The boat horn sounded again, and then we sat. The ferry connected to the dock with a gentle bump, and then we sat. The passengers came back to their cars like a swarm of confused ants, and then they sat. I was so anxious to get moving that I pondered just punching the accelerator and crashing through the gate, but soon enough a slow moving ferry worker bent down, grabbed the wooden block from under my tire, and waved us forward.
And thank God we were in front of the line. The drive through Kingston is painful enough, what with the 25MPH speed limit - but when you’re stuck at the back of the line, the experience is unholy.
On the other hand, I always managed to appreciate the slow drive for scouting purposes. To and from the ferry was the only reason I came along this road, and I liked looking for little new shops. A couple new coffee houses and restaurants had opened up since the last time I was here, and there were the regulars too - a grocery store (the only one for miles,) a post office, and a couple of gas stations. Even these big stores I could have driven passed a thousand times without ever noticing, but Port Ludlow is literally in the middle of nowhere and these grocery stores are absolutely necessary for trips longer than a couple of days.
But we were prepared for this visit and we left them behind, continuing along towards Hood Canal.
After the traffic thinned out, we increased our speed to a liberating 50MPH. It was short-lived. Port Gamble is a historical landmark of a neighborhood and remains preserved and maintained to look like it did back then in the 1800s, complete with a general store, a New England style church, and several little houses. There really isn’t a lot here anymore - the old school houses, firehouse, and settler's homes were now either little shops or private homes. Sundays they had a farmer's market, and every once in a while there was an event at the general store. It was cute, but there really isn't much to it besides a history lesson.
We drove on, through the town and onto the Hood Canal Bridge, the dark greenery of the forest bordering the highway suddenly giving way to a wide-open view of the water on both sides. Far off, there were sailboats, tiny triangles of white that dotted along among the big buoys that acted as resting places for the seals that lived in the harbor. Once we reached the other shoreline, we took the first right and headed straight for Port Ludlow.
The already dense forest actually manages to thicken after Hood Canal and, especially in the summer, this section of road is one of the prettiest parts of the drive. Wildflowers, ferns, and tall grass borders the side of the woods, and the sun glittering through the green canopy overhead flickers against the road.
Today, my window rolled down, I let my arm fly in the wind and the fresh air fill my lungs. It made me smile to see the train of friends behind me - Hollie, Sadie and the boys - this was going to be fun despite the ever looming life-changing milestone about to take place. Now at least, I was excited to have it happen and I shifted my attention back to the road just in time to see a pair of deer poking out of the woods as I sped past.
Out of nowhere, or so it seems, the forest breaks away and there is the little neighborhood - eight roads long. Eight. That's it. And it's either cute or completely obnoxious, but with the exception of the first road, Andy Cooper, and the last road, Boat Street, they are named after trees. Alder, Fir, Cedar, Hemlock, Spruce and Maple. Other houses are scattered along the highway, but most are tucked into these roads - large plots of land, used for little farms, or vacation homes for the most part. All except for Andy Cooper Road which runs up to Rosewood Lake, end in dead ends to the left of the highway. To the right of the highway, they connect onto Shore Drive, which as you can guess from its namesake, is the street that parallels the water. We passed Alder, Fir and Cedar, and then took a right onto Hemlock. All the way down towards the water, at the corner of Hemlock and Shore, we stopped at the two story brown shingled house.
Dad’s white pickup truck was in the driveway, but his 1976 Chevy Camaro was gone. He wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.
"Yee haw!" yelled Keith as he jumped from Brody’s Jeep.
"Finally here!" JT kicked the door open on the passenger side.
"Who wants to help me unload all this crap?" I asked, winking in their direction. "Anyone, anyone?"
"Yeah, okay, point me in the right direction," said Brody as he unhinged the tailgate and grabbed one of the bigger boxes.
"You’re the greatest!" I said, too enthusiastically. He rolled his eyes at me, and I laughed at him. "Inside, up the stairs, all the way down the hallway please. My room is straight ahead." I tossed Hollie the house keys since she was already up on the three step porch.
"Your dad left us a note," squealed Sadie as she dropped her bag on the couch.
"Your dad is awesome," Hollie crooned, snatching the note from Sadie.
"He’s got his moments," I laughed.
"He left us 100 dollars for dinner tonight!" Keith yelled from the kitchen. Sure enough, there tacked on the bulletin board over the phone was a 100 dollar bill with a another note.
"I guess this is one of those moments," I laughed again.
"That’s the last of the boxes, now how about some food?" JT said, thumping down the stairs.
"Thanks guys! Okay, let's do it. On Dad tonight I guess!" I said, snatching the money from Keith.
Before we stampeded out the front door again, as per ritual, JT, Keith and Brody all shot gunned a beer on the back porch. I grabbed the keys to the Bronco and hid Brody's under a plant by the front door - I had a funny feeling the boys would be in no condition to drive later.
"We are going to a bar you know. Can’t it wait?" Hollie mumbled.
"Saving you six bucks here, kiddo," JT said with a wink, after he swigged down half of another can in one gulp. Hollie was still muttering about open containers when we piled into the cars, Brody with another couple of cans in his hands.
Reluctantly, with Brody, JT and Keith still chugging in the backseat, I led the way down Hemlock and back onto the highway. Sadie and Andrew followed behind us. This time I turned right and headed further down the road, away from Hood Canal. The road follows the shoreline all the way north, and the water just visible in the fading light through the trees, was a welcomed change from the not-so-scenic University District in Seattle.
Unlike most popular beaches these days, here, there are no people. The rocky, chilly beach is instead, full of wildlife, untamed forest and wetland. Pure magic. Something as remote and untouched as this begs for exploration and appreciation for both excitement and peace. The scream of hunting eagles, the seals and otters, the waves hitting the beach in a storm - it’s all completely mesmerizing. But so is the quiet. Sitting alone and watching any other place could hardly be as satisfying. Sights, sounds, smells, time. Simplicity here is so much more significant while real world drama means a little less.
It was nice to be back.
Even when I felt like the foundation of the past few years was crumbling away faster than I could frantically collect the pieces, this place, being here - it helped.
I smiled and kept my truck steady on the curving, uneven road as Brody leaned through the front seats to turn up the radio.
On the left about two miles down, we passed Quinn’s Market. The little store, attached gas station and farming supply station is the only one of its kind until Port Townsend, about 20 miles to the north. It is either this place or the store back in Kingston. Not much for selection.
A few miles later, after passing over an old, small bridge that connects the sides of the forested gully below, we were finally at the marina. Here to the left, across the street from the water is the Whitfield Inn, the only hotel in operation here. I had never been inside, but the outside was old and well maintained, and it seemed friendly enough at the top of the hill. There were gardens in front that bordered the wraparound porch, and there was a barn and stables out back, abutting the woods. .
Across the street from the Whitfield Inn is Scully’s Restaurant and Bar, the only restaurant in town. The main level is a family friendly restaurant that serves anything from pizza to fresh seafood. Around back, downstairs is the bar. Big heavy doors swing open directly in front of the marina boardwalk as if to magnetically attract every old, scruffy-faced sailor in the harbor. We were going here. In the summertime especially, there was a good mix of tourist and regular patrons. We parked, walked down the hill and burst noisily through the front doors.
Even though it was only eight o’clock in the evening, the pub was packed and a cloud of cigarette smoke hung low over the bar, in complete disregard for the no smoking law effective in Washington. Most of the patrons at the bar today were older men with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in front of them, and, for some reason, I doubted they cared about the affects of second hand smoke.
We found a booth in the corner of the noisy bar and the boys immediately ordered burgers and fries. Sadie picked off of what Andrew ate and Hollie and I munched on an order of fries while we watched the boys with bored fascination as they gorged themselves on several pitchers of beer and bar food.
Soon, Brody, Keith, and JT, rosy-cheeked and a decibel louder then they were on arrival, got up to play pool. Sadie and Andrew got up to dance to the slow song that the mediocre live band was playing from the stage in the corner. Indifferent, I sighed and settled back into the now empty booth after Hollie left me to walk over to the bar. The only man in the room under 30 was obviously beeping on her guy-dar like a beacon and she made a beeline for him, just for fun, she mouthed. She neared her target, leaning up to the bar casually, and ordering her go-to drink, a vodka soda. I knew this maneuver very well and watched with friendly appreciation. Sure enough, a minute later they were chatting, she, flipping her long hair behind her and leaning into share a joke. The famous Hollie Gibson hair flip. He was laughing... and hooked, poor guy. Man, she was good. A minute later he was grabbing her cocktail and his pint of beer and was following her over. Great, I thought, now I have to put up with this idiot all night. .
"Lana, this is Nick," Hollie said, taking her drink from him.
"Hi Nick!" I exclaimed eagerly, extending my hand to shake his. "What do you think of my friend here?" Hollie glared at me.
"Well, Lana," he smiled. "She seems very nice so far."
"Yes, she is very nice," I said, winking at her not-so-subtly. "Are you from town Nick?" He was a little nervous now - only took him a day and a half to realize I was being sarcastic. Not so quick on the uptake.
"I’m in town with a buddy. We're working on a construction project out in Port Hadlock this week." He plopped down next to me and Hollie eased into the booth after him. "I’ve got to tell you," he began. "You two are the first attractive women I’ve seen in this whole town. And I’ve been here since Monday." Yep, construction worker. I knew it.
"I bet you say that to all the girls you meet," Hollie laughed as she playfully slapped his arm.
"Yeah, what a line," I sighed, not exaggerating at all. I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be interested, but he kept talking.
"No, I’m actually dead serious, you can’t be from here, you’ve got all your teeth." Hollie laughed, a little too hard in my opinion, as I smiled with my water straw in between my teeth. At least they were both trying too hard.
I suffered through Nick and his friend Steve, who showed up a minute later, and wasn’t much better than Nick when it came to picking up girls in a bar.
"So you just graduated from UW then?" Steve said, with a heavy stale beer breath.
"That’s right," I rolled my eyes at Brody, who was eying me from across the pool table, enjoying my misery. "We all did. Those guys over there were on the football team," I lifted my chin in their direction. "We were soccer players."
"Oh no kidding? Football huh? They didn’t do too well this season did they?" Steve laughed. "In fact, they sucked pretty bad."
"I think you should go over there and tell them that," I said sarcastically, nodding towards the guys, all over six feet and 200 pounds.
"I don’t think so," he laughed. "Maybe after another drink."
I humphed unenthusiastically. Still, he scooted closer to me and leaned in with a smile, his eyes beginning to glaze over. Okay, I was fed up with this guy. I looked over at Brody again, and subtly gestured with my eyes for him to come over and get this leech away from me. He understood immediately and set his pool stick on the table. He came over to the other side of the booth from Steve and slid in.
"Hi honey," he said, kissing the side of my head. "Who’s your new friend?"
"This is Steve. We were just talking about you actually," I said, winking hard at Steve.
"Hey there, Steve," Brody said, taking his arm out from around my shoulders and reaching over to shake, a now perplexed, Steve’s hand.
"Pleased to meet you. Great job this season," he said, his ego deflated. "I guess I’ll leave you to it then, it was nice to meet you Lana."
"Have a good night Steve," I said, smiling into my glass.
After my new friend Steve had gone, I leaned into Brody’s side. "Thanks for saving me."
"Anytime," he said with a squeeze.
Hollie made fast friends with Nick, who wasn’t bad looking - nice and tall, muscular, and blond. Her usual type exactly (except of course for JT, who was about as far away from blond and blue eyed as you could get.) The pair danced and sat at the bar together all night. JT didn't mind - he's not the jealous type and knew she didn't really care about Nick. The pair have a beautiful understanding, most of the time.
My night didn‘t get much better, on the other hand. I stayed completely sober, and for the most part, held our table and babysat the boys. Every now and again a couple of them would come over and plunk down for a chat and a refill. Sadie and Andrew went outside for a walk along the pier and down to see the docks - completely ditching me, as usual. After last call, Hollie and I herded the boys outside, to the amusement of the bouncers, and shoved everyone towards a car.
Getting the boys into the house was a little like herding cats, especially since Hollie was incapacitated by a fit of laughter that had her sprawled across the stairs as I chased Keith around the lawn. Finally, with the help of Sadie and Andrew, we got the guys inside and pulled all the couch cushions off and onto the floor. I spread out several dark brown quilts from the closet - fluffy white pillows scattered across the floor like marshmallows in hot cocoa. We had come across this sleeping solution during a now infamous moment back in freshman year. Ever since, our love nests had served us well - it was much easier then pumping up inflatable mattresses or making a million beds the next morning. Feeling a little melancholy, I looked at the creation that covered almost the whole living room floor. This would more than likely be our last time doing this.
As usual, the drunks were out cold, and I was left tired but wide awake. I was firmly squashed between JT and Keith, who had his head on my stomach, and Brody was above my head, facing me and snoring like a buzz saw. Andrew was sleeping on the outskirts of the pillows, with his back to Sadie. (He bugged me, even in sleep.) Hollie was on the other side of JT, cradled in his arm.
I pushed Keith off and tried counting sheep. Instead, I found myself concentrating on the sounds around me desperately, as though I would never hear them again. Brody’s snoring drowned out pretty much everything, but between breaths I could hear a steady ticking of the clock by the front door, and the faint crash of the tide coming in through the open window in the kitchen. Eventually this random melody lulled me to sleep.
There was a thick, stagnant fog hanging a few feet above the road that morning. I navigated the Bronco through it slowly, barely keeping it between the lines on the road. I flipped off my headlights, and that helped a little, the visibility increasing by a couple of feet.
It wasn’t enough.
I saw the woman briefly, but it was too late. A frightened blond head whipped around, and her dark eyes connected with mine for a split second, sending something more than fear and adrenaline down my spine.
She was looking through me.
Her long and old-fashioned skirt swirled around her in the fog as she turned, but she made no attempt to get out of the way. She just stared.
I shot awake, short of breath. I took slow breaths and tried to be rational as I realized it was all a dream. Calming down a little, I glanced around. Everyone was still fast asleep.
Last asleep, first awake had always been the rule, even without the nightmares. I got up, stretching my arms to the ceiling, and swallowed the last of the terrible dream as I shuffled into the kitchen.
I always woke up early on Saturdays anyway for morning soccer, and seven o’clock stared at me in neon green on the microwave as I rummaged through the pantry. After a thorough and somewhat frantic search, I came to the realization that there was nothing for breakfast. Dad’s bachelor lifestyle hardly called for breakfast food.
I was pretty much still dressed from the night before, but I pulled on a pair of boots and a UW sweatshirt over my tank top and jeans. Trying not to stumble over any sleeping bodies, I grabbed my keys and was out the door. There was no fog that morning, but I still shuddered as I passed the place on the highway that the dream had taken place on.
I sped on towards Quinn’s Market. There was a blue sedan in the parking lot, but other than that, I was the only one here and I thundered into the slot next to the other car, my old truck’s engine extra loud this quiet morning. I pulled open the door and the bell chimed. Even that seemed excruciatingly loud. Soon, I was pushing a cart down the aisles, grabbing pancake mix, syrup and other breakfast items off the shelves. Humming to myself absentmindedly, I collected eggs and milk from the refrigerated section. As I neared the meat counter, I noticed, who must have been the owner of the other car, struggling to reach the top shelf. I stopped humming, instantly self conscious. Without a second thought, I walked over and grabbed the can off the shelf for her.
She seemed even tinier up close, probably only an inch or two over five feet and struck me with her intimidating and fairy-like beauty, but also the warmth exuding from her dark eyes. It made me feel less huge standing next to her, less self-conscious.
She looked up at me and continued to grin wildly through a perpetually friendly face. Her eyes all but disappeared into twinkling half-moons as she smiled, and delicate crow’s feet formed in the corners, the only hint alluding to the fact that she was probably around my father’s age.
Meanwhile, the can was still in my outstretched hand. I rotated it slowly, waiting for her to take it. But she didn’t.
So awkward.
Her smile never faded either. She waited. I waited.
I returned her smile, trying to keep the wariness hidden, but her nearly deranged expression was making me uneasy. She looked like she knew me, like she was waiting for me to recognize her, and I clearly had no idea who she was. I was about to drop the can into her cart and take off when she finally took it.
"Thank you," she said with a cheerful, bouncy voice.
"No problem," I said. "Height has to be good for something, right?" I smiled once more, and carefully turned and began to walk away.
"Lana Baker," she called matter-of-factly after me. I stopped in my tracks. "I was wondering when you were going to show up."
I wheeled around. "Do I…" I said quietly, walking back to her slowly. "Do I know you?"
"Nope," she said bluntly as she began to push her cart towards mine. "I know you though. Have since you were born." She saw the confusion on my face and laughed out loud. "I know your father. We went to high school together."
At last. An epiphany.
"Oh!" I said, a little too relieved. She laughed again.
"I’m Celine Chadwick. I’m glad to meet you. We were all so happy to have Ricky back. We were all wondering if you would end up here for good too." She took my hand off the cart and shook it in both of hers. Mine dwarfed her tiny ladylike hands, but I noticed that hers were just as callused as mine. That made me feel a little better.
"Have him back? I didn’t know he ever lived here at all. When was that?" I asked her, puzzled. I knew he had inherited the land from Grandpa, but I had no idea he had lived up here. I left out my intention of leaving after the summer too.
"Your father grew up here." She said, her expression growing more sullen. "I can’t believe you don’t know that," she said under her breath. She shook her head, "You don’t spend a lot of time up here."
"I don’t, no."
Celine paused and smiled softly before turning back to me. She waved an index finger around my face. "Now I understand the creeper look."
I burst out laughing. "I’m sorry! I had no idea what was going on." It was half funny, half mortifying. I was sorry that she could see that I had felt awkward. I liked her already and wanted her to know it. "I just finished school," I explained. "It’s been hard to get up here on weekends lately."
"Not to start the creepy thing again," she said with a wink, "But I did know that."
"Thanks for the disclaimer," I laughed as we pushed our carts to the check stands. "I’ll be up here for the summer, I guess. Now that school’s done for good."
"I have five sons, and let me tell you, only four of them went to college-"
"You have five kids?" I interrupted. "Five kids passed college age? No way."
She giggled as she started to pile groceries on the turn belt. "I do. Five boys all grown up. But I was going to say that education is very important and even if you seem lost now," she paused to look up at me sharply, "It will be worth it later."
"Stay out of my head!" I laughed. "How do you know exactly what I’m thinking?"
"Did you not hear the five sons bit?" She tapped her temple. "Mother’s intuition."
"Must be." She had hit the nail right on the head. What’s the point of school if you don’t do anything with your degree? Was moving home the right thing to do or was it lazy?
"You’ll find your niche," she said, as though she could read my now racing thoughts. "Don’t you worry."
"You’re good."
I slapped a dividing stick down in between our groceries and started to pile my things on behind hers. We were still talking outside as we loaded our cars.
"So you and Dad were friends as kids then?"
"We were. I moved in with the Whitfields when I was seven. Ricky, my adopted sister Meg, and I usually found some kind of mischief to get into."
Celine knew the cashier, and so the conversation veered off. We were walking to the cars before long, and I still didn’t have any more information.
I wanted to stay and talk with her longer but the house would be awake and the boys would probably be eating the couch by now. I slammed the tailgate of the Bronco shut and helped her load the rest of her groceries into her car.
"Well," I sighed, "I’ve got a house full. I better get home and make breakfast."
"I thought Ricky wasn’t going to be back until Sunday?"
"He won’t be. A couple friends came to help me move." I twirled my keys on my index finger. "They’re all leaving after breakfast."
She touched my arm. "They’ll be around. Don’t worry about losing good friends."
I shrugged away from her sarcastically. "There you go again! Do I have a sign on my forehead or something?"
"I’m sorry!" She looked embarrassed for a second before shrugging. "Five sons will do that to a woman," she laughed. "You’ll be on your own until Sunday then?"
I nodded. "But I think I should be able to handle it. I was going to clean up the place, but Dad did a pretty good job before he left. Didn’t leave me anything to do!"
She smiled and nodded eagerly. "He’s been working like a maniac to finish that room of yours."
"My room?" I repeated, shaking my head. "He didn’t say anything about my room," I said, incredulous.
She smiled from ear to ear. "Won’t you be surprised then."
"I haven’t even been up there," I exclaimed, remembering how Brody and the guys had carried all the boxes up for me. I wanted to run home and bound up the stairs right then and there. I couldn’t believe him! I was ready for the thin, cracked window, wood paneled walls and dingy bathroom.
"I’m glad I said something, or you might never have gone up there at all!" she laughed, nudging my arm. "If you aren’t busy tomorrow, you should come to my house for lunch, I would love the company."
"I would love to!" I said, a little more eagerly then I had hoped.
"You’re familiar with Spruce Avenue, right?" she began. I nodded and she continued. "Cross the highway and head up towards the dead end. There’s a dirt road on the left. Head up the road about a half mile and there we are. You can’t miss it."
"Never knew there were houses up there."
"Just one," she said slyly. "Well two if you count the boys’ house."
"The boys?"
"My youngest sons, Carter and Cole live up past the lake and ranger’s station." I tried to keep my expression neutral, but the thought of people my age had me intrigued. It must not have been sly enough. She grinned out of the corner of her mouth like she knew what I was thinking. "If you decide to come, I’ll see you around noon. Does that work?"
"I’ll be there! It was really nice to meet you."
"It was great meeting you too, Lana. Good luck with breakfast and I’ll see you tomorrow!"
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