Dad had an open suitcase on the couch and a pile of dirty clothes on the kitchen table before I could blink. Hearing the shower upstairs going already, I put a load of laundry in but didn't start it, and was just zipping the suitcase closed when he came hopping the stairs looking like himself. He was clean shaven, hair combed and was wearing a pair of longer khaki cargo shorts, sneakers, a dark gray t-shirt and a Mariners baseball hat – his home uniform.
Thank goodness. He looked like Dad again – the old man at the door wasn't him.
I hated my mother for doing that to him. I hated her for a lot of things and I hardly knew the woman. I had seen her three times in my entire life, that I can remember. Once for each of Eli and my high school graduations, and once for Eli’s college graduation. Why did she think it was okay to show up then and never any other time, you ask? I have no idea.
Reena sent us checks for everything though. Birthdays, Christmas, and graduation. I got mine in the mail a few days back. I felt cheap for cashing it, but I also felt like it would give her a little piece of mind, knowing she was in a way supporting her kids – plus I need every cent I can get. She had been longtime re-married to a publishing executive and lived in Los Angeles now, so the money was no big thing for her.
Dad loudly slumped into the back of the couch, startling me out of my thoughts.
"How about taking an old man out for dinner?"
"Which old man did you have in mind?" I said, whirling around on the cushion with a cheesy smile.
"Your old man, smart ass," he said, ruffling my hair.
"Lets go." I grabbed a red cardigan off the back of the couch and threw it on over my shirt. It would be chilly soon.
A minute later we were roaring down the highway in Dad’s Camaro, the engine so deafeningly loud it was nearly impossible to hear him. I knew we would be going to Scully’s - it was the only place nearby. Still, I was surprised when he parked up top and came around to open my door.
"Why don’t we eat upstairs today?"
"You mean in the real restaurant?"
"It’s your graduation dinner and all."
He wrapped his arm across my shoulders, as we walked to the front doors. He smelled like Dad - a comforting smell that made me think of home. I missed our family being together and yet sighed contently as Dad pulled the door open and ushered me inside. I don’t know if I had ever been in here before.
"Richard Baker. I don’t believe my eyes," said a pretty Asian woman from behind the hostess table, "Who’s your date tonight?" she said, eying me warily.
"Don’t get me in trouble Penny, this is my daughter," he said, grabbing me on the shoulders and pulled me in front of him..
"Lana, forgive me, you are just all grown up!" she laughed melodiously. "Let’s get you two settled in."
I gave Dad a suspicious look as she led us back to the windows facing the Puget Sound. He shrugged innocently, like he had been framed.
Was Dad dating? I guess there wasn’t a reason he couldn’t. It was just weird. Dads don’t date. I looked at him as he pulled out my chair. Who was I kidding? Dad is a good looking guy, plus he’s friendly, loyal, and funny. Who wouldn’t fall for him?
"Weird," I said as he scooted in across from me.
"Hmm?" he asked, pulling the napkin onto his lap.
"You’re dating?"
"Not at all."
"You know," I smirked as I leaned towards him, "Lying to your only daughter isn't just bad manners. It's sad." Dad's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline but he didn't say a word – even more evidence to the truth. I leaned in closer and changed the subject. "So who are all these people? Townies or tourists?" I asked under my breath. I looked around casually at all the mostly new faces.
Dad and I leaned over our appetizers as we went through the entire room one table after another. I tried to memorize faces as he explained who everyone was since, tonight, most were people from the neighborhood or fisherman. There were only a couple tables he couldn't name. I was laughing into my garden salad when an older couple came into the room, led by Penny. The entire room seemed to quiet to a hush.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Dad said under his breath.
"Who are they?"
"Sullivan and Rebecca Whitfield," he said, looking first to his plate, then out the window.
"As in the Whitfield Inn?"
"One in the same. The one night we come here, they choose to leave the lair."
"What’s the matter with them?" I asked into my salad so they couldn‘t hear.
For a minute, Dad looked like I had said something that had caught him off guard. He paused as the grimace faded from his face. "There's nothing wrong with them." It was obvious the words were being forced out of his mouth. He hated them. I watched him take a deep breath as he thought about what to say. "Some people," he began with a grin. Right. Some people, not you. He began again. "Some people think that Sullivan and Becca Whitfield are a little old fashioned. Let's put it that way."
"Sullivan, Becca... bad." I stabbed at a leaf of lettuce and Dad laughed so hard he choked on an ice cube.
"You said it, not me," he joked.
"What did they do that was so bad?"
"That's a story for another day," he whispered.
"A mystery! Exciting."
I ignored Dad's less than excited face and casually peeked across the room.
Thankfully, Becca and Sullivan were blissfully unaware of Dad and my conversation and were slowly settling in at a table. Becca, I immediately noticed, had a very stern face. Her long brown hair seemed too young for her body, thick and still rich in color – only a little gray dotted along her temples. I could see the uppity air about Becca, but I had a hard time picturing Sullivan as stuck up. He looked like Santa Claus, minus the beard. His long white hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and his face seemed warm and rosy. Penny handed the pair two menus and left hastily but not before looking over to Dad to smile at him briefly. Did she know Dad didn't like them?
Becca did a once over of the room, her light colored eyes glaring around the room. When she swept our section of the room, her eyes landed firmly on Dad. A few seconds passed and yet her gaze did not turn away. It was as though she was challenging him to a starring contest, one that he wasn't aware of yet. I felt my own expression harden, daring her to meet my eyes. She looked at him for another long moment, and then her eyes moved to me.
Immediately, the deep line between her eyebrows disappeared, her eyes widening. Her frowning mouth opened a little in surprise, as if an inaudible cry had escaped her lips.
It was creepy. I was expecting the same rudeness and the unexpected reaction caused my own concentration to falter. What was worse, I felt an automatic smile come across my face.
Across the room, the sternly fixed corners of Becca's mouth were curling upwards too.
All of a sudden, I realized someone was saying my name.
"Lana!"
"For goodness sake, Dad. What?" I shook my head and turned back to him.
"Quit staring," he nervously stabbed at a piece of calamari.
Truth was, I couldn't help it. "She still looking over here?"
His eyes darted across the room without moving his head. Through clenched teeth he groaned. "Now they both are. No! Don't look. Just trust me."
I glued my eyes to his.
Talk about an awkward meal. When Becca and Sullivan finally looked away, they busied themselves with animated whispering across the table from each other. They would quickly then turn back and look at us. It was like they didn't see me seeing them. What the hell? Don't you know it's rude to stare?
Now, it seems stupid that I would have thought that they were staring because I was someone new to the area – someone new to the area with someone well-known to the area. I thought they were gossiping. Still, it made me nervous and after we ordered our meals, I decided I was either going to need either a cocktail or an explanation. We received our plates, and I pushed my ravioli around in the bowl and instead, generously sipped the table wine.
Before we even finished our plates, they got up and left. Fast eaters. Thank God. Relieved, and a little buzzed, I relaxed and was able to return my attention to Dad and plans for the coming days.
We got home just before nine that night. I should have been tired, but all the day’s weird events had me wide awake instead of sleepy, and while Dad settled in for the night in front of the TV, I decided to go for a walk. I needed to clear my head and work off my dinner. I walked along in the dark, not feeling an ounce of the apprehension of the darkness that I had felt the night before. It must have been the wine.
The cloak of night had softened the air and I listened to the only audible sounds: the croaking frogs, the trickling water of the nearby stream, and the sporadic sounds of cars rushing by on the highway. I heard the faint sounds of someone’s TV inside one of the houses I was passing, the soft, warm light from their windows illuminating the pavement in front of me. I walked past the park and onward to the corner where the boat launch was.
No one hardly used this boat ramp anymore - it was narrow and curved – way too much work to back a boat down, especially when Salisbury Point had a big wide launching driveway not two miles away. It is my favorite spot to launch kayaks and row boats for this specific reason. I also come here to think. That night, I stood on the old pebbled concrete and looked out at the water for a second before I sat down, pulled my hood up and lay back and stared at the sky, like I had hours before with my friends.
Every time I stare at the night sky out here, I remember how small I am. There are so many stars. In Seattle I was lucky to even notice the sky. Here, tonight, the moon was huge and orange, the stars abundant. I stared into the blackness until I saw a shooting star among the millions of shimmering specks. Sitting up, I looked again out into the dark black water, the stars shining on the glassy surface like glitter.
Not a week ago I had sat on my bed in my room in Seattle, with Coldplay humming low in the background, just thinking. There was barely any of the discontent I felt now, barely anything remotely similar to the hopeless fear that consumed every thought. What the hell was I doing here? I thought this summer would be so much fun, but it was already overshadowed by the fact that I wouldn't be going home ever again. I had no ties to this place. This was not my home.
Eventually, a rustling in the bushes nearby got the better of me, and I got up and trudged home.
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