Part Sixteen

Peggy rushed to make the 5:20 in a pouring rain. Raoul was already there, looking wet around the edges. Out of the window Peggy saw a wall of gray mist at the mouth of Eagle Harbor. When they got underway, she could only see a vague, ghostly outline of Seattle across the water.

"I'm exhausted," Peggy said.

He chuckled. "It was quite a weekend."

That was an understatement. On Friday afternoon Raoul had called her with disappointment in his voice.

"I'm afraid I need to call off our little garden visit this weekend," he said.

"What happened?"

"I'm going to Westport."

"Westport?" Westport is an old fishing town on the Pacific coast, in the southwest corner of Washington.

"You see, my sister has a house there, and in June she normally goes with a group of people; they've been meeting there for forty years. Well, my sister's husband passed away last year but she still wants to do it and now she needs my help getting the house ready for her visitors."

"I understand," said Peggy. "I think you should go and help her."

There was a pause. "How would you like to go with me?"

The thought terrified her. "Me? I couldn't possibly on such short, uh, well, there's so much to…"

"It's a big house. You would have your own room, of course," he said.

Peggy was touched by the tone of his voice. He wanted her to be comfortable. "As a matter of fact, I think I can rearrange my schedule," she said. Actually, she had no schedule to rearrange.

By seven o'clock on a bright evening they were headed west in Raoul's black Mercedes, with Raoul making lots of small talk and Peggy filled with anxiety about the weekend.

"Look at the foxglove," he said pointing to a hillside covered with tall purple and white blossoms. "Would you mind if I get a picture?"

"I don't mind a bit," Peggy said.

Raoul pulled over and walked a few feet off the road, camera in hand. He leaned over a small gulley to get just the picture he wanted but then his foot slipped into a patch of muddy water. He came back complaining to himself as he threw his muddy shoes into the trunk. Peggy couldn't help giggling as they pulled away.

"I hope it's a good picture," she said.

"Better be."



It was late when they arrived at a beach house about midway between Westport and Grayland. The sound of the ocean triggered a flood of memories in Peggy's mind. She stepped out of the car and walked a few yards to the top of a nearby dune and saw the very last bit of daylight disappear beyond the horizon while layers of white foamy surf crashed against the sand. It was a scene that she and Taylor had witnessed many times on their numerous trips to the shore. They had even spent a few weekends not far from where she stood; they loved it because it was quiet and undeveloped. And here she was, right back there with someone else. Peggy felt like she had made a mistake in coming.

Raoul's sister, Francine, was in her late sixties and very jolly. She greeted Peggy in a motherly way that made Peggy feel like she was Raoul's girlfriend from college or something, coming to meet the family for the first time. Francine, or Fran, as she like to be called, showed Raoul to his room and Peggy to hers, and then said, "Don't worry, I'll be in the middle, standing guard." Raoul rolled his eyes and Peggy turned red.

As it turned out, Fran's husband had been a big sport fisherman. There were pictures of him on the Westport dock in the bright sun, standing next to his catch of giant halibut or Chinook salmon. Several trophy fish were mounted on the walls of the living room in various action poses. As Peggy looked around the house she saw lots of fishing and clamming paraphernalia standing in corners or hanging from hooks: boots, poles, shovels, baskets.

"We used to dig for razor clams near here," said Peggy, settling down with a glass of beer. Raoul sat next to her on the sofa.

"Oh yes, that was the thing to do," said Fran. "Did you know that a hundred years ago people camped out on the beach for the entire summer? They caught razors by the wagon-load and hauled them down the shore to a cannery that operated twenty four hours a day."

"Amazing," said Peggy. "It didn't take long to completely eliminate the clam population at that rate."

"I think the legal limit now is fifteen clams per person," said Raoul. "It's absurd."

"The alternative is no clams at all," said Peggy firmly. It suddenly occurred to her that this weekend would be a good opportunity to teach Raoul something about the environment.

TO BE CONTINUED