He kept driving, past towering evergreens, small beach towns, and idyllic scenes with old-fashioned farmhouses, the kind you sometimes saw on Christmas cards.
Yes, Christmas, he mused, chewing on his lower lip. Already it was less than two months away. Did he really want to spend another one back in San Francisco, hobnobbing with the big boys at parties and fund-raisers, toasting in the holidays and wearing a phony smile, then trudging back alone to his empty condo?
No. He didn’t.
The void inside of him expanded like a heavy weight pressing in all directions from inside his chest. At first when he’d opted for his three month leave, he figured all it would take to get his head on straight was a fishing trip in the wilds. But something had happened these past four weeks. Something that left him restless and unfulfilled.
It was getting a little lighter now. To the west, a finger of land jutted out. At the end, he could make out the faint form of a lighthouse with its pulsating beacon. Back on the highway, the traffic was growing heavier. More travelers. Folks on their way to offices, schools, and medical facilities.
In his mind, he mapped out the trip ahead. He’d keep heading up the coast highway till he could pick up a major route that veered east. Then he would hook into the interstate and continue north into Washington.
Maybe he’d hole up for the night in Seattle. Or somewhere this side of the Canadian border. Maybe he’d even look up that old girlfriend in Bellingham... let’s see, wasn’t Audrey her name?
At any rate, the Jeep seemed to be driving a bit ragged. During his first stop to gas up, he’d have to check it out.
Gripping the steering wheel harder, he willed himself to smile. Yep, he was finally on his way again. But were his troubles really over?
Chapter Nine
Joanna arose after a fitful night’s sleep and peered outside the front room window at the driveway. Fresh sorrow filled her as she stared at the empty spot where Austin had always parked his Jeep.
There was no mistake. He was truly gone. An hour earlier, at the dawn’s first light, while she lay awake staring unseeingly at the shadows on the bedroom wall, she heard the rev of his motor, and then the crunch of gravel as he’d backed onto the road.
Heaving a sigh, she stared at the lawn and noticed a light dusting of frost. The sky, the color of pewter, was growing brighter. The early morning chill seemed to underscore the emptiness filling her. How can I ever go on without him? she asked herself as she rummaged through her closet in search of something to wear. She’d have to--somehow. She’d survived sorrow before, she could do it again.
Yet the hurt slashed deeply, to her very core. Duty. Honor. Such noble ideals. What good were they in the absence of love?
Still, isn’t that just like Austin? she reasoned, remembering the story he had shared about Kyle and his youth. Austin had been the dependable son. The one who’d honored their parents’ wishes. Why should it be any different now?
Perhaps that was partly why she’d been attracted to Austin in the first place, and why now she cared for him deeply. He had appeared in her life—like a fortress, a rock—when she’d been frightened and vulnerable.
And though she couldn’t deny what he’d said about her pride, she needed him now—not because he was someone she could lean on, but because she’d grown to love and respect him. She yearned to share every part of her life with him for the rest of her days.
Would she ever hear from him again? Would it be the same as before? No, it could never be the same, she knew in an instant. Her love for him had changed everything. Her hopes. Her dreams. The way she felt when she looked at him, touched him.
The rest of the day at the aquarium, she kept busy with unnecessary details, attempting to fill every spare moment to blot out any thoughts of Austin. Yes, life still could have meaning, she kept reassuring herself. She mustn’t allow herself to lose sight of that again. She simply must not.
Truth was she had a job she loved, a home near the beach, and Friday afternoons at Anchorhold. What more did she need?
Yet try as she did to forget about Austin, pictures of him kept floating up in her mind. Where was he right now? Was he still traveling the Interstate? Was he standing on the deck of some ferry, the wind whipping through his dark hair? Was his handsome, tanned face etched against a backdrop of blue?
“Joanna, what’s wrong?” Trudy asked after they’d locked the front doors at closing time and wandered inside Trudy’s office to talk.
“Nothing. I’m... just a little preoccupied, that’s all,” she lied. She sank down into the large swivel chair that faced the massive desk, while Trudy seated herself across from her.
“Come on, fess up.” Trudy reached out and touched her hand. “I might be your boss, but I’m a friend now too. Hopefully a good friend.”
“Oh, Trudy, of course, you’re a good friend. And I’m thankful for that...” Her voice trailed off. She shut her eyes momentarily, as if somehow doing so would blot out the pain.
“It’s Austin. Am I right? she heard Trudy murmur.
“I... I’m afraid so.” Joanna opened her eyes and stared down at her lap, twisting the strap of her handbag. “He’s gone, Trudy.”
“When did he leave?”
“This morning. Early.” Haltingly, Joanna told her what Austin had said the night before. “I love him. I love him so much, but... but it’s obvious he’ll never feel the same way about me. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again.”
“You’re wrong,” Trudy insisted. “He’ll be back. You wait. I’m willing to bet my life on it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Trudy sent her a knowing smile. “Don’t think I missed the way he was looking at you the other night at Ted and Helen’s.”
“At one time I might’ve agreed with you, but now I know better.” She shook her head. “Austin was just happy. Happy the roof was done. Happy he would finally be on his way.”
“I don’t think so. A man who is just happy wouldn’t have that certain look on his face, like any minute he was ready to take you into his arms and kiss the everlasting daylights out of you.”
Joanna shook her head, blinking back tears. “Thanks for the encouragement, Trudy, but when it comes to love, I don’t need false hope.”
“It’s not false hope. I’m never wrong.”
Joanna had to bite her lip to keep from pointing out that this time she just might be.
After all, there was always a first time for everything.
***
A telephone ringing threaded through Joanna’s dream, and in an instant she realized it wasn’t a dream. Fumbling, squinting against the early morning light, she finally managed to answer it. Who was calling so early? Was something wrong? She held a hand to her heart. Please don’t let it be about Austin. Please not a car wreck...
“Joanna! It’s Ted.”
“Ted?” She gave an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank heavens!”
“Are you awake?”
The urgency in his voice cleared her last traces of drowsiness. “What’s the matter?”
“We got a problem! About an hour ago, the Fish and Wildlife Services phoned. There’s been a small oil spill off the shores of Southport.”
“What happened? When?” She sat bolt upright now, gripping the phone so tightly her hands throbbed. She peered over at her nightstand. The digital clock next to the lamp said five forty-five.
“I don’t have all the details yet, but they said a tanker struck a reef. Happened a couple hours ago, I think. There’s going to be an early-morning news alert on television in less than fifteen minutes, but I doubt if many folks are up yet to hear it.”
A slow, sickening sensation gripped her. How could this be? Was this some crazy nightmare? A cruel twist of fate? The beach cleanup had proved a hug success.
And now this...
“Too many seabirds have already perished, others have managed to reach land, but they’re struggling for survival,” the veterinarian continued, slicing thro
ugh her spiraling thoughts.
“How bad is it, Ted? How many birds?” Her heart hammered with fresh fear.
“It’s too early to know for sure, of course. I’ve heard the count so far has just topped four thousand. Puffins, murres, scoters, to name a few. The seals, otters, fish, and bivalves are at risk also, but right now we must concentrate on the seabirds.”
“So where should we start? What should we do first?”
“I’m heading over to Anchorhold as soon as I can, but first I’m gonna have to drive into town to round up some supplies. Luckily, we have those empty portables out back, so we can set up a temporary treatment center there.”
“Will one center be enough? Especially if the birds continue to pour in?”
“I doubt it. I’ve made arrangements for another center at the old grange hall off 101. We’re gonna need more vets, too. Hopefully my interns can hold down the fort at the grange while I do what I can at Anchorhold.”
For a painful instant, her thoughts skirted to Austin, but Ted’s voice reined her in again.
“Can you drive straightaway to Anchorhold, Joanna? Get things organized till I can get there too?”
“Of course!”
“Good. I’ll need you to round up as many volunteers as possible. Meanwhile, we’ll have to set up triage stations and feeding and bathing areas.”
“I’ll call Trudy right away. I’m sure she’ll give me as much time off as necessary.”
“Swell. I also plan to see whether we can use the Boy Scout camp, should it turn out we need a backup.”
After they exchanged hasty good-byes and Joanna phoned Trudy, she shrugged into a sweatshirt, then pulled on a pair of jeans.
Her head reeled with the necessary preparations. Volunteers. They’d need a ton of them, not only to rescue the birds off the beaches, but for the critical follow-up care. Where had Austin placed the list of those who’d turned out for the beach cleanup? she wondered. Could they also round up enough heat lamps, syringes, stomach tubes, and washtubs, tables for drying, recovery pens, and flotation test tanks?
Though Joanna’s degree in environmental studies had prepared her for such a crisis—academically speaking—she’d never faced a real oil spill. Right now the task seemed daunting.
***
Austin grabbed a cup of espresso and a cinnamon roll at the hotel coffee shop, then checked out at the registration desk. He’d stopped for the night on the outskirts of Seattle and now, early morning again, he was eager to be on his way.
Outside, his Jeep windshield was covered with frost. He noted a nip in the air. Yep, Old Man Winter would soon be on his way, he reminded himself. And there were only four more weeks till his leave would run out. Better pack in all the fishing he could. Soon it would be time to drive back to California.
He turned the key in the ignition and let the engine idle, while he rummaged through his glove compartment for an ice scraper. A few minutes later, the windows cleared, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and rubbed his hands together, then shoved the heater on full blast.
“On the road again,” he crooned, admittedly a little off-key. Yet somehow it just didn’t feel right. Is this really what he wanted to do?
He shifted into drive. With a high-pitched whine, the Jeep barely crept across the parking lot. Then it stopped cold.
“Damn! What’s going on?” he exclaimed, his frustration mushrooming.
Later, after the tow truck had arrived, Austin sat in the customer waiting area of the nearest garage, his head in his hands. Several other customers waited also. Obviously it was going to take a while before he learned what was wrong.
A mechanic finally emerged through the door. “I’m afraid, sir, your transmission is shot.”
“But are you sure? The guy at the gas station said my fluid was low, so I had him—”
“I’m sorry, sir. Maybe it was low then, but it looks as if that was only part of your problem.”
“Great!” Austin said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
“We’re running behind now, but we’ll try to get the work done as soon as we can. Probably in a day or two.”
As Austin gave the go-ahead for the repairs, his hopes dwindled. Would he ever make it to Canada?
Luckily, the hotel where he’d stayed last night was within walking distance of the garage. He’d go back and pay for another night. At least the beds were pretty decent, he consoled himself. And the high definition television in his room sure beat that pathetic little set Joanna had loaned him.
Back inside the same room again—no one had reserved it—he sank into the love seat and flipped on the early morning news.
“And now for the local events,” the announcer was saying in a monotone. “We’ve just received a bulletin from the Coast Guard and Oregon State Fish and Wildlife Services. Authorities have reported that during the early morning hours, a tanker struck a reef about fifty miles off the coast of Southport, resulting in a two-hundred-thousand-gallon oil spill.”
Austin’s jaw dropped. He sprang to his feet, his gaze fixed on the Anchorhold screen.
“Meanwhile, thousands of birds and marine wildlife are at risk,” the announcer continued. “Volunteers from all over the Pacific Northwest are flooding the beaches, trying to organize rescue efforts. Please stay tuned for further details.”
“Oh, no!” he groaned. Where was Joanna right now? Had she gotten involved? Stupid question, he answered himself with a swift mental kick. Of course she had! Ted too!
He gritted his teeth. His thoughts spun. He had no choice but to go back. He must call the garage immediately. Insist that they push the work through.
Ted needed him—and so did Jo.
***
Joanna worked tirelessly, not even stopping to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Twenty-four long hours had dragged on since she’d received the call from Ted. While the interns supervised the rescue efforts at the other two treatment centers, she and Ted headed up the work at Anchorhold.
Word about the oil spill had spread quickly and throngs of volunteers had met the challenge.
Irrepressible sadness filled Joanna at the sight of so many birds fighting for their lives, yet at the same time she felt unexpectedly encouraged. In less than two days, more folks had turned out than she had ever imagined. High school and college students, senior citizens, young families—the list went on and on.
Meanwhile, seabirds, both living and dead, were carried from the shorelines to waiting trucks and vans, then transported to the nearest treatment center. Some flapped with fright, others were weak and lethargic, on the brink of death.
The oil, roughly half an inch thick, had matted their feathers and soaked through to their skin, destroying their natural insulation and buoyancy. After triaging and tagging, the birds were warmed, tube-fed an electrolyte solution, and placed in pens. Later, after ample time to adjust to their new surroundings, they were given warm baths in a one percent detergent solution.
Joanna’s shoulders sagged with fatigue as she and a sandy-haired teenage named Derek bathed perhaps the hundredth bird they’d admitted several hours earlier that day.
While Derek held the disgruntled murre with gloved hands in a dishpan of soapy water, Joanna scrubbed meticulously, covering every inch of the bird’s body. So far it had taken nearly half an hour to unmat each layer of oil-soaked feathers, and by the time they were done, it’d most likely be double that time. Dental picks and cotton swabs proved handy for the especially tough spots.
The murre craned its neck and thrashed, shrieking whenever Joanna momentarily lost her hold on its pointed, dark bill. Everywhere about them came similar squawks, the steady murmur of the workers’ voices, the loud beating of wings.
“There, there,” Joanna crooned, while Derek helped her turn the bird onto its back to have its belly bathed next. “Once we’re done here and you’re nice and dry in a warm, clean pen, you’ll thank me for this.” She wrinkled her nose, still unaccustomed to the musky smell of wet feath
ers mingled with the more pungent odor of the crude oil.
“Nice and dry—sounds good to me,” Derek commented with a chuckle. He stared down at his own water-soaked jeans and laughed again. “My Mom’s gonna kill me if I catch a cold.” Though the community volunteers had donned make-shift aprons from plastic garbage bags, most hadn’t escaped the bursts of water caused by the struggling birds.
“When is your shift over, Derek?” Joanna asked, stifling a yawn. She looked down, suddenly aware that her own coveralls and boots were covered with the sudsy water also.
“I’m supposed to leave in about fifteen minutes or so,” Derek Answered. “Someone from my biology class is coming to relieve me. We’re getting extra credit for this.” He tightened his grasp on the murre and added eagerly, “but I don’t mind if I have to stick around longer. Helping here is really cool. Besides,” he added, “it was kind of fun staying up all night.”
Joanna nodded. “And as for me, I never dreamed so many people would turn out. It’s wonderful.”
“So when do we get to see whether the birds can float again?” Derek asked.
“Not for awhile. They’ll need to stay in their clean pens till they’ve had a chance to get over their trauma. If the birds have suffered injuries, like cuts or bruises, they’ll need time to heal physically also.” She smiled at the boy’s apparent eagerness and added, “And after the birds are tested in the float pools, many will need to be rewashed, dried, and tested again. This is perhaps the most crucial—”
The sound of a deep, flawlessly modulated masculine voice coming from somewhere near the triage station stopped her next words.
She tossed a look over her shoulder.
Austin!
Shock waves washed over her. She felt the color drain from her face. When had he arrived? How long had he been standing next to Ted, helping him assess the birds’ medical needs? She’d been so engrossed in what she was doing, she’d never even noticed.
For a split second, Austin looked up, met her eyes, and smiled.
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