Wherever You Go (8 page)

***

Gazing out at Lake Union, Jason basked in the afternoon sun on the bow of the
Lucky Lucy.
He wanted out on the water, to ride the wind coming from the north. The sailboat rocked gently as another seaplane landed at the Kenmore Air dock across the lake. It was prime time for the planes to circle back to Seattle with their passengers from the San Juan Islands and British Columbia. Since the lake borders the north end of downtown, it was ideal for those flights, and the lake traffic always got bad in the afternoons. Checking his watch one more time, he lay back on the deck, his irritation growing.

Just as Jason was about to give up and go home, Peter Markham pulled up in the marina parking lot, his BMW swirling up a microcloud of dust. Jason got up and started taking off the mainsail cover. By the time he had it folded properly and stowed, his dad was boarding the boat.

"Thought you were standing me up," Jason said.

"Sorry. Got stuck in a meeting." His dad slipped off his leather shoes. "Big client. Trying to build a new mall over on the Eastside."

"Sweet. Aren't enough malls," Jason replied.

Ignoring Jason's comment, Peter went below deck to change.

Jason ran the sheets to make sure they weren't tangled in a pile underfoot. He was used to the ritual of it all. Ever since his dad realized Jason was halfway dependable, he'd had his son rigging the boat, and that meant every line checked to make sure it wasn't fouled. Every knot tied a certain way. Every line properly coiled. Shipshape was no joke on the
Lucky Lucy.
Still, even with all the work, sailing was something they could do together, one of the few things they shared.

Jason hopped down to untie the spring lines and bowlines as Peter emerged from the cabin dressed in shorts, a polo shirt, and deck shoes, a beer in his hand. "Ready?"

"Yeah. She's ready."

They cast off and motored out of the slip to the open lake. Jason made the familiar trip back and forth to untie and stow the fenders, which kept them from rubbing the dock or other boats in the slip. His dad always said it was bad luck to take them off until they were well out of the marina. Remove them too soon and you were bound to crash into another craft.

"All right. Prepare to hoist," Peter called out.

Jason took off the sail ties and stowed them, then he got on the halyard to hoist the main.

Once they had the mainsail up, his dad Cl ue spring cut the engine. They sailed along for a little while, riding the momentum and a light breeze. Eventually, they brought out the jib, and soon they were headed on a starboard tack, on a long glide across the lake.

Jason rode out on the bow for a while, the breeze blowing through his hair. He never felt as free as he did on the boat, with the wind and water working together and the sun warming his face. Even in foul weather, when Seattle skies were drenching them and the winds whipped up quickly, making the sailing urgent, necessary, he felt at peace. Aside from the terms and gear, sailing was simple, really: you picked a point of destination, trimmed your sails to suit the wind, and let the boat go.

"Ready about?" Peter called out, preparing to tack again.

"Ready." Jason hopped back in the pit and, when his dad gave the signal, released one jib sheet. As Peter turned the helm all the way in the opposite direction, the jib moved to the other side of the boat. Jason pulled in the sheet tightly on the new side, winching it down with a handle. The
Lucky Lucy
cruised along at a good clip now.

"Dad," Jason said. "Why do you think Mom stopped sailing with us?"

"Where's that coming from?"

"Just wondering," Jason said, stowing the winch handle in the side pocket.

"I'm not really sure."

Jason sat back on the bench, watching his father focus on the telltales hanging listlessly on the jib. The telltales told you how close you were to the wind, and if you could get them to fly horizontally, you were right on course. Any more or less, you should adjust your sails or heading.

"Come in a little bit," Peter said.

Jason grabbed the winch handle and gave it a few turns to tighten the jib sheet. The jib stopped luffing as the sail better contained the wind they were headed into. The telltales twirled happily in the breeze.

"Nice." Peter gave his son an appreciative nod.

Jason put aside the winch handle. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Course. What's on your mind?"

"Still Mom. What's going on with you two? I mean, are you moving back to the house? You know, when you stop splitting your time at the Portland office?"

"I don't know. Things are difficult between us." Peter gave Jason a sympathetic look.

"I just want to know what's going on."

His dad let out a long breath. "The truth, son? Well, I don't know that your mother and I are in love anymore."

That was hard to hear. He hadn't ever imagined that things would sound so over, so Cd sem">

"How does that happen?" Jason asked. "How do you just decide that you don't love someone anymore?"

Peter laughed uncomfortably. "That's a good question. Maybe people aren't who you think they are. Or maybe they just change over the years."

"Mom's not who you thought she was?" Jason said, shielding his eyes against the dying sun.

"No. I mean, it's not that simple." Peter shifted at the helm, reaching for the open beer can in the cup holder. "Let's tack again."

They brought the jib to the other side of the boat, and Peter steered toward Gas Works Park, the landmark that anchors the north end of the lake. "People change. I can't put it more simply than that."

"So, you changed," Jason said.

"We all change." He motioned for Jason to come take the wheel. "I'll always love your mother, but that doesn't mean we belong together."

Peter handed off the helm to Jason and took a seat on one of the benches in the pit. Jason brought the boat around and they headed downwind, jibing on a broad reach. They took their time, sailing in near silence except for commands. When the sun began to dip, Jason headed the boat back toward the dock.

"Dad, do you think we could take some friends out this week?"

"Out on
Lucy?
" Peter said.

"Yeah," Jason said as they furled the jib. "My friend Holly and her grandpa."

"Maybe. We'll see."

"Dad, it's not a 'we'll see' kind of thing. This dude is old and Holly takes care of him. She'll need a firm plan."

Peter let out a long sigh. "I've got client meetings for the next few afternoons." They lowered the mainsail, flaking it over the boom and fastening it with the sail ties. "This is a really bad week."

He slid the cover over the sail. "This is important. It's not like I'm asking for much, Dad."

Peter started up the engine and motored toward the slip while Jason got out the fenders.

"This girl someone you're trying to impress?" Peter gave Jason a playful smile.

"Seriously. Can you do this for me? Can we just take Holly out on the boat and you'll promise not to be a total nerd?"

"I've never been a nerd," Peter said.

"Right." Jason jumped from the boat to the dock to secure the bowline.

C nee d"I just mean that you can't embarrass me."

"Uh-oh. You've got it bad," Peter said.

"Ha." Jason secured the spring lines that would keep the boat from rocking around in the slip. "She's not my girlfriend or anything. We're friends."

"Not girlfriend material? Well, I guess after Faith she'd have a lot to live up to."

"No. No. It's not like that. Give me a break. She's nothing like Faith. She's just a girl."

"So she's pretty amazing, then," Peter said, fastening the mainsail cover.

"Yeah," Jason admitted. "But she's, um, well—she used to date Rob."

"Oh." Peter slid the hatches into place and locked up the cabin. They grabbed their gear and walked up the dock toward the parking lot. "Listen," Peter said, "don't you think if Rob had his say, he'd let you know he'd rather see Holly happy than miserable over someone who's gone for good?"

"Yeah, maybe. But it's not me who's got the problem about this whole thing."

"So you do like her. All right, how about Tuesday? I promise not to embarrass you," he said, throwing an arm around Jason's shoulders.

"I think that's impossible, but okay. Deal."

Peter unlocked the BMW and hopped inside.

Jason went around to the driver's side of his Audi and looked out toward the dipping sun. The horizon was as vivid as a melted pile of crayons. There wasn't any warmth left in the air, though, and he shivered, watching the sun turn blood red as it sank.

His dad was probably right, that Rob would want them to be happy, so why should he feel guilty for liking her? She was amazing. She cared deeply about other people. She was dependable. She had this laugh, rare these days, that made you want to laugh with her. She wasn't obsessed with her appearance or fancy clothes, and yet she was beautiful. He knew that was one of the things Rob had loved about her.

At least, he thought he remembered Rob saying something like that once. Rob hadn't talked much about Holly. Jason's main impression of Rob and Holly together was of Rob protecting her. Socially. Physically. He'd taken care of her. And in the months before Rob died, Holly seemed to be the only thing that made him happy. Of course, Rob would never have admitted that. He was perfect. Had the perfect life. Perfect family. Perfect future all picked out, when the rest of them had all been flailing about trying to find what the hell they were going to do next—or what they actually wanted to do next, which was sometimes a completely different thing.

The breeze kicked up again, swirling dust in the parking lot, and for a second he imagined what Rob really would say if he was there. He would want Holly to be happy, right? S
he sure could use a friend. And frankly, so could Jason. Rob couldn't disapprove of him helping her C he.

Peter revved the car, breaking Jason from his thoughts. He started up the Audi and followed his father out of the parking lot, sunset fading in his rearview mirror.

"I'm pretty sure you have to actually bake the batter to make the cupcakes," Marisa said, giving Lena a chiding look.

"But it's good," Lena said as she swiped her finger across the side of the chocolaty bowl.

"Um, why are we doing this again, little one?" Marisa put a hand on her hip, her bracelets jingling. "Tell me."

"Duh! You're supposed to take cupcakes to school on your birthday!" Lena jumped up and down with the wooden spoon held out like a scepter. Batter dotted her cheeks and the front of her jeans. "I'm the birthday girl—do my bidding!" Lena moved toward her with the dirty spoon.

Marisa shrieked as if she thought her new sweater was about to be splattered.

Over at the table, Grandpa Aldo laughed.

"Holly, do something!" Marisa pleaded. I totally knew this wasn't what she had in mind when she'd wanted to hang out tonight, but I was on duty. And Marisa, as always, was enough of a sport to put up with Lena—except when it came to her clothes being destroyed.

"Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Queen Lena, you go wash your face and hands. Marisa and I will put these in the oven."

"When do we do the frosting and sprinkles?"

"When they're done baking, obviously," Marisa said in an im-patient voice, now that the threat of outfit destruction had passed. "You can't frost a raw cupcake."

"How long?" Lena asked.

"Like, twenty minutes," I said. "We'll keep an eye on them."

My sister threw the spoon into the sink, and ran off down the hallway, giggling.

"Can you handle this for a minute?" I asked Marisa, pointing at the half-poured tray of batter.

Marisa sighed and pushed up her sleeves. "Don't you remember the cinnamon roll disaster in eighth grade home ec? I'm
so
not domestic."

"I know, and that's why I love you," I said. "Come on, Grandpa." I took Aldo's hand.

He rose from the chair and let me lead him into the living room. It wasn't one of his better days, and I wasn't quite sure what to do, but maybe the TV would entertain him for a while. We only had cheap cable, which we were usually a month behind in paying for. I clicked on the set and flipped through the channels, finally settling on a stati F help cable, on that was showing an old Audrey Hepburn movie. "Here, this should be good. Lena will watch it with you, probably."

Aldo settled into the recliner, and I handed him the remote.

Lena was drying her hands in the bathroom, leaving big streaks of chocolate on the sink and the mismatched pink hand towels hanging on the chrome bar. I was tired, so I let her get away with leaving the mess this time. "Watch a movie with Grandpa when you're done, 'kay?"

"Yeah."

When I walked back into the kitchen, Marisa was pouring the last of the batter into the tray's cups. There were flecks of cupcake batter all over the pan.

"How's that?" Her dark brown eyes looked so sincere, I almost giggled. "Did I do it right?" she asked. "I've never baked cupcakes before."