breakdown. I’m going to see if I can find him.”
It is after midnight and the timers have turned off the lighting. Maris can make them out on the dark boardwalk, though, Jason and Madison. The dog’s tail thumps the sandy boards as she nears.
“Hey,” Maris says softly. She stands beside Jason, unsure if he wants anyone with him right now.
“Maris,” he says. “I think this is yours.” He hands her the leather leash.
She takes it and sits beside him in the quiet night, setting the coffee mug between them on the seat. He must have splashed salt water on his face, his head. His hair is dripping wet and slicked back. Shadows and whiskers cover his face. Even the darkness can’t hide that he looks a wreck. Maris can smell the salt, the perspiration, the night, on him. She leans over the coffee and gives him a quick hug. “Here, I brought you something hot to drink.”
“Thanks.” He takes the coffee. “I planned to drop the dog off at your place. But I never made it that far.”
“That’s okay.” They sit at the very spot where Jason had saved Kyle’s life. He sips the coffee while Maris talks. “I wanted to go after you,” she tells him. “But Matt stopped me. He said to leave you alone.” Jason doesn’t look at her. “Are you okay?”
He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, taps one out, lights it and takes a deep drag. His other hand presses against his injured leg, as though it aches deep inside.
“Jason.” Her hand takes his, the one pressing his leg. She holds it, easy, warming it. “I have to know that you’re okay.”
He looks at her beside him. “I’ll be all right.”
Maris finds it hard to believe, because he looks like every single ounce of his body, every muscle, every bone, is spent. It looks like he’d gotten sick on the beach afterward. Not from drinking, but from the night.
“Do you need anything?” she asks. She can’t remember ever being so worried about someone.
“No.”
“Can I help somehow?”
“No thanks, Maris.” He sits up straighter, taking a long breath. “Really. I’m fine.”
“Well.” A moment passes. “I’ll just sit with you here, then.” She reaches over and pulls the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag herself like they did when they were teenagers short on smokes, then returns it. His hand trembles as he takes it back.
“What a night,” he says.
“No kidding. How about that swan?”
“Jesus.” He glances behind them at the boat marina. “Out of nowhere.”
.
Chapter Nine
J ason places a sheet of tracing paper over the sketch on the drawing board. Two new clients need preliminary designs soon. Eight by ten photographs depicting the cottages in their current form are tacked in front of the table. It would be easy to scan them into his computer and engage his software to rework the designs, but instead he uses a roll of tracing paper to overlay sketch, adding detail and bringing the cottages further back in time with each new layer of paper. Neil had accumulated scrapbooks of old cottage photographs, and one lays open beside his drawing board as Jason replicates the white-painted columns supporting a porch overhang.
Time passes quickly when he works like this. He’d stayed up long into the night, cleaning and drying sand and salt water from every component and crevice of his limb. And still, he’d been up with the sun. Now, after three hours, he sets down his pencil and walks to the window, letting himself feel what sketching and planning have supplanted since early dawn. It will take more than ten miles of distance in an air conditioned condominium to rid the salt air from his lungs, to blind the panic from his eyes, to erase the regret he feels that Maris saw him out of control.
It’s bad enough so that an hour later, he walks along the flagstone path to the front porch of her cottage. Geraniums stand like bright red flags in clay pots alongside the flagstone. White and
It is after midnight and the timers have turned off the lighting. Maris can make them out on the dark boardwalk, though, Jason and Madison. The dog’s tail thumps the sandy boards as she nears.
“Hey,” Maris says softly. She stands beside Jason, unsure if he wants anyone with him right now.
“Maris,” he says. “I think this is yours.” He hands her the leather leash.
She takes it and sits beside him in the quiet night, setting the coffee mug between them on the seat. He must have splashed salt water on his face, his head. His hair is dripping wet and slicked back. Shadows and whiskers cover his face. Even the darkness can’t hide that he looks a wreck. Maris can smell the salt, the perspiration, the night, on him. She leans over the coffee and gives him a quick hug. “Here, I brought you something hot to drink.”
“Thanks.” He takes the coffee. “I planned to drop the dog off at your place. But I never made it that far.”
“That’s okay.” They sit at the very spot where Jason had saved Kyle’s life. He sips the coffee while Maris talks. “I wanted to go after you,” she tells him. “But Matt stopped me. He said to leave you alone.” Jason doesn’t look at her. “Are you okay?”
He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, taps one out, lights it and takes a deep drag. His other hand presses against his injured leg, as though it aches deep inside.
“Jason.” Her hand takes his, the one pressing his leg. She holds it, easy, warming it. “I have to know that you’re okay.”
He looks at her beside him. “I’ll be all right.”
Maris finds it hard to believe, because he looks like every single ounce of his body, every muscle, every bone, is spent. It looks like he’d gotten sick on the beach afterward. Not from drinking, but from the night.
“Do you need anything?” she asks. She can’t remember ever being so worried about someone.
“No.”
“Can I help somehow?”
“No thanks, Maris.” He sits up straighter, taking a long breath. “Really. I’m fine.”
“Well.” A moment passes. “I’ll just sit with you here, then.” She reaches over and pulls the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag herself like they did when they were teenagers short on smokes, then returns it. His hand trembles as he takes it back.
“What a night,” he says.
“No kidding. How about that swan?”
“Jesus.” He glances behind them at the boat marina. “Out of nowhere.”
.
Chapter Nine
J ason places a sheet of tracing paper over the sketch on the drawing board. Two new clients need preliminary designs soon. Eight by ten photographs depicting the cottages in their current form are tacked in front of the table. It would be easy to scan them into his computer and engage his software to rework the designs, but instead he uses a roll of tracing paper to overlay sketch, adding detail and bringing the cottages further back in time with each new layer of paper. Neil had accumulated scrapbooks of old cottage photographs, and one lays open beside his drawing board as Jason replicates the white-painted columns supporting a porch overhang.
Time passes quickly when he works like this. He’d stayed up long into the night, cleaning and drying sand and salt water from every component and crevice of his limb. And still, he’d been up with the sun. Now, after three hours, he sets down his pencil and walks to the window, letting himself feel what sketching and planning have supplanted since early dawn. It will take more than ten miles of distance in an air conditioned condominium to rid the salt air from his lungs, to blind the panic from his eyes, to erase the regret he feels that Maris saw him out of control.
It’s bad enough so that an hour later, he walks along the flagstone path to the front porch of her cottage. Geraniums stand like bright red flags in clay pots alongside the flagstone. White and
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