Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans

by DeMaio, Joanne

  Snatching her car keys from the dresser, she knocks the conch shell from Jason off the edge. Her hands barely catch it, shaking the same way they do when she opens the velvet box and puts on her diamond engagement ring, a ring that holds a life far away from here. An escape. Because this is too much, it is all too much. Grabbing her purse, forgetting her cell phone on the nightstand and running down the stairs as though the house is haunted, she runs outside and without stopping, gets into her car and drives off.

  So her whole life has been a lie. She wipes her tears and drives at the same time. Secrets, surprises, they never come to any good. Never. Still, her mind tries to deny the truth she just saw. It has been more than a missing mother who haunted her life, who woke her up at night with vague dreams, who moved her to always run away and leave a certain sadness behind.

  She understands now that she is actually more than she ever knew herself to be.

  She is a sister to someone. Or was a sister. There had been another child, and that sibling, until now only a suggestion in memories and fleeting voices in the wind and visions in starlit, wish-filled skies, has finally, finally caught up with her.

  Chapter Eleven

  As far as Wednesdays go, Jason Barlow’s has been typical.

  Up at the crack of dawn, he submitted and reviewed blueprints with two clients before taking on a new job renovating an old bungalow the next town over. Later he caught up on his voicemails and finally, at the end of the day, checked on the Gallagher remodel.

  Matt had just woken up, having to work the graveyard shift that night.

  “How do you do it?” Jason asked him, imagining working around-the-clock shifts.

  Matt sipped his black coffee as they walked around the outside of the house, inspecting the new wood siding.

  “You acclimate, I guess. I like the change.”

  Acclimate, Jason thinks now. Some might call him an expert at it. Following the accident, he couldn’t live in his family’s beach home. He tried, but every day back there was a souvenir of the past, every room a mirror, every scent a memory.

  So he acclimated by buying the condo and keeping Stony Point within reach.

  After the accident, he knew he was crippled. Half of his left leg was gone. But he acclimated with the help of time and doctors and physical therapists, learning to walk again using an artificial limb. Now he’d be damned if he let that leg slow him down.

  But the most difficult acclimation came from working solo. The two brothers had meshed like the fine gears on welloiled machinery. Neil was the carpenter and the historian. Far into summer nights, he sat on the front porch getting ideas from old yellowed plans, reviving cedar shingles and lattice windows and bungalow styles. Those ideas shaped Jason’s blueprints restoring the architectural details of another era. Then Neil and his crew completed the seaside porches, gingerbread trim and windows looking out at the sea.

  So Jason had acclimated again. He kept Barlow Architecture small and manageable, doing what he had loved since sitting in that barn, listening to his father’s mason tales of what two hands had built. They built his life, those hands. Now they build Jason’s life. And Neil’s historical influence shapes Jason’s blueprints to this day. The business keeps Neil’s spirit alive; Jason owes him that much.

  To cure pain, one has to feel it first. That’s what acclimating is for him, dealing with some sort of pain. And that’s what eats at him now. Either pain has to be felt, or escaped from. He pulls out of Stony Point and drives to his condo knowing that the pain of one flashback drives him away. Some invisible threshold challenges him to stay, or go. To face Neil’s memory, or leave it behind. And he’ll be damned if that one day of the accident will win again. It is early enough to pick up the designs at his condo and return to the cottage for a couple hours of work.

  “Where do you think she is?” Taylor asks.

  Eva looks up from the eReader she holds in her lap. “I don’t know. I hope she’s all right.”

  “Huh.” Taylor continues flipping through her magazine. “Are you sure she said she’d come for dinner?”

  “Yes, I listened to the answering machine two times. She cancelled shopping, but not dinner.”

  Taylor turns a page. “Maybe you should check again. And could you get me a pen? I want to take this quiz.”

  Eva walks into the living room. Though the carpenters haven’t finished the front porch, she and Taylor like to sit out there in the evenings, reading and talking at dusk. She checks the answering machine, then dials Maris’ cell phone and leaves another message for her to call, no matter what, no matter when. Then she grabs a pen and a bottle of gold nail polish, keeping an eye on the road for Maris’ car as she paints her fingernails beneath the glow of the porch lamp. The evening air coming in through the screens begins to cool.

  “What’s the quiz you’re taking?”

  “How Romantic Are You?”

  “And how’d you do?”

  “Wait, let me add up my score.”

  Eva sets the nail polish aside and looks out at the street for any sign of Maris.

  “I’m True Blue, which means romance lies deep in my heart and my boyfriend will have to know all the nice things to do for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like holding hands on the beach, and having old-fashioned manners like holding open a door. And he’ll do little things, like maybe not bringing a bouquet of flowers, but just one. Or sharing an ice cream with two spoons.”

  “Sounds nice,” Eva says. She wishes Taylor, in her heart, all that sweetness.

  Taylor closes the magazine and pulls her chair opposite Eva’s. She takes the nail polish bottle, lifts her mother’s bare foot and starts painting her toes. “Was Dad ever like that?”

  “Like what? Romantic?”

  “Yeah,” she says, carefully filling in the gold color.

  Eva thinks of their night on the beach after the barbecue. “What do you mean, was? Can’t he still be romantic?”

  “Dad?”

  Eva smiles. “He’s romantic. Sometimes it can even be the way someone looks at you, or the words they say, that are sweet.”

  “I guess,” Taylor answers. “The guys at school aren’t like that. It’s like it’s all backwards. They want the girls to ask them out.”

  It is getting late with still no word from Maris. “Well, some day when you least expect it, you’ll find a romantic boyfriend. You have plenty of time.”

  “Maybe I’ll read some of those romance books. Can we download one?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Eva says as she takes the polish from Taylor and begins painting her daughter’s toenails. “What time is it, Taylor?”

  “Almost eight.”

  “I wish she’d call. Maybe I should walk to her place and check things out.”

  “After our nails dry. I’ll come with you,” Taylor answers. “Don’t worry, Mom. You’re the first person she’d call if something was wrong. So she must be okay.”

  Outside, the shadows grow longer. One lone bird holds on to its song still. “You’re probably right. But we’ll take a walk over anyway. Just to be sure.”

  The black sedan with Illinois plates catches Jason’s attention as he nears The Sand Bar. It is parked right in front. And that’s when his Wednesday stops being typical. He signals, slows and pulls in beside the car.

  Inside the tavern, the drone of the television falls across the dim room. Maris sits alone at the bar, wearing faded jeans and a black tank top, her hair pulled back.

  “People get in trouble when they drink at this bar, you know.” Jason settles on the stool beside her. “This is where Kyle got all wound up.”

  “Hey, Jason. Don’t worry, I just got here.” The bartender sets a glass of wine in front of her. She reaches for her wallet, but Jason stops her.

  “It’s on me.” He turns to the bartender. “Coke. On the rocks.”

  They wait for his drink, Maris folding her hands on the bar, her fingers toying with the wine glass.

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nbsp; “Eva’s looking for you.”

  “Eva. Darn it. I was supposed to stop by.”

  “I was over there a while ago checking on the job. She was worried about you.”

  “I went to Addison and got tied up at the house there.”

  “You should probably call her. She’s keeping your dinner plate warm.” He sips his soda. “Closing up your father’s place?”

  Maris nods. “Pretty much.”

  “Is everything okay? You’re a little quiet.”

  “Just something on my mind.”

  “Seems like a pretty big something. Can I help?” he asks. When he does, he remembers his sister’s words. She said them a few years ago, when his temper was short and the accident still close. Someday, she had said, maybe you’ll care about someone other than yourself again. She had been fed up with his whole lack of enthusiasm for life after the crash, with the time he spent in bars, with his third corporate job in two years. He had told her to go to hell.

  Maris shakes her head. “Thanks, but it’s complicated. I’ve got to work this one out on my own.”

  He can’t help noticing the diamond on her finger and wonders if that is her complication.

  “Well, I’ll just sit with you here, then.” He lifts his soda glass to her wine glass and tips it gently.

  Maris isn’t used to being in a small town where people know her. Where they know exactly what to say. She glances at Jason. He looks tired at the end of a long day. The humidity has brought out a wave in his dark hair and he needs a shave.

  “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” she asks.

  “Just dinner.” He checks his watch. “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Come on then. Let’s blow this joint.” He stands and holds out his hand to help her off the stool. “We’ll drown your sorrows in seafood.”

  Maris finally smiles. “You know something? That actually sounds really good.”

  “Okay then. Let’s take a ride and find somewhere nice.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket and turns to the bartender. “Thanks, guy,” he says and leaves the bills on the bar.

  “Have a good night, kids,” the bartender tells them.

  Jason holds the door for Maris and they head outside into the warm evening. The midsummer sunset casts a pink hue to the sky. “Why don’t you leave your car here?” he asks. “We’ll come back for it later.”

  Maris slows a step. “I don’t mind following if it’s too much trouble.”

  Jason stops and turns to face her. “You? Trouble? You’re a piece of cake,” he says, opening the passenger door for her.

  She watches him settle in the driver’s seat, buckle his seatbelt, check his mirrors. Her car, his SUV. He has no idea that she can’t make a decision, can’t answer a question, can’t get her mind off a baby her family had seemingly hidden from her.

  Jason backs out of the parking space and opens his window, letting the seaside air fill the truck. Eventually they cross the Baldwin Bridge spanning the Connecticut River. The sun sits low in the western sky in front of them, a red fireball on the horizon.

  “Another scorcher tomorrow.” He motions to the sun. “Red sky at night.”

  “Sailor’s delight,” Maris finishes.

  The first exit after the bridge leaves them in the center of a small shoreline town. Maris thinks it’s one of those places where time stands still, one decade indistinguishable from the next. Main Street is a mix of historic homes, small boutiques and an old fashioned general store. Beyond are roads lined with old estates, their sloping manicured lawns overlooking a river cove. At this dusky hour, the scenery has a pastel feel to it, soft and smudged around the edges. Sailboats look like pages from an artist’s easel, docked in the cove in front of a violet sky. They follow a road that takes them to the mouth of the river where its waters empty into Long Island Sound. There, alongside a large marina, Jason pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant with a miniature golf course beside it.

  “You should really call Eva and let her know you’re okay. She’ll be worried about you.”

  “I would, but I left my phone at the cottage,” Maris says. Jason gives her his phone, and she stands off to the side and calls while he places their orders at the walk-up window of The Clam Shack. “Two large orders of clams, one strips, one bellies,” she hears him say while dialing Eva’s. “Two large fries, two lemonades and a side of coleslaw.”

  They eat at a stone table near the water, swapping bellies for strips until Maris refuses Jason’s offer of another belly with a sincere “Yuck.” A sea breeze lifts off the Sound, and after eating they bring their coffees to the iron railing, looking out over the water, commenting on passing pleasure boats, imagining which one they might own. It grows dark beneath a starry sky and Jason thinks back to a night long ago, leaning on the railing at Foley’s. Maris has made a life for herself since that night. She’s built a career moving around the country identifying fashion trends, learning fabrics and designing clothes, hooking up with someone back in Chicago while she was at it. A corporate attorney, according to Eva.

  But fate brought her back here this summer, to Stony Point. Standing beside her now, if he isn’t mistaken, there might be some bit of unfinished business between them. He rests his arms on the railing, the night sea unfolding before them. “There’s nothing like being at the water to put life into perspective. To help uncomplicate things?”

  “Oh, if only it were that easy. Some complications run as deep as those currents out there.”

  “Well, you know what they say. The sea air cures what ails you.”

  “That’s what your brother used to say, all the time,” Maris says, leaning her arms on the railing too, close enough to touch his. “Neil loved the summer.”

  Jason glances at her. “Did he ever. If he wasn’t on the beach, he was rowing in the lagoon, or sitting out on the porch half the night.”

  “Does it ever get any easier? I mean with Neil, do you still miss him?”

  “Every day.” He looks out at the choppy water. Distant harbor lights twinkle along the black horizon. “Every day.”

  Maris is quiet beside him then, looking out at the Sound, too. “I hate to leave here,” she finally says, in almost a whisper, “but Madison’s been inside all afternoon.”

  “That’s okay, we’ll head back. I’ve got some plans to finish up for tomorrow, too.” They walk to his SUV and Jason wonders if she feels as reluctant as he does to leave this place beneath the stars, on the water.

  On the ride back, she tells him about being Saybrooks’ Senior Denim Designer. “It’s not like the old days. So much of my work is electronic now. I use a stylus to design on my tablet and I read the digital trend reports. But I still begin with paper sketches. The day I stop visiting vendors and touching the fabrics, going to shows and seeing the runway fashions is the day I pack it up.” She pauses as they near The Sand Bar. “I envy you, in a way.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You’ve kept your work personal, and here, of all places.”

  “Not always, though. I tested the waters with corporate work.”

  “And what made you come back to restoring beach homes?”

  “Mostly Neil. When I worked in the city, a day would go by without a thought of him. Then another, and it felt like I was losing him all over again. Then I took a side job renovating a cottage porch and there he was. In the design. This was our gig together before he died, and it brings him back, in a way.”

  “Wouldn’t he be proud.” Maris leans back and considers him. “A local architect restoring beautiful old beach homes on the shoreline. Yup, I’d say I’m a little jealous.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve worked hard and done well for yourself.” He pulls into the parking lot and stops beside her car. “Are you sure you’ll be okay now? If someone’s giving you problems, I can damn well straighten them out for you.”

  She squints at him, her head tipped. “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “You bet.�
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  “Thanks, Jason. For everything. I had a great time.”

  He watches her fish around in her bag for her keys before opening the door. And he knows her complication, whether it is diamond-induced or not, is bad. She wouldn’t talk about it all night. “Maris, wait.”

  She looks up at him. On the one hand, he wants to leave now, to go back to Stony Point alone, to check his messages and finish a preliminary drawing.

  But he wants, too, to reach over, to put his arm around her neck and pull her to him. He wants to kiss her, to taste the salt air and clams, to taste summer on her. Like that night at Foley’s. One kiss.

  He hesitates, though. Because where does he get off thinking that he can love a woman, can feel her kiss and touch her skin, when his brother will never have that chance again? He hasn’t deserved the entire evening.

  Instead he quickly opens his door and comes around to the other side to help her out. “You let me know if you need anything,” he says, standing close and watching her.

  She pauses as though to say something, then turns, opens her car door and gets inside. “Good night, Jason. Take care,” she says, waving as she drives away.

  Maris holds the dvd. She can light a fire in the cottage fireplace and toss it in, never to consider its contents again. The flame would melt all evidence of it. Or she can fling it against the stone hearth, but then she’d only kneel down in tears trying to salvage the pieces. Instead she slides it into the laptop.

  Understand the body first. With each design she sketches, Maris has to perceive a body’s curves beneath the clothes it wears. The body is the main structure and comes before all else. Clothes only enhance it. So she turns that eye on her mother’s body on the added beach scene and sees the full breast and swelled stomach that she missed before. She wears her clothes well. The early pregnancy is concealed beneath her tunic and loose jeans as she stands beside a nearly two-year-old Maris on the beach, her fingers fluffing her salty hair. A baby.