Part Nine

It was a miracle to Peggy that she made the 5:20 a.m. ferry on time. She was late getting up, then she dragged herself through her morning routine. When she realized the time she hurried out the door without taking the lunch she had made. The morning was gray and dark and drizzly. Thick, wet clouds hung low over the Sound as she approached the terminal.

She sat in her usual seat on the left side, not sure what to expect, not even sure what she wanted. Raoul was not there, which left her disappointed and then annoyed with herself for being disappointed. Kelly Flinn sat down next to her and started talking about the gas tax, a new move by the state to raise money for transportation projects by taxing gasoline purchases. Across the aisle, the bicycle riders peeled off wet layers and pulled out their little towels. They talked about the bike riding they had done over the Memorial Day weekend. The highlight for Peggy had been going to the Farmer's Market and buying eggs at the 4-H Club booth. They were so fresh that Peggy decided to have fried eggs, over easy, for breakfast, something she could never do with Taylor because of his cholesterol problem.

"I've always thought gas was too cheap in this country," said Kel.

"It's much more expensive in Europe," said Peggy. She thought about the phone call she had received on Sunday from her daughter, Marjorie, in Virginia.

"There are some experts who think gas should be about four dollars a gallon," Kel said.

They had made the turn; Seattle sat across the Sound in swirls of fog and rain and mist. The buildings were dark, but lights twinkled from the highway and the waterfront.

"Four dollars?" Peggy said absentmindedly. Marjorie had scolded Peggy for being too harsh with Raoul. 'You can't expect everyone to have the same views as you do. Look at you and Dad, how many things did you disagree on?'

"If gas were four dollars it would dramatically alter people's lifestyles: they would drive less and consume less gas, and cause less pollution. Also, it would have the effect of shifting gas revenues to our government instead of oil-producing governments."

"I wouldn't mind paying more," Peggy said. Then Marjorie had said, 'You are looking for reasons to not get involved, Mom. You've got yourself convinced that you can't start any new relationships.' Peggy then said, 'Who's looking for a relationship? Isn't thirty years with one man enough?'

Peggy stared out of the window at a seagull that was flying along with the boat. In this weather she didn't imagine there would be anyone on deck throwing food to the birds. Yet, the seagull didn't know any better, it just flew along doing what it had always done.

"And it would greatly improve our bargaining position with the oil producers," said Kel. "Right now they own us because we consume so much energy."

As the ferry glided into its slip at the Seattle terminal Peggy walked forward and stood on deck in the gray mist with her fellow passengers, most of whom silently watched the ferry attendant. It reminded Peggy of the phrase "huddled masses" that was often applied to immigrants arriving by boat. Today she was especially struck by the newness of her surroundings and her lifestyle; she was an immigrant of sorts. She had spent most of her adult life in Ballard, in the northwest part of the city, raising her children and being married to Taylor. Now in just a few short weeks she had taken up a new life, living on the island with new people and riding the ferry to work. But she wasn't sure how new she really wanted it to be. Did she want to forget the past? That was impossible. But exactly how removed from it should she be? It boiled down to this, as she saw it: should she let herself become a different kind of person, perhaps a person that Taylor would not have wanted to be married to? Should she still be Taylor's wife?

While she waited she leaned over the rail to look at the proceedings on the car deck. The bicycle riders were waved off, followed by the motorcyclists. Peggy spotted Raoul on his blue bike. He looked dashing and confident, and she knew he was probably on his way to tell some client how much pollution they can get away with. For some odd reason her immediate thought was that she might bring him a bran muffin the next day.