Page 35 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

IT SUDDENLY HITS JASON.

Monday afternoon, he’s got it. Got the answer to his Christmas message dilemma.

The problem is, he gets his idea in the middle of Castaway Cottage filming.

The construction crew’s finishing Mitch’s new office.

The walls have been painted black. The wall shelves have been installed.

And the camera’s rolling there—right now.

“ Don’t forget the sky , my brother Neil used to tell me when I drew blueprints,” Jason says to the camera.

His dark khaki cargo pants are rolled at the cuff; his brown work boots are dusty; his long-sleeve black pocket tee is untucked beneath his faded denim jacket.

He’s standing at Mitch’s massive new office window facing Long Island Sound.

The sky above the water is wisped with shifting white clouds.

“ It’s the true masterpiece , Neil would say.

Always changing ,” Jason explains. Though no one would know it, he feels emotional talking of Neil.

So he briefly clasps the Vietnam War dog tags hanging over his dark tee.

Just briefly—almost as a sign to his brother.

“And Neil wanted to be sure my designs captured that natural masterpiece up above,” Jason adds, motioning to the dramatic skyscape outside the window.

“Check that off your list there, Jason,” Mitch interjects from across the room. He draws a hand down his goatee and takes in the panoramic vista. “Be hard for me to get my work done now, watching that masterpiece from my desk.”

Jason nods. “Not a bad problem to have,” he says before assisting the crew with completing a pocket door installation.

With goggles on, he uses a cordless finish nailer to attach the trim to the jamb and door studs.

He also explains to Mitch—and the camera—that the pocket door gives a minimalist look to the office’s design.

It also won’t impede furniture placement.

“You’ll have plenty of options for arranging that custom hatch-cover desk, Mitch. ”

All the while, though, Jason’s thoughts are somewhere else.

They’re focused on that perfect Christmas card message.

And if he doesn’t get it down on paper, he’ll forget the wording. Filming can’t be paused, either. So he creates a mantra. He keeps running those few pivotal lines through his head. Silently. Over and over.

No one would know it. It just seems like he’s concentrating.

Which he is.

On his holiday message.

When the crew finally begins cleanup, Jason lets Maddy into the room. She’s got on her Demo Dog bandana; a carpenter gives her a few pieces of trim remnants to deposit in a debris pile. And the dog couldn’t be happier working as part of the team.

Afterward, Jason orders the German shepherd to heel beside him as they leave the Fenwick cottage.

Once outside, they walk past several sawhorses; past ladders resting against the deck; past a dumpster on Champion Road; past pickup trucks with loaded toolboxes in the beds; and past the CT-TV van with its rear doors open as Zach packs up his gear.

Jason and Maddy pass it all—after which Jason gives a whistle to the dog. “Come on, girl,” he tells her. “Let’s go on the beach.”

It’s all Maddy can do now to keep her heel.

Her tail wildly wags as she walks beside him; her muzzle nudges his hand.

Together, they cross the nearby dune-grass-covered berm.

When Jason spots a stick of driftwood washed up there, he tosses it down the beach for the dog.

She races for it, turning the chase into a good romp on the sand.

Which gives Jason some time.

He sits on an old wooden bench atop the berm.

The sun is warm on his back as he first just breathes.

Just takes in the sight. Lush dune grasses whisper around him.

They’ve faded from deep green to golden now.

Rays of low sunlight land on remnants of a broken-down storm fence precariously leaning amidst those dune grasses.

Rusted wire holds the fence’s dried-out wood pickets together.

Past the dune grasses, there’s a stretch of sand.

Long Island Sound ripples in a slate-blue palette beyond it—as far as the eye can see.

And up above it all, wisps of white clouds build to heavy billowing clouds at the far horizon.

In the late-afternoon light, there’s a pink hue to those clouds—making them almost heavenly, and ominous, at once.

Three seagulls soar past just then, floating, wings lifted, on a salt-air current.

It’s the type of quiet Jason’s been waiting for.

So he pulls that tiny notepad and stubby construction pencil from a cargo pocket on his pants.

Putting pencil to paper, his hand finally jots out his Christmas thoughts.

A few lines get scribbled. All the while, there’s a sea breeze lifting off the afternoon Sound.

It gets the dune grasses rustling. And on the beach below, Maddy’s collar tags jangle beneath her Demo Dog bandana as she jostles that driftwood stick.

There’s something else then, too.

Pretty good, Jay , he hears. Or the wind whispers past.

Jason stops writing. The beach is still.

Someone’s strolling the far end, but that’s it.

So he lifts his face to the light breeze.

Feels it touch his needs-a-cut hair. “I know, Neil,” he quietly says—just in case.

In case his brother’s spirit sees the message he’s been toiling with. “Not bad, right?”

Yeah.

It’s all he hears—so close. As though Neil’s sitting right there looking over at his notepad. But after that? Nothing.

Jason again reaches for the dog tags hanging from a chain on his neck. He drags the beat-up metal tags back and forth. Standing then, he pockets his pencil and pad, whistles for Maddy, and the two of them head to his SUV parked down on Champion Road with the rest of the construction vehicles.

** *

Within minutes, Jason’s back home. He parks in the driveway, grabs his duffel and denim jacket, and heads straight to his barn studio.

Weathered old fishing buoys randomly hang on the barn’s exterior rough-hewn brown walls.

Quickly, he unlocks the double slider and steps inside.

Golden afternoon sunlight drops from the skylights into his studio.

But he pays it no heed. Instead, he hurries past the wall of massive framed photographs of his cottage renos; past his drafting table, too.

Drops his denim jacket on the stool there.

Finally, he sets down his duffel and sits at his big L-shaped desk in the alcove.

Maddy, though, lopes up the stairs to Maris’ loft.

In a minute, the German shepherd settles up there with her muzzle beneath the railing.

It’s her spot to keep an eye on him, and her world, below.

There’s no time to waste now. With the dog settled, Jason first turns on his black desk lamp and adjusts the angle of light.

Then he pulls out his ratty notepad and presses open the pencil-smudged, wrinkled pages.

It’s all there, all his holiday thoughts jotted down on the beach.

He flips the small pages, from one to the next and the next.

Yes, it all still works. Carefully then, he rewrites those Christmas card notes on a blank sheet of paper.

Minutes pass quietly. There’s only the sound of his pen moving along the blank paper.

Until he drops the pen, sits back and is done.

It’s finished. So he finds his cell phone in his work duffel and calls Maris in the house. “What are you up to?” he asks, leaning back in his padded desk chair. “Having a good day?”

“I am,” Maris tells him. “I polished up some of Neil’s older Driftline passages this morning. Then I had my weekly coffee at Eva’s. And, okay, I ended up staying a couple of hours.”

“Why? Everything okay there?”

“Oh, sure. Time just got away from me. You know, hanging out on that kitchen window seat of hers. The warm sun shining in.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was, just talking with my sister. So I only got home a little while ago.”

Jason wheels his chair closer to his desk. “You busy now?” he asks, looking at his fully penned, neatly written out Christmas message.

“I just set the table. Was going to start something for dinner.”

“Can you come out to the barn? I want to show you something.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Be right there.”

***

Jason waits in the barn studio for Maris.

He also rereads his Christmas message. Leaning forward at his desk, he drags a thumb over his scarred jaw and skims the words he’d just written. Next, he picks up that paper, leans back in his chair and considers changing a phrase.

“Nah,” he tells himself, then silently reads the message again.

As he does, he hears a sound. It’s Maddy’s tail thumping the loft floor.

From her post up there, she’s no doubt happy to see Maris.

Because suddenly, the slider is opening behind him.

So Jason folds the note in half, turns in his swivel desk chair and watches Maris walk in.

Her black cropped cardigan is buttoned up over really faded straight-leg jeans.

That chic sweater is unbuttoned at the very bottom, though, showing a slick gold buckle on her black belt.

When Maris sees him watching her approach, she stops.

“Come closer,” Jason tells her.

She does. Her black ankle boots clip-clip just a few steps on the barn’s planked floor.

He smiles. Shakes his head. And tells her, “Closer, sweetheart.”

A few more clip-clips, this time with a small smile as Maris tucks back her long brown hair. And stops again—right in the late-afternoon sunrays dropping through the barn studio’s skylights.

This time, he just motions his fingers for her to come even closer.

She does. She stops right in front of him sitting there at his desk.

“I got it,” Jason says.

“Got what?”

“I wrote the Christmas card message. It’s done.”

“What? When? You worked all day!”

Jason nods. “Thought about the message all day, too.” He holds up the folded paper still in his hand. “And it came together.”

Well. Maris moseys right onto his lap now. Loops her arms around his neck and toys with his hair. Lightly kisses his lips, too. “Let me see it,” she murmurs.

“So, wait… I’ve got something you want?” he asks, to uching her hair falling forward as she bends close.

“Oh, do you ever.” She reaches to his hand still holding the paper. “Please let me read it.”

Jason shifts in the chair. Pulls his paper-clutching hand away from her, too. “Not yet,” he warns.

“Jason!” Maris stands now and backs up a step. “I’ve got our Christmas card all set in a mock. I’m almost ready to finalize and order!” She motions to the big computer on his desk. “Let me log in and show you.”

He agrees and gives up his seat. Maris sits now and types her username and password on the custom photo-printing site.

Clicks a few keys to maneuver to her account and open their custom-card image.

Finally, she rolls back his desk chair, stands and motions for him to sit again. “Check it out,” she says.

Jason does. And he’s actually taken aback at how good he and Maris both look on her custom-designed card mock.

Taken aback at their undeniable happiness.

At how subtly festive the house looks.

Even Maddy looks amazing beside them.

“This is incredible,” he quietly says, still scrutinizing the image while Maris stands beside him.

“See?” She reaches over and points to the mock card’s edging. “I color-coordinated the border. Doesn’t it look nice?”

“I’m floored, sweetheart.”

“But there’s still more for me to do,” she goes on. “Like pick from the font options for the front of the card. See where it says Happy Holidays?”

Jason nods.

“Well, I can use that really clean, straight font. Or…” Sh e pauses while highlighting the two words and switching to a more fluid, curved font. “I can go with something like that.”

“Huh.” He looks up at her beside him. “Tough call.”

“It is. And I decided to have it say Season’s Greetings there on the front. Instead of Happy Holidays. I just haven’t changed it yet on the mock.” She clicks open another tab. “I also have to pick things like the paper stock.”

“Go with the premium. Premium matte.”

“Okay. I thought so, too.” She clicks the appropriate box.

“ And I have to pick what’s on our custom envelope seals.

Things like that. I’m not even sure yet about what quantity to order.

” She steps back now and holds out an open hand.

“But once I input your message on the back of the card, I’ll be able to complete all this and get our order placed.

So,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Let me have it.”

Jason hesitates and rolls his padded chair a little away from her.

“What’s the matter?” Maris asks.

“Well, my message feels really… personal. So I’m kind of self-conscious, I guess.”

“Really?” She squints at him. “You?”

“Yeah.” He backs further away, folded message in hand, and stands now.

“Jason. Just give me that paper.”

“In a minute. But listen,” he goes on, looking over his shoulder toward his drafting table. “Don’t bother with dinner, okay?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He glances at his watch. “And you can read my message while I’m gone. ”

“Gone? Where are you going?”

“Delivering an initial design to my Stony Point ranch clients. I’m actually running late.

” He heads toward his drafting table. “When I’m done there, I’ll just swing by the diner.

Kyle won’t mind,” Jason tells her. At the drafting table, he lifts his faded denim jacket off the stool and puts it on. “Want anything special?”

“I’m not picky. Whatever he’s got cookin’.” Maris sits and pulls Jason’s padded chair in close to the desk. “Wow. This is great. I’ll get our cards finished right now.”

“You’re not going in the house?”

“No.” She glances at him, then clicks a tab on the computer screen. “I’m going to read your epic holiday message and finish this Christmas card right here on your computer. I’ll count the names on our mailing list, too, and place our final order.”

“Sounds good, Maris.” Jason shifts the shoulders of his denim jacket, then grabs his leather messenger bag from a nearby table and slips a few printed cottage designs inside it.

After hurrying back to his L-shaped desk, he also gets his cell phone, checks the time on it, and slips the phone in an exterior pocket on that messenger bag.

“I think I can make it to the diner before Kyle closes up. If not, I’ll grab us a Ronni’s pizza. ”

He stops then. Stops right beside Maris. Glances from the Christmas card image on the computer, to her. Hands her his folded message, leaves a gentle kiss on top of her head, turns and rushes to the double slider.

“Get a salad too, Jason!” he hears Maris’ voice call as he steps out into the backyard. “You need those greens!”