Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One (19 page)

Jack turned to say something and stopped.
Cassie's face was deathly pale and her eyes flitted nervously
around the room avoiding his gaze.

"Hey," Jack asked, "you okay?"

"Yes!" Cassie replied, somewhat louder than
she had meant to. She took a breath and tried again, "Yes, I'm
fine…I…I…" her mind spun grasping quickly for something to say. “ I
thought I saw that truck again…but I was wrong."

Jack studied her face for several seconds,
his brow furrowed, then scanned the room, his hand slipping
unconsciously into the pocket of his jacket, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Cassie answered, fighting to control
her voice, "but… uh…it wasn't him."

“
Okay. You ready to
roll?"

"Sure" she said, feeling anything but.

They rode in silence for a long while as the
sky, which had seemed so bright and clear that morning, gradually
clouded over. Dark, ominous, clouds blew in, threatening the
rainstorm to come, and the sea turned iron gray, as high tide
boiled and crashed ferociously against the beach.

"Storm coming in," Jack murmured.

"Hmm?" Cassie responded, distracted by her
own thoughts.

"A storm," Jack repeated, "coming in from
the ocean. There's a real humdinger blowing out there somewhere,
you can tell by the color, and the way the tide's coming in. She'll
always warn you, if you know what to look for."

Late that afternoon, despite Jack's
declaration to the contrary, they pulled off Highway 101 and found
a burger stand to stop at for lunch. Cassie excused herself almost
before the van stopped rolling and hurried to the ladies room
where, quickly locking the door behind her, she closed her eyes
and, leaning wearily against the tiled wall, began to pray.

Okay Lord," she whispered, "what am I
supposed to do here? I was all ready to find my father and tell him
what I thought of him, and now you throw this at me…"

Cassie pounded her fist against the wall, as
her temper flared.

"What were you thinking?" she cried angrily,
almost surprised at the silence that came in response.

"What am I supposed to say?" she shouted,
near tears, "Hey, thanks for the ride, Jack, by the way I'm your
daughter?" Cassie stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath and
leaning back against the wall. Arguing with God wasn't going to
make the situation any easier.

"
Trust in the Lord with all your
heart
…" she murmured, knuckling away
tears. But God felt distant, turned away and unlistening, and
Cassie felt alone.

Her plan, such as it had
been, was out the window and, grabbing a handful of tissues, Cassie
decided that she would have to confront Jack before they reached
Long Beach. If he
was
William Beckman, they had a
lot to talk about; if he wasn't, Cassie wanted his undivided
attention while he explained why he had a picture of her dead
mother in his wallet.

Taking a deep breath, she washed her face,
raked her fingers through her hair, and walked back to the counter
to order lunch.

*

Overwhelmed by her own thoughts, Cassie didn't notice that
Jack had become increasingly anxious himself, as the day wore on.
Both spoke only the vaguest generalities during the meal, and then
quickly resumed their silent drive north. Near dusk, the sky, which
had been threatening rain all day, unleashed is fury all at once.
In seconds, the light drizzle became a roaring downpour, slowing
their progress to a crawl, as the windshield wipers fought a brave
but losing battle to keep the highway in view.

Traffic was nearly nonexistent as they
passed Cannon Beach, Seaside, and finally Astoria, each town
looking deserted and desolate in the storm.

They slipped out of Oregon and into
Washington, crossing the Columbia River at low tide. Cassie could
see long tracks of wet sand glistening under the bridge lights as
they passed high above.

Across the wide, shallow mouth of the
Columbia, the jagged heads of a thousand rotting pillars can be
seen at low tide, pillars that once proudly supported the great
wooden docks that stretched far out into the river. Once,
steamships and sailing vessels had been emptied and reloaded, bound
for Portland or San Francisco or beyond. From the bridge, it's two
miles to the old stone tunnel. Cut through the skirt of the coastal
mountains, the tunnel had been built for the now defunct railroad.
The Ilwaco Railroad & Navigation Company had run the tracks,
from the Columbia River's Baker bay to what was, at the time,
called Shoalwater Bay. During the oyster boom, the great iron
horses had rolled as far as Nahcotta.

The line closed for good nearly a century
ago, and now the few remaining rails, the ones left unburied by
time, are slowly rusting into oblivion in the salty air. In 1932,
the tunnel was widened for auto traffic, and time caught up with
Long Beach, as the first cars chugged towards Oysterville.

From there, Pacific Highway leads into
Chinook, named for the tribe of Indians that occupied these shores
for centuries, fishing and gathering from the river and tide. Long
stretches of swampy forest parallel the road leading into Ilwaco,
past Ft. Canby, its great iron doors frozen stiff and eaten through
with rust, where the mighty guns of World War Two have been removed
from their massive concrete bunkers without ever firing a wartime
shot.

Past Sea View and Long
Beach, past The Loose Caboose restaurant (the best breakfast in
Long Beach) and Jack Leland's bookstore, nestled between
6
^th
and
7
^th
avenue. Into Ocean
Park, the small hospital on the right, and the new Hill Top Bowl
bowling alley on the facing hill. Next is Nahcotta, named in fading
memory for the proud Tribal Chief, the highway now called Pacific
Avenue turns west onto Sandridge Road, in sight of the Moby Dick
Hotel, and heads towards Oysterville. Past the Oysterville store,
where the locals, fisherman and artists, cattleman and cooks, have
been buying their dry goods and soda pop since the 1920’s. On into
Oysterville, where Pacific County's First Baptist awaits its daily
influx of Nikon-laden tourists.

The church, built in 1872, ran regular
services until 1930, and was placed, with great local pride, on the
national historic register in '76.

Cassie knew none of this and, as Jack
Leland's old blue van turned onto Pacific Highway, she had
struggled for the last hundred miles to confront the man beside
her.

Finally, she spoke up.

"Jack," she said, just loud enough to be
heard over the staccato beat of rain on the roof, "I looked at the
pictures in your wallet. You…you left it on the table this
morning."

There was a long pause as Cassie, who
couldn't force herself to look at him, continued to stare out the
window at the deluged highway. A very long moment passed before
Jack replied, "Did you?" he asked, his voice seeming weak and
distant.

"Yes,” Cassie said, and began to tremble, "I
did. Jack, the picture of the woman in the wedding dress…who is
she?"

Jack sighed, and this sound, wrought with
concession to the inevitable, brought Cassie's gaze away from the
road. Jack's shoulders were slumped and his hands, which had
moments before clenched the wheel tightly, hung limp, barely giving
enough pressure to maneuver the vehicle.

It seemed to Cassie that his face had taken on a new
dimension, neither his sardonic grin, nor his deep, stone-carved
scowl, instead, the creases had softened and gone lax as sadness,
like gravity, pulled his features earthward.

"I think you're asking me questions that you
already know the answer to, kid," Jack responded softly.

A long moment passed before Jack
continued.

"But," he sighed, "if your last name isn't
Williams, and we both know it's not; then my guess is that Kathy
Beckman's your mother…"

"Yes she is," Cassie said,
then corrected, "she
was
."

Jack drew a quick, ragged breath, and Cassie
felt anger begin to stir inside her once more. All the hurtful,
spiteful things she had prepared herself to say crept back into her
mind.

"Her name was
Belanger
," she said
tightly, "not Beckman, and my name is Belanger too. Now tell me,"
Cassie's gritted her teeth in fury, "why is my mother's picture in
your wallet, Jack?"

"Cassie," he said, "there's a lot we need to
talk about, and this might not be the best time--"

Cassie interrupted, "No,
this
is
the
time, Jack, I've been waiting for eighteen years to talk about
this--"

Jack rounded a steep shoulder of the highway
and dropped onto the long, forested road leading toward Ilwaco. The
diffused beams of his headlights barely caught a flash of brown, as
the blacktail doe left the safety of the brushy shoulder and leaped
into their path.

Cassie's statement was suddenly interrupted
as Jack reacted instinctively, jerking the wheel to the left, and
barely avoiding a collision with the startled animal. Several
factors worked against him all at once. The pitch and grade of the
road and the flood of rainwater stole their traction as all four
tires lost contact and the van began to spin, hydroplaning across
the wet surface of the highway.

"Hold on!" Jack shouted, struggling to keep
the wheel straight and fighting the urge to slam his foot down on
the brake.

Cassie clung fearfully to the overhead
handle, her seat-belt biting into her shoulder. The van spun, its
headlights sweeping both sides of the dripping forest before the
back tires crossed the gravel shoulder and dropped into a deep
ditch. The ride ended abruptly as the rear bumper slammed, with a
sickening metallic crunch, into a thick fallen tree that filled the
ditch from edge to edge. She shrieked once, as her grip was torn
from the handle, flinging her first toward the driver’s side of the
van and then, just as quickly, whip-lashed back into her own door,
banging her elbow and forehead painfully. The van came to a stop,
its lights shining high into the tree line on the far side of the
road.

Jack and Cassie sat,
unspeaking, the suddenness of the accident leaving them numb. The
world was filled the purr of the idling engine, the metallic
thunder of rain of the roof, and the
trip-hammering
of their own
hearts.

"You okay?" Jack asked finally.

“
I think so…are
you?”

"I'm fine," Jack let a great gasp of air
escape, whistling, through his teeth, "bet I blew both back tires
though. Maybe lost the axle too.” Cassie stared, dazedly out into
the storm, rubbing her forehead were it had bumped the door.

"Well," Jack said, after a
moment, "bet you don't see
that
in Arizona very
often!"

Cassie giggled despite herself, "Sure we do,
but we use coyotes and sand drifts…"

Jack snickered as he reached behind the seat
and pulled out a long flashlight and a wrinkled plastic poncho,
which he slipped over his head with a grunt.

"Better go survey the damage," he said,
pushing the door open against the wind and pulling the flapping
plastic hood down low over his face. He was back in a moment.
"Well, it could be worse," he said, wiping rain from his streaming
face, "the axle looks okay, but we sure enough lost both
tires."

"Do you have spares?"

"Just the one," Jack replied, shaking his
head, "but it wouldn't matter if we did have both. There's no way
to put them on with the rear end in this ditch, and no way to pull
her out without a winch."

"Oh."

"So," Jack said, reaching for the door
handle again, "Looks like it's hiking time."

He tossed her the keys.

"I want you to stay here with the van and
keep the doors locked; it'll be quicker to walk to Ilwaco than to
backtrack to Chinook at this point. If I can't find a tow truck,
I'll ride back with Beth and pick you up."

"No way, Jack," Cassie said, shaking her head, "I'm coming
with you!"

Jack's grip tightened on the steering wheel
as he fought to control his temper.

"That storm's going to get worse before it
gets better," he explained, "There's no point both of us getting
wet, cold, and sick. I know the way, and who to look up when I get
there." Jack hopped out onto the shoulder. "That leaves you with
the van, okay?"

"But, I--" Cassie began to protest.

"Just do as you’re told!" Jack bellowed,
slamming the door behind him in anger.

"Don't talk to me like you’re my father!"
Cassie shouted after him, her face flushing with anger. If Jack
heard her, he gave no sign as he turned and marched angrily off
into the storm.

Fuming, Cassie sat alone in the dark for
perhaps a quarter hour, listening to the rain and thinking black
thoughts about Jack. Finally, she reached for the door handle.

"You're not my boss!" she yelled, realizing
how silly and childish the words sounded even as she shouted them
at the walls of the empty van. Then she jumped out into the rain,
slipping and sliding up the steep, oozing bank of the ditch and
onto the road, coating both hands and knees with thick clinging red
mud in the process.

"Dammit!" Cassie shrieked, finally past her
own endurance. Wiping her hands savagely on the back of her pants,
she started up the road at an angry jog.

*

Okay
, Jack thought, pressing
his hand tightly against his arm,
maybe
I really did hurt myself
.