Window on the Bay

by Debbie Macomber

  “You know what you need?” Mackensie said, getting excited. She bounced onto her knees on the sofa and waved her arms excitedly.

  “What?”

  “A tattoo.”

  “I can’t believe you said that,” Allie said, shaking her head. It went without saying that her mother would throw a hissy fit if she found out Allie was even thinking of getting a tattoo.

  “Why not? You’re your own person now, an adult. Your body is your own and you can do anything you want with your body.”

  Allie hesitated. “I don’t know. My mother nearly went into convulsions when I got my belly button pierced.” Knowing her mom would never approve, Allie had asked a friend to do the piercing for her. After her mom had found out, she gave Allie the lecture of her life that went on for what seemed like hours about possible infections, about being irresponsible and doing something so underhanded.

  “Come on,” Mackensie pleaded. “If you get one, I will, too.”

  “You will?”

  “Sure, why not? Haven’t you ever thought about it before? I mean, everyone our age has a tattoo these days.”

  In all honesty, Allie had thought about it more than once. A couple of her friends had tattoos and she loved them. Sydney had one on her calf of a blooming red rose that was stunning. Erica had a cross tattooed on the inside of her wrist that was simple and beautiful. Both were tastefully done.

  “What do you say?” Mackensie coaxed.

  “I’ll think about it,” Allie said, weighing her options.

  “Don’t! If you think too much, you’ll talk yourself out of it.”

  “I heard it’s painful.” Pain made her squeamish.

  Mackensie shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “It depends on where you have it done. It hurts, sure, but not that much. It’s the end results that count. You won’t be sorry. Come on, Allie, don’t be a wuss.”

  Allie chewed on her lower lip as she considered having a stranger poke her with a sharp needle.

  “Maybe your mom would freak out, but what about your dad?” Mackensie said, encouraging her. “I bet he’d stick up for you.”

  “My dad,” Allie repeated, and rolled her eyes. “My dad was nothing more than a sperm donor.”

  Mackensie’s smile faded. “Yeah, mine, too.”

  “I guess we both lost out in the daddy department.”

  “Guess so,” Mackensie agreed. She brightened, in an obvious effort to change the subject. “If you do get a tattoo, what will it be?”

  Allie mentally reviewed a couple ideas and quickly settled on one. “An arrow.”

  “Why an arrow?”

  “Because I’m going in a new direction.”

  “Perfect.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “So, are you gonna do it?”

  Allie didn’t hesitate. Yes, she would get that arrow, but on her midriff, where her mother wasn’t likely to see it. “Yes, I’ll do it, but you’re coming with me.”

  “No time like the present,” Mackensie said, looking happy and satisfied.

  Ten minutes later they were out the door in search of the tattoo parlor Mackensie had heard about that was close to the campus.

  CHAPTER 18

  Maureen

  I did some research on the Seahawks and football, although most of the statistics went over my head. I’d been curious about the team but never enough to watch a game. Fridays were known as Blue Fridays, and it seemed the entire town dressed in blue-and-green jerseys. I knew that was connected to the football team but had never cared enough to participate.

  Football was like a foreign language to me; the rules made no sense. From what I could gather, one team was given the ball and had four attempts to move it ten yards. The other team would try to stop them. How difficult could that be? The rest of what I read was convoluted and difficult to understand. I decided I’d figure it out once I was at the game, and as Logan was obviously a fan, he could explain what I didn’t grasp on my own.

  By late morning on Sunday I’d torn my closet apart, looking for something appropriate to wear. My wardrobe consisted primarily of career outfits: skirts, jackets, dress pants, and dresses. Casual for me was a nice pair of pants and a sweater. This was a date of sorts…okay, a real date. Nearly all my other dates—and there were shockingly few in the last few years, as Tori had been eager to remind me—were for dinners or some other social event. Football wasn’t a social event, I didn’t think, or was it? I hadn’t a clue what to expect or what the proper attire was for a football game.

  I’d talked to Tori about Logan inviting me to the game and she was excited. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought to get her opinion about appropriate wear. She was spending the day with her in-laws, and it would be awkward to call or text her.

  At the last minute, with time ticking, I chose a simple skirt and knee-high boots along with a red turtleneck sweater. Simple but classy.

  The game didn’t start until 5:20 p.m., but Logan insisted he would be by to pick me up at two o’clock. Almost three and a half hours before the game seemed excessive to me, but he insisted.

  My doorbell rang at exactly two. Logan must have been standing outside my front door, waiting for that precise moment. I was ready, eager and elated. I did my best to hide my excitement, almost afraid of these unfamiliar emotions. This happiness, this anticipation—it all felt foreign to me. My life was regimented and orderly, with little fluctuation in my day-to-day routine.

  When I opened the door, Logan stood there, dressed in what I had to assume was a football jersey. He had a green-and-blue machine-knitted scarf wrapped around his neck. His eyes widened, and his mouth sagged opened when he caught sight of me.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, sensing his uncertainty.

  “I did mention we were headed to a football game, right?”

  “Yes. Is what I have on inappropriate?” I glanced down at my boots. I loved these boots, and the sweater was one of my favorites.

  He rubbed his hand down the side of his face as though unsure what to say. “You might be more comfortable in jeans.”

  “Jeans?” I questioned, a bit dismayed. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “You do own a pair of jeans, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll change.”

  I found myself feeling like I was going to be totally out of my element again, like I’d been at the sports bar. You can’t squeeze a square peg into a round hole, the saying goes. Except I kept trying. I liked Logan. We were different, but that excited me more than it discouraged me. He was genuine, the real thing; I especially liked that he was comfortable in his own skin, and that he forced me to see his perspective in ways I never had before.

  As I headed toward my room, Logan called out, “If you have anything green or blue, put that on.”

  “Okay,” I said, and called to him, “Make yourself at home.”

  I quickly found the newest pair of jeans I owned. They’d been a birthday gift from Tori. Skinny jeans. I knew where they got their name, as I had to work to get them over my thighs and hips. Once I had them on, I had to hop up and down to get them to button. The only green item in my closet was a T-shirt Jenna had given me as a St. Patrick’s Day joke. It was the best I could do. It clung to my front a little more than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have any other option. The only blue blouse I had was made of silk and wouldn’t go well with tight-fitting jeans.

  When I returned I found Logan standing in front of the fireplace, looking at photographs on the mantel. The first one was of Tori’s high school graduation. The second was of her wedding. Another photo was of my parents, who had moved to Arizona once they’d retired. The last picture was of my brother, Joe, and his family. He lived in Nevada now.

  “Is this better?” I asked Logan, holding my arms out, palms up.

  He tu
rned away from the photos and froze when he saw me.

  “I apologize for the Saint Patrick’s Day shirt; it was the only green one I had.”

  “You look”—he started, seeming to struggle to find the right word—“great.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. Apparently my too-tight jeans and top were a hit. This was encouraging. As soon as he helped me into my coat I locked up the house and we left. Logan drove one of those big pickup trucks that was so high off the ground that I felt like I needed a stepstool to get inside the cab. I’d had trouble climbing into it when he’d taken me home after our drinks at the Bird Feeder; at the time, I’d been wearing another pencil skirt, which had made it impossible. Logan had taken ahold of me by the waist and hoisted me into the seat. That was the second time I’d needed a boost from him; the first being at the sports bar.

  “Need help?” he asked.

  “Not this time,” I returned cheerfully. It wasn’t pretty, but I managed to climb into the truck and felt downright proud of myself. It was hard not to pat myself on the shoulder.

  “You ready for some football?” he singsonged.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I soon discovered that just getting to the stadium was an experience all its own.

  “Where did all these cars come from?” I asked. The traffic was horrendous. There wasn’t a parking spot within a mile of CenturyLink Field. Swarms of football fans headed toward the stadium, crowding the streets and sidewalks. Music could be heard everywhere, and parking lots were filled with vehicles. Barbecues were set up behind them, and people had the tailgates down on their trucks or their hatchbacks open on cars, using the back area as places to serve food and drinks. I’d never seen anything like it. Logan explained the word tailgating to me. The atmosphere was festive, and people were laughing and in good spirits.

  Logan parked in a lot that charged an atrocious amount of money. It cost more to leave the car for a single football game than I spent on a bus pass for an entire month. As far as I was concerned, this was highway robbery. Logan didn’t seem to mind, though, so I kept my opinions to myself.

  Once we were parked, Logan paid the fee. I glared at the woman who collected it, thinking she should be ashamed of herself. The stadium was about five blocks away. Logan took my hand as we joined the throng that was headed to the game. He held on to my hand naturally, like it was a normal thing. I didn’t mind; I enjoyed being linked to him.

  “You mentioned you have season tickets,” I said, thinking he must really enjoy football if he was willing to spend the time and expense to attend all the home games.

  “I got them as part of the divorce settlement. I had to give up my dog for these tickets.”

  “You gave up your dog?”

  “Not much of a sacrifice, seeing that it was a toy poodle and something of a drama queen.”

  “The dog or your ex?”

  “Both.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t imagine Logan with a toy poodle. Maybe a collie or a German shepherd. He was a big-dog kind of guy. It made me wonder about his ex-wife and what had happened to their marriage.

  Once we were at the stadium entrance, it took us a significant amount of time to make it through security. Logan had prepared me in advance, letting me know I could bring only a tiny purse into the stadium. Our seats were on the club level. Logan boasted that he’d had tickets for several years before he was able to buy into the club level, whatever that meant.

  “While we are waiting for the game to start, you can get your hair painted blue and green if you want,” Logan mentioned.

  “Excuse me?” He had to be joking.

  “It’s all part of the fun.”

  I laughed when I realized he was serious. “I think I’ll pass. Maybe another time.”

  His grin was boyish in his enthusiasm. “I hope there will be other times like this, Maureen. Lots of other times.”

  His eyes held mine long enough for my stomach to flutter at the sincerity and warmth in his eyes. “I hope so, too,” I admitted shyly.

  I had begun to see why we needed to leave so early for the game. Fighting the traffic, finding a place to park, walking to the stadium, and making our way to his seats had taken a good amount of time. While Logan appeared to be proud of his seats, I wasn’t impressed with the lack of comfort. I shifted a couple times, looking to adjust to the hardness of the plastic. At the price they charged for these tickets, you’d think the seats would at least be fur-lined.

  “You hungry?” Logan asked. “How about a hot dog?”

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Logan was gone for a long time. I kept busy watching the action on the field. It appeared that some of the players were anxious for the game to start, because they were on the field tossing, catching, and kicking the football. After twenty minutes, I checked my watch and was beginning to wonder if he’d gotten lost. That was a ridiculous thought, seeing that he’d had these same seats for several years. When he returned, his arms were laden with a cardboard box full of food, along with a large plastic bag.

  I took the cardboard container with our hot dogs and drinks while he reclaimed his seat.

  “What’s all that?” I said, referring to the bag.

  He opened it and handed me a football jersey with a large number 12 on the back. “This is for you. I had to guess on the size. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll exchange it later.”

  “You didn’t need to do this, Logan.” The gesture blew me away.

  “I wanted to, seeing that we’ll be attending other games together.”

  “Hopefully,” I added. I hadn’t made it through the first one yet.

  He had several items in that plastic bag. A plastic cushion for the seat, along with a knitted Seahawks scarf that matched the one he wore, and a pair of earrings. At the very bottom of the bag was a pair of warm gloves.

  “Logan, this is way too much.”

  He shrugged. “If you’re going to be a 12th man…uh, woman…you need to dress the part. Besides, I wanted to do this for you—make you one of the team.”

  This was a side of Logan I hadn’t seen until now, this generous, happy side. If this was what watching football did for a man, I was all for it.

  Once I’d slipped on the jersey and wrapped the scarf around my neck, Logan handed me the hot dog. It was perfect, loaded with mustard and relish. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten one. It came with a bag of potato chips and a soda. Because I’d been so nervous, I hadn’t eaten much all day. Rarely had anything tasted better.

  Logan watched me with a funny look. I was afraid I must’ve attacked the food like a half-starved hyena, and I paused, thinking I’d embarrassed myself.

  “I’m sorry; I guess I was hungrier than I realized,” I said, when he refused to break eye contact.

  His smile was as big as I’d ever seen it. Lifting his hand, he used his index finger to wipe a smidge of mustard from the corner of my mouth.

  “Nothing to apologize for, Marian. Everything is perfect.” He took the first bite of his own hot dog, wolfing it down with the same enthusiasm I’d shown.

  Logan explained that because today’s game was on prime time, the newscasters’ booth was located on the edge of the field. Logan was familiar with the names of the players and fed me tidbits of information as I read over the program.

  As the Seahawks were introduced, fireworks and hoopla began, unlike anything I’d experienced outside of the Fourth of July. The fans cheered wildly, their enthusiasm boisterous and loud. The game hadn’t even started, and already the crowd was in a frenzy. I could only imagine what it would be like later.

  By kickoff, I was grateful for the extra layer of warmth. The wind off Puget Sound was chilling. It gave me a good excuse to stay close to Logan. My shoulder butted
up against his as I soaked up his warmth.

  It didn’t take me long to discover the difficulty the players experienced in advancing the football ten yards. In fact, on the first attempt, the Seahawks went backward, or, as Logan said, they lost yardage. A lot of what was happening on the field confused me. Logan did his best to explain it, as well as why the game was frequently stopped by penalties. Before long, I was clapping and cheering with the rest of the fans in the massive stadium.

  The game flew by. In the fourth quarter with less than a minute to go, the Seahawks were down by three points.

  “We need a field goal to tie, or a touchdown to win,” Logan explained.

  The Hawks, as I heard people calling them, had the ball on the forty-yard line, and with only mere seconds left in the game, the main guy—the quarterback—threw a long pass to a receiver racing toward the goalposts. The entire stadium jumped to their feet, and there was a collective gasp when the player leaped into the air and made the catch, landing in what Logan called the end zone.

  The crowd went wild. If I thought the stadium was noisy before, it was ten times louder now. Like everyone else, I was on my feet, clapping, screaming with happiness, and jumping up and down. Although I didn’t understand a lot of the rules, I didn’t need to know much to recognize a last-second win.

  Logan grabbed me around my middle and lifted me off the ground for a huge hug. I tossed my arms around his neck and squeezed for all I was worth. It was amazing and wonderful. The moment was perfect.

  Before I could fully understand what had happened, we were kissing. And I mean kissing like there was no tomorrow. I’d been kissed before, but never with the raw hunger and excitement of that moment with Logan. At first I was too stunned to pull away, but it didn’t take long for me to become fully engaged. My fingers wove into his hair and I slanted my head to one side and returned the kiss with the same enthusiasm, opening to him. I don’t know how long we clung to each other, caught up in the kiss. We stopped when we realized people were looking to get past us in the row to leave the stadium.