Geoducks are for Lovers

by Prescott, Daisy

  Chewing on her thumbnail, Maggie listens to him, trying to agree with him. It sounds like a good, logical plan, but her mind and her heart are anything but logical right now. She wants to be cool. She wants to beg him to stay. A tug of war rages between her head and her heart so she says nothing.

  “Nod if you agree,” Gil breaks into her thoughts.

  Nodding, she follows him outside where the others are gathered around the cars, waiting to say good-bye. Anxiety makes her heart race. “I hate goodbyes. I’m going to say that now.” She stands up straight and squares her shoulders as she faces her friends.

  Selah comes over first and hugs her. “Sweet girl, I know. Be kind to yourself. Nothing has to be figured out today,” she whispers in Maggie’s ear before stepping back.

  Hugging everyone and thanking them for coming is almost more than she can handle. Promises are made to see each other at the reunion. Even knowing she’ll be with them in a few weeks doesn’t help. She doesn’t want them to go.

  The last person not in a car is Gil. He steps forward and kisses her at the corner of her mouth. Opening her palm, he places something warm and hard in her hand before closing her fingers around it.

  “In case you forget and need a reminder.”

  Glancing down, she sees a perfect wishing rock. When she looks back up, Gil is getting in the car and everyone waves their goodbyes as they depart.

  After closing his door, Gil sees her bring the rock up to her mouth and kiss it before closing her eyes. He wonders if she made a wish and what her wish might be.

  “What did you give Maggie from your pocket?” Selah asks as she turns toward the main road.

  “What she needs most. Hope and faith.”

  Twenty-eight

  Walking back into the house, Maggie expects to enjoy the quiet and return to normal. Instead, she looks around, seeing emptiness and hearing the overwhelming silence. She whistles for Biscuit and grabs her keys. Coffee, she needs coffee.

  When she gets into the car, she realizes she’s still holding Gil’s wishing rock, so she places it on the dashboard. Seeing it makes her smile, and her heart clenches in a sweet, but painful way. Sweet Gil.

  No one is in line at Fellowship of the Bean as she pulls up in Bessie. Biscuit barks a greeting to Jonah from his position as co-pilot.

  “Hey guys,” Jonah greets them while handing Maggie a squirrel-shaped dog cookie.

  “Hiya. Can I get an iced mocha, light on the syrup?”

  Jonah gives her a look. “I know how you take your mochas, Maggie.”

  “Right, of course.” She smiles at him.

  “Distracted? Where’s the merry band of fools you were with yesterday?”

  “Sitting in the ferry line probably. They all left a little while ago.”

  “House too quiet for you?” Inside the tiny building, Jonah focuses on the espresso machine in front of him.

  Maggie scrunches up her face. Does everyone read her so well? “Yeah, I guess. Plus, we had a pitcher of Bloody Caesars with brunch. If I drink alcohol early in the day, I need a nap. I’m hoping the caffeine will tide me over for a bit.”

  “I hear you. Was over in town last night to see a steampunk band and missed the last boat. Had to drive around and didn’t get home until three o’clock. My ass is dragging today.” He finishes her drink. “Whip?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Whip kind of mood. Sure you only needed the caffeine?” He winks at her.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. The house is quiet. My life is quiet. Being around old friends made me think about stuff, you know?”

  “I do. You know where to find me if you ever need an ear. Or to think about stuff out loud. I’ve learned a lot about people and human nature standing in this hut.”

  “I can only imagine. You must have all the dirt on everyone. You’re practically a drive-up gossip booth.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Jonah laughs, and then shudders. “Here’s your mocha. You and Biscuit should take a drive, enjoy the sun. Heard the rain is coming back this week.”

  Maggie hasn’t paid attention to the news or weather report this weekend. She groans. “It is? Already?”

  “Yeah, for a couple of days. Or so they say. Don’t want to freak people out that summer is almost over.”

  “Hush. We have another month of summer, according to the ferry schedule and the calendar.”

  “Oh, I’m not wanting the season to be over. I’ll cut my hours come November. Thinking about heading down to Mexico for a few weeks over winter.”

  “Eek. No coffee hut coffee? You’re my salvation.” Maggie frowns.

  “Never fear, you won’t be cut off from coffee entirely. Red Cat will be open and I won’t be gone forever. You can survive a few weeks without me.”

  Jonah’s “few weeks” comment reminds Maggie of the upcoming reunion. Reunion. Gil. She bites her lip thinking about him and his parting words.

  “Earth to Maggie.” Jonah waves his hand outside the hut.

  “Hey, sorry.” She reaches for her purse and realizes she doesn’t have it. Or her wallet. “Um, oops. I don’t have any money on me.”

  “You’re out of it. No problem. Pay me tomorrow. Or this week. Or whenever. You’re good for it.” After making a note on a pad next to the register, he smiles at her. “Maybe you need a nap more than you think.”

  “Sorry. Thinking about the weekend. I’ll get you the money this week.”

  Looking in her rear-view mirror, she spots a car waiting behind her. “I’m holding up the line. I’ll catch you later. Thanks for the coffee.” She waves and puts Bessie into gear.

  “Drive or a walk with Babe?” She asks Biscuit. He barks his excitement, but she isn’t sure to which part. “Babe?” Biscuit barks again and lifts his paw.

  “Babe it is. You must be pining.”

  Driving past the fields on the way to the beach road, Maggie can see clouds gathering beyond the sun dappled water. It’s been so dry and sunny here, she actually misses the rain. A good rainy day will suit her mood.

  * * *

  The ferry line slowly edges down the hill to the dock. Based on their location, Gil figures they should be waiting two more boats. Once they come to another stop and Selah turns off the engine again, Quinn gets out of the car to investigate an ice cream slash coffee shop.

  “How does he stay slim?” Selah asks the car in general.

  “Freakish metabolism,” Ryan answers from the back seat of her Explorer. “Bastard.”

  She laughs. “Bastard is right. He eats nothing but crap.”

  “I swear he burns it all off with creative thinking. Or something.” He winks.

  Gil zones out in the front passenger seat, holding his phone. He has a full signal, and knows he should check voicemail and his texts. Instead he scrolls through some of the pictures he took this weekend—casual snapshots taken when no one was paying attention. There are a few of Quinn’s Trojan dog and the Lost Boys, but his favorites are of Maggie laughing—the red in her hair flaming in the sunlight. She is a glorious thing to behold with her head thrown back and her eyes shut in full laughter.

  Selah leans over and taps his screen. “That’s a great shot. You should print that, maybe even frame it. You know what they say about lasting longer.” Poking him in the shoulder, she teases him.

  His thumb hovers over the image for a second longer before he swipes it across the screen, revealing a picture of Selah sucking on a crab claw. It’s more than a little pornographic.

  “I was thinking of this one for a collage for the reunion.” Turning the phone so she can see it fully, he arches his eyebrow.

  “You wouldn’t dare. I am a respected professor!” Her indignation is a front.

  “Yes, but the people at the reunion know the truth about you, and your past.”

  “You do have a point. Can you do something about the double chin?” Patting her chin, she stretches out her neck, and looks into the rear-view mirror
, examining herself.

  “Your neck is fine,” Ryan observes. “Nothing a few collagen injections and a small bit of liposuction couldn’t fix. Then again some men find waddles sexy.” His smile gives him away.

  “Hey, you, Mister New Guy, no talking about women’s waddles.”

  “Doctor New Guy, thank you.”

  Quinn comes back to the car, carrying a tray of ice cream and a giant, frothy, frozen drink.

  “You scream, I scream…” He hands out cups of ice cream.

  “Um, thanks Quinn. No sprinkles?” Gil takes a cup of chocolate.

  “No sprinkles or for Ryan, Jimmies.” Quinn finishes handing out ice cream to everyone.

  Cars begin to head up the hill as the ferry unloads. Selah starts the car when the line moves down the hill after the next boat is loaded. They stop short of the ticket booth and she turns off the engine. “Who wants to take bets on whether or not our island recluse friend will show at the reunion?”

  No one raises their hand at first.

  Thinking about his parting words to Maggie at the cabin, Gil slowly raises his hand.

  “Sweet man.” Selah pats his arm. “So, that’s one yes, and three noes?”

  “Not great odds, but better than no chance at all. I think progress was made this weekend.” Nodding more to himself than anyone else, Gil goes back to eating his ice cream.

  “By progress, you mean the fucking, right?” Quinn asks.

  “Nice, Q, nice.” Gil tosses his spoon at Quinn.

  “Sorry. The lovemaking? Better?”

  “Sex. How about sex?” Gil offers.

  “I’d thought you’d never ask, but I’m sitting here with my husband, so this is a little awkward,” Quinn says.

  Rolling his eyes, Gil addresses the elephant in the car. “Yes, we slept together, had sex, whatever you want to call it. No regrets.”

  “‘No regrets’ doesn’t sound like a grand plan to get the girl to me,” Ryan comments.

  “Oh, but you don’t know this girl. She has to think it was all her idea.”

  “It’s true,” Selah adds. “Maggie will rebel if she thinks she is being pushed into anything. She’s more stubborn than you can imagine. Just a matter of laying out the pieces, and then letting her figure everything out.”

  “Interesting. What’s the legal term for that? Leading the witness?” Quinn asks.

  “I think so, but I’m not a lawyer. Doctor, remember?” Ryan answers.

  “Speaking of pieces, who started the dirty Scrabble game?” Gil asks. “It couldn’t have been Ben or Jo since it was going before they arrived.”

  No one answers right away.

  “Like I said, it’s a matter of laying out the pieces.” Selah smirks.

  “Are you saying it was you?” Gil asks. “I swore that had Quinn written all over it.”

  “Why me?” Quinn attempts to sound innocent. “I am a gentleman, and like Maggie, would never use the C word in polite company.”

  They respond to his declaration with laughter. “Uh huh, Q. I remember a certain Warhol-inspired project.”

  “Damn you all and your long memories. Clearly you didn’t do college the right way. Everything should be all fuzzy and vague.” He crosses his arms.

  “Since there are no do overs, we’ll have to live with the memories we have. Or agree to the new versions. No reason why we can’t follow in the grand tradition of historians before us and rewrite things to favor the victors,” Gil says.

  “I wonder how history will write this weekend,” Selah ponders out loud.

  “I’m thinking of Waterloo,” Quinn says.

  “The battle between Wellington and Napoleon? Who is who?” Gil furrows his brow.

  “No, ABBA. Silly man.” Quinn shakes his head.

  “Oh, Q, so stereotypical,” Gil admonishes. “That song is about surrendering… so I guess it does fit.”

  “I, for one, hate ABBA,” Ryan replies.

  “How can you hate ABBA?” Selah asks, the judgment clear in her voice.

  “I do. Liking ABBA is not mandatory to be a fag.”

  “I like your husband, Q. He’s a man of convictions.” Gil smiles.

  “Back off the hot husband. You’ve got a woman to woo.”

  “What’s the plan, Gil?” Selah pushes.

  “Now we, I, wait. I have faith,” Gil says.

  “Gil, I have faith in the both of you finally pulling your heads from your asses and figuring this out once and for all.” Selah tosses her empty ice cream on the tray sitting on the console. “Sugar high in five, four, three….”

  “I should have asked if anyone is lactose intolerant before getting the ice cream. This could be a long drive to Seattle,” Quinn says.

  “Little late.” Gil rolls down his window. The horrified look on Quinn’s face makes him laugh. “Kidding. Totally kidding.”

  The ferry pulls into the dock and the cycle of unloading and loading repeats, as a seemingly endless line of cars streams up the hill behind them.

  “I can see why islanders stay put over here. This ferry wait is an exercise in patience.” Ryan yawns and stretches.

  “Many things in life are,” Gil muses. “We don’t realize it most of the time. We’re busy rushing to get to the next thing, hit a milestone, or whatever. We’re always pushing to get to the next stage, counting down to the next zero birthday, or being able to mark decade anniversaries. Being patient is a virtue for a reason.”

  Selah looks over at him. “Wise man is wise. When did this happen?”

  “Not sure. Maybe five years ago at Lizzy’s funeral. Maybe this weekend. Hard to say for sure. I’m not saying everything happens for a reason, only there are things that happen which fit together in ways we don’t see until later.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  “You sound like a history professor,” Quinn says.

  “There’s a quote about knowing history and not repeating history I could recite, but I won’t. Let’s say I’ve learned a lot in the past twenty years. I pray I’m not making the same mistakes now I made then.”

  * * *

  *Made the ferry. Thanks for everything.*

  Maggie reads the text from Quinn and smiles.

  *Miss you already. Safe travels. Tell everyone the same.*

  Another text pings from a Portland number that isn’t Selah’s. Smiling, Maggie opens it.

  *Quinn says he won’t be our go between. Miss you.*

  She sighs and clutches her phone before responding.

  *Who is this?*

  A new text sounds right away.

  *Gil. Who is this?*

  Giggling, she types: *You texted me. Shouldn’t you know? ;) *

  A beat or two later there is a new text.

  *Funny girl. Take care of yourself. See you soon.*

  She smiles again. *You too. x*

  Laying her phone down on the counter, she walks over to the dining table where the Scrabble game lays discarded. Many more words have been added and it’s now an impressive array of swear words and body parts. She notices there is an “H” tile abandoned next to the board. Where it used to find a home is now “TRUST”. This simple change causes her to smile. Did Gil do this? Or was it one of the matchmakers? Rather than sweep the tiles back into the bag, she decides to leave the board on the table for a little while longer.

  She contemplates working on some articles or checking her email for new assignments, but the idea of work doesn’t appeal. Not even as a distraction. Instead, she grabs one of her mother’s romances from the bookcase and her coffee, before going out on the deck to catch the last of the sun before the rains come back. A simple, happily-ever-after riding off into the sunset is the perfect thing she needs.

  Twenty-nine

  Rain hitting the windows wakes Maggie the next morning. The gray sky gives little indication of the time. Stretching, she tries to remember what day it is. Biscuit yawns and looks at her, then tucks his head back down. It must
be early. Craning her neck she can see 8:14 on the bedside clock. Early, but not atrocious.

  She shifts to stare out at the monotone gray landscape where the water is lighter than the sky. This is a real rain, not a passing summer afternoon thunderstorm. Checking the weather forecast might be a good idea, she notes.

  Mentally she goes through her day and then week, trying to figure out if she can stay in bed all day. Biscuit gets up and shakes, jingling his tags and collar.

  “No run today, sweet boy.” She snuggles further under the covers.

  A wet dog nose pokes at her forehead.

  “Don’t make me get out of bed, please?”

  Dog tongue licks her head.

  “Fine. You and your tiny bladder. I should’ve gotten a cat.”

  She shuffles over to put on her robe. The room is chilly and she shudders when her feet hit the bare wood between the rugs.

  She lets Biscuit out and he makes his way across the deck to the lawn. Wrapping her robe tighter around herself against the damp air, she wanders into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. The neatly-stacked plates in the drainer next to the sink make her smile. Something so simple is the sweetest gesture. Who knew a man who washes dishes, who loves to do the dishes, was such a turn on? She smiles at the image of Gil, hands and forearms soapy, standing at her sink.

  She waits for the coffee to finish, pondering what to eat for breakfast. Setting a single bowl on the counter, she makes some yogurt. One cup, one bowl. Sighing, she looks out to the deck and sees a wet and muddy Biscuit standing by the door.

  “How did you get this muddy so fast?” After grabbing his towel, she dries him off, before letting him in the house. He shakes off the last of the water, leaving sprinkles of sand and water on the floor. He trots over to his bowl and devours his breakfast before curling up on his dog bed, sighing in resignation.

  Maggie hops up on the counter to eat her yogurt. There’s nothing she must get done for the day, but she doesn’t want to wallow, if that is what she is doing. She might be wallowing.