Page 16 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

SOMETHING’S DIFFERENT TODAY.

Jason can feel it. There’s a quiet he senses Thursday morning. Even when he brings his work duffel and coffee to go out to his SUV, as he descends the stone stairs from the deck to the driveway, as dried leaves crunch beneath his booted feet—it’s there.

Something.

So before leaving for his job site, he crosses the backyard and veers over to the bluff.

Once there, he sits on his father’s stone bench and sips his hot coffee.

It’s mid-October and the sun holds on to a little summer warmth.

Even this early in the day. A pale mist rises off the distant water.

And the autumn-gold dune grasses atop the bluff rustle in a light breeze.

Jason sits still in it all.

Breathes the scent of salt off the sea.

Hell, he’s almost expecting to hear Shane’s hammer hitting a rotten stair on the other side of those dune grasses. Or some flippant remark from the guy if he were to emerge from that hidden path to the stairs. Or his latest story of the day.

But—nothing.

No voices. Only the call of a few gulls hanging on a salt-air current.

So Jason gets up, makes his way through that dune-grass path to the stairs and sits on the very top step.

Before him, dozens of newly installed wooden stairs drop down to the sea below.

They’re flanked by more golden grasses rustling in the sea breeze.

There’s only that noise and the lapping of waves far below, rhythmic, over and over, as if the sea is breathing.

Suddenly, though, there’s more.

Jay. Hey, Jay , comes the whispered voice of his brother blending in with those grasses whispering, too.

This time, there’s no mistaking it.

This time, sitting there facing the pale blue sky, Jason gives a slight nod. “Isn’t it something, Neil?” he quietly asks.

Then there’s just that inhale… exhale of the sea. The waves splashing ashore, then hissing in retreat.

And maybe the vaguest words, Yeah, brother .

But nothing else. Just the quiet of the bluff. The sea.

Peace.

Jason, still on the stairway’s top step, sips his coffee and takes in all he sees.

All he feels—which is something different today—sitting before this sight.

Those endless brand-new steps descending down, down, down to the small beach below?

They’re restored to what they looked like when he and Neil were kids.

When Neil was alive . When they’d race up those stairs.

Or throw rock-grenades at pretend enemy ships venturing close.

Or veer off the stairs and take cover in the swaying dune grasses on the steep bluff.

Hell, that’s what it is he’s feeling… now that the stairs are done. They’re done and restored to a former glory, former memory, former illusion taking Jason back in time. Alone out here, he can almost see his father and Neil today. Almost feel them nearby.

Which makes him miss the hell out of them. Both of them. It’s actually painful, that feeling, as he sits alone, alone, alone, on the stairs, beside the sea.

More than painful; he’s pretty much overcome.

Overcome with feeling the absence of people.

Of even Shane. Working with him on the stairs these past few weeks? They’d gotten their friendship back, man. Their brotherhood. Kind of like it was with Sal. And with Neil.

In a way, Shane’s gone, too, off to his own life again.

And right now? Sitting atop the stairs? Dressed and ready for work… to begin his day? Jason can’t even move. At all. It’s hard to even take a breath.

Sometimes—not always—but sometimes, the loss is too much.

All of it.

All of them.

***

Minutes pass. Ten, maybe. Time just unfurls. Jason sits while the sun rises a little higher. Sits as the tide inches in. As— shit —his heart does something it hasn’t done in a long, long time. And when it has done this, when it fills with that awful emptiness, it’s the same as today.

It just takes him down—on the spot.

He doesn’t fight the emotion. He can’t, really. Can’t even move as some weight fills his lungs.

There’s a touch, then. A hand on his shoulder. A knowing touch. A firm clasp gripping tight. Telling him with its closeness that he’s here.

His father’s here.

***

Maris gives him time.

She’d noticed from the house that Jason hadn’t emerged from the stairway path. And it was getting late—he needed to get to work. So she’d put on her mossy-brown field coat over her soft camel sweater, skinny brown pants and brown horsebit loafers.

And came out here.

Now she silently stands at the top of the incredible stairway to the sea.

A salty breeze skimming off the Sound brushes her face, lifts wisps of hair.

In front of her, Jason sits on the top step.

He’s got on a really beat-up leather bomber over a brown sweater, cuffed faded jeans and work boots.

It must be some Castaway Cottage demo day.

A coffee cup is set off beside the step.

And she knows, too, just what Jason’s feeling sitting alone here. She can feel some of it, too.

Awe.

Heartbreak .

Stillness.

Loneliness.

So she walks to him, clasps his shoulder and waits a moment. Finally, she squeezes in and sits right beside him on that top stair. When she does, she sees him close his eyes. She also feels his shoulders shake as some horrible sadness rises through him.

“I know,” she whispers, leaning close.

And she does know. She’s seen the times Jason has truly missed people in his life. This past summer—when it had been ten full years since he’d seen his brother. Less time since he’d seen his father.

And it’s all hitting him again this morning.

All of it.

On this beautiful, breathtaking October morning.

How can he not feel their loss seeing this perfectly restored feat his father put together on one tiny slice of the earth.

This place for contemplation.

For peace.

Oh, sometimes it’s so hard to find—peace.

She looks at Jason with his unkempt, dark hair wavy in the morning damp. Sees his unshaven, whiskered face. His crying is silent, but tears streak his face.

“It’s huge this morning,” his low voice manages then. “The way I miss Neil. My father.”

Leaning into him, Maris runs a hand down his arm. “It’s sad, Jason,” she quietly says. “Missing people.”

He nods. Presses his hands over his face, into his eyes. Glances at her then, before looking out at Long Island Sound reaching to the far horizon. Blue, blue .

“It… I don’t know… it came out of nowhere just now,” he says around that emotion.

“How fully they’re gone. There’ll be no more war stories from my father sitting on his stone bench.

” He looks at Maris now, his face drawn.

“Do you know how many more stories he had in him? Stories I’d have loved to have heard.

And… and no more Neil sitting here sketching in a big leather journal…

the water, the sky. No more of him telling me about his tangled-up mess of a love triangle with him, Lauren and Kyle. ”

Still leaning close, Maris rests her head on Jason’s shoulder. Entwines her fingers in his.

“It was a hard time, sure,” Jason says now. “When my brother went for Lauren. But still… what I wouldn’t give to hear Neil’s voice again. Under any circumstances.”

“Me, too.”

They just sit now. Jason wipes his hand across his face. Leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. When he does, Maris strokes his back.

“You okay?” she asks. “Want me to get you something?”

Jason looks over his shoulder at her. It’s so obvious he’s traveled through miles of time these few minutes out here today. “Just sit with me. Five minutes.”

Maris does. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, too. “I saw you from the kitchen slider,” she quietly says. Their faces are close. She touches his jaw. “It’s really funny without Shane here, too. Isn’t it?”

“Sure is. Damn it . I’m even missing him today.”

“I get it—after all these weeks of him being here. And you know something?”

“What’s that? ”

“I even made too much coffee this morning, like I’d been doing. For him.”

“Yeah. I almost reached for the doughnuts to bring out to him on my way to work.”

They say nothing, then.

Maris just stays with Jason. They sit back. Take in the coastal vista. Take the touch of the salty breeze on their faces. Jason closes his eyes with that touch—collects himself on the stairs.

In a bit, Maris leans into him again. Leaves a kiss on his cheek.

All as they take those five minutes. Maybe ten.

As the sun rises higher on the eastern horizon.

As two gulls cry up above them—white against the blue sky.

As the breeze whispers louder.

As those waves break below.

Always.