The Eclipse of Moonbeam Dawson

by Jean Davies Okimoto

  * * *

  Reid knew he’d never be able to sleep until he had written Michelle. It was a good thing he didn’t have to be at work until the lunch shift the next day because he was up most of the night. It turned out to be much harder than he thought. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having written anything harder. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the walls for hours before he’d even written a word. And when he finally did, everything he wrote seemed stupid. The first letter:

  Dear Michelle,

  I’ve been thinking a lot about meeting you. You’re the most wonderful girl I ever met and there’s something that I have to tell you

  Smush. He crumpled that one up and flipped it on the floor. The next one:

  Dear Michelle,

  How are you doing? I hope you had a great trip back home! Well, there is a little something I want to tell you

  Smush. Crumple. Crunch. And the next:

  Dear Michelle,

  I sure had a great time with you, but there are a few things that I didn’t get to mention.

  Smush. Crumple. Flipped to the floor. Each letter seemed more pathetic than the last, and by 1:00 A.M. there were a dozen crumpled sheets of notebook paper lying around the legs of his chair, looking like he’d dumped over a trash can. He was no farther along than he was when he started some two hours earlier.

  Reid tore out another sheet from his notebook. Looking at his books piled on the table made him realize that he’d also have to tell her that he didn’t go to the Mountain Academy. He’d have to tell her that he went to school on Heather Mountain with kids from the Happy Children of the Good Earth.

  Sometimes he really missed that place. Maybe when you leave a place you remember the good stuff. He liked how close everyone was. Although he had to admit, there had been a few times when the kids didn’t get along. Once there had been a big fight between Rainbow Callanti and Aspen Jones. Meadow’s father made them write letters to each other about all the things that made them mad. But they had to keep the letters for a week. Then they could choose if they wanted to give it to the other guy or throw it away. They both decided to throw it away.

  Maybe that’s what he should do. Write her everything he really wanted to say and then decide later whether or not to send it. Why not? It seemed like it was worth a try. Reid got a fresh piece of paper and began to write. And this time it came easily, it just seemed to flow. Knowing that he might decide not to send it opened him up like he had been uncorked.

  Dear Michelle,

  I had hoped the last night you were here that I could have talked with you about some assumptions you had made about me that weren’t right. I really liked being with you and you seemed to like being with me, but I wanted you to know the truth about me and my background.

  First of all, my name is really not legally Reid. My mother is the kind of person you call a hippie or a granola and she named me Moonbeam. Twice we have lived on communes on Vancouver Island. In fact, the only time I lived in a city was about five years in Victoria. My mother is from the States, but her mother is Canadian. She met my father at U.B.C. and he was Native, a Haida. So I am half-Native. Now you know someone who is at least part Native. But I was never raised in the Indian culture. The little I know about it comes from the school we had at the communes where we’ve lived. This is not the Mountain Academy. We were all home schooled, correspondence kids, with the North Island Regional Correspondence School. I was never on a real basketball team. My father was killed fighting a forest fire in Alberta the summer before I was born. My mother and I left the commune at Heather Mountain (it was called the Happy Children of the Good Earth) a few weeks ago. I got this job at Stere Island Lodge and my mother is living in another commune situation on Palmer’s Land outside of Tofino. When I got to Stere I wanted a different name, because I wanted to be more like normal kids. A friend of mine helped me pick the name Reid. It’s for Bill Reid the half-Native (Haida), half-white artist who made the famous Raven and the First Men sculpture at the museum at U.B.C. (The one that has the little people coming out of the clam shell with the big raven on top.) Now that you know who I really am, I hope you won’t have any regrets about being with me when you were at the lodge. And I also hope that you will want to see me again. Because that’s what I want more than anything. I hope you’ll write me and let me know what you’re thinking after you’ve read this.

  Love,

  Reid

  Carefully, he folded the letter and then went to bed, sure now that he’d be able to sleep. But no such luck. Over and over again all he could think about was that he hadn’t told her that the bear hunt was a fake. Should I tell her that, too? Do I have to tell her everything? Does she need to know that the gun wasn’t loaded?

  Reid slammed his hand into the pillow and sat up in bed. He just wanted peace of mind but the whole thing seemed to be making him crazier and crazier. He flipped on the light and went back to the living room. He unfolded the letter, reread it, and the added a line at the bottom.

  P.S. The first time I actually ever went bear hunting was with you.

  He reread the letter three more times and then decided to send it. It’d be the only way he’d ever get sleep again. It was good that the main door of the lodge was always open and the desk clerk was on duty twenty-four hours a day, because by morning he was afraid he might lose his nerve.

  Reid threw on his jacket, took the letter, and walked over to the lodge. Frank Hannawalt was at the desk. Reid didn’t know him very well; he was one of the newer employees that Jim Goltz had just hired.

  Frank was surprised to see Reid come in the lobby. “Are you always up this late?”

  “No. I’ve got an important letter to go out with the mail and I was afraid I’d forget to drop it off tomorrow. The mail boat usually comes while I’m at work.”

  Frank pulled the mail sack out from under the counter. “I’ll stick it in right now. It’ll be on its way first thing.”

  “Thanks. Well, guess I better get some sleep.”

  “That letter must be pretty important.”

  Reid looked at the mail sack where Frank had just put his letter and hesitated a minute, knowing if he wanted to, all he had to do was ask for it back.

  “It is important,” he said quietly, sounding more determined than he felt. Then, before he could change his mind, he crossed the lobby and went out into the dark night.

  Chapter Twelve

  On Saturday when he wasn’t working, Reid crashed at his apartment. He was too tired to worry any more about the letter, totally wiped out from only getting three hours’ sleep the night before. By Sunday the letter began to nag at him, but he tried not to think about it. Michelle wouldn’t even get it until Monday.

  But by Monday, it was all he could think about. He was obsessed with it. What would she think when she first read it? Would she like it? Would it make a difference? Would she be furious with him? Would she hate him? A postcard might come from her right to the lodge, and everybody would know.

  Dear Reid Phony Dawson,

  In your dreams I’ll see you again, you scum.

  DON’T write me again! EVER!

  Michelle Lamont

  He told Gloria about the letter; it was her spring break and she was working at the lodge all week. When he first told her about it she was really nice, the way she had been at the beach. He kept trying to remember what she had said. “If someone has a problem with who you are, then you have a problem with them.” He said it over and over like one of the chants the people at the Happy Children of the Good Earth used to do when they were meditating.

  Whenever he got the chance, he’d ask Gloria again if she thought he had done the right thing. “Do you think I’ll ever hear from Michelle? Do you think the letter has blown it? Do you think I still have a chance with her?” He couldn’t shut up. He was full of so many questions and worries, they popped out of his mouth like he was a suitcase jammed with too much stuff that sprang a hinge.

  On Monday she had listened patie
ntly. On Tuesday she had listened. But on Wednesday it was a different story. They had finished work and were walking back to the employee apartments. “What should I do if I don’t hear from her? Should I write her again? What do you think?”

  “REID DAWSON, WILL YOU SHUT UP!” Gloria yelled at him so loud he almost jumped into the bushes. “You are like a one-way radio that’s stuck on send! For three days all I’ve heard is this garbage about Michelle Lamont and I’m sick and tired of it! Not once, NOT EVEN ONE TIME, have you ever asked me anything about me. Like, How am I doing? What’s going on in my life? How was school? Nothing!

  “And for your information, I happen to be worrying about something, too. My brother wants me to help him on a project for Bear Alert and it might be a bit risky. And I might have wanted to talk to a friend about it, but no. It’s all you, you, you and your stupid problem and at this point I don’t give a flying fig what you do! So just bug off. I’ve had it!”

  Reid felt like he’d been flattened by a cement truck. He stood in the path and watched Gloria stomp off to her apartment. She slammed her door so hard, it echoed through the trees, sounding like the building’s roof had caved in.

  Now he’d really blown it. The one friend he had here, and she would probably never speak to him again. And the worst part of it was, he knew Gloria was right. He had been a crummy friend to her; he couldn’t blame her for being so mad at him.

  Reid went down to the marina and sat on the dock. Out in the sound, toward the north end of the island, a crab fisherman was hauling in crab traps. He felt like one of those crabs, flailing about, not being able to get anywhere. It felt like he couldn’t get anywhere with Michelle, or anywhere without her. What a jerk. He told himself he ought to visit reality. She might never come back here. He should just forget about her. But Reid knew he couldn’t. Not until he found out how she reacted to his letter. Until then he felt stuck in neutral, not being able to go one way or the other.

  In the distance a Tofino Air float plane flew toward the island. Reid remembered the first time he had seen Michelle when he was substituting for Brad Wellman. She looked like someone from a magazine when she climbed out of the plane … A plane? He scrambled to his feet as the float plane came in toward the dock. A plane! Why hadn’t he thought of it before! Tomorrow was his day off. He could take the plane to Vancouver, see Michelle, come back that same night, and still be at work on Friday. It was perfect! He’d find out for sure, one way or the other, how she felt about him.

  Then he realized that it was Wednesday, the day his mother always met with Anne Depue to drop off her weaving at the boutique and hopefully pick up her check if anything had sold. It was like it was meant to be. He could borrow the money for a ticket, then pay her back when he got his first paycheck. Reid left the marina and raced to the lodge to find out what time she’d be there.

  Two ladies were in the boutique looking at the clothes when he came in. Anne was talking with one of them. A thin, tan, silver-haired lady whose diamonds were so huge you couldn’t help staring. Mrs. Gotrocks. Reid remembered when Abby would see certain women in the lobby of the Empress and whisper, “There goes Mrs. Gotrocks.” He thought it was actually the person’s name until there were so many Mrs. Gotrocks that he realized his mother gave every rich lady that name.

  Anne waved to him and excused herself from Mrs. Gotrocks. “Hi, Reid, did you want to talk to me?”

  “I just wondered if you knew what time Mum was coming today.”

  “She should be here pretty soon.” Anne looked at her watch. “She said it’d be late morning, probably around eleven or eleven-thirty. I think she’ll really be pleased. I sold quite a few of her things this week.” Anne smiled. “I know I am.”

  “Thanks!”

  Reid headed straight for the front desk. This was great! She’d sold some stuff. And not just for her sake, but his, too. She’d probably be in a good mood and very happy to loan him a little money.

  Mrs. Shafley, the concierge, was at the front desk. Reid was never sure what hours she worked; her shifts were different from the regular desk clerks. Philline Shafley was different from most people who worked at the lodge. Reid didn’t like her. The concierge’s job was to cater to the guests and arrange all kinds of things for them and she had an attitude about it. She acted like she was better than the other employees and tried to boss them around. She’d ordered most of the servers from the dining room to bring food to her office. Joani Harr, Helen Paulus, Madalene Lickey, and Sandy Gresko had all been yelled at by her for not bringing it within ten minutes. Even Gloria and Gretchen Coe couldn’t stand her, and they found good in almost everybody.

  “Mrs. Shafley, I want to fly to Vancouver tomorrow on the earliest flight and then come back as late as I can the same night. How much is the ticket?”

  “Must be urgent business.” She sounded a bit concerned.

  “Not really.” It’s none of your business, you nosy old bag.

  Mrs. Shafley leafed through North Vancouver Air’s schedule and rate book. “And will you be needing any transportation, car rental, or limousine pickup?”

  A limo? Do I look like I’m going to a prom in my jeans without a date?

  “No. Just the plane ticket.”

  “The fare is two hundred seventy dollars for the round trip. That’s Canadian.”

  “I didn’t think it would be American,” Reid muttered.

  “Well, many of our guests don’t seem to be able to understand that the world doesn’t run on their dollars,” Mrs. Shafley said, haughtily.

  “Is there anything cheaper?”

  “If you book forty-eight hours in advance, the fare is two hundred forty-five.” She glanced down at the fare schedule. “And if you book fourteen days in advance, the fare is one hundred and ninety-nine. But since you are in such a hurry to go tomorrow, young man, you don’t qualify for any of these discounts.” She slammed the fare book shut and gave him a superior smile.

  Well, you don’t qualify for anything but being a jerk, you puffed-up cow.

  “Would you like to purchase a ticket?” she asked sweetly.

  Reid looked out at the trees through the bay windows at the end of the lobby. He had never spent his life thinking about money or wishing he were rich. But at that moment, there was nothing he would have liked more than to have had a huge wad of one-hundred-dollar bills stuffed in his pocket, which he would casually pull out. Slowly he would peel off one bill, then another right under her needle nose, right in her face. Take that, you fat goose. And that. And that. He’d buy every seat on the friggin’ plane. She would faint. Then she’d get fired for lying down on the job.

  Reid looked back at Mrs. Shafley. “I have to think about it. Maybe I’ll come back later.”

  He walked through the lobby and saw that Mrs. Gotrocks was still in the shop. Maybe she’d buy some of his mum’s stuff, every last jacket and shawl Mum had woven would be snapped up and then when he asked her for the loan, she wouldn’t even blink. Of course, I can loan you this money, honey. Take even more because after all you’ll need to eat something when you’re in Vancouver and you’ll need a little for bus fare. Just pay me back when you can, I know you’re good for it. No problem. Have fun!

  Two hundred seventy dollars. That was a lot of money. He had no idea just an hour’s plane ride would cost that much. What a shock. Reid started calculating his wages. A week’s pay came to three hundred seventy-two dollars. And he’d probably need at least ten or fifteen more to spend when he was there. Four and a half days of work in a steaming kitchen peeling potatoes and washing dishes to spend a few hours with Michelle.

  Michelle. He said her name to himself. Michelle. He had never met anyone like Michelle Lamont. Someone that beautiful. Someone who lived in Vancouver and rode around in yachts and planes. Someone who had kissed him. Someone who had wanted to come to his room. Reid sighed, remembering kissing her in Harvey’s skiff. Too bad she had to leave that night. What would have happened if she had stayed? Reid sighed again. He had
to find out how she felt now. Even if it did take four and a half days of scrubbing pans and peeling potatoes, it would be worth it to see her. He had to. That was all there was to it.

  It was a little after 11:00 when Harvey and Abby arrived at the lodge. Reid had been waiting at the slip where Harvey moored his boat, and he grabbed the line from the bow as Harvey eased the old boat in next to the pier.

  “Hi, Harvey. Hi, Mum. Anne’s got good news.”

  “Really?” Abby threw him the line from the stern. “You’ve talked to her?”

  “A little while ago. I don’t know how much is sold, but she was real happy about it.”

  “Gee, everything’s turning up roses.” She jumped on the dock and hugged him. “Have you missed me?”

  “Sure. Want me to carry your stuff up to the shop?” Reid looked at the boxes piled neatly in the cabin.

  Harvey joined them on the dock. “I think she wants to wait until she sees how much more Anne might want.”

  So now you’re the big expert on Mum.

  Reid glared at Harvey, but in a second he felt a little sheepish. Harvey had been nice to him. It was just hard to get used to having the guy in the picture.

  “Mum, there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

  “Okay, we can talk on the way to the shop.” Abby linked her arm through Harvey’s.

  “Well, I’d rather talk alone.”

  Harvey looked at her. “That’s fine, I can just wait on the boat.”

  “Harvey, you don’t have to.” She held his arm.

  Yes he does. Get on the boat, dude.

  Harvey climbed over the rail and waved them on. “Go ahead.” Then he disappeared into the cabin.

  “Moonbeam, you—”

  “I’m not—” He interrupted, then stopped himself.

  “You’re not what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look, I just want you to recognize that Harvey is important to me and that—”

  “Duh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”