consulted the paper she’d been holding in her lap.
“This is it,” she said, turning left down the narrow road. A
half a mile later we rolled out of the tunnel of trees onto an open
five-acre plateau. Two cars. A battered Chevy Blazer and a shiny new
Subaru wagon. To the left, eight new guest cabins were spaced along
the top of the bank. Directly in front of us an asphalt ramp ran down
to the river. To the right, a moss-encrusted log cabin. The cabin
windows were filled with construction-paper ghosts and bats. On the
small concrete porch, a thirty-pound pumpkin had been expertly carved
into a fierce jack-o’-lantern.
First Claudia and then J.D. stepped out onto the porch. J.D.
looked just like I remembered him, like he’d been chiseled out and
left rough. Claudia had gained about twenty pounds and traded the
long skirt and the combat boots for a bright yellow Nike jogging suit
and a pair of sneakers. Two little blond heads poked out from around
and between Claudia’s legs. The minute Claudia saw Rebecca’s
face, the high-pitched noises began.
Claudia and Rebecca hugged and mewed and hugged and squealed and
then hugged some more. Tears and tissues. J.D. and I shook hands and
traded weather reports. The kids were introduced to their aunt
Rebecca and uncle Leo. The boy’s name was Adam. He’d turned two
last week, and was quite proud of being nearly potty-trained. The
girl was Alicia. Gonna be four on the day before Christmas. Mama’s
Christmas angel.
The place was small. Two bedrooms. No more than twelve hundred
square feet. J.D. explained how when they were up and running, the
family was going to live over in Sequim and how they were going to
gut this place and turn it into a kitchen and dining room for the
resort. Iced tea for Rebecca. A cold Moosehead for me.
We did what people do in those moments. We took turns trying to
encapsulate a couple of years’ worth of living into a hundred words
or less. Sawing off the peaks and valleys so as to seem neither
boastful nor weak, ending up with fictional renderings of our
respective lives that hardly seemed worth the telling.
The children wormed their way between Claudia and the couch back.
She leaned forward. “You’ll have to stay for dinner,” she said.
I inwardly groaned; Rebecca came to the rescue. “Oh Claudia,
we’d love to but…” She looked my way for confirmation. I did my
best. “But we’re going to have to be leaving here pretty soon,”
she continued. She explained how we were trying to make it down to
Ocean Shores before it got too late.
“You know how bad that road is,” Rebecca said.
“Wicked at night,” J.D. agreed quickly.
Claudia flicked a glance at her husband. “They can spend the
night with us, can’t they, J.D.? They can have our—”
“They said they needed to go, Claudia,” he interrupted.
“I heard what they said, J.D. There’s nothing wrong with my
ears.” Her tone had that singsong quality people develop when they
spend too much time talking to children. I felt like I’d walked in
on the last act of an art film. The knotted muscles along his jawline
suggested that he was about to tell her what parts of her anatomy did
indeed have something wrong with them. He opened his mouth, thought
better of it. “Hot in here,” he said. “I’m gonna take a
little walk.”
He took two quick strides across the room, jerked open the door
and was gone. Screen door banged. Children stood still and silent.
The air was magnetic with tension. Amazing the kind of nonverbal
communication you develop with a partner over time. I was already
halfway out of my seat when Rebecca shot me look number forty-nine.
The one that meant I should follow J.D. so’s she could find out
from Claudia what was really going on here. She didn’t have to ask
twice.
J.D. was walking in circles in the driveway, rubbing the back of
his neck and looking up into the racing gray sky.
“How’s fishing?” I tried. Seemed like a good bet. To
fishermen,
“This is it,” she said, turning left down the narrow road. A
half a mile later we rolled out of the tunnel of trees onto an open
five-acre plateau. Two cars. A battered Chevy Blazer and a shiny new
Subaru wagon. To the left, eight new guest cabins were spaced along
the top of the bank. Directly in front of us an asphalt ramp ran down
to the river. To the right, a moss-encrusted log cabin. The cabin
windows were filled with construction-paper ghosts and bats. On the
small concrete porch, a thirty-pound pumpkin had been expertly carved
into a fierce jack-o’-lantern.
First Claudia and then J.D. stepped out onto the porch. J.D.
looked just like I remembered him, like he’d been chiseled out and
left rough. Claudia had gained about twenty pounds and traded the
long skirt and the combat boots for a bright yellow Nike jogging suit
and a pair of sneakers. Two little blond heads poked out from around
and between Claudia’s legs. The minute Claudia saw Rebecca’s
face, the high-pitched noises began.
Claudia and Rebecca hugged and mewed and hugged and squealed and
then hugged some more. Tears and tissues. J.D. and I shook hands and
traded weather reports. The kids were introduced to their aunt
Rebecca and uncle Leo. The boy’s name was Adam. He’d turned two
last week, and was quite proud of being nearly potty-trained. The
girl was Alicia. Gonna be four on the day before Christmas. Mama’s
Christmas angel.
The place was small. Two bedrooms. No more than twelve hundred
square feet. J.D. explained how when they were up and running, the
family was going to live over in Sequim and how they were going to
gut this place and turn it into a kitchen and dining room for the
resort. Iced tea for Rebecca. A cold Moosehead for me.
We did what people do in those moments. We took turns trying to
encapsulate a couple of years’ worth of living into a hundred words
or less. Sawing off the peaks and valleys so as to seem neither
boastful nor weak, ending up with fictional renderings of our
respective lives that hardly seemed worth the telling.
The children wormed their way between Claudia and the couch back.
She leaned forward. “You’ll have to stay for dinner,” she said.
I inwardly groaned; Rebecca came to the rescue. “Oh Claudia,
we’d love to but…” She looked my way for confirmation. I did my
best. “But we’re going to have to be leaving here pretty soon,”
she continued. She explained how we were trying to make it down to
Ocean Shores before it got too late.
“You know how bad that road is,” Rebecca said.
“Wicked at night,” J.D. agreed quickly.
Claudia flicked a glance at her husband. “They can spend the
night with us, can’t they, J.D.? They can have our—”
“They said they needed to go, Claudia,” he interrupted.
“I heard what they said, J.D. There’s nothing wrong with my
ears.” Her tone had that singsong quality people develop when they
spend too much time talking to children. I felt like I’d walked in
on the last act of an art film. The knotted muscles along his jawline
suggested that he was about to tell her what parts of her anatomy did
indeed have something wrong with them. He opened his mouth, thought
better of it. “Hot in here,” he said. “I’m gonna take a
little walk.”
He took two quick strides across the room, jerked open the door
and was gone. Screen door banged. Children stood still and silent.
The air was magnetic with tension. Amazing the kind of nonverbal
communication you develop with a partner over time. I was already
halfway out of my seat when Rebecca shot me look number forty-nine.
The one that meant I should follow J.D. so’s she could find out
from Claudia what was really going on here. She didn’t have to ask
twice.
J.D. was walking in circles in the driveway, rubbing the back of
his neck and looking up into the racing gray sky.
“How’s fishing?” I tried. Seemed like a good bet. To
fishermen,
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