“It was?” She sounds insecure and unsure.
“Of course it was. Some of my fondest memories are with this group of people.” Feeling bold, he adds, “Some of my best memories are with you specifically. I wouldn’t change those for anything.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you agree? I mean, I’m not one of those types who had their glory days in high school or college, and feel like everything since then has been downhill. But everything was bigger… more, back then. Everything felt deeper, more important when we were in our twenties.”
“Probably the undeveloped frontal lobe or something.” Maggie jokes.
“Maybe. Some feelings become deeply ingrained and never fade, even with time.” He squeezes her arm.
“Maybe,” is all she can get out.
“No maybes about it for me,” Gil says, looking into her eyes.
She blinks and he squeezes her arm again, then steps away from the door. The rest of the group walks in and busies themselves gathering their stuff to leave.
Unspoken words bounce around his head as they head out to the car.
Fourteen
Maggie hooks on Biscuit’s leash when they pile out of Ben’s rented SUV in the parking lot of the trail-head. After Selah and Gil crawl out from the back row, Maggie giggles over the thought that they all resemble clowns getting out of a tiny car.
Gil stretches his arms over his head, then tugs at Maggie’s French braid. “So, island girl, where do we go?”
She points at the trail marker and starts walking in that direction. “We’ll head north up the bluff first.”
Gil walks beside Maggie and Biscuit leads the way up the trail through the tall grass. The rest of the group follows behind, with Selah and Jo trailing last, having an in-depth conversation about gray nail polish.
The trail narrows at the top of the hill as they approach the tree line, so they walk in a single line, with Gil following Maggie.
Wondering if his eyes are on her, she teases, “Are you looking at my ass?”
Gil laughs, knowing he’s been caught. “I’m so busted. I was just admiring your strong leg muscles from running.”
“Uh huh. Leg muscles.” To taunt and tease him, she wiggles her ass, and peeks over her shoulder at him.
“Are you trying to kill me, Maggie May?”
“Maybe.” She giggles. Flirting with him is like floating, effortless once she relaxes.
Sweat dampens her neck from the sun’s strong rays. She hands Biscuit’s leash to Gil, then pulls her long-sleeve shirt over her head, and feels a light breeze on her stomach and breasts. Her face warms when she realizes she’s pulled both shirts over her head.
“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Gil softly groans as she tugs her T-shirt back down.
Her head pops back out when she finally pulls off the thermal. “Sorry about that.”
When she sees Gil staring at her chest, her face heats more while she ties her thermal around her waist.
Even though he’s wearing aviators, she can tell where he is looking. Her breasts are fuller now than they were in college. He rubs his neck and pushes his hand through the back of his hair. Maggie smiles at his familiar gesture that reveals his discomfort. Her eyes wander down his shirt-and-shorts covered frame, stopping when she notices a telltale bulge. Oh my, she thinks.
When she raises her eyes up, he waves her to face forward and continue walking. “Nothing to see here. Let’s keep going.”
“I wouldn’t say nothing.” Maggie flirts, seeing it’s Gil’s turn to have his face redden
“What’s the hold up?” Ben asks as the rest of the group stops behind them.
“Nothing,” both Maggie and Gil say at the same time.
“Then carry on.” Ben suspiciously glances between them.
After hiking along the bluff, Selah wants to wander over to the old cemetery. The goth girl in her still has a thing for death and headstone epitaphs. Selah convinces Quinn to join her, and they link arms as they walk away.
The others beachcomb while Biscuit plays in the small waves. Gil finds a stick-size piece of driftwood and tries to get Biscuit to fetch. The attempt becomes a game of Biscuit watching Gil running back and forth fetching the stick, which amuses Maggie. She laughs at Gil.
Jo walks over to Maggie, who scans the beach for wishing rocks. “It’s good to see you laugh again. The past few years sucked.”
Maggie gives Jo a one-armed hug. “Thanks. It’s amazing to laugh and feel light after so much darkness and death, like the sun is out again after a long rain.” Her gaze wanders over to Gil.
“I wonder if the sun has a name.”
Maggie realizes she’s been staring. “I’m happy to be with all of you. Old friends are the best. No need to explain yourself, you can just be.”
“Uh, huh. You don’t get a dreamy expression when you look at me or anyone else.” Jo nudges her with her elbow.
“Hmmm, maybe.”
“What’s going on with you two anyway?”
Maggie bends down to pick up a beach rock with a white circle. The ring doesn’t connect on the bottom, so she tosses the rock down on the sand.
“I’m not sure. This is the first time we’ve seen each other in years. It’s nice to hang out with him again. I’d forgotten what an amazing guy he is. So easy to be with.”
“And single.”
“I don’t know if Gil is single. What happened to the girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend? You need to verify your information with him, since you refuse to join the world of social media world. I was surprised there isn’t a rotary phone at the cabin.”
“There’s a rotary phone in my bedroom left over from my grandparents.”
Jo laughs. “This place really is a time capsule.”
One of the things she loves best about living here is the timeless beauty. Maggie stares out over the water toward the dormant volcano of Mt. Rainier in the distance. Closer, a large container ship moves out to sea with cargo destined for faraway ports.
“Slowing down and not being a slave to consumer living are good things,” Maggie says.
“Cutting yourself off from the world and letting life move past you are not.” Jo’s words are clearly about more than the island. “You are an amazing woman. You can’t hide away on an island for the rest of your life. You’re young, beautiful, fit, sexy—stop trying to deny who you are.”
“Aw, thank you for the compliments, but I’m not hiding away. I write reviews and articles read around the world. I’m very international. In fact, I might be up for a big magazine assignment for my former editor that could push me to the next level.” She picks up a small rock with a whole circle and rubs off the sand. She holds it in her hand as they walk, gently stroking its smooth surface.
“Your work isn’t hiding, but you are.”
“Lumberjack John is right next door.”
“Yes, but you’ll never have a real relationship with him. What is he? Twenty-eight? He’s a child.”
“He’s thirty-two, and hardly a child. It’s good to flirt with someone who brings me food and wood, and can change a light bulb. What more do I need?”
“Maggie, you know I love you, but life is short. Lizzy reminds us of that. I want to see you happy and whole.” Jo’s exasperation comes out in her words.
“Meaning married with kids and the whole shebang? We don’t all get the American dream wrapped up in a neat box with a pretty bow. Not all of us want the box or the bow.”
“Sometimes the pretty box is more of a cage. I’m not saying you need the kids and the ring on your finger to be happy. Lord knows it doesn’t guarantee happiness.” Jo’s eyes drift over to Ben. “But I think life is better when you have love. Not a friendly neighbor, or old friends kind of love either, but a love that causes your heart to race and your toes to curl.”
Maggie glances back toward Biscuit and Gil playing behind them in the distance. B
en sits on a large driftwood log tapping away on his phone. They’ve walked further than she realized.
“Does anyone still have that kind of love at our age? Do you and Ben?”
“Some people do. Sometimes it’s more a day or even an hour of happy, giddy love. Ben and I have our moments. It’s hard with the kids and his career. But yeah, he can still make my heart race.”
Maggie tucks her arm into Jo’s as they walk. “I’m happy to hear that. You two have been together forever. I would hate to think what was once a great passion is only an ember now.”
“I’ll be honest, most of the time it’s the ember. But every now and again the fire reignites. The trick is to keep the ember alive. You can’t have a roaring fire every day.”
“No, not a roaring fire. Especially not in front of the children.” Maggie chuckles.
“Fires and children aside, everyone needs love in their lives. Real love between lovers. Not friend, parent, child, or even dog love.”
Maggie knows what she means. She’s shut that part of her heart off for so long.
“Life’s messy, with no guarantees, but you still need to live and love. None of us know how long we have here.”
“That’s the truth. Mom’s death reminded me of that and it’s why I sold her share of the bakery. It wasn’t my passion. But her death is also why I’m here on the island. And being here makes me happy in ways living in the city, with its paper dragon wealth chase, never did. I can live more in the moment.”
The two of them reach the others gathered on the beach. Gil has joined Ben on the log. A wet and sandy Biscuit happily chews on a stick at Gil’s feet.
“No more speeches from me,” Jo whispers in Maggie’s ear. “Know I love you and I want you to be happy. I also love Gil.” Jo kisses her cheek.
Maggie is overwhelmed by her friend’s love. She hadn’t realized how much she misses all of them. Her eyes water with a few tears, so she looks down at the driftwood.
Stacked next to Gil are six wishing rocks. They are perfectly balanced from large to small. He sees her looking at them and smiles.
She smiles back. “You found wishing rocks?” she asks even though she knows what they are.
“Yeah, I thought we could all make a wish with them. Or you could hoard them for later.” He winks.
Quinn and Selah stroll over to the group.
“No one is hoarding my wish,” Quinn says and takes the top rock.
“How does this work again? Do we rub three times and a genie pops out?” Selah picks up a rock.
“Ha ha, no. You close your eyes, make a wish, and throw it into the water. Some people try skipping them if they are flat enough.” Maggie grabs a rock.
“What do we wish for?” Ben eyes the rock in his hand.
“Anything you want. But you can’t tell or it won’t come true.” Maggie walks over to the water. Her friends join her, each holding their own rock.
“Like birthday wishes?” Ben sounds skeptical as he tosses and catches his rock.
“Like all wishes you want to come true, Ben. Where’s your faith?” Jo asks.
Gil throws his rock into the water first. It skips with three bounces before disappearing.
“That was quick,” Ben observes.
“I know exactly what I want to come true.” Gil smirks.
Maggie hears the splashes of the other rocks. She is the last to make her wish. Closing her eyes, she kisses the rock before throwing it into the cold water.
“What did you wish for, Maggie May?” Gil asks.
“Oh, I’m not telling. I want this one to come true.” She winks at him.
Fifteen
Ben makes the short drive into downtown Coupeville following Maggie’s directions. After parking in the shade and leaving the windows open for Biscuit, they stroll down the main street, which cannot escape being called quaint with its white clapboard storefronts. Sitting directly on Penn Cove makes this the best place for the famous mussels of the same name.
Maggie directs them to her favorite tavern. The wood walls are decorated in a medley of photographs and island trinkets. The most stunning decoration is a large bison head over the doorway to the bathrooms.
They pile into a red Naugahyde upholstered booth surrounded by picture windows overlooking the water and a rock-strewn beach below.
“Always nice to know exactly where your food comes from.” Ben points out the window at the floating mussel farm.
“Unless it’s a hamburger, then no thank you,” Jo says.
“Seeing your steak before eating is so The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” Selah shakes her head in disgust. “Those lobster tanks always freak me out. I want to liberate them all.”
“Didn’t Quinn do that in college? He liberated something in the dining hall,” Ben says.
“What was it? A big banner was involved, I remember.” Gil says, stretching his arm behind Maggie’s shoulders in the booth.
“You old people and your lack of memories. It was a Cesar Chavez project. I was protesting grapes.”
“I swear lettuce was involved,” Maggie adds, enjoying Gil’s closeness.
“I thought lettuce, too,’” Selah muses.
“Wait, maybe you’re right,” Quinn admits. “It all had to do with migrant workers and apartheid.”
“Kind of a stretch, don’t you think?” Ben asks.
“Everything in 1989 was about apartheid and Free Nelson Mandela,” Quinn explains.
“First, the Berlin Wall came down, and a few months later, Nelson Mandela being freed, those were heady times,” Ben adds.
“Don’t forget Bush 41 in office, setting up for the Bush dynasty, and W,” Gil says.
“Such a history professor,” Quinn comments.
“Politics have never been my area of research or teaching.”
“Politics are everyone’s area,” Selah interjects.
“Let’s not have the politics conversation.” Maggie attempts to keep the peace.
“Oh, Maggie, we’re not going to remind Ben about his love for Bob Dole in ‘92.” Gil teases.
“Not really ‘love’ for Dole. I can admit Clinton was great for the economy with all the banking deregulation he passed.” Ben looks smug.
“The young Republicans were the hottest guys on campus. Must have been the suits,” Jo muses.
“All ten of them,” Gil reminds her.
“Were there even ten? Counting Ben?” Quinn asks. “Evergreen is a capital ‘L’ Liberal college.”
“Ha ha.” Ben fake laughs. “Yes, more than ten of us. Lots of people who wished they could have voted for Reagan. Curse us for being born too late.”
“You must have been devastated when he died,” Quinn says with a straight face. “Ryan and I threw a big party. It was like a scene from Point Break or a Dead Presidents show with all the Reagan masks.”
Jo laughs. “Ben was depressed for a week, walking around moaning about the glory days of the Republican Party. You’ll be shocked to know we both voted for Obama in ‘08.”
Everyone, but Jo and Ben, sits with their mouths agape. His college nickname, Alex P. Keaton, suits him to this day. Fiscal conservative to his core, Maggie still can’t figure out how he chose such a hippie school as Evergreen.
“Thanks, Jo. My reputation is ruined. I just couldn’t vote for Palin on the ticket. Her supersonic, long distance vision super-power scared me. Who can see Russia from Anchorage? She must be a cyborg.” Ben shudders.
The waitress interrupts Ben. They order a pitcher of Toby’s Parrot Red Ale along with a couple pots of mussels in white wine broth with crusty bread.
“Anyone want some oysters?” Maggie offers. “They’re good here.”
“Oysters, eh?” Gil looks at her and smirks.
Maggie smirks back at him.
“Sure. I love oysters. Let’s get a dozen,” Jo speaks up.
“None for me,” Selah says.
“No? I’d have t
hought you would love swallowing the briny goodness.” Quinn pokes her side.
“You would think. It’s a texture thing as much as a taste thing.”
“Interesting. The queen of pirate smut doesn’t like to swallow.”
Thankfully the waitress walks out of hearing range during Quinn and Selah’s conversation.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Somehow we all get together and we revert to being adolescents again,” she comments, shaking her head.
“Speak for yourselves, I’m the mother of adolescents,” Jo points out.
“Eek!” Selah says, and they all laugh.
Their pitcher and food arrive. The cold beer and icy oysters are the perfect thing to cool down with after the hike and time in the sun.
When nothing is left but bowls of empty mussel shells and small puddles of broth at the bottom of the pots, they roll themselves out of the booth, and walk out into the sun.
Beer at lunch makes Maggie sleepy, so she rests her head on Gil’s shoulder in the back of the SUV and falls asleep almost instantly.
Feeling Maggie sag against him, Gil gently extends his arm behind her along the seat back, and she snuggles further into his side in her sleep.
Selah turns in her seat to say something and sees Maggie sleeping. “You two make a cozy pair.”
At her words, Jo also turns to face Gil and Maggie.
“Are you going to dance around her all weekend or tell her you’ve been pining for her for ages?” Jo asks.
Gil gazes down at sleeping Maggie. “I just got back into her life, I don’t want to scare her away with some grand gesture.”
Selah and Jo look at each other and roll their eyes. “You know she’ll never make the first move,” Selah states as fact. “She has her walls up. You’ll need to break them down, Gil. She’s firmly ensconced here in her hidey-hole like a clam.”
Gil strokes Maggie’s golden-copper hair. Soft curls have come out of her braid and frame her face. Sleeping, she looks exactly like the girl who got away all those years ago. Her soft snoring is endearing.
“Maybe you should start by telling her the truth about how you waited for her to come back from France,” Jo softly suggests.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 11