One Summer by JoAnn Ross

and airy purple fingerling yarn that accented her dark eyes, she fetched her pocketbook and left the house.
    The mist hadn’t kept anyone indoors. This was, after all, the Oregon coast, where rain was to be expected. Tourists crowded the sidewalks, many carrying containers of crab from the takeaway shops, eating ice-cream cones, or digging into white bags of saltwater taffy. Along with its fishing fleet, Shelter Bay survived on tourism, so it was good to see the local shops doing a brisk business.
    The harbor came alive every morning at sunrise, boats chugging out in search of lingcod, rockfish, along with trophy salmon, halibut, tuna, and Dungeness crab during the seasons. And then there were those taking tourists out to visit the pod of whales that lived in the waters just offshore.
    The air was tinged with the scent of salt and faraway places; sea lions lounged on docks, barking to one another; a gull swooped down and grabbed up a crab nearly half his size. Unable to hang on to it, he dropped it onto the rocks, where it was quickly attacked by more opportunistic gulls.
    Having been brought up in the steamy Southern bayou, Adèle had admittedly taken a while to get used to life in the Pacific Northwest, but now, after all these decades, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
    The Knitting Nook was less than half a mile away. She’d been there so many times, she could probably make the walk in her sleep. She strolled along Harbor Boulevard, turned right on Sea Stack Road, left on Parkside Drive, and up the hill, where the bronze statue of a young woman looking out to sea, waiting for her fisherman husband’s return, was the centerpiece of an emerald green expanse of grass. The gardens were in full bloom, the glossy-leafed azaleas boasting a dazzling display of red, pink, yellow, and orange bushes that reminded her of a summer sunset over the ocean.
    A group of children were scrambling over a crayon-colored jungle gym while their mothers, clad in hooded rain parkas, sat chatting on a fir green bench. One of the mothers, a stroller by her side, saw Adèle and waved. Although Adèle didn’t recognize her, she smiled and waved back.
    Then, continued on her quest.
    For … what?
    She froze in her tracks.
    It’s not that difficult. She took a deep breath that was meant to soothe and clear her mind. It didn’t. Just think back to what you were doing when you decided to leave the house.
    Her mind, which was beginning to panic, was blank.
    Surely she couldn’t have been gone for very long. Shelter Bay wasn’t that large. And she’d walked over every inch of it during her time living here. So if she knew where she was headed, she’d know why she’d gone out.
    But even if she knew what she’d left the house to get, it wouldn’t help her. Because as she looked around in a slow circle, taking in the tidy row of shops and houses with their colorful wind socks blowing in the sea breeze, the gleaming white pillar of a lighthouse flashing its light, as it did every day and night, the iron bridge over the bay, connecting the town to the coast, she had absolutely no idea where she was.
    Calm down.
    The trick, she’d learned, was not to get flustered. Which was difficult to do with her heart racing and her blood pounding in her ears.
    She took another deep breath. Then another . In. The sound of the foghorn from the Shelter Bay lighthouse tolled its warning. Out.
    Again. In. Out.
    Her legs had turned wobbly. Afraid they’d crumble beneath her, she began half walking, half stumbling along, convinced that if she just kept moving forward, something, someone, would look familiar and her world would be back in its usual calm place.
    The clouds covered the sun and although it was June, the temperature began to drop. One thing about this part of the country—if you didn’t like the weather, all you had to do was wait ten minutes and it would change.
    See. Adèle experienced a glimmer of optimism. You remember that old saying. So,