“But I followed my heart. I’m following it to the land you loved.”
And yet all she felt was misery.
All those years “Ice Sweet” had more meanings, and she hadn’t known. Her curse and her legacy had become her nickname, always wanting more and always feeling the pain.
Was there any point in even opening the last letter? She already knew the last words of a dying man.
“You would have loved Knowles Valley.” Vic Knowles had spoken his last words to his daughter just minutes before he died. His one great regret and she now had the chance to set it straight. A Knowles would once again walk that land—and she would love it with every ounce of willpower in her soul.
She turned the last letter over and over. He’d left off the GPS coordinates. Misspelled the name of the lighthouse. If they’d come this far together, she might as well finish the journey.
Dearest I.S.,
Remember, above all else. Home is neither a place or a state of mind. It is family.
Thank you for being my family. For being my home.
All my love,
Daddy
Daddy.
In the end, he’d finally felt worthy to name his role in her life. And that was his final word, ever. The wonderful father he’d always been. Always believing in her and—just as strongly—always doubting himself.
Home was family.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Had Russell been asking that of her?
Had he proposed and she hadn’t even noticed?
The realization burned behind her eyes, in her head and in her heart. Like an oak barrel being charred by fire on the inside; it made the oak accessible to the wine while it also mellowed and aged the wine in the process. The precious oak, used for its own flavor.
But there was a second reason they used oak, for both wine and whiskey. Steel trapped the wine, suffocated it. Even the giants of the ultra-modern Napa Valley spent time in oak. And while there, one or maybe two percent of the alcohol and other aromatics leaked out through the porous wood. They slid from the wine and disappeared. It was a tiny loss, but enough to transform a mediocre wine into a wonder.
Giving up so little gained so much.
Could she let go of that precious percent? And what would it be? Or was it too late? Had she missed her chance, locked up in the steel vat of her own icy stubbornness?
Her father’s words were washing off the page of his last ever letter to her. He was gone, taking his past with him. Vic Knowles had left her alone to face her future. Yet another piece for Cassidy to let go of—shed one layer at a time.
She looked at the lighthouse: perched on the rock, a concrete tower surrounded by a barbed wire-topped fence. The old bell was in a small shed at the back of the park. The rowing dory, long gone, replaced with a replica that would never again leave the boat house to be dragged, pushed and prodded, through the mud flats. The remote keeper’s dwelling now in the midst of a posh neighborhood, rentable by the day, and tended by the Points Horticultural Society. All of the history had escaped; no sign remained of the remote corner of Puget Sound where the first keeper had managed to land a piano in 1903.
She stood alone.
The only sign of life she could see through the drenching rain was a blue-hulled sailboat with red sails.
She blinked.
But it was still there slicing through the rain.
Russell, coming to their lighthouse.
Coming to her!
She ran from her partial shelter behind the lighthouse and clambered up onto the rocks.
The Lady continued straight toward her for a long moment, then it jibbed abruptly, awkwardly, shearing off to the west, away from the lighthouse. No—away from her.
She’d hurt him. Not because she’d meant to, but because she didn’t understand.
“Russell,” her voice was little more than a croak. She tried again. It was no better.
He was glancing over his shoulder, but he wasn’t turning back.
She waved her arms to no effect.
Her coat. She was wearing her red parka, for the first time in six months it was cold and wet enough.
Unable to fight her way out of the zipper with her frozen fingers, she dragged the coat off over her head.
“Russell.” She waved it against the wind and rain. “See the coat, darn you. See the coat. Red coat, Russell. Don’t leave me behind. Red Coat. Red Coat!” She cried it out into the storm.
The boat continued away from her, until it was barely a shadow in the pounding rain. She was soaked to the bone, but wasn’t willing to turn for her car. There was no way she could give up while there was even the slightest hint of a chance. Not even after that.
He had to come back.
She waved the coat once more, but knew it was too little too late. The horizon remained empty. Cassidy let the coat slap wetly against her leg and lie on the sea-spattered rocks.
Then off to the north, in a direction she hadn’t been watching, the Lady once again emerged out of the driving rain.
Cassidy frantically waved the coat again. He was coming back…for her? Please, let him be coming back for her.
The boat pulled close in, a few dozen yards off shore. With one single, emphatic point, Russell indicated the boat launch on the other side of the park.
She ran. She sprinted. She leaned into the rain and flew across the muddy lawn and the rough rocks. She skidded as she leapt onto the wet wood and raced down the dock.
He was there before her. Floating a dozen feet off the end, just a little too far to jump. She considered it anyway, but knew of the bone-aching cold that waited there. The rain pounded off his incandescent yellow slicks like a parade of snare drummers gone mad.
One more time she waved the sopping red coat at him. She didn’t know what else to do.
“What?”
She didn’t know. How was she supposed to know what to say? She had no idea. His hostility was so open that it pushed her back hard enough to nearly make her stumble and go swimming off the dock’s other side. His angry pain lay so sharp and clear, that it made a scar on the face that had once looked at her with such love. It was an ugly scar and she had been the one to put it there.
“Where were you? I tried calling.”
“I disconnected the cursed thing.”
“Why?” As if she didn’t know. To avoid her.
“I’m leaving.”
“When?” He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not without a goodbye. Not without…
He pointed north. He had the same calendar she did. Ediz Hook lighthouse was the December lighthouse—one of the very last in Puget Sound on the way to the open ocean.
“Now?” She choked out the word.
He nodded without softening. He kept the boat away from the dock with practiced nudges of the controls and the tiller.
She had to think of what to say. Had to get it right. Had to let him know that…
“I’m giving up the angels’ share.”
“What’s that, some special condo deal they offered you on the beach?”
“It’s the second reason they use oak barrels in making wine. The first is flavor. The second—the angels’ share—is what they call the part that escapes through the porous wood. The extra that is lost, let go of, to make the wine that remains behind even better.”
“And what have you let go of?”
How should she know? She didn’t have all the answers on tap. She was making this up as she went. She flapped her arms and let them drop to her side. Then wrapped them about herself because she was rapidly turning into a human popsicle. Maybe not sweet, but certainly icy and soaked through to the skin.
“How about this? Crazy idea.” And she’d think of it in a second. “Hear me out. Okay?”
“I won’t live in Napa.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Or Sienna.”
“Will you shut up for a second?”
“Amazing pictures by the way. You h
ave a great eye.”
“I have two of them. Now, be quiet.”
He bit his upper lip and nodded.
He’d noticed the pictures. She’d loved taking them; loved that connection to place and time. Maybe, just maybe that was a part the answer. Anything was better than the bitter dregs that had chewed up her life these last three weeks.
“You’re leaving now because you can’t stand to see all of the places we were happy together.”
He didn’t speak, but she knew now. She knew how to read the pain in his eyes. The wound to his heart shot across his face and he looked away. But he didn’t hit the throttle. He didn’t leave. Russell simply hung his head against the pain.
She raised her voice, to make sure he could hear her over the rain.
“I have an offer. It’s a crazy offer. They don’t even know what they need, but I do. I haven’t told you about it yet. They don’t even know about it yet.” Neither did she, but an idea, or the idea of an idea was forming. If she could think fast enough, maybe she’d find it.
“I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.” Please, Russell, you made the offer once, make it again? Please.
“Who? China? India?”
“I told you to shut up.” But the words came gently from her throat. She imagined, hoped that they sounded like the caress they were.
“It’s got a lot of great sailing and great people. I know you’ll feel connection there. I know it. They need help. They need my help.”
He didn’t react.
Think, Cassidy. Think harder.
“And, uh, they need an advertising specialist, too. Not some high-end New York studio grunt who doesn’t really care. They need someone who is only happy when he connects with his heart. With his really loving heart.”
He stopped fussing with the controls. The boat began to twist a bit in the protected waters along the dock. He still looked away, but she could see the shift in his shoulders, in his stance, and read her first signs of hope there. The stark anger was gone. She had a chance. She hopped on one foot and then the other hoping to jog some words loose from her freezing body. Standing out in the November rain just might be colder than falling overboard, but she wasn’t about to jump into the water to find out.
The chance that Russell would freeze her out was many times scarier than merely being dragged out to sea.
“It would give me a chance to really be involved in the whole process. Cultivation to viticulture to marketing. Not control, but involved, understanding. Like you said on our first date, I’d get to know the whole story of the wine. And I’ll, I’ll make it a cooperative of some sort. I’m sure they’ll do it. They’re really good people. They could be world class with my help. With our help”—there it was—“but it only works with the two of us.”
He turned to face her.
“They have just a dozen or so wineries but with amazing potential. If they could work together, we could make them into the next great wine region. It’s a little place, probably less total acreage than Mondavi, never mind Napa. It’s called Puget Sound. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” Maybe, just maybe you’ll remember that you proposed to me among the Italian vineyards and forget that I was too wrapped up in my own world to hear it.
The boat drifted a few feet closer to the dock.
“So I was thinking. We could, um, sail all over the Sound, up the Inside Passage to Alaska on occasion and... Then, you know, we’d…” what Cassidy?
“…together we’d…” What is it you really want? Help me, Daddy.
That was it. He already had.
She stood up straight, moved to the edge of the dock until her toes hung over the ocean, raised her arm, and pointed a finger at his heart now so close as the Lady drifted near.
“As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”
The stern bumped against the dock, closing the last of the gap between them, her finger actually came to rest against the center of his slicker-covered chest. He looked at her with the eyes she remembered, the ocean-deep eyes that she’d gotten lost in the first time she’d seen them.
This time she knew what to say and how to say it.
“You are my home.”
END NOTES
My apologies to Brown Point lighthouse for the addition of a dock. The original, much larger dock, installed to service the logging on the hills beyond, was removed in the 1930s.
My joy, to take a year and travel with my wife to the dozen lighthouses pictured on a calendar that she gave me for Christmas. She is my home.
Where Dreams Reside
Chapter 1
Jo Thompson brushed at her eyes, again. She wasn’t the weepy sort. Even a sip of the exceptional champagne that sparkled across her tongue, the taste of spring, only helped a little. She focused on the laughter and bright music of the wedding reception to distract herself.
The setting was so beautiful, a broad white canopy over the vibrant-green lawn. Through its open sides the Mukilteo lighthouse and the large green-and-white Whidbey Island ferry plying the waters of Puget Sound made such an ideal setting. So romantic that even contemplating it choked Jo up all over again. She turned back to the goings-on under the canopy.
Her best friend looked so beautiful and so happy as a bride that it actually made Jo’s heart hurt. Cassidy wore a cream-and-ivory lace sheath wedding dress that clung to her shape like a caress. Every time she even breathed, hidden threads of metallic silver glinted and sparkled. On a more provocative woman, or even a lesser one, it would have been indecent. On Cassidy all it did was smolder, which was clearly giving her new husband something to think about.
The first dance hadn’t been a tango, but she and Russell had certainly danced it like one, as if they were the only ones present. The reception might be winding down now, but they still moved together, constantly teetering on the edge of a tangle of hot passion.
Jo searched out her other best friend. She was innocently flirting with the father of the groom, who was almost as handsome as his son. And Perrin was doing so despite the wife happily draped on his arm. Julia Morgan took Jo’s arrival as an opportunity to get her husband back on the dance floor.
It was clear from their moves that they’d been dancing together for years. Jo had never really learned, but they made it look so intimate and fun that maybe she’d have to find the time. Someday, in her copious spare minutes between lawsuits. Okay, perhaps not. She only really managed to carve out time with Cassidy this week because she was in between cases. A situation that would be ending on Monday morning.
The large tent graced lightly over the lawn, lanterns warmed the scene as the summer evening slowly faded in the background. A live duo were knocking out songs that you couldn’t help tapping your foot to. Above them, the Mukilteo lighthouse spun and cast its beam upon the June waters.
“We done good!” Perrin jarred Jo’s shoulder with a friendly nudge of her own.
“No, you did. The dress you designed for her is a marvel.”
“Does make her look pretty marvelous, not that she doesn’t normally. Still wish Russell had let me do something with his outfit.” They both looked to where he stood with his best man taking a momentary breather from the dance floor.
Jo arched an eyebrow at her, “Do you think you could make him look even better than that?”
Perrin offered her a bit of a grimace. “Probably not. He’s sooo hunky in that tux, but it would have been fun to try.”
“He doesn’t just look hunky,” Cassidy slammed into them from behind and draped her arms over Perrin and Jo’s shoulders, the sweet peas laced into her hair scenting the June-summer air with spring. “He is! I can’t wait to rip that tux off him.” Then she blushed bright red and grinned at the same time.
Jo pulled her in, “You done good, Cassie. Exactly what you’re supposed to be doing, and who with.”
Cassidy laughed. A laugh she’d lost since they were college roommates over a decade before, but had rediscovered with Russell Morgan.
&nb
sp; “When do you fly out?”
Cassidy grabbed a piece of prosciutto-wrapped shrimp from a passing waiter. She tried to eat it, speak, and chortle all at the same time and nearly choked herself.
Jo handed over her glass of champagne from which Cassidy took several swallows and then released a loud hiccup.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Wellll,” Perrin drawled out the word. “I’m sure he’ll let you finally sleep on the flight, unless you’re going for an entry in the mile-high club.”
Cassidy’s smile and blush definitely grew. “Russell might have mentioned something about that.”
“Whoa,” Perrin stamped her foot. “I am so jealous. I want reports. Perrin wants reports.” She began counting on her fingers. “Is married relations better than single relations? Does high altitude make it, well, better somehow? Pluses and minuses of doing it in four-star hotels, Italian villas, and sailboats on the Mediterranean. Take notes. You’ll be graded afterward.”
“Yes, Perrin. I promise a report. When I get back from three weeks of sailing the Amalfi coast with the man of my dreams, we’ll all go out, get drunk, and I’ll tell you every little sordid detail about my most private life.”
“Good.” Perrin nodded emphatically. Her hair, presently dyed as black as Jo’s, swirled about her thin face. As usual, she’d missed the sarcasm in Cassidy’s voice.
Jo also knew from experience that Perrin would indeed be wheedling at least some of the juicier details out of their friend in due time. This allowed Jo to, without parsimony, both share Cassidy’s present amusement at Perrin’s expense and later enjoy the results of Perrin’s somewhat voyeuristic but highly effective curiosity.
Cassidy hugged them both close, “Best friends ever.”
“Best friends ever,” she and Perrin repeated.
While Perrin was both more tipsy and much more emphatic, Jo could feel the truth of it once more bringing tears to her eyes.
“Darn it! Where’s my camera?”
“Let it go, mio amico. You’re the best man, Russell. No, wait. You’re the groom, I’m the best man, though with how Cassidy is looking in that dress, the groom really oughta be someone handsome and Italian like me.” Angelo Parrano slapped Russell on the back hard enough that the groom almost snorted his beer.
The Complete Where Dreams Page 30
