Part Two

This morning Peggy Heggy took her usual seat on the left side of the ferry. Raoul was preoccupied with his newspaper and didn't look up. She wondered how many days would pass before he greeted her in the mornings. She was joined on her bench by Kelly, a retired music professor, who was called Kel by everyone. Across the aisle from them were the bicycle riders, two women and three men, clad in bright yellow parkas and impossibly tight stretchy pants. As they peeled off wet layers and dried themselves with small towels, Peggy felt compelled to avert her eyes. They seemed to glow with health and vigor, a sheen that made Peggy feel like a wilted rhododendron.

Although she had walked to the terminal in a light drizzle, wrapped in a rain jacket with a hood, she could now see that it was brighter over the water. The boat eased away from the dock at 5:22 a.m. and motored quietly out of Eagle Harbor. As the ferry made its turn, Seattle slid into view, a cluster of skyscrapers gathered together like a welcoming party. From her vantage point, looking across the broad flat water, the city seemed small, a colony of some sort, nestled on the banks of Puget Sound. She could see lights twinkling and the sharp outlines of buildings against a light gray Eastern sky. A dim outline of the Cascade Range was faintly visible beyond the city skyline.

"Guess you heard about the technology levy," said Kel. He typically lost no time launching into the issue of the day.

"A little; I'm still kind of new to the island," she said.

"It didn't pass," he said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Well, I suppose some people are rejoicing, but I'm not one of them. People seem to think stuff just grows on trees. We're constantly asking for the best roads and the best schools and the best services, but nobody wants to pay for it."

Although Peggy had not voted, she had heard enough to know that it was a very controversial referendum to provide technology funding for the island public school system by creating a special tax on residents.

"They wanted $8.9 million," said Kel. "Some said it was too much, but I don't think so. Mind you, I come from a background in education so I'm as biased as they come. It's a lot more expensive than people think. $8.9 million is nothing for a school system the size of ours. And do you know what else? Investing in education pays many dividends that you can't always add up in a spreadsheet. Intangibles. People must consider the intangibles." He gestured with his long fingers, supple and loose from a lifetime of piano playing.

"Do you have family in the school system?" asked Peggy. In just two weeks of commuting, she had learned that Kel could talk your ear off. Fortunately he didn't always sit by her; he moved around, finding different victims each day.

"Three grandchildren. And you?"

"I have two grown children living back East. No grandchildren yet." She sighed. One of Taylor's great disappointments was that he never became a grandparent before he died. Their children were slow to marry, slow to find themselves in life.

"Even if you don't have children, the levy would have been a good investment. For one thing, good schools draw more families to a community. When you have more families, and this is supported by the data, you see crime going down, and property values going up."

Peggy noticed that Raoul had been shifting in his seat during the conversation. She wondered what he thought of the technology levy. Maybe he was just tired of listening to Kel. She tried to watch Raoul in her peripheral vision. He read, and sipped his mysterious cup of whatever. Then she guessed it was tea. It had to be. Raoul was a tea drinker. Perhaps one day she could offer him a homemade scone to go with his tea.