“I like the phone talking thing.” She’s bummed he has to cut their conversation short.
“Sorry to go, but I’ve got to run. Your turn to call me.”
“So forward and demanding.”
“I’ve seen you naked. The least you can do is call me.”
“Interesting logic. Okay, go. I’ll call soon.”
“Bye,” he says as the phone disconnects.
Putting her phone down, Maggie sighs. As silly and odd as the conversation with Gil was, she smiles. The man can make her smile and laugh like no other. She does miss him. More than she imagined.
Her phone chirps with a text alert.
*Bad timing on my part. Should’ve waited to call. Call me later. Or tomorrow. Soon.*
*I will. :)*
Not feeling like writing any more for the day, she wanders over to the stereo. Blue still lays next to the turntable, so she plays it, turning the volume up loud.
When she notices the Scrabble board at the end of the table, she picks up the box to put it away. Before she folds the board to pour the tiles back in their bag, a thought occurs to her. Clicking the shutter button on her phone, she captures the layout for posterity. She texts Selah, Quinn, and Gil the image.
Selah responds first. *Trust is not a dirty word.*
The next response is from Quinn.
*Still mad at you.*
She doesn’t hear back from Gil right away.
Glancing around the downstairs, she decides to dust. Something about listening to music her mother loved makes her feel domestic.
Duster in hand, she dances around, singing along to “California,” the music too loud to hear herself.
The gentle scratching, skipping sound alerts her to the record finishing. Downstairs has been dusted and straightened. She turns the record over and heads upstairs to continue cleaning.
She enters the guest rooms and realizes she hasn’t been in them since everyone left. Jo stripped the beds and the linens went back in the closet. Looking around Gil and Selah’s room—really only Selah’s—she spots a heart shaped wishing rock laying squarely in the middle of the pillow Gil used.
After picking it up, she closes her eyes and kisses the rock. Making her wish out loud, since no one is here to hear her, she says, “I wish for trust in myself and all things love.”
She opens her eyes and tucks the rock in the pocket of her hoodie to throw in the water later.
By the time she goes back downstairs with her duster, the record has finished playing. Nothing but a soft hiss and a few pops come from the speakers.
The solitude she enjoyed during her year of mourning is now stifling. Maybe she is ready to return to the living.
Gil responds to her text later in the evening. *Trust. ;)*
His winking emoticon is so not like him, making her giggle.
* * *
Maggie calls Gil back the next day and they start a routine of talking almost every day for the next several weeks. Not texting and emails, but real voice conversations. Her little world is less quiet and less solitary. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she was growing more and more disappointed she isn’t going to Olympia in two weeks.
As their calls become daily, and on occasion, multiple times a day, she begins to think she should cross over the imaginary border she drew between friends and more to protect her heart. Gil doesn’t raise the issue, nor does he shy away from flirting with her. He plays the game her way, no pressure from him. She shouldn’t be disappointed he respects her boundaries even if sometimes she is. Maybe she is beginning to have faith when it comes to all things love and Gil.
Thirty-two
Another week of writing, running, and island living passes by in a flash. Labor Day comes and goes, taking away the majority of summer people, and a few of the Snow Birds. Long ferry lines disappear as August becomes a memory, and the second week of September begins.
Maggie finally receives a text from Quinn. She hasn’t heard from him since his curt replies to her email and text. Reading his text, she chuckles.
*You are the very worst kind of friend. Can’t believe you are not coming this weekend. Geoduck hater.*
*Geoduck hater? Really?*
*Clearly. I hope the universe or karma or Buddha cancels your plans and shows you the path of righteousness.*
*Righteousness is a big word for a txt msg.*
*I’ve called in favors with the universe. Beware of Buddha’s army.*
Not being able to control her amusement, she snorts over his peevish tone.
*Don’t gloat, but I hope your favors work. I’ll miss you guys.*
*You mean you’ll miss Gil. I have spies. I know all about the talking.*
She rolls her eyes.
*Benedict Selah.*
*You should know better than to trust her.*
She gets another text from Quinn before she can reply.
*JSYK, we are all THRILLED about you two.*
*Um, thanks. I think.*
*Let’s Skype this weekend when we are all in Olympia, and you are not.*
*Let’s. Gotta run. Have fun.*
*We will. And I’ll rub it in.*
*Would expect nothing else. X*
*XXXX*
Oh, Quinn. She feels terrible for missing the reunion. Every day she talks to Gil her guilt increases. Their conversations remain just on the border between friend and more, straying across the line once in a while into flirting and sexual tension.
Shaking her head over Quinn’s texts, she opens her laptop and tries to focus on finishing her research for the dinner in Vancouver.
An hour later, she wraps up her background research and decides to check her inbox. There is an email from her former magazine editor, with request for her to cover the new Portland food festival next weekend. In fact, it starts a week from today. This is short notice, but Maggie thinks she can do it. Quickly checking her calendar, after learning her lesson last time, she realizes she has the weekend open. Her excitement over going to Portland builds, and it has nothing to do with a food festival. This is the perfect excuse to visit Gil.
She picks up her phone and hits call.
“Why are you calling me?” Gil answers.
“Do I need an excuse?” She laughs.
“No, never. Just surprised at the timing. Two minutes ago I got a text from Quinn saying I lack conviction and proper motivation.”
She snorts.
“Did you snort or are you near swine?”
“I snorted. Quinn texted me he’s sending Buddha’s army after me.”
It’s Gil’s turn to snort. “Buddha’s army is an oxymoron. Does Quinn realize this? And why is he sending fake armies after you?”
“He’s pouting about me not going to Olympia this weekend.”
“We’re all pouting. I know I am. I’ve been writing your name all over my notebook and everything.”
She laughs at the image. “I hope you don’t do that in front of your students.”
“I might. They need to know mooning over girls doesn’t stop when you grow up.”
“Speaking of mooning and girls, I think I have a job in Portland next weekend.”
Silence greets her.
“Hello?” She checks the call hasn’t been dropped. “Hello?”
“I’m here. I’m trying to get the picture of your naked ass out of my head, and come up with something appropriate to say.”
“Why are you thinking of my naked ass?” She asks, confused by the jump in topic.
“You said, and I quote, ‘speaking of mooning and girls.’ I got distracted.”
“Such a guy. Next weekend there’s a new food festival in Portland, which my old editor wants me to cover. Last minute assignment.”
“Any other reason you’d be coming to Portland?” He baits her.
“There’s this guy I’ve been talking to on the phone a lot lately, and I was thinking it might be nice to spend some t
ime with him. Maybe hang out, or go on a date, or something.”
“Date? Will there be mooning on this potential date?” Gil laughs.
“On what date is mooning considered appropriate? Is that the fourth date? It’s been a while since I’ve had an official mooning date. I’m pretty certain mooning is not first date material.”
“We’ve known each other almost twenty-five years, I don’t think we could ever have a first date at this point. I held your hair when you threw up on your shoes. You sat through my terrible band gigs where the band outnumbered the audience. These are things you only do well into an established relationship. Or never.”
“True. Mr. Rochester would be appalled by shoe vomit. He’d probably never call back or stick around long enough for the mooning date.”
“He’d be missing out. The good stuff, the very best stuff comes after you get past the mooning date. What are we even talking about?”
“I have no idea. I’m coming to Portland in a week and you brought up vomiting.”
“I did. We have the weirdest conversations. Let’s go back to talking about the good-looking guy you’ve been talking on the phone with.”
“Who said anything about him being good looking?”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t tell him, but he is very good looking in a hot, older guy way. And if he plays his cards right, there could be potential nudity and mooning. Maybe. More likely yes.”
“Maggie, don’t tease.”
“I’m not teasing. I do think you’re hot in an older guy way. Kind of like how Dave Grohl gets better looking with time. In fact, you remind me a lot of him.”
“Maggie.”
Giggling, then sighing dramatically, she admits, “I want to see you. I want to spend time with you. And if things happen and paths are taken, I’m happy with that.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. Are you serious? This doesn’t sound like friend territory. This sounds like taking the red pill.”
“It isn’t friend territory. I realize how bummed I am about missing Olympia this weekend and it really has nothing to do with the reunion, or staying in a house with Ben and Jo and the rest of the gang. It has to do with not seeing you. Columbus Day weekend is so far away. Quinn was talking about pulling strings with the universe and maybe it worked.”
“Does Quinn have those kind of connections? Cause if so, I’d like to put in a few requests.”
“You know what I mean. I’m taking this assignment as a sign we’ve spent enough time on the phone talking. Time to be in the same place. See what comes.” She surprises herself with how confident she feels about this.
“Wow. This is totally unexpected. So this is a done thing? You’ll definitely be down here. No backing out or cold feet?” Gil smiles, but he can’t quite believe her.
“If I have cold feet, I’ll wear socks. Yeah, this is happening.”
“Does Selah know?”
“No, I called you first. I wanted to find out if I should tell my editor I need a hotel room, or if I have a place to stay.”
“You are staying with me. End of discussion. Don’t tell Selah until next week. I don’t want her co-opting all your time. Or better yet, don’t mention it until after.”
“I like this take charge Gil,” she says, squirming on the sofa.
“I’ve waited long enough for you to come to your senses, I’m not going to sit back and let you slip away again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.”
The conversation pauses.
“A week from tomorrow, then?” His voice sounds cautiously optimistic.
“Yes.”
“I wish it was sooner.”
“Me too.”
“I can wait a week.”
“Me too.” She nods even though he can’t see her.
“Then I guess I’ll see you soon.”
“You will.”
“I look forward to the mooning.” He teases.
“Glad to hear it.” She laughs.
“I love your laugh.”
Her breath pauses. He loves her, not only her laugh. This is a certainty, an absolute. No maybes. He loves her.
“Did you think I was going to say I love you?” Caution outweighs optimism in his voice now.
“I might have. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I am disappointed you didn’t.”
“Really. Well, then—”
“Wait!” She stops him from saying anything. “Don’t say it now. A week from Friday.” She wants the next time he tells her he loves her to be after she says it to him. He needs to see her face and her honesty.
“Okay. We’re still playing this by your rules.”
“Thank you. Listen, I’m going to go and leave this conversation on a good note before you bring up dead puppies.”
“One time, I made everything about death. One time.” He laughs.
“Once was enough.”
“Once with you is never enough.”
She groans.
“Too far?” He laughs at himself.
“And on that note, bye Gil.”
“Bye, Maggie. See you next week.”
“Bye,” she whispers after the call disconnects.
Smiling, she bounces around her living room and does a shimmy dance. She’s seeing Gil in a week. A week. What is a week when you’ve waited twenty-two years to say you love someone?
* * *
Despite the gray skies on Friday morning, Maggie grins when she wakes up. A week from yesterday she’ll be catching the ferry to see Gil. Six more sleeps and she’ll tell Gil she loves him too. She bounds out of bed, startling a still-snuggly Biscuit.
“Come on, sleepy head. We have a run to complete, beach to explore, and a bag to pack. You don’t have any bags, but you are staying over at Babe’s house this weekend.”
At the sound of Babe’s name, Biscuit gets up and stretches before bounding down the hall.
“Someone is excited to see his friend,” she calls after the dog.
Dressed for her run, she lets Biscuit out, then makes his breakfast. While she waits for him to do his business, she starts a list of things to bring with her for the weekend. At the top of the list are her passport and power cord. She won’t get far without either. The next thing she adds to the list is: find passport. Not quite sure where she put it, she guesses it’s in the mini-safe in her closet. She pins her to-do list to the fridge and notices the ferry schedule is still the summer version.
“Now where did I put the fall schedule?” She taps her chin with the pen in her hand. “Did I get a fall ferry schedule?”
The schedule doesn’t change much from season to season, but she knows a few of the early and late runs will be dropped with the dip in traffic.
Biscuit scratches at the door to be let inside, distracting her from the location of the new schedule.
“Eat up and let’s go,” she encourages him. She adds a few more things to her list on the fridge while she waits for him to finish eating.
They walk out the front door as John pulls into his driveway. He gives them a sheepish wave that makes her wonder if he is doing the drive of shame. It isn’t too early for him to be running errands, but something in his look causes her think differently.
“Come by in forty-five and I’ll make us some coffee. Looks like you could use it,” she yells at him as she runs backwards up the road. Ear buds in place, she glances down at Biscuit. “Let’s do this thing.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, she is showered and making coffee in her kitchen when John knocks on the window.
“Come in, come in.” She fills his cup with coffee and sets it on the counter.
“You’re up and about early. Ready for the trip?”
“I’m getting there. Thanks for watching Biscuit this weekend. I’ll happily return the favor any time you need.”
“Sure.” He drinks his coffee.
Hmm, someone is quiet this morning.
“Out running errands early?” She pries.
“No.”
“Not telling?”
He looks at her and she can see his internal debate. “Getting home, in fact.”
“That sounds much more interesting than errands. Name?”
“Kelly.”
She goes through her mental file of names and faces on the island, and comes up blank.
“You don’t know her. High school friend from Coupeville,” he answers her unspoken question.
“One of the friends you ran into a few weeks ago?” She remembers him saying something about meeting up with old friends the weekend Gil was here.
“Yeah, that group.”
“Wait!” She puts her coffee cup down with a thud. “Long dark hair, pretty face?”
He looks at her suspiciously. “Yeah, why?”
“She was over on your deck a few weeks ago.”
“Are you spying on me?”
“No, I was outside doing work and you waved at me, but didn’t come over. Saw the woman on the deck.”
“Yeah, that was her. She’s cool.”
“My oh my, John Day sounds smitten. Old girlfriend?”
“Not at all. She didn’t give me the time of day back in school.”
“Good for you.” She honestly means it.
“We’ll see. I have no expectations.” He shrugs.
“It’s okay to have expectations and want more than flirting and flings, John.”
“Are you giving me love advice?” His face shows he doubts the validity of any love advice she might give him.
“I am. I’ve had a change of heart. Trying to change my spinster ways.”
“The Gil guy?”
“Yes, Gil. Seeing him next weekend in fact.”
John frowns and nods. “He’s coming back up here?”
“Actually, I have a writing gig in Portland and I’m going down there.”
“Leaving the island and everything? Look at you go.” There is a tinge of sarcasm to his words.
“I’m leaving this weekend. Remember?”
“True, but that’s for work. As is next weekend. Technically.”
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 27