A pair of gloved hands worked to pull a broken tile out from its position on the roof of the old beach house. They struggled with it momentarily, their owner grunting and groaning until the tile broke into two smaller pieces and came away easily.
Andy struggled to maintain his balance on the roof, until he put one hand back and steadied himself. He cursed, then calmed himself, forcing air out from between his teeth. Tossing the tile to one side, Andy scooted across the roof to a neat stack of replacement tiles and retrieved one. He paused for a moment, removed his cap and took in the view of the ocean before him. He smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun against his face and the cooling sea breeze against his skin.
Below him, on the ground beside the beach house, Sonya pushed a wheel barrow filled with a variety of seedlings into view and pulled it up next to a freshly prepared flower bed that lined the driveway. Setting them down in her desired positions on the bed, Sonya stepped back and appraised how the seedlings looked there, then turned around, hearing the tapping of a mallet up on the roof. Lifting the brim of her sun hat, she smiled up at Andy. He returned her smile with his own, seeing love in her eyes.
Simon barked nearby and Andy shifted on the roof to spy the dog running and jumping in the long grass down by the sand, chasing a throng of butterflies that floated above him, tantalizingly close but frustratingly just out of his reach.
The sound of a car horn issued from behind them and Andy and Sonya turned to see a burgundy hatchback pull into the driveway from the road and stop just before the house. Its doors opened, and Lionel and Ruth stepped out. Lionel waved as Ruth lifted a picnic basket from the car.
Sonya returned Lionel’s wave just as the telephone rang from inside the beach house. Casting off her gardening gloves, Sonya shoved them down inside the front pocket of her apron and skipped up the steps to the porch, into the house. In the hallway, she stepped past a pair of guitars resting on their stands beside the telephone table: a pristine Simon Marty concert guitar and the Vincente Carillo guitar with the single hole in its body. Standing against the wall ahead of her, waiting to be hung, was a framed poster of Andy - the art from his debut album. Picking up the handset, Sonya smiled warmly at the voice on the other end.
Andy looked down from his vantage point on the roof as Sonya came into view. She was holding the phone out towards him.
“It’s your father, Dev.”
Andy set the mallet in his hand down on the roof next to the newly positioned tile and wiped his brow with his forearm.
He glanced down at her.
“Which one?” he asked wryly.
Sonya laughed softly and they shared a knowing smile.