Homeplace by Joann Ross Page A

boat, the glass towers of the Seattle skyline faded into the distance. On the top deck, two suit-clad businessmen—obviously commuters—were taking advantage of the stiff breeze to fly kites that soared like colorful dragons overhead. On any other occasion, Raine would have enjoyed the carefree sight. But not today.
    Perhaps it was the emotional roller coaster she’d spent the day riding, but her feelings were veering back and forth like an out-of-control pendulum. Visions, like isolated snapshots, flashed through her mind: a vague memory of a little girl holding tight to her mother’s hand as they crossed these very same waters, excited at this new adventure, but secretly worried that they might be swallowed up by a huge killer whale, just like Pinocchio.
    Another memory, from two years later, sponging Savannah’s face with a wet paper towel after her younger sister, seasick from choppy waters, had thrown up the hot dog, barbecue potato chips, and Dr. Pepper Lilith had fed them for dinner.
    And then there’d been that painful day when she was a beanpole-skinny thirteen-year-old, desperately wishing for some magic word that would make her invisible while her glamorous mother leaned against the railing, her hair flying out like a shimmering banner in the crisp sea breeze as she flirted with a trio of lovesick sailors who were drooling over Lilith like three chocoholics raptly gazing upon a giant Hershey bar.
    During those childhood years, part of Raine had looked forward to coming back to Coldwater Cove. It was, after all, the closest thing she’d ever known to home, the only place she felt safe. Secure. But always, deep inside the most secret places in her mind and heart lurked the fear that this would be the time Lilith would leave them at their grandmother Ida’s house and never return.
    A young, obviously pregnant woman came out onto the deck with a little girl who was about the age Raine had been the first time she’d taken this ferry ride. As the woman pointed out the kites brightening the pewter sky and mother and daughter laughed together, obviously enjoying each other’s company, Raine experienced a sharp feeling of loss for a childhood she’d never known.
    Less than twenty minutes after leaving Seattle, she caught her first glimpse of Coldwater Cove in the distance. The turreted, gingerbread Victorian buildings perched atop the green bluff overlooking Admiralty Bay were backlit by the setting sun in a way that made them look as if they were on fire. A slanted gray curtain between the water and the town suggested rain. A suggestion that was borne out when a random drop carried on the salt-tinged wind hit her face. Then another. Then more, finally driving Raine inside.
    As the ferry approached the pier, she sipped from a foam cup of espresso that provided a much needed burst of caffeine and watched a brown pelican skim along the coastline in search of fish, the ungainly, awkward looking bird surprisingly graceful in flight. More pelicans perched on wooden pilings. When the docking call sounded, Raine tossed off the last of the espresso, left the glassed-in observation deck and took the metal stairs to her rental car.
    She’d no sooner driven off the ferry when she found herself immediately engulfed in the wet, gray curtain she’d seen from the railing. Rain sheeted the windshield as she made her way through town, headed to her grandmother’s home. She hit the search button on the car’s radio, stopping when she landed on what seemed to be a news station. She listened to the weather forecast, which predicted rain.
    “Now there’s a newsflash,” she muttered, turning the wipers to high as raindrops hit the glass in front of her like bullets, obscuring her view.
    The Pacific Northwest hadn’t gotten these towering green trees that rose into the silvery mist like shaggy arrows, or the seemingly endless supply of crystal creeks and tumbling waterfalls, without receiving a lot of precipitation. Most