Morning Glory(58)

“Hey,” Alex says. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, no,” I reply. “I was just looking through some old things from Penny’s chest.” I hold up the photo. “I think her husband was having an affair with Lana Turner.”

“Lana Turner, huh?” he says, kneeling beside me. “Marilyn, too?”

I shrug. “Who knows? The guy appears to have been quite the playboy.”

He sits down on the floor beside me, examining the contents of the chest, before picking up a scrap of paper I’ve disregarded until now. “Look,” he says. “It looks like a notice to Seattle residents about the World’s Fair of 1962.”

I scan the flyer, eyeing a sketch of what is now Seattle’s most iconic image, the Space Needle. “Come make history as the Mayor of Seattle cuts the ribbon to break ground in preparation for the Seattle World’s Fair.”

“I wonder if she went to this?” I say. “Why else would she have put the flyer in the chest?”

“Maybe,” Alex says, leaning against the couch. “Have you ever been to the Space Needle?”

I shake my head.

“Then I’m taking you.”

I grin. “Really?”

“Tonight,” he says. “I have a shoot this afternoon, but I can be back by six to pick you up.”

“It’s a date,” I say, smiling. As he walks out the door, the word date reverberates in my ears. Date.



I step out onto the dock in heels and a black skirt. It’s a warm night, so I’ve left my sweater and opted for the sleeveless top that Joanie insisted I buy after I tried it on at Macy’s last spring. I remember how she leaned against the fitting room door and smiled at me the way a proud big sister might. “You have to get it,” she said. “It looks amazing on you.”

“Why?” I grumbled. “I’ll never wear it.” It was silky and fitted, plus it sparkled a little. I’d never wear it to work. No, it was one of those tops I might have worn on a date night with James. Unlike some of my friends’ husbands, he noticed when I dressed up, and I loved that he did.

Joanie could read my mind; I knew it. “Buy it for you,” she said. So I obeyed, taking the top up to the counter and relinquishing my credit card, even though I really didn’t see the point. It hung in my closet, with tags still on, until I packed for Seattle. I threw it in at the last minute, then zipped up the suitcase before I could change my mind.

I tug at the top a little nervously as I face Alex. His eyes are big and curious. “You look beautiful,” he says, and instantly my confidence blooms.

He takes my hand as we walk along the dock. I worry that my heels will wedge into the grooves of the planks, and I’m grateful that he’s there to steady me when the spike of my left stiletto gets caught. We both laugh as we pass Jim’s houseboat, and then I see Naomi, watering the potted plants on her front deck.

“Oh, look at you two,” she says. “Going to dinner?”

Alex looks at me and smiles. “I thought I’d take our new neighbor to the Space Needle.”

She gazes at us nostalgically, as if she wishes she were thirty-five again, on the arm of a handsome man like Alex, who looks sharp in a sport coat and white button-down.

We wave to her and walk to the end of the dock, where I notice a light on in the houseboat where the mail was piled up just yesterday. I wonder if Esther Johnson has returned.

Up on the street, Alex points to a gray Audi sedan, and the lights blink once when he presses the button on his key chain. “I have to tell you, that woman gives me the creeps,” he says, opening the passenger door for me.

“Jim’s mother, Naomi?”

“Yeah,” he says. He walks around and opens the driver’s side door and climbs into the car. He starts the engine, and David Gray’s “Sail Away” drifts through the speakers. I listen for a moment and wonder if Penny ever wanted to sail away. Maybe she simply wanted to cut her losses and leave her adulterous husband, her critical neighbors . . . leave Boat Street forever.

I think of Dr. Evinson for a moment and his warning about running. But what’s the harm in running if you run to something better, somewhere where it doesn’t hurt so badly?

“Sorry,” Alex says, fumbling with the volume dial, “the music’s a little loud.”

“Don’t turn it down,” I say. “I like it.”

“Me, too,” he says. “When things got really bad for me a few years ago, I thought a lot about getting a sailboat and just casting off.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think I’d get sick of myself. All that alone time out in the middle of nowhere.” He glances at me then. “I might have gone if I’d had someone to sail away with.”