Dumping her empty bowl in the sink, she wanders into the den and turns on the television. It’s early, but surely she will find something mindless on to watch—some housewives or dentally challenged people with interesting ways of making money.
Snuggled under a throw on the couch, Maggie wastes the morning watching TV. Finally grabbing her computer in the afternoon, she opens her email and finds her inbox bursting with new messages. She scans the typical blog notices, flash sales, and work related emails she can deal with later. Gil’s name stands out amongst the usual suspects.
An email from Gil. She feels nervous. Silly but true. She puts off opening it, telling herself she needs to deal with a few work things, which are important but could be done later.
His unopened email teases and tempts her like a note passed in class in middle school that she wants to save to read until she is alone in a bathroom stall or home in her room with the door securely locked. A nervous fluttering settles in her chest.
She texts Selah for information on what happened on the ride back to Portland.
*Everyone make it to their destinations last night?*
Selah’s response arrives a few minutes later.
*Sorry. Getting coffee. Yes, we all made it. Fascinating conversations. Gotta run.*
Typical of Selah to taunt her but not spill the dirt.
*Tease. x*
No response. It’s Monday. People work. Maggie wonders what Gil is doing today. Her mind insists on drifting toward thoughts of him.
Finally unable to stand it any longer, she opens his email. The message is short—a thank you for the weekend and how great it was to see her again. Casual. Friendly. The postscript says he probably should create a password for his phone. There’s an attachment.
She clicks to open it, and sees a picture of the two of them, sitting on a driftwood log. Taken from behind, they are turned, slightly facing one another, knees touching, heads close together. Beyond them is Quinn’s dog sculpture and kids running on the beach, but they are in a bubble. The only two people on the planet. The afternoon sun gives them a glow and blurs their faces. If she didn’t know better, the picture could be from college. They look ageless.
Maggie stares at the image, and blinks back tears. This is love. Not silly French accents and over the top seductions—a quiet, comfortable bubble.
“Oh, sweet Gil.” His email was casual, but this picture says more than chatty words. It says everything.
Uncertain of what to reply, she saves the file to her desktop before closing the email. She tries not to think about all that happened over the weekend. Knowing she’ll need time to process, she attempts to push his face from her thoughts.
“What am I going to do about you, Gil?” She dries her cheeks on the sleeve of her robe. Doing her best Scarlet O’Hara, she tells herself, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
* * *
Gray clouds allow fleeting patches of sunlight to brighten the days, but it rains every day the rest of the week. The rain isn’t heavy—more of a mist—perfect for cool morning runs, enough to stay inside in the afternoons, working and watching TV.
It dawns on Maggie she’s now caught up with every TV show that features housewives. Maybe she is wallowing. She tries to remember the last time she showered after taking two showers on Sunday. It’s Saturday. Certainly she’s bathed since Sunday. She vaguely remembers a particularly muddy run on Wednesday and showering after that. She sniffs herself.
“Shower,” she declares. “Maybe time to get out of the house. Go visit Sally at the market.” She nods. Having a plan is good; bathing is good.
The rain stops as she pulls into the parking area of the farmers’ market. Mud puddles, where the dry earth was only a week ago, squish under the tires of the Subaru.
Her wellies protect her feet from the mud and wet grass in the field. Sally stays dry under a large white tent with all but one side closed. Looking around, Maggie notices she’s the only other car in the lot besides Sally’s.
“Slow going today?”
“Hi, sweetie. Been slow and soggy all morning. You show up and the sun comes out.” Smiling, she hands a biscuit to Biscuit, who offers his paw.
“Where is everyone? I don’t think I passed more than a few cars on the way over here. It feels like November already.”
“It isn’t that bad. Raining and the tourists stay away. Missed you on Tuesday. I see you’ve switched back to Saturday pick-ups again.”
“Sorry. I’ve been working.” She makes an excuse for her flaky behavior.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You okay? You seem…” Sally pauses. “…not quite yourself. Did you have a bad time with your friends last weekend? Connie mentioned she ran into you at the store and you looked like a young girl in love. Handsome guy was with you, she said.”
Connie.
“I knew she wouldn’t be able to stay quiet after seeing us.”
“You were topic number one when she stopped by this morning. In fact, you probably only missed her by ten minutes. She’s concerned about you.”
“Sally, we both know Connie’s a gossip. It’s her life.”
Sally laughs. “Okay, that’s true. But we’re old and boring, and have lived here a long time. You’re young and exciting to us old birds.”
“Young? I don’t feel young.”
“Age is relative. Wait ’til you’re my age. You’ll realize forty is the beginning of really living.”
“What have I been doing for the past twenty years?” She watches Biscuit wander around the tent, nose to the ground, snuffling for more treats.
“You’ve been figuring things out. Well, hopefully you have. Most of us don’t even begin to know who we are until long after we’re married and done raising our kids.”
“I don’t have either of those.” Maggie frowns.
“Look at me putting my foot in my mouth.”
“It’s fine. You’re stating the facts. No need to apologize. I’ve been pretty happy with my life.”
“You have a good life. Maybe not the past few years. We all grow up by facing our own challenges. Your path is a little different. Typical or not, your mom was always proud of you and the life you created.”
A smile spreads over Maggie’s face. “Thanks for saying that. You always know the right thing to say.”
“I don’t have a daughter of my own, so you’re the closest thing I have.” Sally walks around to Maggie’s side of the table to hug her. “You’ve got your island family. Never forget.”
“Is Connie my gossipy aunt?”
“She is.” With one last squeeze, Sally releases her. “Now tell me about this handsome guy.”
“Gil. His name is Gil. We went to college together. Not much to tell,” she fibs. Her face gives her away.
“Not much to tell? I don’t believe that for a second. Connie was convinced you’ve been dating John Day, but I never saw that happening. He’s not complex enough for you. What does this Gil do? Is he local?”
She is surprised at how much these women talk about her. Not sure what she should divulge to Sally, she keeps it simple.
“He’s a professor. Lives in Portland.”
Sally watches her face. “Simply the facts. Okay. I get it. Be quiet and stop prying.” She walks over to where the weekly CSA boxes are stacked, attempting to hide her grin. “I promise, I won’t tell Connie a thing about the sparkle you get in your eye.”
“Sparkle?”
“Oh yes, when you think about that professor friend of yours.”
Maggie’s cheeks heat up.
“The blush explains a lot more than the sparkle. Oh dear, this might be serious.” Chuckling, Sally hands her the box full of veggies.
She sighs and takes her box. “It’s nothing. We’re old friends who reconnected after not seeing each other for a long time. That’s all.”
“You know, I heard there is a zombie doughnut place down in Portland. Sounds like an i
nteresting post for your blog.”
“Voodoo Doughnut?”
Sally smiles at her, and gives her a knowing, motherly look. “Zombies. Voodoo. Same thing. Weird doughnuts, that’s all I know. I’m just saying is Portland has lots of restaurants and curious food. Good chocolates, too. Be sure to have your friend take you to Alma Chocolate.”
Confused by the talk of chocolates and undead baked goods, she tells Sally good-bye and whistles for Biscuit, who is wandering outside the tent. He trots over to the car, dragging his leash through the puddles and mud. Placing the box on the bumper, Maggie opens the back. Biscuit jumps on his blanket and she puts the veggies down next to him, it hits her. Sally thinks she’s going to run off to Portland to be with Gil. What would give her that idea? She turns to wave good-bye to Sally, and sees her smiling.
“You can think I’m crazy, but sometimes us old birds know a thing or two,” Sally calls out from the tent.
She shakes her head and replies, “You are a crazy old bird. Love you.”
“Love you. Keep me posted. Let me know how things work out. Portland’s an easy drive for the weekend. Don’t ever sell the cabin.”
She smiles as she drives away. They might be crazy old birds who gossip, but they are the only family she has here, and she’s lucky to have them. Sell the cabin? Never.
Thirty
The sun returns, appropriately, on Sunday. Squinting, Maggie stretches and yawns as she gazes out the window to see blue skies once again. Biscuit’s ears perk up when they hear barking from outside.
“Sounds like Babe and John are back.” At the word Babe, Biscuit’s starts bouncing his tail on the bed.
Inspired by the sun’s return after her week of sloth, she throws on her running clothes before heading downstairs.
When she lets Biscuit outside, he runs next door, pouncing on Babe like long lost lovers. She notices John standing on his deck watching the dogs, and waves. He waves back, so she pantomimes drinking coffee. He laughs and holds up his cup, gesturing for her to come over.
After walking barefoot over the dew-covered grass, she joins him.
“Morning.”
“Morning. Already made a pot of coffee. You want some?”
“Looks like the tables are turned. Sure. Milk, please.” While he goes inside to get her coffee, she sits on the built-in bench along the deck railing. Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes, absorbing the warmth of the sun.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks. How was your trip?” She takes the coffee from him.
“Boring. Meetings. At least it was raining, so being trapped indoors wasn’t inhumane.”
“I love being inside, but you weren’t cut out for a cubicle job. ”
“Says the woman who doesn’t work a nine-to-five desk job either. Working in your pajamas is an office worker’s dream.”
“True. I’m blessed.”
“How was the rest of the weekend? Sorry I didn’t stop by Saturday night. Ran into old friends and we ended up hanging out in Coupeville.”
“Seems like it was the weekend for old friends. You have a good time?”
“Yeah, sure. Seems like everyone is married, settled. Kids or planning on having kids.”
“I remember those days. Everyone turns thirty and freaks out that they should be married and procreating.”
“That happened with you and your friends?”
Maggie thinks about it. “No, not really. Some of us were already married, some of us never wanted to get married. I spent my late twenties and early thirties getting divorced and dealing with my dad’s death, so I was a decade ahead of everyone else.”
“Shit. That’s heavy. I feel like everyone has a timeline in their heads except me.”
“I say don’t worry about it. Live your life. Fall in love when you find the one and figure out your life together as you go. Schedules are for ferries.”
“Sounds like good advice.” He sips his coffee. “You going to take it?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” he says, smiling.
“I’m great at meeting deadlines and following a routine, so I’m assuming you aren’t talking about schedules. It must be the part about falling in love. There’s a long line of people ahead of you giving me advice about love, just so you know.”
“Are you listening to any of them?”
“Was your work thing this week some sort of personal development retreat or something?” She eyes him suspiciously.
“Hell no. I would’ve called out ‘fishing’ if that were the case. Nah, I noticed how happy you seemed with your friends. Was good to see you laughing and being carefree.”
His words settle as she remembers he isn’t the only one to comment on how light and happy she seems recently.
“Am I really dour?” Drinking her coffee she waits for his answer.
“Dour? Not dour. Although, I’m not exactly sure what that means, but if it means you’re a downer, no, not really. More like you’ve been in a fog.”
“Hmm. You aren’t the first to mention it. Sally was saying something about a spark in my eye yesterday.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t going to comment on that.” He frowns into his cup.
Watching his face as he struggles with what to say, she knows it’s about Gil so she prompts him. “Sally thought it was about Gil.”
“That’s obvious. You two seemed close. Plus, he looked like he wanted to invite me outside every time I saw him.”
“Pistols at dawn?”
“Yeah. What’s up with him?”
She answers him with her now standard, “just old friends.”
“Bullshit,” John swears, and then drains his cup. “Just friends? We’re just friends. You don’t look at me like you look at him.”
“You and I have only known each other for a few years. We’re different, less history.”
John stares at her. “Are you telling me this or yourself?”
“Back to the cryptic remarks?”
“Okay, I’ll be blunt. Why aren’t you two together?”
“Wow. That came out of nowhere.” She avoids eye contact.
“Cut the bullshit, Maggie. I have eyes. I’ve been flirting with you for months, and have never gotten a quarter of the reaction you gave him.”
“But that’s what we do, flirt. It’s what you do. You flirt with me, Selah, the married summer women, and from the way she purrs around you, Connie at the bank.”
“Yes, king of flirts. But I flirt with you because I like you. You’re an amazing woman. I’m jealous of this Gil guy showing up out of nowhere and getting you.”
“No one is getting me. Gil and I are friends. That’s all.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Not with the way you two act around each other.” Exasperated, he puts down his mug and walks to the opposite side of the deck. Leaning up against the railing, he stares at the bay.
She can hear him mumble something about “women” and “crazy”.
“I’m definitely crazy.”
“Nah, not crazy. Stubborn,” he says, and smiles.
“So I should take my own advice, then?”
“You’ll figure it out eventually. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Gotcha. Can we change the subject now?”
“Sure. Want to catch a movie at the Clyde and grab a beer at the Doghouse after?”
She nods. Needing to clarify, she asks, “Not a date, right? Just friends, hanging out?”
John shakes his head. “After this conversation, nothing but friends. I promise.”
Instead of a sense of relief, Maggie is met with guilt for hurting his feelings. Or at least she thinks she’s hurt his feelings.
“I’m an asshole. I’ve been off all week.” Gesturing at her clothes, she says, “I’m going to go running until I turn back into a normal human being who isn’t an asshole.”
“Good luck with that.” John laughs and she joins him.
Glancing at the dogs tugging on the same piece of driftwood, he agrees. ‘Yeah, those two are like long lost lovers, reunited after years apart, not buddies who haven’t seen each other in a week.”
“Point taken. Truce? I admitted I’m crazy and an asshole. What more can I say?” She sighs, rolling her eyes at herself.
“Nothing to me. You don’t owe me anything. Promise me you’ll be truthful to yourself. Deal?”
Digesting his words, she nods. “Deal.”
“Okay, then I’ll come by later and pick you up. Now go running. I’d like to hang out with Normal Maggie.”
“Got it. Thanks for the coffee.” She salutes him and walks back to her own house.
* * *
After her unsettling and awkward conversation with John this morning, her run feels good, even though her lungs burn after days of sloth. She waits for the endorphins of a runner’s high to kick in, but once again she doesn’t achieve the elusive bliss. Still, the repetitive pounding of feet against pavement sets a cadence for her thoughts. John, Sally, and Selah. Breathe. Gil. All of their words swim in her head as she deepens her breathing and slows her pace to work out a stitch in her side.
She breathes in the fresh air of the woods around her and exhales. So much can change so quickly, yet the view is the same as ever—same stoic trees, same fenced fields, and same mountains in the distance. Actors come and go, but the scenery of this stage remains the same. She remains the same. After years of uncertainty and upheaval, her own stoic life is a comfort. Nothing wrong with quiet, comfort. Thoreau had his cabin by Walden Pond. Annie Dillard had hers at Tinker Creek. Maggie has the beach.
The Unabomber had his in Montana, a soft voice whispers in her head—a voice who sounds a little like Selah. The Donner Party had their cabins in the Sierra Nevada, says Gil’s voice in her head. Nice, cannibals she thinks. Okay, so a cabin of isolation may not be the best thing for everyone.
Fine Young Cannibals’ “She Drives Me Crazy” comes on her running playlist.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 25