Chapter Four, Five – Pearson Lodge - Proposal Rock
“Hey Josh,” says Charlie Pearson when Maggie shuts off the truck.
“Hey Uncle Chuck.”
“It’s good to see you again, did you have any troubles getting here?
“Nah, for a second I thought I got on the wrong ferry.”
“Well, were sure glad you’re here,” shaking hands, but turning it into a
shoulder hug. “We have plenty of time to talk or do whatever, or do nothing at
all, you are not a visitor here, it’s your home for as long as you want, sound
ok?”
“Sure Uncle Chuck.”
“I need to know one thing.” Says Charley seriously.
“What’s that?”
“Where are the buns? Let’s eat, you must be starving.” Charlie motions
for them to follow him over to the large rock terrace where a beat up stainless
steel barbecue and a handful of shoddy old deck chairs face the cove. Charlie hands him a sizzling hotdog and points
Josh to a tray of condiments.
“You know, I have always called
you little Josh, but you’re taller than me now, and nobody on this island calls
me uncle anything. Why don’t I drop the little part, unless were around your
friends, and you call me Charlie, Chuck, or Charles depending on how serious
the discussion is.”
I’ll try, but mom and dad have always called you guys Aunt Maggie, and
Uncle Chuck.”
“I don’t mind Aunt Maggie, it makes me sound important.”
“No it don’t,” says Charlie, “it makes you sound like someone’s out of
town relative. Josh, you can eat all
want, or go inside and get situated, we figured you would like the room on the
right upstairs, but there’s others, or if you want, you can bunk out on the
dock or in the boat house, it’s your place.”
The old Pearson Cove Lodge was
once quite a showplace when Josh’s grandparents were alive, and big. Grande fireplace, big woodstove in a huge
country kitchen. Josh gets a big old
guest suite with its own bathroom. He
tosses his backpack on the king-size bed, flips the light switch on in the
bathroom and stares at his reflection in the mirror.
“Well, little Joshua?” he says to
his reflection, but he doesn’t answer.
Then he wanders around the house making his way back downstairs taking in
the view from the big window in the great room.
He keeps saying, “Wow,” to himself, “everything is big,” as he discovers
one thing after another, all of them big.
He spots the rowboat pulled up on the beach, upside down on the dock is
a little sailboat, its mast missing.
There’s a dilapidated outbuilding by the gangplank begging to be
explored, there’s bleached driftwood on the agate pebbled beach, trails lead
into the woods and around the point. He
knows one of the trails goes to the Islander
Resort, where Sammie lives.
Out in the cove, he sees flat water and a group of diving birds, beyond
is the main channel, the incoming tide mimics a slow flowing river. Further out, across the channel are some of
the islands he saw from the viewpoint, in reality, there are dozens more; it’s
hard to tell where one island ends and another begins. Wow, getting lost in a small boat is a real possibility. I should have paid more attention when
Maggie showed me the big view. He
sees powerboats, their curling wakes following them. Crossing the channel heading into the sun is
a group of half a dozen kayakers, their dripping paddles flashing jeweled
sparkles with each stroke.
Josh rejoins Maggie and Charlie lounging on the patio, the first thing he
says is, “I’d forgotten how cool this place is, does the ferry go by here?”
“No—no ferries, just the rest of the world, we see everything sooner or
later.” says Charlie, “our passage is off the main route, but between the
islands out there,” pointing toward Shaw Island, “you can spot the inner island
ferry heading for Friday Harbor.”
“I saw some kayakers’ way way out, where are they going, is it safe out
in the middle?”
“Safe?—that’s up to them, but they could be going anywhere, there are twenty
state parks paddling distance from here, we meet people that are thirty miles
from where they started out. Just around
the corner,” pointing off to the right, “
is Rock Island and Mutiny Bay State Park, It’s got campsites, fire pits, a
little cove with a dock, you should take a kayak and go exploring. It’s just a teensy little island, perfect for
a modern day Robinson Crusoe. It’s also
where your dad proposed to your mother.
Has he contacted you today?”
“Twice so far.”
“He’s pretty busy, coming home unplanned for the funeral and all like he
did probably put the job behind, he’ll catch up to you when he can. They don’t
come any better than Ray.”
“He texted me twice this afternoon, once on the ferry to tell me the
captain wouldn’t leave unless I got off at Orcas Landing, and then ten minutes
ago to tell me to move into the Sunrise room, and that the seventh step
squeaked.”
“Oh, seventh step huh, did he tell you about it?”
“No, but I figure it has something to do with getting caught sneaking out
at night.”
“You’re close—he got caught sneaking back in at 4 am, the step squeaked,
and grandma met him at the top of the stairs. He said he miscounted, but she
said he never miscounted, cause she always heard every step, when her boys came
in late. She said he just wanted to
talk about going away to school and couldn’t wait for morning. I had already
moved out, dad was off Island, so she was all he had to talk with.
“That’s funny.” Says Josh, becoming somber with thoughts of his own
mother.
“There’s a lot of family history here Josh, and a lot more to come now
with you here.
“Why haven’t I heard about the seventh step?” says Maggie.
“I guess it never came up before.”
“Anything else, I would be interested in?” says Maggie
“Of course—boys will be boys, but I’m not talking.”
“While you two are hashing out old times, is it ok if I take that rowboat
down there for a spin.”
“Sure Josh,” says Charlie, “there’s life vests in the boat shed, be sure
to take one—right?”
“Yes Uncle Chuck,”
“I’m sorry Josh, its hard to let go of little Joshua.”
“It’s ok, I don’t mind.”
The boat shed is a children’s treasure trove of, ropes, floats, paddles,
wooden pulleys and decades of collected gear.
Josh picks out a life vest he
wore when he visited once years earlier, the label reads, child’s under fifty pounds, he hangs it back on the peg and picks out
an adult size.
He spots a gnarly piece of
driftwood leaning in a corner and remembers when he was only five years old finding
it on the beach and giving it to his mother.
She saved it saying it was beautiful.
A flood of pent up emotion is unleashed and he tears up. Josh looks out
the door toward the house; he doesn’t want to be seen crying. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Chuck are still sitting
on the terrace. He picks out two
matching oars with brass oarlocks and quickly makes his way over to the
beach. His eyes are blurry, he hurries
to shove off before anyone notices, and wants to comfort him. The last thing he
wants is someone telling him it’s alright,
or let it all out. What he wants is to be left alone.
The aluminum boat is above the high tide line, a fuzzy weatherworn rope
ties it to a rusty iron pipe set deep into the beach gravel; probably his
grandfathers work. Josh handles the
knotted loop, it hasn’t been untied for a long time, turning it over and
pushing on it, he quickly gives up, and lifts the loop over the top of the pipe
the way it was intended. Flipping the
twelve foot boat right side up is a two handed affair but he manages it with
ease. Fiddler crabs scatter, disturbed
before their normal high tide foraging foray. Josh half carries, half slides
the lightweight dinghy down the steep beach.
He pauses for a second at the water’s edge to snap the life vest
buckles, and knowing that Charlie and Maggie are watching and waiting for any
clue they might be needed, he gives them a quick look and wave, but mostly he wants
to assure they stay put and not rush down to the beach. Thankfully, they are
still in their chairs and too far away to see him still tearing up.
He was a little boy when he learned to row a boat, but never was able to
handle the adult size oars, however he did learn what was required, and now a
decade later, he effortlessly pulls the oars in long deliberate sweeps. Each
powerful stroke propels him further from embarrassing condolences and
well-meaning words. In seconds, the
middle of the cove becomes his refuge where he is alone and secure with his
thoughts.
The water is fifteen feet deep and clear as an aquarium, except for his
own rowing disturbance, the water surface is flat as a pancake. Bottom creatures and the occasional fish,
parade just for him. He stops rowing and
watches the underwater scenery unfold while he drifts over his personal gallery
of nature’s artwork. Glancing at the
moving shore only fifty feet away, he becomes aware of the slight current. It
has pulled him back, to where he started.
Josh resumes rowing, intent on following the curving shoreline all the
way around to the narrow entrance. He
remembers being afraid of the big waves in the mile wide channel outside his
grandfather’s cove. Today the water out
in the channel is not the beast of his childhood, instead it is enticing and
welcoming, prompting him to keep rowing.
“Expect building waves in the
morning, highs 60, lows 40,” he mimics a typical weather forecast, his mood greatly
improved.
To the left is the Grand resort where Sammie lives and
works. Maybe tomorrow he thinks, remembering
her long ringlets, tan face and sparkling blue eyes. She is probably in the middle of a reunion
with her stepmother right now or already hard at chores, she never mentioned
her dad, he must live there too, that would explain why she leaves her mother
to live with her stepmom that she doesn’t like.
He wonders if her mom is married again.
He thinks about his dad, wondering if he will he get married again. If
he married Sammie’s mom, she would be his sister.
To the right Josh will have to row against the current, and not too far
is Rock Island. The shoreline beyond
Pearson Cove is dotted with little bays, sandy beaches and vacation cabins
hidden in the trees. He turns to the right and puts his back into the job; soon
he is around the corner out of sight.
Rowing hard he is captain of the skiff, and owns the ocean. He quickly masters what he learned years
earlier, but wasn’t big enough to handle.
Pulling hard one of the oars creaks almost breaking, years of weathering
have weakened the once stout wood. Josh
backs off, breaking an oar will make rowing difficult, but not impossible, he
knows the current will carry him back, but with only one oar he would paddle in
circles.
Like most rowboats, he sits backward and must keep looking over his
shoulder to see where he is going.
Facing backward also allows him to judge how far he has rowed; soon the
cove is hard to see blending with the shoreline, but the point, a quarter mile
beyond where Sammie’s resort is, sticks out like a sore thumb.
While watching he sees a lone kayaker, its silhouette shoots out from
shore. It’s Sammie, he sees long hair, who else could it be?. For a second he considers turning around, but
doesn’t want to explain any red eyes. He
needs to stay alone with his thoughts, so he puts his back into another long
stroke when snap. The oar has broken
clean off, right at the oarlock.
Oh crap, the first thing I do is
break Uncle Charlie’s oar. I’ll have to get a new one.
Using the remaining oar like a canoe paddle he awkwardly makes it over
to the floating broken tip and fishes it out of the water. The current drags him backward toward Pearson
Cove. He paddles, but the single oar only spins him, turning him in circles. Josh learns very fast that a rowboat is almost
useless without two oars; He screams out in frustration that he can’t make it
go in a straight line. Eventually he
gives up paddling and is satisfied to let the current bring him home. The lone kayaker is headed his way and
closing fast. Josh is sure it’s Sammie and there’s no doubt she’s a pro. Her long deep strokes are picture perfect;
each effort propels her slim kayak two-boat lengths. She streaks past Pearson Cove intent on
catching up to Josh.
“Hi Sammie, I hoped it was you. Boy
you sure look great. I mean your paddling looks great. Oh geez that didn’t come out right. You look
great too.”
“Thanks Josh, I know what you mean, where’s your other oar, when I saw
you take off from the cove you were really moving.”
“It’s right here,” he holds up the broken blade, “I guess I pulled too
hard, do you know how I can get another?”
“Sure, get on the ferry and go back to Anacortes, there is a chandlery
supply store there, or you can order it online, UPS delivers here every day.
You know that’s not your fault, oars shouldn’t break, let me see it?”
The kayak and rowboat drift side by side, each of them with one hand on
the others boat. They are facing each
other and sitting in the boats closer to each other than when they were on the
ferry. Josh hands her the broken blade,
and while Sammie studies it, he studies her.
She seems different now, more natural. On the ferry she was a smart ass,
a pretty face putting on a show, now she is just herself, a likable confident
and competent self. He notices right away
that she has traded her windbreaker for a bathing suit, but she is covered up
with her life vest, her smooth legs disappear into the kayak. Her hair is pulled back and tied with a sea
shell and band, she has pearl ear studs, he smells perfume, and her cheeks seem
softer, less wind burned. Josh crosses a
line when he leans slightly forward for a better view.
“Stop it,” she blurts at him.
“What.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“No I’m not.” He says, feeling like a little boy caught sneaking a peek.
“Liar—look—see this,” Sammie shoves her trimmed and polished fingernail
into the soft wood, “You shouldn’t be able to do this. The wood is old and rotten, and see this line
here? It’s been broken before and glued back together.” What Josh see’s is nine manicured nails,
glistening polish and perfect fingers.
“You’re staring at me again.”
“ Sorrrry—I saw your broken nail, is that such a crime?”
“No, but if you don’t quit looking at me and pay attention,” pointing
behind Josh, “you’re going to drift right by the cove, and then I will have to
tow you in.”
“Oh my gosh. The current is fast.”
Lucky for Josh, he has to get busy paddling with the one oar; otherwise he would still be answering
Sammie’s pointed accusations.
Accusations she is thrilled to make because she is enjoying making him
squirm. Sammie tosses the broken oar
into the open rowboat and shoves her kayak clear of Josh’s splashing flaying
oar. He stands up in the boat to get a
better angle and immediately loses his balance, dropping to his knees to keep
from going over the side.
“Nice recovery city boy, let’s race.”
She unleashes a flurry of powerful strokes and flies into the cove where
she drops a tip and spins the kayak sideways to watch Josh struggle with the
single oar.
Uncle Chuck has been watching from the terrace and eventually makes his
way down to the floating dock.
“Hi Sammie, welcome back,” says Charlie, “are you here for the summer?”
“Hi Charlie, yeah, I came in this afternoon and met Josh on the
ferry. He’s doing pretty good with only
one oar.” They both watch, as Josh
floats the final distance in the smooth water.
“That’s my fault Josh, those oars are rotten, I should have warned you to
take it easy on them. Bring the boat
over here, I’ll take care of it, do you want to grab a kayak, it looks like
Sammie needs a paddling buddy?”
“If it’s ok with you, that would be great.”
The two of them clear the cove and are back offshore in a few minutes,
they head into the same current that brought the disabled rowboat back only this
time Josh is chasing after Sammie. No
longer dwelling on himself or sad memories, he is lost in the moment, and right
now, his only interest is in keeping up with the pretty girl effortlessly
leading him in a friendly chase. Josh
paddles furiously and gains on her only to find he still can’t keep a straight
line. He is wasting energy getting back on track. Sammie
paces herself staying close but playing with him. Thinking of him, sneaking peaks of her
earlier brings a smile to her and makes her look herself over. She takes two or three strokes and rests,
then glances over her shoulder at his progress and paddles some more. Unlike
Josh, she is comfortable, and looks like she could keep at it all day if she
wanted. They travel along the shore for
half a mile staying out of the main current and the few boats that ply Orcas Passage.
“Hey,” Says Josh, “Let’s take a rest.”
“What’s wrong tired?” Sammie pulls next to Josh resting her paddle across
both boats, holding them steady.
“No,” he lies, but his grin and panting betrays him. “I’m doing fine, do
you have any water?”
“Yeah right here,” Sammie flashes him back a happy smile, “she hands him
a sport bottle. “You are doing pretty well
for never having been in a kayak before; I mean a real one, not a virtual one.”
“Thanks, why do I have a hard time keeping it going straight. You look like your hardly working and you’re
going straight as an arrow.”
She is smiling again because he has asked her for help; Josh is saying
all the right things, he respects her
ability and isn’t hung up on being better than a girl.
“You are almost able to keep up with me Josh, and that’s pretty good,
except I’m taking it easy on you. Once
you learn a few strokes and master them you will have better control and be
able to steer somewhat, but you will never catch me in that boat.”
“Why not.” He snaps, his competitive side suddenly coming to life.
“Simple, my boat is built for speed and long distance; yours is built for
crashing into rocks and maneuverability.
This one has a keel and foot controlled rudder, plus it’s a lot lighter
than yours.”
“Here’s the water, lets go.”
“Hold on, remember what I said earlier about keeping the paddle centered
for balance, most people capsize when they are just resting like we are doing
right now, they forget they’re in a kayak and over they go. Watch me dip my paddle, see the angle, now
watch again, the higher the angle the closer you can stroke and move
forward. With a lower angle, the stroke
turns you, which is wasted effort if you don’t want to turn.” Josh just received a thirty second paddling
lesson, but in the last ten minutes, what he has learned most is that he likes
her.
“That’s the state park right up there isn’t it, let’s go.” He doesn’t
wait for an answer, and takes off with long strong strokes leading the
way. Sammie gets the challenge, but instead
of racing, takes her time adjusting her seating position and taking some drinks
of water. She lets Josh get way ahead of
her before finally taking her first few gentle strokes. She accelerates and then settles into a
steady rhythm, her kayak slices through the water and she effortlessly matches
Josh’s speed following his erratic course.
He is frantically paddling as fast as he can, throwing water in all
directions including all over himself.
She’s enjoying watching the show.
About halfway to the island Josh slows down thinking his macho effort has
sealed the race. Sammie allows herself
to close the gap just a little but holds back about a hundred feet. She sees Josh glance back at her, and she
makes sure he sees her paddling and not coasting. The approaching island has a small cove with
a dock, and a steep gravel beach. Once
inside the cove, Sammie stretches out reaching forward doubling her stroke
length, rapidly catching up to Josh. The
next time he checks she is right on his tail.
To gain speed he puts all he has into it, but Sammie takes some coasting
strokes so she doesn’t pass him. Josh is first to the beach and slides straight
up the pebbly gravel lifting the kayaks bow.
He realizes his mistake when the boat rolls; he drops his paddle and is
dumped protesting into the three inch deep water beside the half-beached
boat. Sammie stops with a little sideways
curtsey letting her momentum take her to the beach. She carefully uses her paddle to push her
kayak until it grounds out, and then she nimbly steps onto dry beach—pretty and
picture perfect. While Josh struggles,
she reaches down and picks up her kayak, and carries it above the high water
mark in the driftwood. Josh is panting
hard, more than half-soaked standing in the water, his paddle is floating
nearby.
“You’re getting it,” coaches Sammie, “but don’t throw your paddle like
that, use it to keep upright.
“Very funny.”
“No!—I’m not being funny, if you would have hung onto the paddle, and
shoved it down into the gravel, you wouldn’t be dripping wet right now. Come on
let’s hike the shore trail.”
Chapter Five - Proposal Rock
When Sammie releases the buckles opening the front of her life vest, Josh
panics and looks away, but not before she sees him checking out her bare
stomach for a microsecond. They toss
their life vests into the kayaks and scramble over the driftwood up to the
trail.
“According to family legend, or Aunt Maggie, my father proposed to my
mother somewhere here on this island.”
“Really, that’s so romantic,” says Sammie, “do you know where?”
“No.”
“You should ask your dad, is he around somewhere?”
“He’s in Europe, working on a project.”
“Is that why you’re staying with Maggie and Charley”
“Yeah, I guess so, we didn’t really discuss it, with my mom gone he and
Uncle Chuck just decided and told me.
Josh’s text:
‘’Hey dad, I’m here hiking on Rock
Island, where did you propose to mom?
Ray’s text: two minutes later
“On the rock on top.”
“Ok, thanks, btw I broke Uncle Chucks
oar. bye.”
“Well, what did he say?”” asks Sammie, getting anxious and trying to read
the screen.
“He says on the rock on top.”
“I know where that is, it’ a big rock, at the highest point on the
island, it’s a glacier erratic, it rode in on a ice sheet during the ice age a
billion years ago. We can hike up there
in twenty minutes.”
“Let’s go then.”
The two of them follow the shore trail, dodging drop offs and climbing
over down trees, soon a trail branches
off climbing steeply up the bank. They
gain a surprising amount of elevation in a short distance, and stop in an open
spot to catch their breath and share some water. The view out over the water is
spectacular. They can’t see around the
corner back to Pearson Cove or the Grand Resort, but they can see out into
Haro Strait and beyond to Canada. In the
strait, they see sailboats, their big colorful spinnaker sails flying like
kites high above them.
“The suns getting low, let’s keep going.” Says Sammie, my Step-mom will
call the Coast Guard.”
“You can text her.” Josh holds out his phone.
“No, she won’t really, she doesn’t care, but she’ll get upset if I’m late
for work in the morning.”
“Really—she doesn’t care? I’ll bet
she cares, she just doesn’t show it.”
“You haven’t met her, what do you know; your dad shipped you off to live
with relatives too.” Sammie abruptly heads up the trail.
“Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say anything bad.” He follows her up
the trail in silence. A few minutes
later they have walked several hundred feet, mostly up, and reach the
summit. The top is a grassy open flat
area. The summit rolls over in all
directions, so it is obviously the top. There are a few trees scattered around
partially obstructing the view but the trees give the area a distinct sense of
privacy.
“There it is,” says Sammie, proudly pointing to a really big glacier erratic.
It’s the size of a small car, and looks totally foreign and out of place, as if
a helicopter delivered it to the top of the island for some kind of funny
joke. There are no other rocks in view
and the ones down on the beach and along the shore are much smaller, and are sandstone. This boulder is solid granite and came from
Montana claims Sammie.
“One our guests knew all about these glacier erratic rocks and said the
whole San Juan’s area is covered with them and it’s true, when we head back you
can see little ones scattered around, but none are sitting on the very top of
an island. He said, a billion years ago
when the sea was higher or the land was lower, a big floating iceberg with this
rock riding on it had to run aground right here and then melt away leaving this
boulder behind, how cool is that?”
Josh listens to Sammie’s geology lesson, but mostly he is intent on
climbing on top of the eggish shaped boulder, then he sits. Sammie gets back a ways and the runs up the
side in two steps plunking herself down next to him. They stare out over Haro
Strait.
“I wonder if this is where they were,” says Sammie, “sitting here like we
are.” She leans into him touching
shoulders.
“What?” Oh geez he thinks, not
again, he knows exactly what Sammie means and again says the dumbest thing
possible, What—I may as well have said Duh.
“You know, the proposal.”
“OH— ah, I don’t know, I guess I could ask him, but wouldn’t that be
prying.”
“No, it would be romantic.” Josh
stares, Sammie Stares, his heart rate increases and he flushes, he is sure he’s
about to say something dumb, if he can even speak. The sun is moving toward the horizon, but on
top of Rock Island, except for building chemistry there is no movement. And then, Josh is saved, when out in Haro Strait
an orca breaches.
“Did you see that,” Josh yells and points, “a whale jumped.”
“I saw it, look at the others, there must be ten more.”
“There he goes again, this is awesome.
Do they come into this area?”
“Why—are you afraid?”
“No . . . well yes, I guess, it’s smart to be afraid, those are killer whales right.”
“They’re orca s, just like we saw
on the ferry, and yes they come in here, but usually they stay out in the big
straits.”
“Where are they going?” asks Josh, impressed at Sammie’s knowledge.
“They circle the San Juan’s, they follow the tides feeding during
incoming upwelling currents. They eat fish and seals, but mostly salmon. They live here, just like us. Some are fifty
or eighty years or older.”
“How do you know all
this?”
“I’ve been reading about them, and going to the whale museum in Friday
Harbor, I think I may go into marine biology.”
“That’s way cool.”
“They talk to each other; they have their own language using clicks and
whistles. They even remember people’s faces and voices, they also hold grudges,
and have been known to get revenge.”
“You mean like in Moby-Dick.”
“I think that was the other way around, what I meant is, they get revenge
on each other.”
“What-ever,’ says Josh, “I don’t see them anymore, we should head back
anyway.” He jumps off the rock, and then turns offering her a hand. Their palms
come together in a high five, fingers fold over. Trusting him, she jumps. Both kids are keenly aware this is the first
time they have touched intentionally. She lands lightly facing him; his other
hand goes to her waist steadying her, her free hand lands on his shoulder. They
are facing each other in front of proposal rock. Her eyes and perfume capture his senses. They are close enough to kiss. Don’t
panic, do it.
Josh lets go first, looking away relieved. He doesn’t see her smile fade, turning to
pouting lips.
The hike back down to the beached boats takes mere minutes; they jog most
of the way. Josh detours out on the
floating dock.
“Why didn’t we come in here, then I wouldn’t have gotten wet.”
“The beach is easier if you do it right,” she pokes him in the ribs
laughing, “try it sometime, you will see.”
The paddle back is over much too quick, the current whisks them along,
they float side by side talking the entire way. By the time they get back, they
have shared secrets and feelings cementing their friendship.
“Let’s have a beach fire tomorrow.” Says Sammie, before she peels away at
the cove.
“Sure,” says Josh, “where?” Having only seconds to make plans before the
current pulls her away.
“Anywhere, text me.” Josh waves
his ok. Sammie waves too.
Chapter Six
“Good Morning Josh, are you hungry,” Says Maggie, “I’m making pancakes.”
