his position? “So what position do you have now?” Wally asked hesitantly.
“Well, little brother, I’m a businessman—real estate—Boston right now.” He clapped Wally’s shoulder, gave it a proprietary shove, and looked him up and down. “And you’re looking pretty good yourself.” He glanced down at Wally’s boots. “You lobstering like our old man?” He said it with good humor, but in the old days Jem had little good to say about the man who’d raised him.
Wally shrugged and gave his head a little shake. “Now and then, when I’m not building or repairing something, I hire on with Todd Butler’s crew. Got my own boat; Todd lets me tie up at his place.” His boat was a simple peapod, but he’d bought it with his own money, and she was a tight little craft. He said nothing about searching the bay for birds; Jem would likely consider that a sissy thing to do.
“Old Todd made good for himself,” Jem said tersely, “but having your brother as the mayor can’t hurt.”
For having been away so long, Jem had a remarkable memory for names and events. Wally stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and felt his balled-up fists, a sign of the old tension he used to feel around Jem. Wally always craved his respect, but at the same time he distrusted him. He looked up and saw the sun glinting on Jem’s black hair that still dipped over his left eyebrow. “Been a long time,” he said.
“You still work for the old lady who owns that big Victorian house on Ocean Drive?”
“Mrs. Holden passed away; her granddaughter owns it now.” He paused. “So what brings you to Stony Point?”
Jem stopped, drew in a long breath, and looked back toward the lighthouse, the marina and the bay, golden with molten sunshine. “Yeah,” he said in a dreamy exhalation, “it has been a while, but the old place looks the same. Maybe a bit more prosperous. Lobstering and tourism ain’t been half bad, seems like.” As they gazed over the well-trimmed lawns, the neat shops, the clean boardwalks, and the busy beaches, Wally felt pride in his hometown.
“We do all right,” Wally said. “Summer people spread the word; seems like we get more every year.” He waited for an answer to his question. Why had Jem turned up now?
“I tell you, little brother,” Jem began with a slow drawl. “Real estate’s in a bit of a slump right now, so I thought it would be a good time to get a little R and R. And why not good old Stony Point? Catch up with my kin.” Jem rubbed his jaw. “Is the Shark’s Head still around? I sure could use a drink.”
Wally hadn’t touched a drop since he and Peggy had gotten married. But not staying sober had a lot to do with the accident that put him in Stony Point General for six weeks where he’d had time to think about where his life was going. Reverend Wallace had told him God was watching out for him and that there was a reason for everything. Wouldn’t Jem get a good laugh out of that! Church and God were topics for old ladies, he’d say, not for real men.
“I gotta get home,” Wally said uncomfortably. He moved on toward his truck parked in the shade along Cedar Street. He had retrieved it after Peggy had finished her shift. “Peggy will be waiting supper.” He fished for his keys with fingers still stiff from balling his fists. He wasn’t about to have a drink with Jem or anybody. In the old days they had sometimes swiped bottles from his dad’s stash—but those were the old days.
“So you’re married now, little brother?”
Wally winced over the “little brother” bit. You’d think they were still kids instead of grown men in their thirties. “Best thing I ever did. We have a little girl; name’s Emily.” Jem would remember Peggy from high school since she lived next door, but Peggy never asked about him. There were a lot of the old locals who would remember Jeremiah Carson, certainly. “And what about you, Jem? You have a family?”
“Me?” Jem quipped, as
“Well, little brother, I’m a businessman—real estate—Boston right now.” He clapped Wally’s shoulder, gave it a proprietary shove, and looked him up and down. “And you’re looking pretty good yourself.” He glanced down at Wally’s boots. “You lobstering like our old man?” He said it with good humor, but in the old days Jem had little good to say about the man who’d raised him.
Wally shrugged and gave his head a little shake. “Now and then, when I’m not building or repairing something, I hire on with Todd Butler’s crew. Got my own boat; Todd lets me tie up at his place.” His boat was a simple peapod, but he’d bought it with his own money, and she was a tight little craft. He said nothing about searching the bay for birds; Jem would likely consider that a sissy thing to do.
“Old Todd made good for himself,” Jem said tersely, “but having your brother as the mayor can’t hurt.”
For having been away so long, Jem had a remarkable memory for names and events. Wally stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and felt his balled-up fists, a sign of the old tension he used to feel around Jem. Wally always craved his respect, but at the same time he distrusted him. He looked up and saw the sun glinting on Jem’s black hair that still dipped over his left eyebrow. “Been a long time,” he said.
“You still work for the old lady who owns that big Victorian house on Ocean Drive?”
“Mrs. Holden passed away; her granddaughter owns it now.” He paused. “So what brings you to Stony Point?”
Jem stopped, drew in a long breath, and looked back toward the lighthouse, the marina and the bay, golden with molten sunshine. “Yeah,” he said in a dreamy exhalation, “it has been a while, but the old place looks the same. Maybe a bit more prosperous. Lobstering and tourism ain’t been half bad, seems like.” As they gazed over the well-trimmed lawns, the neat shops, the clean boardwalks, and the busy beaches, Wally felt pride in his hometown.
“We do all right,” Wally said. “Summer people spread the word; seems like we get more every year.” He waited for an answer to his question. Why had Jem turned up now?
“I tell you, little brother,” Jem began with a slow drawl. “Real estate’s in a bit of a slump right now, so I thought it would be a good time to get a little R and R. And why not good old Stony Point? Catch up with my kin.” Jem rubbed his jaw. “Is the Shark’s Head still around? I sure could use a drink.”
Wally hadn’t touched a drop since he and Peggy had gotten married. But not staying sober had a lot to do with the accident that put him in Stony Point General for six weeks where he’d had time to think about where his life was going. Reverend Wallace had told him God was watching out for him and that there was a reason for everything. Wouldn’t Jem get a good laugh out of that! Church and God were topics for old ladies, he’d say, not for real men.
“I gotta get home,” Wally said uncomfortably. He moved on toward his truck parked in the shade along Cedar Street. He had retrieved it after Peggy had finished her shift. “Peggy will be waiting supper.” He fished for his keys with fingers still stiff from balling his fists. He wasn’t about to have a drink with Jem or anybody. In the old days they had sometimes swiped bottles from his dad’s stash—but those were the old days.
“So you’re married now, little brother?”
Wally winced over the “little brother” bit. You’d think they were still kids instead of grown men in their thirties. “Best thing I ever did. We have a little girl; name’s Emily.” Jem would remember Peggy from high school since she lived next door, but Peggy never asked about him. There were a lot of the old locals who would remember Jeremiah Carson, certainly. “And what about you, Jem? You have a family?”
“Me?” Jem quipped, as
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