Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  “Marcie, for one, it’s fall, so this time of year it’s cool in the morning, and two, he’s her new husband. She moved on. Maybe he wasn’t very nice, but women did what they had to in those days. Now put those letters away. We have more important things to talk about than someone’s interesting history.”

  With one hand, she bundled the letters and pictures and put them beside her on the plastic end table. “I need to go back to my home on Las Seta. I need some clean clothes. There’s a charter service out of Port Townsend I can take. He usually schedules for ten or eleven in the morning.” Not even a flicker of doubt dawned on her face. She wasn’t asking. Where had this determination come from?

  “Marcie, you’re not going anywhere. I’ll get you what you need here.”

  “No, Sam. We’re taking Marcie right now to Las Seta. I’ll rent a boat at the Sequim marina,” Diane said.

  They both turned to see her standing in the open doorway. Her pale, apple-blossom cheeks appeared ghostlike. Her damp hair stuck up on one side. She must have tried to sleep but couldn’t.

  Marcie rose out of her chair and walked right up to Diane. She still held her plate of eggs, but she placed her other hand with an apparent genuine soft care on Diane’s forearm. “Diane, are you okay?”

  What struck Sam was that some closeness seemed to pass between them. Suddenly, he was the odd man out. He didn’t expect this, not from Diane. She was his pit bull, and she watched his back. What they did next really threw him. They both went inside without saying a word. Sam followed with his empty plate. If anything, he needed to find out what was going on and had to regain control.

  “Diane,” he called to her, but he stopped cold in his tracks when he stepped into the kitchen. What he saw took the wind completely from any hope he had of regaining authority. Jesse was washing dishes in the double sink, looking miserably uncomfortable. His eyes directed Sam to where both women stood in the middle of the kitchen, by a potted fern. Marcie had her arms wrapped around Diane, hugging her.

  Diane pulled away, as if she had suddenly pulled it together “Let’s get going. We’ve got a lot to do and a lot to talk about. One of them being the connection and open file on Dan McKenzie and his partner, Richard, and how they’re connected to Lance Silver.” Diane clapped her hands. “Let’s go. Sam, Marcie, Jesse, I’ll drive.”

  Sam held his plate and watched a spurt of determination rise in both women. They slipped on their shoes. Marcie pulled on her borrowed brown sweater, and Diane grabbed a black windbreaker from the closet. Both went out the front door.

  “Let’s go, hoss,” Jesse said, grabbing his tan jacket off the back of the Windsor chair and following the two women. They left the door open for him, but Sam knew that if he didn’t go now, they’d most likely leave him behind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sam was silent the entire way across the channel. It was impossible to have a conversation on the small cruiser Diane had rented. The crossing today was hit by a southeaster, which made the ride unbearably rough. The warm, bright sun illuminated a soft, blue sky. Frothy waves were a petulant white as they swelled and rolled up and over, rocking Marcie’s already shaky stomach. She held tight to the vinyl seat with one hand and the bulk of her hair back with the other, struck by Sam’s brooding silence across from her. A brisk wind flapped his jean jacket back and forth and bulked up his dark blue shirt even though he’d tucked it into his well-fitting jeans. His short, wavy hair blew every which way. What had the potential to be a bad hair day didn’t diminish what a good-looking man he was.

  But even through this wild ride, Marcie could feel that the pull home, to her rustic island, seemed to restore something vital that had depleted long ago.

  “Marcie, are you listening?”

  She leapt when Diane rested a tender hand on her shoulder. Sam jumped onto the narrow wooden dock at Starry Bay and secured the boat in between a small steel rowboat and a wood cutter painted a vibrant red and scripted with the name The Mirage.

  “Sorry, I just realized how good it feels to be home.” Marcie took a deep, cleansing breath. Life was so pure and clean here. No hydroelectric power—no paved roads, just a simple, honest respect for the land. Each step on this reclusive, isolated island held a mystical energy. Marcie would swear any unsuspecting soul could reap the magical spark exuding from this place—well, from some parts, anyway. This island was ten miles long from south to north, heavily forested and primitive. It was a land filled with family secrets and clans who’d arrived and stayed, year after year. This island afforded privacy, and no questions were ever asked; an unwritten code by those who live here—stay out of your neighbor’s business.

  “Where to, Marcie? You have a car, or do we walk?”

  Marcie stepped over the side of the boat, onto the dock. There were lots of boats tied to the U-shaped dock, possibly thirty cruisers, sailboats, and dinghies. There must have been a few dozen people milling around the dock, wandering the rocky shore, and scattered up the hill.

  “My truck’s parked up the hill, next to the hotel.” Sam, Jesse, and Diane followed Marcie up the gangplank and across the bridge leading to a dirt hill where a horde of vehicles were parked side by side on a road that disappeared behind the small, ten-room, Las Seta hotel. Marcie swung her arms, amazed by a sense of lightness making each step effortless. The twisted knots and confusion that Marcie had felt, because of Dan, began to dissolve. At the same time, the constant pang of wanting Dan and the obsessive need to see and be around him, having him control her every move, had all but vanished. She closed her eyes for a moment, eternally grateful for that one blessing.

  Sam stopped her halfway up by pressing a gentle hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  She searched his beautiful, light eyes. Something softened in the way he watched her. She reached out and caressed his unshaven cheek, and she was filled with such gratitude, in that moment, for Sam that she knew it for certain when the words popped out. “I love you.”

  But he said nothing. His hand loosened its hold, and he stumbled back a step.

  Every bit of peace inside her fled, so Marcie turned and walked away. What had she expected him to say? Well, something. Anything caring would’ve been nice. She fought back the unwelcome sting of tears.

  “Here it is.” She struggled to focus on something else. She pointed to her older Toyota land cruiser, parked among the dozens and dozens of beat-up cars left by residents who caught the passenger-only ferry off the island. Marcie didn’t miss the way Sam, Diane, and Jesse glanced at each other. Of course, they’d heard what she said to Sam. She hadn’t been thinking before she spoke, let alone looking around to see who was listening.

  She forced herself to look away, to smile at some of the residents, to keep going. She yanked open her driver’s door. The hinges let out an angry squeal on her rusted-out SUV. A musty odor from the dark vinyl interior greeted her. She rolled down the driver’s window, hopped in, and reached for the ignition. The keys were dangling right there where she’d left them. Marcie cranked the engine of the rusty beige SUV, and it started on the first try, although a little rough and rumbly. “Yeah, baby.”

  Marcie glanced over her shoulder and froze when Sam loomed over her from the passenger side.

  “Turn it off,” he said.

  She stared at the fire that appeared to flicker to life in his ocean blue eyes.

  “Turn off the truck, I said.” This time, he didn’t wait. He leaned over and turned it off, confiscating her keys.

  She glanced out the window, into the back, but there was no sign of Diane and Jesse. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to take two deep breaths. “Where are Jesse and Diane?” She looked around Sam, unable to shake the hurt and anger.

  “They’re in that cute little store behind the hotel. I told them to give us some privacy. I have some things to say to you.” He sounded really mad.

  “What do you want to say? I said what I feel, Sam, and I didn’t say it lightly.” She slapped her palm against her
chest. “I’m sorry the words slipped out. It hurts and confuses me that you mean so much to me. I opened up my heart in front of your friends, and you tromped on it.”

  “Knock it off. I did not. You can’t just say those words.…” He swept his hand in a circle while he struggled with some emotion tripping up his tongue.

  “I love you. You mean those three words?”

  His hand dropped, and his face hardened. “Marcie, you could have knocked me off the dock into the icy water and it would’ve been less of a shock. You can’t just say things like that so casually and hit me out of the blue and expect me to smile and say ‘That’s nice.’ This is serious.” He was getting louder. A few heads turned from locals who hung around the store. A couple stepped closer and peered curiously through Sam’s grungy window.

  “Sam, it’s how I feel. I’ve been honest with you about every fuck-up I’ve made, but you’re not one of them.”

  His large hands were rough and callused. They showed his character. He dug in—worked hard, didn’t slack off. It was those hands that touched her chin kindly when she looked away and turned her back to him.

  “Don’t turn away from me,” he said. “I too have some things to say. You’ve turned my whole life upside down. I don’t know what the hell it was about you that made me want to protect you when I should’ve walked away. I still don’t. Do you think I’d do it for just anyone? I have strong feelings for you. I don’t know what they are, and if you think I’m going to let you brood away because I didn’t react the way you expected me to, you’re sadly mistaken. I do things my way, not yours. That includes how I feel about you. You mean more to me than I want you to. And, baby, I’m still furious at you for the lines you’ve crossed. You’ve broken the law.”

  The flash in his eyes when he shoved his hand roughly through his hair should’ve been warning enough of the depth of his feelings. “You need to back off, Marcie, till I figure some things out. And get this into that stubborn head of yours—if you hurt, so do I. With the trouble you’re in, at this point, I still don’t know how deep it is or if I can get you out. And, Marcie, so help me, if you’ve lied to me or you’ve withheld anything…” He gritted his teeth as he turned away in his angry rant, unable to finish, but not before she glimpsed a sheen of tears gloss over his vulnerable blue eyes.

  Her hand trembled as it covered her mouth and butterflies overtook her stomach. She was afraid to touch him. He didn’t hate her. He cared, but trust was essential. If she wasn’t completely forthcoming, he’d turn and walk away for good. She’d much rather endure a sledgehammer in her gut then suffer that wrath.

  “Understood, Sam.”

  He wiped his face with his hand. She glimpsed Diane and Jesse standing at an awkward distance, ten feet away, pretending not to notice all the sparks flying between them.

  He rolled down his window. “Diane, Jesse, get in. Let’s go.” He shoved the keys back in the ignition.

  Marcie started the truck while Diane and Jesse climbed in. Jesse crammed in behind Marcie, his knees pressed up against her seat back. His head, like Sam’s, almost touched the roof. Marcie drove east down Ferry Road. A trail of dust followed, taking them to the center of the thickly forested island to the only T intersection. Marcie turned right.

  “So you always leave your keys in the ignition?” Sam asked. The icy tension between them melted a little more.

  “Pretty much. That way I know where they are.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone’s going to take your truck?”

  “Like who? We all know each other here. Where’s it going to go? It can’t leave the island. If someone took it, everyone here would know. It’d be easy enough to go and get it.” She could feel his eyes burning into her as if he was trying to wrap his head around living in a place where you didn’t carry the same worries as the rest of the world. When she came around the next bend, half a dozen cars were parked, blocking the narrow gravel road. Nine people loitered, drinking beer. “Oh, a road party.”

  “What the hell is that?” Sam said.

  Marcie stopped behind the green truck. There was no squeezing past. Sam scowled. She saw his whole body tense as he grabbed hold of the rusty handle and wrenched the door open.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marcie grabbed Sam’s arm before he could bolt out the door and play cop, shutting down this party, which would humiliate her with the locals. “Sam, please don’t. That’s not how it’s done here.” She could feel his heart racing. “Sam, please.”

  He pulled away and climbed out. Marcie slid her bum around on the black vinyl and stared at Diane. “It’s what happens here. Sometimes it goes on for days and no one can get by. It’s life here, and it’s harmless.”

  Diane only grunted as she climbed out. Jesse followed, frowning and shaking his head.

  “Jesse, please help me. Get Sam to stop. I have to live here with these people.”

  “Hey, Marcie! Didn’t know you were back. Wow, what happened to your head?” Betty, a chunky woman in her fifties, decked out in her trademark eighties retro-pink, satin shorts and faded yellow shirt, walked past Jesse and hugged Marcie.

  “I fell. It’s nothing, really. Good to see you, Betty.”

  Marcie recognized all the familiar faces of the laid-back local partiers, who were always looking for a good time. Unfortunately, this summed up the extent of their ambition. She declined several offers for a beer, and it wasn’t until she chatted over some good times, and rehashed the latest gossip, that she spied Sam and Jesse. Both faced hippie Bob as he regaled them animatedly with some broad tale, his beer sloshing out of the can each time he flapped his arms. His long white hair and matching beard rustled in the wind.

  Somehow, Diane had managed to convince the drivers of three cars parked on the left-hand side to move so that only one lane was blocked. In less than an hour, Marcie, Sam, Diane, and Jesse were able to squeak by and continue on their way.

  “So is that a common thing, starting a party in the middle of your only main road on the island, drinking and then getting back in your car loaded? Completely illegal, Marcie, just in case you missed that part of the law.”

  “Sam, I’m not going to argue the laws of the state with you. I guarantee that I won’t win. I’m also not condoning their behavior, but I’m not willing to judge them either.” The air sizzled between them, and there was nothing but icy silence from Jesse and Diane in the back.

  Around the next bend, Marcie passed a three-by-five cookie shack, hammered together with plywood, with a peaked, cedar roof. There were several on the island at various spots along the main road, all owned by locals and loaded with fresh garden vegetables. Peggy, an elderly, plump lady wearing a floppy straw hat, waved Marcie down while holding a bunch of carrots. Marcie stopped and leaned her elbow out the open window.

  “Oh, Marcie, you’re back. Are you going home?”

  “On my way now.” The truck rumbled while she pressed the brake.

  Peggy waved her wrinkled hand high in the air. “Well, you go on, then. I’ll be right over to see you.”

  Marcie waved her hand out the window and pulled away. Sam’s eyes scalded her again.

  “Interesting lady.”

  “Who, Peggy? She’s awesome.”

  Sam offered a mere grunt in reply.

  “So what was that little hut about? What kind of stuff’s being sold?” Diane leaned forward, grabbing the back of Marcie’s seat.

  “That’s what we call a cookie shack. If you live here, you have to be self-sufficient and grow your own food. People sell their extra vegetables, fruit. Some even sell baking. Those cookie shacks are filled daily with whatever the owner of the property has available to sell. It’s an honor system. Price is listed, and people leave the money in a can.”

  “Let me guess—nobody worries about getting ripped off,” Sam said.

  “Not by locals.”

  Sam was apparently not familiar with the workings of a small community. Man, had she missed this place.

 
Around the next tree-lined bend, one of the island lakes magically appeared. Marcie turned down a rough dirt driveway that sloped at a gentle incline, surrounded by thick fir trees opening into a clearing with a quaint log home, which appeared deserted. No dog, no chickens, just thirty acres of birds, nature, arbutus, fir, and juniper trees overlooking Mirror Lake, with a clear blue sky and warm sun—simply a slice of heaven.

  “Here we are, home sweet home.” Through fresh eyes, she could see the magic of this place. The front porch listed. The overhang leaned heavily on one side, and Marcie glowed at this magnificent, peaceful sight. “Watch the top step. The front board’s cracked. Jesse, Sam, with your weight, you’ll probably go right through it.”

  Time stood still. That special feeling you get when you return home staggered Marcie until she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry. Shaking and a little misty eyed, she opened the front door. It was the same—but different, as if she could now appreciate the beauty of this place. She loved the large, square kitchen with the fir log walls. The corner wood stove, a small, modern propane fridge and stove, and her granny’s nicked oak table filled the center of the room.

  “You always leave your door unlocked?”

  Marcie wiped her eyes, so lost in thought that she didn’t realize Sam stood right behind her. Before she could respond, a car rumbled down the driveway. Marcie wandered back outside. Peggy, in her spry, eighty-eight-year-old body, climbed out of a rusted, brown Hyundai, making a beeline straight for Marcie, wearing blue, polyester pants, a short-sleeved, striped shirt, and sturdy, beige shoes, similar to what nurses wore. She was an image in her floppy, straw hat, with a long, yellow scarf draped over the top and tied under her chin.