Geoducks Are for Lovers (35 page)

Her ringing phone startles her out of her musings on John’s imaginary love life. Almost knocking the phone off the table in her attempt to grab it, she barely glances at the name on the screen before answering. It’s Gil. She lets out a breath.

“Hi.”

“It’s Gil.” His smooth, bass voice greets her.

“I know. My phone told me.”

Deep laughter comes over the phone. “I really do feel like I’m calling a girl in high school. At least your dad didn’t answer the phone.”

“That’s the good thing about dead parents. You don’t have to worry about them listening in on conversations with boys.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Maggie. Not even a minute into the call and I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.”

“Stop. I was kidding. Seriously. Laughing about them being dead doesn’t bother them. They’re dead.”

“Wow. Wasn’t expecting the call to turn to death so quickly.”

“At what point during this call did you think the conversation would work its way around to death?”

“You’re laughing at me.” 

“I am.”

“I’m nervous. I don’t know why, but I am. Can we have a do over?”

“I believe it was my friend Dr. Morrow who told me there are no do overs in life. Sorry, no phone do overs either.”

“This doctor sounds wise.”

“He is. When he isn’t continually bringing up my dead parents.” Giggling, she tucks the phone under her ear and picks up her computer to bring it inside. She’s not sure she wants John overhearing her conversation with Gil. Not that John is listening. She imagines he is distracted by his guest.

“Sounds like you are on the move. Is this a good time to talk? Should I have texted first?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m out on the deck and moving inside. Do people do that? Text to talk?”

“Selah does it to me.”

“Now you mention it, she does it to me too. Why not just call?”

“Were you working outside? In the sun? With the water behind you?”

“Jealous?” She teases.

“Damn. I have a window in my office but it faces north and looks straight into another building on campus. No view and no direct sunlight.”

“Dreary. Are you at work?”

“It is and I am. Getting some prep work done for the semester. No students back on campus yet. Boring academic stuff and meetings.”

“Not the glamorous academic life we’re led to believe from television and the movies?”

“Ha! No.” He laughs. “Not at all. Speaking of college, you’re definitely out of the reunion?”

“Unfortunately, I am. I got an earful from Selah via text and email. Jo sent me all the info on the house rental, just in case. Quinn’s giving me the silent treatment after a one word email.”

“What was the word?”

“Fine.”

“Ouch. You are in the doghouse now. Are you looking forward to the big assignment?”

“I know. I’m on a list somewhere where he’s crossed out my name and maybe drawn a skull and crossbones next to it. I am looking forward to the dinner in Vancouver. Farm-to-table can be sea-to-table, so who knows what we’ll be served.”

“Geoducks perhaps? That would be fitting. You sitting at a fancy dinner, eating the carcass of your college mascot instead of attending the dreaded reunion.”

“That’s a macabre image. Fits nicely with the start of this conversation.” She jibes him. Hearing a banging sound, she asks, “Are you hammering something?”

“No, that was my head hitting my desk.”

“You were banging your head on your desk? Literally? Or figuratively, like in emoticon speak?”

“Literally. Next I’ll bring up your dead puppy.”

“Dead puppy? Biscuit is in fine health, mind you.”

“Good to hear.”

“He misses all of you. He’s been in a funk for a week.”

“Oh he is, is he? Just Biscuit?”

“No,” she pauses, “not just Biscuit. I miss you all more than I thought I would. Cabin seems quiet and still now.”

“I miss you too. Portland isn’t far. Good for a weekend trip. The I-5 goes in either direction.”

“Yes, I remember in your email you were going to lure me to Portland.”

“I will. You wait and see. There will be luring.” 

She can hear more knocking. “Are you hitting your head on your desk again?”

Laughing, Gil replies, “No, not again. Someone is at my office door. Listen, I’ve got to run to a meeting, but let’s do this phone talking thing again. I promise I won’t bring up death next time.”

“I like the phone talking thing.” She’s bummed he has to cut their conversation short.

“Sorry to go, but I’ve got to run. Your turn to call me.”

“So forward and demanding.”

“I’ve seen you naked. The least you can do is call me.”

“Interesting logic. Okay, go. I’ll call soon.”

“Bye,” he says as the phone disconnects. 

Putting her phone down, Maggie sighs. As silly and odd as the conversation with Gil was, she smiles. The man can make her smile and laugh like no other. She does miss him. More than she imagined.

Her phone chirps with a text alert.

*Bad timing on my part. Should’ve waited to call. Call me later. Or tomorrow. Soon.*

*I will. :)* 

Not feeling like writing any more for the day, she wanders over to the stereo.
Blue
still lays next to the turntable, so she plays it, turning the volume up loud.

When she notices the Scrabble board at the end of the table, she picks up the box to put it away. Before she folds the board to pour the tiles back in their bag, a thought occurs to her. Clicking the shutter button on her phone, she captures the layout for posterity. She texts Selah, Quinn, and Gil the image.

Selah responds first. *Trust is not a dirty word.*

The next response is from Quinn. 

*Still mad at you.*

She doesn’t hear back from Gil right away. 

Glancing around the downstairs, she decides to dust. Something about listening to music her mother loved makes her feel domestic.

Duster in hand, she dances around, singing along to “California,” the music too loud to hear herself.

The gentle scratching, skipping sound alerts her to the record finishing. Downstairs has been dusted and straightened. She turns the record over and heads upstairs to continue cleaning.

She enters the guest rooms and realizes she hasn’t been in them since everyone left. Jo stripped the beds and the linens went back in the closet. Looking around Gil and Selah’s room—really only Selah’s—she spots a heart shaped wishing rock laying squarely in the middle of the pillow Gil used. 

After picking it up, she closes her eyes and kisses the rock. Making her wish out loud, since no one is here to hear her, she says, “I wish for trust in myself and all things love.”

She opens her eyes and tucks the rock in the pocket of her hoodie to throw in the water later.

By the time she goes back downstairs with her duster, the record has finished playing. Nothing but a soft hiss and a few pops come from the speakers. 

The solitude she enjoyed during her year of mourning is now stifling. Maybe she is ready to return to the living. 

Gil responds to her text later in the evening. *Trust. ;)*

His winking emoticon is so not like him, making her giggle.

* * *

Maggie calls Gil back the next day and they start a routine of talking almost every day for the next several weeks. Not texting and emails, but real voice conversations. Her little world is less quiet and less solitary. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she was growing more and more disappointed she isn’t going to Olympia in two weeks.

As their calls become daily, and on occasion, multiple times a day, she begins to think she should cross over the imaginary border she drew between friends and more to protect her heart. Gil doesn’t raise the issue, nor does he shy away from flirting with her. He plays the game her way, no pressure from him. She shouldn’t be disappointed he respects her boundaries even if sometimes she is. Maybe she is beginning to have faith when it comes to all things love and Gil.

Thirty-two

Another week of writing, running, and island living passes by in a flash. Labor Day comes and goes, taking away the majority of summer people, and a few of the Snow Birds. Long ferry lines disappear as August becomes a memory, and the second week of September begins. 

Maggie finally receives a text from Quinn. She hasn’t heard from him since his curt replies to her email and text. Reading his text, she chuckles. 

*You are the very worst kind of friend. Can’t believe you are not coming this weekend. Geoduck hater.*

*Geoduck hater? Really?*

*Clearly. I hope the universe or karma or Buddha cancels your plans and shows you the path of righteousness.*

*Righteousness is a big word for a txt msg.*

*I’ve called in favors with the universe. Beware of Buddha’s army.*

Not being able to control her amusement, she snorts over his peevish tone.

*Don’t gloat, but I hope your favors work. I’ll miss you guys.*

*You mean you’ll miss Gil. I have spies. I know all about the talking.*

She rolls her eyes.

*Benedict Selah.*

*You should know better than to trust her.*

She gets another text from Quinn before she can reply.

*JSYK, we are all THRILLED about you two.*

*Um, thanks. I think.*

*Let’s Skype this weekend when we are all in Olympia, and you are not.*

*Let’s. Gotta run. Have fun.*

*We will. And I’ll rub it in.*

*Would expect nothing else. X*

*XXXX*

Oh, Quinn. She feels terrible for missing the reunion. Every day she talks to Gil her guilt increases. Their conversations remain just on the border between friend and more, straying across the line once in a while into flirting and sexual tension. 

Shaking her head over Quinn’s texts, she opens her laptop and tries to focus on finishing her research for the dinner in Vancouver.

An hour later, she wraps up her background research and decides to check her inbox. There is an email from her former magazine editor, with request for her to cover the new Portland food festival next weekend. In fact, it starts a week from today. This is short notice, but Maggie thinks she can do it. Quickly checking her calendar, after learning her lesson last time, she realizes she has the weekend open. Her excitement over going to Portland builds, and it has nothing to do with a food festival. This is the perfect excuse to visit Gil.

She picks up her phone and hits call.

“Why are you calling me?” Gil answers.

“Do I need an excuse?” She laughs.

“No, never. Just surprised at the timing. Two minutes ago I got a text from Quinn saying I lack conviction and proper motivation.”

She snorts.

“Did you snort or are you near swine?” 

“I snorted. Quinn texted me he’s sending Buddha’s army after me.”

It’s Gil’s turn to snort. “Buddha’s army is an oxymoron. Does Quinn realize this? And why is he sending fake armies after you?”

“He’s pouting about me not going to Olympia this weekend.”

“We’re all pouting. I know I am. I’ve been writing your name all over my notebook and everything.”

She laughs at the image. “I hope you don’t do that in front of your students.”

“I might. They need to know mooning over girls doesn’t stop when you grow up.”

“Speaking of mooning and girls, I think I have a job in Portland next weekend.”

Silence greets her.

“Hello?” She checks the call hasn’t been dropped. “Hello?”

“I’m here. I’m trying to get the picture of your naked ass out of my head, and come up with something appropriate to say.”

“Why are you thinking of my naked ass?” She asks, confused by the jump in topic.

“You said, and I quote, ‘speaking of mooning and girls.’ I got distracted.” 

“Such a guy. Next weekend there’s a new food festival in Portland, which my old editor wants me to cover. Last minute assignment.”

“Any other reason you’d be coming to Portland?” He baits her.

“There’s this guy I’ve been talking to on the phone a lot lately, and I was thinking it might be nice to spend some time with him. Maybe hang out, or go on a date, or something.”

“Date? Will there be mooning on this potential date?” Gil laughs.

“On what date is mooning considered appropriate? Is that the fourth date? It’s been a while since I’ve had an official mooning date. I’m pretty certain mooning is not first date material.”

“We’ve known each other almost twenty-five years, I don’t think we could ever have a first date at this point. I held your hair when you threw up on your shoes. You sat through my terrible band gigs where the band outnumbered the audience. These are things you only do well into an established relationship. Or never.”

“True. Mr. Rochester would be appalled by shoe vomit. He’d probably never call back or stick around long enough for the mooning date.”

“He’d be missing out. The good stuff, the very best stuff comes after you get past the mooning date. What are we even talking about?”

“I have no idea. I’m coming to Portland in a week and you brought up vomiting.”

“I did. We have the weirdest conversations. Let’s go back to talking about the good-looking guy you’ve been talking on the phone with.”