19 page)

“Let’s go, guys,” Eva calls out at the song’s end, finding a rag to wipe off the table. But instead, Kyle opens a couple cabinets, seeing what is left of their past here.

“Let me just catch my breath,” Maris says, laughing still from the last dance. “That felt so good, didn’t it?”

Jason sits in the seat beside her. “You bet.”

“I haven’t danced like that in … ” Lauren pauses, catching Jason’s eye. “Well. In years, I guess.”

And so Maris knows. It was with Neil. She is saying something to his brother, tonight, as they relive their glory days. And if time can stop, doesn’t it at that moment when Kyle taps out a rhythm with the drumsticks he finds in a back cabinet. It is the soundtrack to so many of their old nights here, Neil drumming along with the jukebox, counting down the summers of their lives, keeping the beat on the table, a chair back, his own lap.

“Hey, man,” Kyle says to Jason. “These are yours now. Really. Don’t leave them here.”

Jason takes his brother’s old drumsticks and shifts them in his hand.

“Do you still have his drum kit?” Kyle asks.

“No. Got rid of it a long time ago.” He sets the drumsticks on the table and rubs his open palms on his legs.

“Hey,” Maris says. “You okay?” Her hand reaches for Jason’s arm, her fingers brushing his skin.

“Yeah.” He picks up the sticks, shaking his head. “Just a little spooked.”

Maris leans forward to see his face, wondering about cues and their ability to invoke flashbacks, when the screen door opens and distracts Jason. She follows his gaze as Matt walks into the room, his uniform boots heavy on the floor. He squints at Eva first with a glare as she stacks the empty glasses, before motioning to Maris.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he says.

“Me?” It is either the dark of the room, still lit only by the glow of the jukebox, or it is just the time that has passed, but it takes a moment for Maris to recognize the tall shadow filling the doorway behind Matt. He wears jeans, a black shirt and brown leather running shoes. The heavy watch on his wrist was a gift, from her. She stands then, to get past Jason, and he slides out of the booth but not before taking hold of her arm.

“Maris?”

She glances back, hoping he sees her quick smile of regret. Would they have walked on the beach later? Talked beneath the stars? “It’s okay,” she tells him. “Really.”

He lets go of her arm and Maris feels the pure silence hanging in the room, right before she puts an end to any lingering music, any lingering memories, and brings them all abruptly to the absolute present, to Eva ever searching out her mother, to Lauren longing for a different life, to Jason still talking to his dead brother, to Matt annoyed with everyone. She does it all with her next, single word. “Scott?”

“Wow,” Eva says under her breath once the introductions were made, after Scott declined her invitation for a bite to eat at her cottage, after turning down Kyle’s offer of a beer, when Maris and Scott finally move outside the door, out on the deck.

“Wow is right,” Lauren agrees. “That’s her Chicago guy?”

“I guess so,” Eva answers.

“They serious?” Kyle asks.

“They’re talking marriage, so yeah. I can’t believe he flew all the way here.”

Lauren straightens the last of the napkins, folding them in half and stuffing them in her bag. “How’d you find him, Matt?”

“I was at the Guard Shack, talking to Nick. He had a radio with the game on, and we were bullshitting when this dude pulls under the trestle in a silver beemer, looking for Maris. Or for her cottage address.”

“She didn’t know he was coming?” Jason asks.

“No way,” Eva answers. “She’d have told me.”

“We got to talking a little, and first I brought him by our place,” Matt explains, turning to Eva. “When you weren’t there, I remembered you said you were dropping by Foley’s. So I thought, no harm done to stop here. Never expected a God damn party going on.”

“Shit.” Jason looks toward the door. “He’s not going to be too happy about it.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Kyle agrees. “Already seemed a little uptight. What’s he do in the city?”

“Some type of corporate attorney who’s apparently getting impatient to have Maris back.” Eva stands, grabs her handbag first, then a deck of cards from the shelf and drops them on the table. “We can’t very well leave with them standing out there. Get a Set Back game going and let them have a few minutes together. We came in through the front door, so I’m going back in to lock up.”

As she walks out of the room, through the hallway headed for the front of the cottage, she hears Kyle. “Your call, Barlow.” After locking the front door, she passes through the kitchen and in one almost imperceptible motion, reaches over the counter for the spoon rest shaped like a colorful beach umbrella and drops it into her purse.

.

Chapter Seventeen

M
aris, wait.” Scott takes her arm and pulls her into the shadows on the deck. Flashes of sheet lightning move across the distant sky over Long Island Sound. “What’s wrong?” he asks as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Why don’t we walk on the beach? We can’t really talk here.” She starts to turn but he pulls her back.

“Where you running to?”

“What?” she asks.

He backs up against the wall, watching her. “Apparently I interrupted something in that room.”

“You did,” she finally agrees after a pause. “But it’s not important.”

“I get the feeling it is. What’s going on?”

Maris glances over her shoulder toward the room inside, then moves beside Scott, facing the little room tacked onto the cottage. “It’s called Foley’s, this place. Years ago, it was the hangout for the beach kids. It’s on the market, so we just got together one last time tonight, before it sells. You know. We played the jukebox and talked about old times.”

Scott takes her hands in his. “You’re sure that’s it? Because I’m wondering what’s shook you up. I’ve never seen you so rattled.”

“You shook me up. I mean, not you. But you told me last week you had to be in court tomorrow. You know I hate surprises.”

“I thought this would be a good surprise. And I moved a few mountains to change my schedule to get here.”

Maris takes a long breath. “Why didn’t you call first?”

“A month without you is why. I missed you, Maris.” He studies her closely, his hand caressing hers and stopping on her ring finger. “No ring at this beach party?”

She looks quickly down at her hand. “The ring. It’s at the jewelers, being sized. Really, Scott. We’ve got so much to talk about, including getting married.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here. And if we can’t finish tonight, you’ll come home with me? Tomorrow, or the day after? For a few days anyway?”

Maris knows now exactly why he came here. To break the Stony Point hold, to untie the ropes, to unlock her heart. He lifts his hands to her shoulders and stares at her, waiting.

The others are talking and laughing on the other side of the wall. She hears a voice inside, recognizing the satisfaction of someone trumping someone else’s Set Back hand.

Scott leans in and tips her chin up, kissing her, and it is like walking a high wire, faltering in two directions until he takes her shoulders and pulls her closer. Reality is in front of her, his touch being the undeniable evidence. He’s been in her life and still wants to be, his kiss a reminder of that life, of her Chicago townhouse, of her career. It all returns as clear as his presence.

Behind her seems vague suddenly. The past month has been filled with home movies and memories, carousels and summer kisses, stargazing and walks on the beach. It passed like a misty dream. It shapes her life here, but is it reality? Scott would brush it off with a look, a dismissive gesture. His hand reaches behind her head and his fingers tangle in her hair.

But it
is
reality. It has to be. It just takes time to bring the visions into focus, to understand the past, to fit it all somehow onto a thirty-year-old 8mm reel of film. She reaches her hands to his face, deepening her kiss while she also pulls back. This is her own card game and he is forcing her hand.

The realization also comes that there is no bluffing with him. She pulls away with a quick breath. “Scott.” She pushes her hair back and collects herself. “Why don’t we take that walk on the beach now, where we can really talk? Would that be all right?”

It only takes an instant, the flash of an expression. It moves across his face and she isn’t sure what to name it. Regret maybe? Impatience? He raises her left hand and touches the empty spot where his diamond ring should be, then moves past her to the stairs.

“Wait.” She follows close behind him. “Scott, I can’t just leave. I’ve got to tell them goodnight. Come in with me.”

Scott turns back at the top of the stairs. “I don’t need to go in again. I’ll wait down there.” He motions to the parking area below the deck. “Don’t be long.”

The card game folds when Maris steps back inside the room. She sees the change even as the screen door creaks closed behind her. All eyes rise to hers.

“You all right, hon?” Eva asks.

She nods, standing just inside the door. “Scott’s waiting outside. I just wanted to say goodnight, okay?”

“He had a long trip. I can make sandwiches and coffee?” Eva asks.

“No, Eva. But thank you anyway.”

“Well you better call me tomorrow,” Eva insists.

“I will. Thanks everybody. I had a great time tonight.”

“You’re sure he doesn’t want to join us?” Kyle asks.

“Another time, maybe.”

“Have a good night then,” Kyle says with a glance outside to where Scott is waiting.

Kyle wants only one thing, to fix his marriage with Lauren. And Maris knows that he would do the same as Scott, would fly across the country for Lauren at a moment’s notice.

“All right. So I’ll talk to you guys later.” Her eyes stop on Jason and she walks quickly to him. “You,” she says softly. “Thanks for the dance.” She leaves a breath of a kiss on his cheek but before she can turn away, he catches her hand. Maris looks back at him.

Dance?
Matt mouthes to Eva.

“Take care of yourself now,” Jason tells her before letting go. He speaks softly, but she hears what she needs to. It is all there, the caring, the kiss, the beach walks, the carousel, the dance. She feels herself in his arms again beside the glow of the jukebox. It all follows her out of the room and has her glance back at the door once she walks down the staircase.

“Damn you, Neil,” Jason says as he steps onto his porch and flings the drumsticks across the room. “Damn it all to hell.” There have been other bad nights over the years, times when the pain in his leg competes for all his attention.

He goes into the bathroom, opens the faucet and throws handfuls of water on his face. While standing there, his leg aches enough to elicit a groan. When the phantom pain comes on suddenly like this, it is excruciating. He runs the hot water until it scalds, then shoves a towel in the steaming stream. Sometimes the burning heat of the towel, wrapped around his limb, alleviates the pain. But he drops the towel in the sink instead and bends at the waist, rubbing his leg from the thigh down to the knee, kneading and pressing in a desperate effort to massage the pain away. When he finally stands straight, he drags his hands through his damp hair, unsure of what to do. What is the point of living here, of restoring summer homes, of restoring his and Neil’s lifelong dreams, if it means doing it alone?

What, really, is the point?

Leaving his beach home behind, he drives to The Sand Bar. It will be dark inside, and hours pass easier over liquor. He can sit and nurse one long drink, or let the liquor wash down his throat, depending. By the time he returns to Stony Point later, sleep will take him over then.

Parked outside the bar, Jason folds his arms over the steering wheel. It’s been a long time since he’s let himself be physically touched, since a woman’s skin touched his. Since he has touched anyone. It always has to be Neil’s touch, his impact, he last remembers.

But Maris gives him permission to feel good somehow. He danced tonight.

That is the point.

He takes a good, long look at The Sand Bar before shifting his truck into reverse and heading back toward Long Island Sound. The tides, the waves reaching on the beach beneath the pull of the moon, they are always there. She would want him to do
this
. To go and walk on that beach. To try and strike a deal beneath the stars, walking along the high tide line with Neil and his memories and his cues.

By the time he pulls into the long driveway of his home, the cottage sitting high on a ledge with the Sound beyond, moonglow dapples the trees in the yard. He steps out into the misty darkness covering the land; waves break on the rocks. Maybe he’s misread things over time. Maybe everything feels like pain, but it really isn’t. The one pain is so great, it takes over all other sensations and he has to distinguish it. Because if he has to name it now, it feels more like fear. Fear keeps him standing there, unable to go inside the house and be alone. Loving someone who isn’t there, Maris, Neil, is familiar enough.

The fear comes in knowing that loving someone at all means leaving Neil behind, once and for all. Means letting him go. He isn’t sure he knows how to live without his brother.

In the backyard, the barn stands in the shadows. New sliding doors have been installed, with a large multipaned arched window above them. He goes inside and turns on the bright work lamps, their light stark in the night. An interior, non-load bearing wall still needs to come down. A heavy pry bar leans against it. Jason lifts the bar, inserts the tip beneath a plywood panel and begins ripping down the beams.

Reinvention is an inherent part of fashion design. It keeps styles in vogue. Her design sketches find new ways to create with denim, new ways to see bell bottoms, new ways to cut a blazer. After all these years, Maris has become a master at reinvention. And isn’t that what her future calls for now? So she looks at what her life is, how it fits her, where it works and where it doesn’t. Then she does what any credible fashion designer would do next and looks to future trends.

In the dim candlelight of The Sand Bar, stories unfold around her. Some are sad, some sweet. After all these years designing, she has become a good judge of situations and body language, always having an eye on how fashion fits people’s lives. And Scott’s body language gives her an indication of her future trends when he sits back defensively. He’ll resist change. Her hands, usually designing with graphite pencils, or ink, or paint, reach for his hands across the table as she tries to design their future. Her spoken words become the sketch lines of her life. Their weight varies, with bold lines of her time at the beach leading to the delicate lines of the 8mm home movie, because bold to delicate invites the viewer to follow along, to move with the sketch.

If a garment has lots of detail, Maris keeps her sketched poses simple to accentuate only the garment’s features. Her future is intricately detailed, with an engagement waiting for her, while a lost sibling draws her eye, and a family home needs to be sold, all at the same time that a design career keeps moving, regardless. So she keeps her present word sketch simple, outlined with the dusty carton she found in her father’s house and shaded with the few mementoes inside it. An empty gift box from an Italian jeweler colors it gold; a tiny baby blanket softens it; an 8mm film deepens it with the Christening scene in her long-ago home.

She sketches the story simply, leaving out evening walks beneath the sea’s stars that leave her feeling more connected than ever to her mother. Leaving out the best design work she’s ever done that happens while sitting on a cottage front porch, the salt air influencing her vision. Leaving out beach friends and their casually poignant history here. Simple, simple. She sketches only what matters most, wanting to find the future trend of her days so that she can foresee what her life might come to look like.