Fran uses the grip bar and enters the opposite door, sitting next to Cynthia on the smooth, gray leather seat.
“I’ll ride up front with you,” Jason says looking at Mick, not bothering to help with the baggage.
“That’s fine,” Mick nods.
The toned muscles of her arms and shoulders make it look easy as Emma transfers herself into the van. Seated behind the driver’s seat, she collapses her wheelchair, stowing it in the space to her right.
Mick catches the faintest hint of vanilla and another scent he can’t quite put his finger on. Is it lime? He looks at Emma in the rearview mirror. Whatever the combination, it wreaks beautiful havoc with his senses.
“Buckle your seatbelts, everyone, we’ve got a hundred-mile drive ahead of us. It could take a little more than two hours, depending on traffic. At about the mid-way point, Marysville, we’ll stop for a few minutes so everyone can stretch, get a breath of fresh air, and use the restroom if needed. Once we arrive at Pines & Quill, dinner will be served within an hour.”
Fran asks, “I’m curious to know why you have your guests fly into Sea-Tac in Seattle instead of Bellingham International Airport. Wouldn’t it be a much shorter drive for you to pick us up there?”
Curiosity piqued, Emma leans forward a bit. I wondered that, myself.
Mick nods. “It sure would. But—” He holds up a finger for dramatic effect. “Experientially, we learned that it’s the drive that cements the initial bond between our writers in residence.” He smiles at everyone in the rearview mirror before continuing.
“As a captive audience, you get to know each other even before you arrive at the retreat. Added to that, you benefit from enjoying the beautiful scenery while I share a little bit about the surrounding area.”
“That makes sense,” Fran says, smiling. “Thank you.”
When Mick eases the van out from under the enormous cement overhang, they’re greeted by a vast arc of blue sky.
“Take a good look at that gorgeous sky,” Mick says. “It’s not raining. With an average of thirty-eight inches of precipitation a year, it’s no wonder Washingtonians refer to rain as ‘liquid sunshine.’”
With a look in the rearview mirror, Emma catches his eye and joins his playful banter. “Then it would be accurate to say that Washington is on the wet coast instead of the west coast.” She throws her head back and laughs at her own joke.
Everyone joins in, except Jason who’s looking out the passenger window, focused on the congested traffic on I-5. “Is traffic always this bad?” he asks.
Mick has to brake hard when an SUV swerves in front of their van. The jolt causes Jason’s backpack to fall forward on the floor mat, spilling some of the contents. Mick notices him tuck two airplane-sized liquor bottles back in, then zipper the compartment. Brows knit, I wonder if this guy’s a nervous flyer and drinks to take the edge off?
“Sorry about that,” Mick answers, without letting Jason know he saw what spilled. “The traffic in the Seattle area is notorious, but the further north we travel, the better it gets.”
Emma, Cynthia, and Fran talk like strangers do, sharing snippets and brief histories, putting the best light on things.
In the front seat, Jason sits quietly, listening for any weak links, noting hesitations and evasions, storing them for future consideration—ammunition. Though I doubt their stories are anywhere near as fabricated as mine. He smiles to himself.
Cynthia smiles at Mick’s green eyes in the rearview mirror. “Should we be on the lookout for Sasquatch? I understand the Pacific Northwest is rife with them.”
“It’s true that a large number of Bigfoot sightings have occurred, but they’re mostly in the area surrounding Mount St. Helens which is south from here. We’re heading north. Pines & Quill is situated among the waters of Bellingham Bay, Mount Baker, and the Snoqualmie National Forest. Our village, Fairhaven, is considered a gateway to the North Cascades National Park.”
With a grin, Mick continues, “I think the chances of us seeing a volcano erupt are greater than glimpsing a Sasquatch. Washington state is home to five volcanoes. From north to south they’re Mount Baker, Glacier Peak, Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, and Mount Adams. These volcanoes, including Mount Hood to the south in Oregon, are part of the Cascade Range, a volcanic arc that stretches from southwestern British Columbia to northern California. The last eruption was in 2008 when Mount St. Helens blew.”
Fran joins the conversation. “We’ll be going past Seattle, won’t we? Can you tell us why it’s called the Emerald City?”
Catching her hazel eyes in the rearview mirror, Mick answers, “The city of Seattle lies between two bodies of water, Puget Sound on the west and Lake Washington on the east. In the mid-1980s the city was given the nickname by tourism officials promoting Seattle for its lush, green forests and more than six thousand acres of parks within the city limits.”
As the silver van catapults north on Interstate 5, Jason’s face is concealed, in part, behind dark aviator glasses. Catlike, he slits open his blasé, yet chilling eyes, keeping to himself while absorbing the conversation.
Every surreptitious forest-green glance Mick takes of Emma in the rearview mirror is met with an equally covert moss-colored glance. Finally, her grin blossoms into a beguiling smile. Contagious, he grins back like a fool.
What the devil’s gotten into me? he wonders. I feel like an enamored teenager, for God’s sake. With that, Mick takes in the snowy white, and dark blond crowns bent together clandestine-like behind Emma. Cynthia’s reading Fran’s palm. He smiles.
Fran can just hear Cynthia’s whispered voice. It’s warm and somewhat smoky, like oolong tea with a lot of sugar. “Timing is everything,” she says. “You need time alone. Time to be quiet. Time to reevaluate. Fran, it seems to me that you’re a woman who’s allowing herself to be defined by biology.”
Cynthia continues studying the map of lines on Fran’s outstretched palm. Fran feels reluctant to speak,
