Part One

Peggy Heggy boarded the 5:20 ferry to Seattle at 5:15. She took her usual seat on the left side so she could gaze across Puget Sound to the city and lose herself in thoughts of the past. Today it was shrouded in mist and fog; the buildings looked dark and spooky, inhabited by ghosts. In her mind there was at least one ghost, that of her late husband. She couldn't look anywhere without seeing him.

Peggy has been a widow for exactly one year, one month and five days. Three weeks ago she finally gave up the family house in Ballard and moved to Bainbridge Island, where she rented a tiny house in Winslow with a small garden and a large red rhododendron. It takes her ten minutes to walk to the ferry terminal, and another few minutes to walk the long platform to the ramp where she boards the boat. Upon departure, the crossing takes about thirty-five minutes, after which she gets off at Pier 52 in downtown Seattle and walks to 1st Avenue and turns left and walks three blocks to her office building and rides the elevator to the fifth floor. She doesn't really need to keep working. From a purely financial point of view she could have quit her job after Taylor Heggy's death. But finances weren't the only consideration. She needed company, she needed her friends and colleagues at the office, they needed her because no one else wanted to do her job. They all said, 'Peggy, no one will ever do the Education Database the way you do.' That was because no one else wanted to. It was considered tedious and boring, but Peggy loved it.

Peggy has been riding the ferry for two weeks and has become intrigued by her fellow passengers. Raoul, for example, sits in the next booth every day, wearing long black motorcycle leathers. He has a very neatly trimmed gray beard and brown reading glasses down low on his nose. He leans back against the window, not bothering to look at the view of Seattle, perhaps because he has seen it too many times. He reads the paper, his white helmet resting next to him, and within arm's reach is a slender silver Thermos. He always pours himself one cup of something, she can't tell if it's coffee or tea, during the crossing. She knows his name because occasionally a fellow motorcyclist stops by and addresses Raoul, and they have a brief conversation about the weather, or getting new brakes or new tires. Raoul has a pleasant, musical voice and friendly eyes. Peggy was surprised one day to notice that he wore a suit and tie under his motorcycle leathers. She wonders where he works, and how old he is, and his marital status.

Seattle. The lights come into view as they draw closer on this foggy morning. The buildings become defined. Cars are visible, speeding north and south on the elevated highway that runs along the waterfront. Peggy can see her own building, but she can't see her window since it faces the other way, toward the mountains. The mountains remind her of Taylor.