“Me too. It’s a great place to come and write. They’ll let me stay for hours if they aren’t busy. Sometimes Biscuit and I walk down here together. He’s notorious at every cafe around here for being a cookie mooch.”
“I’m glad you got him. I worry about you being on an island all year by yourself.”
“Don’t forget there’s a bridge over Deception Pass, so we aren’t completely cut off from the mainland, even in the worst of weather. I’m not up in the San Juans, where they lose power for days or weeks, and only get off the island by boat.”
“For a city girl like me, who can walk to four coffee places, this is remote.” Selah takes a sip of her coffee. “But the coffee is better.”
“Everything is better here.”
“Everything?” Selah looks skeptical. “How’s your love life? Forget that. When was the last time you had sex?”
“Wow. Cut to the chase much?”
“Sex and love are not mutually inclusive. You can do each without the other. Sometimes they are better that way. Answer the question.”
Maggie sighs. “Let me try to remember… I’m pretty sure it was since the millennium. Maybe even this decade.”
Selah growls. “Ha ha. You are very funny. Fine, don’t answer. If I were you, I’d be taking advantage of your eager neighbor next door. He seems more than willing, and able.”
“John and I are friends. I don’t fuck my friends,” Maggie replies.
“Why not? You’re both adults. Both single. Both healthy. Both gorgeous.”
“I’m not like you. I need the emotional connection as well as the physical. Otherwise I’m happier taking care of things on my own.”
“Thank fuck. I worry about you. I know the past three years haven’t been easy and you’re in mourning still, but I don’t want you locking yourself away in some virtual attic.”
“Like the first Mrs. Rochester in Jane Eyre? Nice. I’m not crazy. And I divorced my bastard of a husband more than a decade ago.”
“Again, thank fuck. I get the appeal of the French Incident, but you deserve better.”
“Funny, Gil said the same thing earlier today.” Maggie wonders if the two of them are in cahoots.
“We were all surprised when you brought him home with you. Never imagined you’d end up marrying him. He must have been a great fuck.”
“Not sure I want to go into my sex life with Julien, but yes, things in bed were always incredible with him. Well, until they weren’t. But early on, yeah…”
“Thought as much. All the French pheromones and the accent had your head spinning.”
Maggie sighs at the memory of young Julien seducing her. She’d never been seduced before him. It was a heady thing at the time. He wasn’t her first, but he was the first of many things.
“You might be right. Unfortunately, I learned sex and chemistry a long and healthy relationship do not necessarily guarantee.”
“I’m sure you don’t want my opinion on the matter, but I think he is a classic hunter personality. Once he captured his prey and played with it for a while, he moved on to the next hunt.”
“He never cheated on me, Selah. I know he had many flaws, but infidelity wasn’t one of them. His career became more important. Chef’s hours aren’t conducive to a happy home life. We hardly ever saw each other.”
“I’m not saying he did cheat. His crimes were taking you for granted and his despicable mother.”
“You have no idea. She would send baby presents to us. Subtlety wasn’t her forte.” Maggie puts down her fork, completely without an appetite to finish her salad.
“Ugh. Horrible, horrible woman.” Selah shakes her head, and then finishes her bagel.
“Why all the talk about Julien and Madame Armand?”
Selah picks up a caper from her plate. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re cloistering yourself away. You’re gorgeous, smart, successful, sexy… want me to go on?”
“Who’s cloistered? I’m not cloistered. As you pointed out, I have a hot neighbor who you think is ready and able at any time. I haven’t felt like myself for the last few years, so dating hasn’t even occurred to me. John is a good friend, and I don’t want to ruin the friendship with sex.” Maggie feels they are getting dangerously close to a sensitive subject.
“I’m fine, Selah. I swear. Spinster life suits me.” Maggie jokes, hoping to lighten the mood.
“But that’s the thing. You aren’t a spinster. You shouldn’t act like one. Find someone to have sex with. Nothing better for your mind, body and spirit than an orgasm with another person.”
Maggie tries to remember the last time she had sex. It was definitely before she moved back here. Or shortly after. Wait… has it been three years since she’s had sex? Ugh. Selah is right, she does need to get laid, but she isn’t going to admit this to her.
“I’m fine. I swear.”
“Have sex. You’ll feel better. Have sex with Gil. He seems willing and ready.” Selah teases.
“Ha ha, now I know you are joking.”
“I’m not joking. You and Gil have a great sexual energy. Always have. Well, until the French Incident. I think even after you met Julien, but you buried it under a mound of camembert.”
Distracted by the image of a giant pile of cheese, she ignores Selah’s point.
“All I’m saying, and I’m saying this with love, is I don’t want to watch you hide your life away on the beach. Love more, laugh more.”
“You sound like a greeting card.”
“Shoot me now. I can give you this whole speech again sans the treacle if you want.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I get the point. No hiding, get laid.”
“In a nutshell, yes. Ding ding ding… we have a winner.” Selah fakes enthusiasm.
“With the discussion of my non-existent sex life over, how about we go pick blackberries?”
“Will said berries be turned into delicious carbs? Cause if no one is going to get laid this weekend, we might as well eat all the carbs.”
* * *
When Maggie parks in the small, gravel area on the side of the narrow road, Selah’s face is full of doubt.
“Is this even legal? I don’t want to get arrested for stealing berries.”
“Completely legal. I know the people who own the land.” She hands Selah a plastic tub with a long loop of string through the top she pulled from the trunk of the car.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Put the string around your neck, so both hands are free to pick and eat berries.” Maggie puts her tub around her neck to demonstrate.
Selah shakes her head in disbelief. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”
“Because this is a good reminder of how much work goes into picking berries. You won’t complain about the price next time you buy them at Whole Foods,” Maggie says, walking toward the far end of the berry bramble.
“This could get tedious fast.” Selah eats a berry.
“Less eating, more picking. So, since we established I have no sex life, let’s talk about who you’re having sex with these days.”
Selah sighs. “No one. Clearly not Mr. Rochester. And I broke things off with Tom at the end of the spring semester. He wanted me to meet his kids and I didn’t envision us becoming that kind of relationship. People get locked into their lives by making lazy decisions. Then never get a second, or third, or fourth chance to get it right.”
“I get it. I never figured I’d be single and starting over in my forties either.”
“I know you miss your mom, but maybe this is all meant to be. Maybe this is your fresh start, your second chance.”
“Maybe. I am blessed to be here. This life is a gift no matter if it’s what I planned or not, since life rarely turns out the way we expect.”
“Sometimes it surprises us and is more than we imagined.” Selah tosses yet another berry into her mouth. “These are amazing.”
“I th
ink you’ve eaten more than you’ve picked.” Maggie stares into her half-full bucket, and then peers at Selah’s much emptier one.
“Isn’t that the point of picking your own?” Selah eats another couple of berries. Juice dribbles down her chin and her fingers are stained purple.
“If you keep eating them, we’ll be here all day, you know.”
“True. So getting back to life and second chances…”
“Yes?”
“How do you think John would be in bed?”
Maggie laughs.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because I swore you were going to mention Gil.”
Selah smirks. “Funny your mind would go to Gil.”
Maggie sticks out her tongue. “I never slept with John, let me remind you, so I can’t comment on his lovah skills.”
“Lovah skills?”
They both laugh.
“John does have big hands and big feet, and is tall. You’d think everything would be in proportion.”
“You would think, but it isn’t always the case. I wonder if he would be offended if I brought this up. I could say I need to know for research purposes.”
“What sort of research would require you to ask him if everything is in proportion?” Maggie asks.
“Ah, you underestimate me. I do teach about the human form in art. The Classical Greeks misrepresented the penis to keep things in ideal proportions.”
“So you’re going to ask John about his penis following ideal proportions?” Maggie giggles. “Good luck with that. He’s an island guy, Selah. You don’t just start talking about penises in polite company here.”
“Since when was I ever polite?” She eats another blackberry.
“True.” Maggie calculates they’ve picked about two healthy quarts of berries. “Let’s get you out of here before you turn purple like the Selah version of Violet Beauregard and the Oompa Loompas come to take you away.”
Ten
“Hello,” Maggie calls out as they walk into the house. Biscuit comes bounding down the hall to greet them.
“Hi, sweet boy.” She scratches his head.
Selah walks ahead of her with the bucket of berries and puts them on the counter. Gil’s sprawled out and sleeping on the couch with a book on his lap. Or at least he is until Biscuit hops up beside him and curls up at his side. After yawning and stretching, he scratches his jaw.
Turning away from Gil, Maggie turns on the sink to rinse the berries, then lays out a towel on the counter to dry them before she’ll put them into the freezer for dessert tomorrow night.
“I guess I fell asleep.” Gil yawns again.
“Hi, sleepy head,” Selah greets him with a wave.
“Sorry we woke you up. Looks like Biscuit took advantage of a new guest and napped with you on the sofa.” Maggie gives Biscuit a scolding look.
“Hey. Sorry about the dog on the couch. I didn’t know.”
“He isn’t banned from the furniture, but I try not to encourage him. There’s a perfectly good bed by the wood stove.”
Gil scratches Biscuit’s head. “Nice to have a dog around.”
“You should get a dog,” Selah suggests, pouring a glass of water, then joining Gil on the sofa.
“I should. I could probably even bring him to campus with me. Be the cool professor with the dog.”
“Dog, bow tie, patched corduroy jacket… you’d be the hot professor fantasy come to life,” Maggie says.
Gil smirks at her. “Hot professor fantasy? Want to share something?”
Maggie blushes, realizing what she’s said. She reminds herself about Gil’s girlfriend. Maybe girlfriend.
“Yeah, um. Doesn’t everyone have one at some point?”
“No bow tie fantasies for me.” She shakes her head.
“Me neither,” Gil adds. “Now that the hipsters have claimed them, bow ties have been ruined for us stodgy, middle-aged professors anyway. Damn hipsters.”
“Speaking of hipsters, where’s Quinn?” Maggie asks.
“He’s outside playing Peter Pan.”
Maggie walks over to the screen door and spies Quinn on the beach with a group of tween and teen boys. They’re building something out of driftwood.
“What are they making?” Selah asks, craning her neck from her favorite spot on the sofa.
“I’m not entirely certain. Quinn seems to be in charge and is using the kids for manual labor.” Maggie steps out on the deck to get a closer look.
Quinn sits on a large driftwood log above the high water mark and directs a band of kids in constructing something from pieces of driftwood.
“Hey Q, whatcha doin’?” Maggie asks as she walks down the stairs to the beach.
“Hey, Magpie. I’m building a driftwood dog. The original design was a horse, but we had some issues with height. I should’ve hired taller assistants.”
“Hired? Are you paying them?” Maggie sits next to Quinn. She watches the boys trying to balance a small log on top of a growing pile of logs and sticks that could possibly be a dog, if you knew it was a dog ahead of time.
“Technically, no one is getting paid.”
“Hey Mr. Dayton, where should I put this one?” One of the smaller boys asks, holding a long, flat piece of wood.
“Save that one for the head.”
“Mr. Dayton?” Maggie raises an eyebrow.
“He told me his mother didn’t let him call adults by their first names. Can you believe it?” He leans closer to Maggie’s ear and whispers, “Kiss ass.”
She laughs.
“How was lunch and berry picking?”
“Both were fun. Selah ate more berries than she picked, but I enjoyed the company. How about you guys?”
“Gil and I foraged for food for lunch, then he started reading. I came out here and wrangled up a work force.”
“Hey guys.” Gil walks up and joins them on their log. “Are they making a crocodile?”
“It’s a dog,” Maggie says like it’s obvious.
“A dog? Really. Are we sure? What happened to the driftwood Trojan horse, Q?”
“Overzealous design and untrained workers required some scaling back.” Quinn gets up to adjust a few small pieces and places the flat piece of wood on top for the head. He steps back to admire his work.
“Do you see the dog?” Gil whispers, leaning closer to Maggie.
She can feel his warm breath on her neck and smell his clean, summer scent.
“Not at all.” She turns to whisper back and realizes Gil is still leaning toward her.
“You smell like berries,” he whispers, his gaze dancing across her face.
They both blink at each other for a beat longer before Maggie pulls back.
“I still think it resembles a crocodile.” He stretches out his legs and digs his feet into the warm sand.
“Since Q is our very own Peter Pan, a crocodile makes more sense. We should put a clock in its mouth.”
“Wasn’t Hook afraid of the crocodile? Not Peter Pan? Archenemy and all?” Gil furrows his brow.
“I’m trying to remember the Barrie version of Peter Pan, but can’t stop picturing Dustin Hoffman in a terrible wig.” Maggie tries to recall the meaning of the clock.
“I think the whole thing was about fearing, accepting, or avoiding growing up.”
“I’d say Q was in the latter category, avoidance.”
“What about you? Do you fear or accept it?” Gil asks, sounding genuinely interested.
“I think I accept it now, but try to avoid being old. Growing up and growing old don’t need to be the same thing. I’m not ready for the walker and eating dinner at four-thirty. What about you?”
“I think I’ve been old for a while now. Or at least I feel old some days. Some days I swear I’m still twenty. Or maybe twenty-five,” Gil replies.
“Me too. It’s weird.”
“It is weird how it all works.” Gil draws random sha
pes in the sand with a stick, then erases them.
“I feel like we’re all essentially the same, with a few more battle scars and war wounds. Then I see friends’ kids, and think ‘how did they get so big’, and it kind of freaks me out.”
“Why do you freak out?”
“They’ve been growing and having all sorts of firsts in their lives. And my life is more of the same pretty much day in and day out.”
“You went through a lot of grown-up things over the past few years, too.” He stops drawing and puts his hand on her shoulder.
Gil’s touch is soothing and sweet. Still, underneath Maggie feels a familiar heat where his hand touches her skin. She reaches up and covers his hand with hers, and gives it a squeeze.
“I have. We’ve all gone through some pretty big grown-up things in the past five years.”
Gil pulls away and goes back to his drawing in the sand.
Maggie forgets all about Quinn and the Lost Boys while she and Gil are talking. Looking up, she sees they’re standing around admiring their work, which now looks much more like a dog.
“It is a dog!”
“I told you so.” Quinn acts put out. “When are you two going to believe me when I speak the truth?”
“Now the show’s over, who wants a beer?” Maggie asks as she gets up from the log and dusts off the sand from her butt and legs.
“Me,” says one of Quinn’s workers.
“How old are you?” Gil asks him.
“Twelve.”
“Nice try.” Maggie laughs as she and Gil walk back up to the deck. Quinn hands out high-fives to the boys and follows behind them.
Selah sits in the shade of the table umbrella, texting on her phone. “Sounds like Ben and Jo won’t get here until late. Ben says we shouldn’t plan on them for dinner, but if we go out to leave them a key. They might want to crash.”
“So, four for dinner? That works. We can go to Prima Bistro or Cafe Langley, then drinks at the Doghouse,” Maggie suggests.
“Sounds good. Selah, you want a beer?” Gil asks as he heads inside.
“Sure, why not.”
“Me too,” Maggie calls out. “Quinn can drive tonight.”
“I can drive where?” Quinn kicks the sand off his feet as he walks up the stairs.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 7