I also chose not to pay attention to his drinking. My best girlfriend, Loyola, warned me. "Maggie, he is not the same person when he's had a few. You know he flirts with all your girlfriends. I fear the fights he gets into at the bar. For you."
"He won't be doing that when we are married," I told her. "He has promised me." I was only eighteen and "ready for love," as they say. He was twenty-four and, he said, "Ready to settle down. I've had my share of women and, yes, wine, but you and I together, we'll make a team that will keep me on a steady course."
Loyola had just shook her head. "But what if he gets mad at you? His temper is awfully quick."
I brushed that off with not even a thought. I wouldn't let it happen.
Our marriage worked for the first couple of years, with some, yes, crunchy times. I've since learned with alcoholism, that was the best of times. Ever since it's been a struggle. The day came when Tommy did hit me.
We were arguing, standing toe to toe. Both of us were shouting, I don't even remember what about. He told me to shut up and I shouted back, "You shut up."
He raised his right boot and stomped down on my left foot. Hard. I thought he'd broken something, it hurt so bad. I screamed, and it scared him, so he backed off.
I hobbled over to the phone and shocked us both by calling the police. One of the two officers who came to the house that night was an old school friend of mine, Wish Kelly. That made Tommy madder. He knew I'd dated Wish in high school. He tried to tell the cops that I'd hit him first. I denied it and Wish believed me.
He said, "Tom, if I ever even hear of you hurting her again, you will go to jail. Magda, I'm putting this on record of you filing a complaint. If this or anything like it ever happens again and I'm not around, you make sure the arresting officer knows about this report. And Tom, listen up scumbag. You better hope I never come here again because I can't promise you'll make it all the way to jail."
After Wish left, all Tommy said was, "I told you to shut up." He never touched me again, but that was really the end of our marriage. I didn't trust him. He tried to talk me into moving away, saying us living in this place was like living in a fishbowl. My friends and family were always interfering and as long as we lived here we'd never have a good marriage because of it. I'd think about moving, and then I'd step wrong and my foot would hurt, and I'd remember.
We stayed together but with trust gone, it got so I didn't like him anymore. I was glad we didn't have kids. We had a lot of years of living together but he went his way and me, mine. Way back then everybody figured it was the woman's fault if her husband hit her. She wasn't doing something right, and, besides, where was she going to go? It was ugly. It's better now, but still hard.
For us, Wish stopped the violence right there. I guess being threatened by a man with a gun was more powerful than anything else I could have done. And Tommy knew I'd call. He blustered a bunch, but he always stopped when he saw the look in my eye.
Once he got the boat and started fishing, that helped. He's gone for months, and I'm glad of it. Maybe he's dead. Wouldn't be a terrible thing. Sad, yes, but he's not been happy with life for many years.
I probably should divorce him, but I just hate to give up. I miss the young Tommy, do have hope he'll show up again. I miss his wry sense of humor, and our adventures together. I look at our surfboards on the wall, and remember excellent times. Perhaps? If he quit drinking? I'm optimistic. I did say, "For bettor, or for worse." But now, it's easier with him gone. Plus, our financial lives are intertwined. We own the house and everything together. Selling the house and giving him half would be good for him, but not for me. I could move into the studio, but I like having my home life and my quilting separate. I have a peaceful life.
For now I've got this job of teaching Annie to quilt, and that will be a challenge. Such resistance. And Sammy. Oh he's a handful! Yes, indeed, he is.
The quilt show is in November. We gotta get cracking. Time to put the needle to the cloth.
Chapter 14
The Heat of The Valley
Thursday
Sam's first question the next morning at breakfast was, "What time are we going to Valley Home? I need to give Kit a call."
"As I recollect, I'm taking you there for lunch, so yes, you'd better call her. I'll drive over to meet Len and pick you back up about one-thirty."
"So he really is back in the picture, huh? Your picture. Not mine. Frankly, you know Mom didn't much care for him. Was so happy when you settled down with Roger." He cleaned up the last of his oatmeal.
After a morning raking leaves, giving the yard a quick spruce, we headed to Valley Home in Portland. Len's house was an easy fifteen minutes from there. After I dropped Sam off I worked my way through lunch hour traffic.
All this hunting to find places, I need to buy a GPS.
I was wearing a crisp yellow linen camp shirt over wide-legged tan shorts. Blue earrings and a silver heart necklace. Sandals with yellow socks. My hair loose. I checked the visor mirror. Yes, my pale mauve lipstick was holding up well. I ran my tongue over my lips, thinking of the way Len's hips had moved in his shorts. Lord, he was still a good looking man!
His place was down a gravel road off Marine Drive. The house was about a hundred years old, from the look of it.
We had had a complicated history of physical intimacy. I'd wanted it but was afraid, too. I'd always been reluctant, up to that certain point where I joined him in his passion. Then, after, guilt, and the fear of pregnancy.
He'd been irritated, assured me that the condoms he used would work. It certainly wasn't satisfactory lovemaking, but I was young then. He'd had some expertise, but wasn't much beyond me. It had all been about him, but I hadn't known the difference, then.
I wondered if he had improved. I knew I had. All those years of marriage to a man who loved me with passion and care, the difference being in the care. Now I expected more of Len, and of myself. I looked forward to our encounter.
Before I could knock, he pulled the door open. He was dressed in the same shorts he'd been wearing at the Fair, with a red-and-blue striped t-shirt. He was barefoot.
"Welcome. Come see my palace. I hope my directions were easy to follow. I don't give out this address to just any Annie I meet at the Fair, you know." He led me into a construction zone. "Watch your step."
Roger and I had built our house, so I was familiar with the chaos of a building project. I liked it; it held promise.
Len stepped over boards lying in a neat pile on the floor. "Those will be framing this doorway." He took me through the house, his hand lightly on my back, steering me ahead of him. "I'll explain all this to you later. Right now let's go out to the back deck."
I followed him, going by an open closet, its door waiting to be hung.
From within the closet a glint of gold caught my eye, stopped me. A tall, wood-framed glass case was propped inside. Within the case a jacket was pinned for display. The material was of a translucent gold sheen. Looking closer I knew it wasn't cloth. It was constructed of long, foot-wide strips, had wrist length sleeves, and a hood, with laces. I'd never seen anything like it. Why was it in a frame? I called to Len.
"What's what?"
He backtracked. "Oh, that. I keep meaning to do something with it. Kinda neat, huh?"
"Is it a coat? What's it made of?"
He lifted the frame with both hands. "Here, you'll want to see this in the light. It is amazing." He carried it onto the back deck, where he propped it up against the railing. The slough beyond the deck was surrounded by tule and cattails with yellow-flag iris lining the edges. The air was warm and heavy with the early heat of the day. A light breeze moved across the porch.
I knelt to look at the coat. "What in the heck is this made of?"
His breath was warm on my neck as he moved close. "Gut from a seal. Opened up, and cut lengthwise, then sewed together. You really don't know what this is?"
He could be so superior, I'd forgotten that. "Uh, no."
He leaned
back against the railing, looking down at me as he instructed. I stood up too.
"It's a Kamleika. Some people call them Aanoraks, but Kamleika is the native name."
"Native?"
"Inuit. You know, Eskimo."
"Oh, sure." Like I knew that. "And it is?"
"A jacket made to go to the Bering Sea. See how small the stitches are? This is life and death stitching." With his finger he followed one of the seams.
I leaned in closer, and felt his hand on my back.
He took it away to lift the frame. "But we can talk about this later. Not good for this to be out in the sun too long. Don't go away, I'll be right back."
While he was taking the coat back into the house, I watched birds chase insects over the vegetation, saw an occasional blue dragonfly setting itself on the railing. When Len returned, he brought me a glass of mixed cranberry and orange juice, with ice. We sat companionably in his Adirondack chairs, watching the action of the slough, insects flying and birds chasing.
"In mid-summer the mosquitoes made sitting out here impossible, but luckily for us, they've backed off now. Damn bloodsuckers. Or the birds ate them all. Good birds!"
Suddenly he stood and came behind my chair. He leaned over and rested his hands on my shoulders. "You know, you look dammed good. All my dreams about you didn't half measure up to the reality. You are one sexy broad."
My pulse picked up. He moved his thumbs onto my shoulder blades with a light massaging motion.
I leaned back onto his hands. He bent down, kissed the top of my head, and then moved quickly around my chair, where he took my hands to pull me up. Just like that we moved into our first kiss in thirty years.
I fell into the deep well of him, a warm tunnel that opened my heart. I adjusted my stance to fit closer against his body, my pelvis to press against his. I shifted my arms tighter around his back.
Eventually I pulled my lips from his, holding to our embrace but releasing my grip, clutching his biceps, wobbly on my feet. "Whew!"
"Here, follow me," he whispered.
He led me through the rooms again, dodging lumber on the floor, to a sunroom on the other side of the house. We sank together to the mat on the floor, sat facing each other, our legs entwined.
He took off my sandals, then my socks. He was already barefooted. I wiggled my toes against his, playing, and leaned forward for another kiss. As his lips met mine I experienced again that sensation of sinking into him, a delicious feeling.
Somewhere I heard a clock chime one-thirty. Where had the time gone? My body was completely in synch with uniting on the mat. It was hard to stop him as his hands stroked my shoulders again, but this time moving over my chest, going lower. I didn't want to stop.
I was out of time.
"Sam!" I grabbed Len's hands, wanting one more stroke. "I've got to get back and pick him up."
"Right now? C'mon! Just a few more minutes." He tried to twist his hands free. The old Len, no patience.
"Not enough time." I laughed, took a shaky breath. "For you, maybe, but not for me."
Bless him, he let his hands drop, reluctantly. "You're right. Tonight?"
I shook my head.
He groaned. "Let me know when you've taken your uncle home. We could meet in Cannon Beach?" He stood and grabbed my hands to pull me up. "I could rent a cabin. I've got the money if you've got the time."
"Oh, that would be too complicated. I'd like to come back here, or you could come to my place and I'll make dinner. Early next week?"
"Sounds good to me. Wine and candles? I'll bring the wine."
"That works for me. But, leave out the wine. Sparkling cider, please. I'll call you." I sat in a straight-backed chair and put on my socks and sandals, while my body still pulsed at what might have been. He pulled me up close, kissed the space between my breasts.
"Yum."
"I think a cool-down shower would be good right now," I said as he licked my neck. My nipples were hard against my sweater, aching.
He ran his hands, slowly, over them, lingering. It didn't help.
"Now?"
"No," I groaned. "For you. I'm leaving. I'm late as it is." One, last, kiss, his tongue wrapping mine. We pulled apart. I grabbed my purse and pulled out my keys, while heading for the door.
From the porch he watched me go.
I shut my car door and took a deep breath to steady my hand before I inserted the key. I didn't want to run over a curb with him watching. By the time I picked up Sam, I'd cooled down. But the memory stayed with me for the next few days, as if his fingers had left imprints on all my nerve ends.
I wanted more.
Chapter 15
A Short Stop
We spent Friday through Sunday of Labor Day weekend working around my place. Sam worked on the ship model and spent relaxing time at the picnic table with hot tea, watching the Clackamas swirl by, and talking to Magda on his cell. I harvested early produce from the garden, much of the time thinking of Len. I put my frozen chicken stock together with the veggies and fresh herbs, and made a dang good soup, for which Sam whipped up biscuits.
Late at night, when I couldn't sleep I went to what I now thought of as the Project Room. Sam had the ship parts laid out on a table with glue and paint and small brushes. I had Sophie's quilt on the larger table Roger had used. I moved my cloth pieces around.
Sophie's design wasn't working for me. I'd gone through my own small fabric stash, found nothing that would do for what I was thinking. The design need to be livened up, modernized.
The cat, Prince Charming, was as happy with Sam's company as I'd thought he'd be. Outside he helped us, walking the edges of the raised beds as I picked green beans and tomatoes. He inspected them in my basket. Inside, he sat beside Sam as he slowly put the ship together. He was also attentive as Sam talked on the phone to Magda.
I had two cords of wood delivered that Sam and I put away in the woodshed. We didn't need a fire yet, but I wanted to be ready.
On Labor Day I took Sam home, leaving early. We swung by Willamina to have breakfast with Magda at one of the old time restaurants. When we got out of our cars and hugged, Magda ran her hand down Sam's back.
Magda and Sam sat across from me, beside each other. While they were catching up I looked around at the place. It was vintage. The walls were hung with log-town ephemera: long saw blades used by two men to saw through the trunks of the enormous old growth trees, now sidelined and painted with scenes of lakes and trees under blue skies; photos of logging trucks loaded with one huge log, or at the most, three. Logs that if off center could tilt the truck, loads that if seen today would cause a traffic jam, and an environmental pile-up.
While we waited for service, Sam was trying to talk Magda into dropping everything and coming with us. "I can put you in one of Sophie's Cabins, introduce you around. Take you to the store where they sell material."
I figured that would get a reaction, not sure whether he did it on purpose or not. He does like to push at people's edges.
The menu was aged and a little spotted, with white tape over the prices, new amount written on the tape. The waitress was dressed in a sensible, just below the knee, slightly flared, brown skirt with a short apron over that. A button with her name, Edna, was pinned to her pale yellow blouse. She was carrying a coffee pot.
"Morning, Magda, I never see you this early. Anybody want coffee?"
"Had to bring in a couple out-of-towners to have a good breakfast. Yes, coffee please. What's good today?"
Edna recommended the travelers special, corned beef hash with over-easy eggs, coffee, $6.95. We all ordered it, Madga and Sam with a side of bacon. When she left, Magda elbowed Sam, "Remember, it's fabric."
I saw "gotcha" in his eyes. "So, how's Lena?" I said.
"Probably sleeping, but we'll meet today for the Quilt Guild. Have to have a short business meeting. Get everything nailed down for the Quilt Show. Sammy, you gotta come and see it."
With that she was back focused on Sam. I ate my breakf
ast and felt the coffee kicking in the energy for the rest of the drive. As I ate I thought about Len. I had my camera with me so, to redirect my mind I took a couple photos of the interior of the restaurant, of the glass eyes of the several stuffed deer heads and the hide of a black bear decorating one wall.
I was ready to be on our way, and finally, so was Sam. He hadn't been able to sidetrack Magda from her Guild duties. Near the old time cash register was a rack of postcards. I pulled out one showing a yellow dog walking down the empty main street of Willamina. "Wish You Were Here" was stamped across the bottom. I bought a couple.
"What do you want with those?" Sam said.
Magda bumped him with her shoulder. "It helps the local economy. Buy away, I say."
"Women." He patted his shoulder like she'd hurt him, causing us to glare at him. "Don't get me wrong. I love you all. Just can't say I understand buying junk you don't need."
"Hey, I might have to send you a birthday card someday." We said goodbye to Magda at our cars. Sam gave her a peck on the cheek as he helped her into her car. I promised to be back mid-week to work on the quilt with her.
Chapter 16
To The Beach
From Willamina I drove us to the coast, turning right above Lincoln City onto 101. Sam rolled down his window to feel the cool breeze off the ocean. The coast road took us through several small towns, swinging into Tillamook, then back through the coastal pine forests lining both sides of the road, some inland, some of it nearly hugging the waterline. I enjoyed the view of the waves splashing white on the beach, with people along the way playing in the surf, walking their dogs, or looking for agates.
To Sam this was going home, to me, a treat. September, the best time of year.
After about two hours I turned off 101, dropping down onto the road that ran through the small town of Cannon Beach. I was amazed as always at the traffic. When I was a kid the ocean had been more visible from the street. We could hear the waves rolling onto the shore, feel the mist on our faces. Now cabins, shops and restaurants all but hide the blue of the sea, offering only a tantalizing glimpse of the water.
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