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Happy Post-Thanksgiving Day everyone!
As expected, turkey day blasted off with deliciousness! Sorry about that. Just a little over the top. Anyway, a hundred or more islanders squished into the rec center for an evening of L-Tryptophan, stuffing, and pumpkin spice. Thank you to our beautiful island benefactors—you all know who you are—the true masterminds!
Speaking of our local celebration—and I’ll probably get kicked in ankle for this later—our cute local cryptid made her longest public debut since high school graduation. Working tirelessly alongside the mighty masterminds and yours truly, Klahanie Bishop stayed in the public eye for three hours. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, three hours! A new record has been established.
In other news, Roger Roberts’ Bernese Mountain Dog, Belle’s Canyon of the East, shared an evening of passion with Trudy Whyte’s Golden Retriever, Sound Storm of the West, and the result is PUPPIES! Yes, these adorable results of a love so strong will need homes in about eight weeks. Reach out to Roger or Trudy if you’re interested in adding a bouncing ball of fluff to your life. In addition, Nora Peeples is looking to rehome her 14-pound bowling ball. Interested? Stop by The Knitting Ball and chat her up.
The DJ followed up local news with “Harvest Moon” from Neil Young.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning brought a short-lived mist of rain before the sun nudged through the grey to touch on the waning autumn of the trees. Soon, winter would have them stripped to pencils, but for the time being, I enjoyed the honey gold, orange, and red of the foliage. Fall had always seemed the shortest season to me, so I drank it in as long as I could.
I flipped off the intermittent wipers as I guided my little SUV north. Through Gram, who’d illegally obtained the information from one of her dozens of friends, I had Noah’s exact address. After last night, I felt compelled to go see him. Despite having heard the local news, I wanted to check and make sure he was okay. And I owed him an ankle kick.
On the seat next to me, I’d stopped to snag some fresh cinnamon rolls and coffee from Mrs. Mahoney’s home bakery. There appeared to be a friendly rivalry between Gram, Sunny, and Alice Mahoney as they competed for baking royalty. Since it was friendly, I figured I’d be excused this time.
A few miles before the northernmost tip of the island, I turned to head west along a narrow side road. With very few exceptions, homes were close to non-existent on this side, due to protected land. At the very end, I took a right for another mile or so, and found the Givens, now Mcleod place, overlooking Puget Sound. I pulled the CR-V into the carport next to Noah’s truck and climbed out. The house had been built into the embankment decades earlier, with a trail leading from the parking area to the wrap around deck and main entry on the second floor. The first floor could be accessed through the house, or by taking the path the opposite direction and heading down a dozen steps to reach the glass slider. Directly across, another short staircase led down to the narrow stretch of rocky beach. The place had definitely seen better days, but I could tell where Noah worked to give it a new life. I could also see the potential. Three or four hundred yards beyond the main house, the land curved around to reveal another structure. It poked out from behind the trees and hung over the bluff. Stilts kept it braced above the sand, rocks, and water’s edge, from what I could tell. I figured it was an old guest house or something. Maybe Noah planned on giving it a face lift and promoting it as an Airbnb, which didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. Location, location, location.
Goodies in hand, I followed the path as it wound around to the front door. I hit the doorbell with my elbow and wondered, a little too late, if I should have called first.
At first, I didn’t hear anything and guilt poked me in the gut. Maybe it really was a bad idea. I debated about just leaving a note the same moment I heard movement from inside and the door pulled inward.
Noah stood there in faded jeans, bare chested and shoeless, with the song “The Boxer” floating out around him. His hair stood up in bed-head mode and I grimaced. “I’m sorry. I really should have called. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He frowned for a moment, blinking hard, before his lazy smile erupted. “Can’t think of a better sight than you at this time in the morning.”
“Noah, it’s almost 10:00.”
“And … are those cinnamon rolls…?”
“They are.”
He stepped back and waved me inside. “Then please come on in and bring your offerings. Thank you.”
I stepped past him, but stopped to narrow my eyes at him in tease. “I’m not sure how to take that.”
“Huh. I guess that could have been worded a little better.” Chuckling, he took the bakery bag and coffee from me and led me further into one large room with natural wood flooring, divided into three sections by two partition walls. To the left, the room served as a combination office and den. A full bay window allowed beautiful views of the sound, while a large “L” desk filled the far corner with a PC, two monitors, and a variety of electronics I presumed supported his radio station. On the opposite side, a comfy looking couch faced a big screen TV, sandwiching a knotty pine coffee table in between. On the far side of the second partition, an unmade California king bed took up space just under a window facing the woods. Directly in front of us, a staircase led downstairs to a small landing before disappearing to the right.
Noah placed the bag and to-go cups on the coffee table. “Um, have a seat, while I at least put a shirt on.”
I almost told him not to bother, unless he was cold, but thought better of it. He definitely wasn’t the skinny kid I used to know, and I found myself perusing the hard planes of his chest and the firm muscles of his stomach. I tried to be subtle.
He didn’t seem to notice, left the room, and returned buttoning one of his flannels. He’d also taken a moment to run a comb through his hair. “I gather you got my address through the old person island network?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Non-plussed, he shrugged. “Can’t say I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you by this morning?”
I would have thought it obvious, but he seemed genuine in his curiosity. “To be blunt, I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His faced tensed for a bare moment before relaxing. “I’m really sorry about that. I sometimes just … I don’t know, lose it a little, I guess? Just for a bit. It feels like I’m staring down into a deep chasm, and it comes from absolutely nowhere most of the time. I didn’t want to take you with me.”
As a kid, I’d been placed in therapy after my parents died in a car accident. I’d learned to shove all the horrible dreams and guilty thoughts in a lockbox in my head, and since then, that time in my life had become hazy in recollection. Not that it was overly surprising. I’d only been six. “It’s okay. I’m tougher than I look.”
His eyes softened as he gazed down at me, and the now familiar pull plucked at my heart. He tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah. I know you are.”
My breath faltered and I cleared my throat. To break the moment, I bounced up on my toes to give him a quick, but friendly kiss. “Um, well. How about cinnamon rolls, coffee, and that tour you promised me?”
