Scandal (9 page)

I commented on the increase of buildings and people.

Sam said, "Nothing new about that. Everybody wants to come here. That's how Sue and I
made a living, and how we...well, Dave and Teri still bring in a few bucks. Have to admit, I don't
quite get it. I'd rather go up the coast to a town that doesn't have hundreds of people trying to get
into the same restaurant that I am."

"Maybe it's Ecola Park and Haystack Rock? Lewis and Clark walked here. Indian people
fished and hunted here. Sam, it's a beautiful place. You're jaded, living in paradise your whole
life."

"It was paradise when I was a kid, but in case you've not noticed, that was a long time ago.
One of the good things about this place, I met Magda here among the thousands. She is
special."

That made me wonder a bit but I knew that Sam and Sue had been a solid team, with no
hint ever of the what he called, "Sheenagans," his rare reference to the situation of his birth. Of his
father, David, impregnating a woman, Sophie, who wasn't his wife. Of Sophie and Sam, living with
them, here, before she moved away, leaving Sam behind. His childhood had been different, that I
had to give him.

He carried on a running commentary on the town as we drove through, remarking on what
was new, which often meant it had come in thirty years ago. When locals hollered at him, "'Bout
time you got back!" he waved back. I could tell he liked the attention.

We arrived at the old family house around noon. Teri had a lunch of tacos and salad ready.
We hugged and she told me to make myself at home. "You'll be upstairs, in the guest room. Sophie's
room." They had added a master bedroom and bath to the bottom floor and put a bathroom
upstairs, with a railing by the steps, the only clue of changes needed for Sam. His room was now
what had originally been David and Amy's bedroom. I settled into the room next door. It had wide
board walls with simple hooks in a corner instead of a closet.

I opened my suitcase to retrieve the lightweight wool Pendleton shirt that I'd use for a
jacket while I was here. Even though the days are still warm, the nights cool rapidly, a taste of the
coming winter. The soft wind carries a bite.

I hung my jacket from one of the hooks. With that I felt at home looking out the same
window that Sophie had over eighty years ago, onto the beach and Haystack Rock with its two
sentinels. Her original cabin, down the slope, is still there, but so remodeled that it is nearly new.
Right beside it are the five cabins that Sam and Sue built. Small cabins, each with a living room
window view of the Rock. "Dramatic" they called it in their brochures.

After lunch Teri refused my help to clean up. "You go on down. The tide is perfect, still
going out. When you get back you can take a nap." In my room I put on my jacket, dumped my
binoculars into my small backpack and shrugged it on.

The path to the beach was straight on down the wooden steps David had built to
accommodate the pitch of the short bluff. My feet hit the sand and I was in my own world. I sat on a
log to take off my shoes and socks, and snugged them up to the driftwood, trusting that no one
would steal my stuff here. They never have. I sat for a couple of minutes, squinching my toes in the
dry sand, breathing in the air that is different, tangy with salt and the smell of sea creatures. I thrust
myself off the log, trudging through the dry sand until finally it became damp and firm, much easier
to walk on. My destination: The Rock. It was, as always, farther out than it looks.

Slick, lichen-covered rocks dotted the water. A family was spread out around the tide pools
that encircled the base, mom and dad with their pants legs rolled up, two girls and a boy in shorts.
The children were playing in the tide pools, splashing warm water at each other. They bent to the
anemones that look like pretty purple flowers, touching the soft tubes that surround their mouths.
When the tubes closed on their fingers, they pulled their hands away, and then poked them again,
their mother admonishing them to, "Be careful. Remember, they're alive."

A perfect photo. I zoomed onto the face of one of the boys, showing his eyes round with
wonder. I also caught the look of irritation as his mother cautioned him.

"Okay, okay."

Sharp barks came from a black and white Border Collie busy trying to round up the gulls.
He was jumping as they flew just ahead of him, landing far enough away for safety but close enough
to tease. The dog's pleasure made me temporarily long for a dog. Maybe a red setter running down
the beach, fur flowing gracefully. Nothing like a dog at the beach. Now there'd be a business to have:
Rent a Dog For a Day.

Shuffling my toes through the pools, I walked south to where the waves washed the shore
along the tide line, the edge of the water curling into lacy patterns. Len crowded out all other
thoughts from my mind, and I felt my internal body temp rising. The lace broke into ripples over my
ankles, cooling me down. At the same time I relished my amorous feelings. I'd wondered if I was
dead to love, if it was behind me.

The farther down the beach I went, the fewer people there were. I released myself to the
happiness of this heaven, this perfect weather. When I looked down and saw a complete sand
dollar, I picked it up, wrapped it in a hankie and put it in my backpack.

In the distance I heard yips from the dog and was startled to feel tears rolling down my
cheeks.

What the heck?

Mom and Dad. Kids. A dog.

Yes, I'd wanted that. For myself, to be The Mom. For Roger to be The Dad.

I let myself swim in self-pity for a few steps, and then shook it off, pulled off the pack and
rummaged for the binoculars. I lifted the glasses to my eyes and searched for Tillamook Rock
Lighthouse--Aunt Sophie knew it as Terrible Tillie--just about two miles out. The rock is still there,
with the building, but the light that Aunt Sophie took comfort from, no longer shines.

Thinking of Aunt Sophie and her lesson to me to enjoy life as it is and not waste time
agonizing over unfilled desire, calmed me.

With the back of my sandy hand I wiped my tears, wishing I'd not used the hankie on the
shell, and did the old trick of listing ten benefits in my life, The Gratitude List. My health, my
eyesight, my fingers & toes--was I going to count them as ten, or one? That I can feel the water
on my toes. That I'm at the beach. That I have Sam and Dave and Teri, and that they love me. And
that I can love them. That's eight. That I have a house and that I have a place I can go take a nap,
now, and be with family.

Enough. I turned around, taking into myself the roll of sea onto the sand, gulls hopping and
squalling. Haystack Rock. A glorious place and a glorious day. The walk back was over too quick. A
light fog was moving in, bringing that feeling of enclosure, with it the small damp. I found the log
and shoes and socks where I'd expected them to be. I brushed my sandy feet, cleaned the grit from
between my toes. The pleasure of the warm, dry socks comforted my cold feet.

Grateful for more than ten. I laughed to myself. More than eleven!

My nap that afternoon righted me, as did the evening meal of spaghetti and meatballs with
salad and garlic bread. When we were all satisfyingly well fed, Teri stood and said, "Connor, help me
with this. Hand me the dishes, I'll load the dishwasher and you can set out the cobbler."

Pleased to see how quick he was to help his mom, as if the promise of cobbler inspired him,
I asked Connor how his bugs were doing. He was good at talking while moving, a family trait.
"Everybody liked 'em. That picture you took with the cages shut tight, it was in our paper. It helped.
They put my blue ribbon in the case at school, where the trophies are for the football guys."

Sam broke into a 1930's song. "We're in the money..."

Connor looked annoyed but laughed. "My little hisser guys are small but just as mighty as
line backers when it comes to moving people. Wow, that was a tromp, wasn't it!?" When he had the
table cleared, Teri handed him a casserole dish of blackberry cobbler, still warm, and me a spatula
and a pile of bowls. Dave got a container of vanilla ice cream and a scooper. Connor handed spoons
and forks around.

Sam sat waiting, spoon in one hand, fork in the other, anticipation deepening the wrinkles
in his face. I ladled the cobbler into the bowls and Dave piled on the ice cream.

I said, "Sammy, you don't have to do anything but eat, huh?"

"Just who do you think picked these berries while you were messing around on the
beach?"

"The family that works together stays together." Dave scooped ice cream on cobbler for
Teri. Nobody commented on me calling him "Sammy". Maybe that was common here.

"Gramps, you did a good job. Man, oh man, this is good! Mom, you make the best
cobbler."

Sam sang out, "We're in the money..." drawing out the final word, "nowwwww," to which
Conner nodded in agreement.

"Tell her about the aftermath of the bug stomp," said Teri.

"Oh, yeah! A couple days later that guy from the Salem paper came over, you know, the guy
who took that photo. Said he knew you, that you guys are old friends. Fishing for info about you.
Dad didn't tell him much."

Dave was nearing the end of his cobbler. "He talked about Grandma Sophie like you all was
good friends. Said he was going to meet up with you. Has he done that yet?" His left eyebrow lifted
in a question.

"Oh, yeah. He's sniffing around," Sam said. "She went to his house to meet up with him
when I stopped in to see Kit."

"Sam! If Annie wants to see him you don't need to be saying stuff."

I knew my face was warming up. The memory of our hour set me into motion. I started
taking dishes into the kitchen. With my back to them I could talk.

"His name is Len." All I could think was,
just pass this off like it's nothing
. "He's
coming for dinner this week." Sam already knew that so it was better to get it out before he put his
spin on it. Bad enough to have the family discussing my potential love life. "We were an item, once,
but now we're just old friends."

I rinsed the bowls before putting them in the dishwasher.
Boy, I bet Sam's other mom,
Amy, would have liked this feature.
To change subject I said to Connor, "Say, don't you have a
board for Chinese Checkers around here somewhere? I think I won the last time we all played. Bet I
can still beat you."

That did the trick. Dave cleared the table, Connor found the board, and Teri pulled the old
box of marbles out from where she'd kept them hidden from Connor and his friends when they
were little and where it was still her secret.

The games came out even. We all won one, Connor two. We ended the evening with
everybody happy. As I undressed for bed that night, I realized I'd decided. Len was back in my life
for some reason. It was time I let loose of the chains I'd wrapped so tight around my heart, time to
take a chance with feelings. I could always put my guard back up if it didn't work. The decision,
along with the joy of family, led to an easy sleep.

I enjoyed my solitary ride back to the valley, though I dreaded returning to the heat. I used
the time to think about the changes in my life over the last two weeks.

Quilting?

A romance?

Sam and Magda?

The Willamina show?

My life had been slow before the fair. Since the Bug Disaster it felt out of control.

At home I emptied my back pack, shook the sand from the shell, and set it on the
windowsill in the kitchen.

Tuesday morning: I sat at my kitchen table, with early dawn outlining the bushes beyond
the window. The sun was just coming up. I watched it through the trees, backlighting the far side of
the river. The wind was gentle but with enough lift to raise branches of the maples. The early light
cast shadows on the buttercup yellow of the kitchen wall. I thought about Len. I'd promised him
dinner, and something more. The thought of more made me sit straighter in my chair.

The routine of making coffee soothed me. From the shelf above the sink I pulled down my
favorite cookbook, a church cookbook. Some pages were spotty with grease. The book opened
automatically to those recipes. Coffee ready I filled a mug, took it and the book to the table. The
shadows had moved higher on the wall and continued to be tossed about.

I wanted to make something simple that I could pull from the oven, that would fill the
house with good cooking smells. Not fish. Some onions, carrots, celery, potatoes, maybe a beet for
more color. I had enough of the root veggies from my garden. A sponge cake with raspberry sauce I
made from my patch. I looked at the photos of a lovely pot roast, thought about stuffed zucchini,
and decided on simple. Steak. Baked potatoes. Asparagus. He would bring the drinks.

I rummaged in the bread bin, pulled out the leftover top and bottom heels of a loaf I bought
last week before I took Sam home. I made toast, took it and peanut butter to the table.

Why Len, now? Was I looking forward to reuniting with a lost love?

Len had never been a true love to me, he had been more of a fascination. His moves had
charmed me, but Aunt Sophie had thought he was dangerous. She had told me the story of her love
affair to warn me of the dangers of fascination.

Perhaps fascination is just lust dressed up.

I finished up breakfast with a banana, cleaned up the crumbs from my peanut butter and
toast, gulped the last of my coffee. I had shopping to do. And a phone call to make.

I called Len and told him we were on for dinner Wednesday evening, early if he didn't mind.
My plan was to have leisurely time to watch the sun go down while we ate,
et cetera.
He was
quite agreeable, teasing again about the wine, "Are you sure you want sparkling cider?"

I went shopping, found a couple of nice steaks, had the cookbook out, reconsidered making
a sponge cake from scratch, and was checking my linen closet when my cell rang.