Part Ten

Peggy hurried to the terminal in high spirits. Not even the gray rolling clouds overhead could dampen her mood. It was one of those dark yet dramatic mornings, where the clouds stretch to the horizon in different shades of gray and green and black. The calm waters of the Sound glowed with light, not a bright glaring light, but a soft, greenish light that broke through a few openings in the cloud cover. It was through one of these openings that Peggy could look up and see a wisp of a crescent moon hanging in the sky. It seemed to smile down on her; today would be a good day.

In her backpack she carried two bran muffins, each stuffed with raisins, currents and bits of dried apricot. She had kept up a running conversation with her daughter while making the muffins the night before.

"Of course you're doing the right thing," Marjorie had said.

"I don't know. It all seems so silly," complained Peggy, although secretly she was enjoying herself. She had made up her mind to approach Raoul with a peace offering. It was the least she could do, she reasoned, since she was the one who stormed out of the restaurant in the middle of lunch without even thanking him. The more she thought of it, the more embarrassed she became over her behavior. It seemed so childish in reflection.

"It's not silly," Marjorie was saying. "Look, pretend you're forming a club and you want to recruit him as a member. Call it the Sixtyish Singles Club."

"I am not sixty," Peggy said.

"Sorry, but the fifty-eight-ish singles club doesn't sound as good," said Marjorie's voice over the phone.

"Oh whatever. I'm making my best muffins and he'll just have to get over it."

"That's the spirit. Gotta run. Bye."

Then her son, Taylor, Jr., called. He was less supportive. "How can you make bran muffins for a lawyer who defends the nation's worse polluters? I thought you had values, Mom."

"I do have values." Her son was learning to be one of those strident documentary filmmakers. Everything was black and white to him, no pun intended. "It's just that, well, you need to hear people out. Besides, there are many famous cases of couples who come from opposite ends of the political spectrum."

"Are you thinking of marrying this guy?"

"No, of course not. I'm just using an example to make my point." Her son had as much appreciation for nuance as a Labrador.

That was last night. Now as she walked briskly to her usual seat on the left side of the ferry she was thinking of how good it was going to feel to make peace with Raoul, to unburden herself.

She rounded a corner and entered the aisle. She looked ahead. There was Raoul sitting in his customary spot. Then Peggy's heart sank and her steps slowed as she approached. A woman sat with Raoul, late forties, very well dressed in a pinstriped business outfit with a creamy blouse. Her hair had been dyed a few times and she wore lots of makeup. She was attractive in a way that appealed to many men. As Peggy took her seat she suddenly felt a little too casual in her cotton pants and windbreaker, with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

"Good morning," Raoul said, smiling.

"Good morning, Raoul," said Peggy. "It's very good to see you again."

"It's good to see you. This is Florence. She's an old friend who has just moved to Bainbridge Island."

"Welcome to the neighborhood," said Peggy, feeling like she did a poor job of adding a warm, welcoming tone to her voice. The woman's skirt seemed short for a professional type.

Peggy opened her backpack. What the heck, she thought. She handed Raoul a small bag with the muffin in it. "If I had known you were going to have company I would have brought two."

"What is it?" asked Raoul. He looked inside. "Mmm, a bran muffin."

Florence said, "You must have discovered the Blackbird Bakery. What a dangerous place."

"These are homemade," said Peggy, pouring some tea from her Thermos. Her duty was done. She was not going to let a siren with a tiny waist and perfect posture ruin her day.