Although Mark was hardly verbose when it came to discussing his family, there were a few spare revelations. Maggie gathered that the Nolan parents had been absorbed in their private war of a marriage while their offspring sustained the collateral damage. Holidays, birthdays, family occasions—all set the stage for routine showdowns.
“We stopped having Christmas when I was fourteen,” Mark told her.
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“It started because of a bracelet my mom saw while she was out with Victoria. It was in a store window, and they went in and she tried it on, and told Vick she had to have it. So they came home all excited, and from then on, all Mom talked about was how much she wanted that bracelet for Christmas. She gave Dad the information about it, and kept asking had he done anything about it, when was he going to get it, and it became this huge deal. So Christmas morning came, and there was no bracelet.”
“What did he give her instead?” Maggie asked, fascinated and appalled.
“I don’t remember. A blender or something. Anyway, Mom was so angry that she said we would never have a family Christmas again.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. I think she’d been looking for an excuse, and that was it. And we were all relieved. From then on we all went our separate ways for Christmas, spent it at friends’ houses, or went to a movie or something.” Seeing her expression, he felt the need to add, “It was really fine. Christmas never meant what it was supposed to, for us. But here’s the weird part of the story: Victoria felt so bad about the whole thing that she got Sam and Alex and me to pitch in and buy the bracelet for Mom’s birthday. We all worked and saved up for it, and Victoria wrapped it in fancy paper with a big bow. And when Mom opened it, we were expecting some huge reaction—tears of joy, something like that. But instead…it was like she didn’t remember the bracelet at all. She said, ‘How nice,’ and ‘Thank you,’ and that was it. And I never remember seeing her wear it.”
“Because it was never about the bracelet.”
“Yeah.” He gave her an arrested look. “How did you know that?”
“Most of the time when couples argue, it’s not really about the thing they’re fighting about; there’s a deeper reason why they’re arguing.”
“When I argue with someone, it’s always about the thing I’m arguing about. I’m shallow that way.”
“What do you and Shelby argue about?”
“We don’t.”
“You never argue about anything?”
“Is that bad?”
“No, no, not at all.”
“You think it’s bad.”
“Well…I guess it depends on the reason. Is there no conflict because you happen to agree about absolutely everything? Or is it because neither of you is all that invested in the relationship?”
Mark pondered that. “I’m going to pick a fight with her as soon as I reach Seattle, and find out.”
“Please don’t,” Maggie said, laughing.
It seemed they had only been talking for ten or fifteen minutes, but eventually it registered with Maggie that people were gathering their belongings, and preparing for the arrival at Anacortes. The ferry was crossing the Rosario Strait. A mournful blare irritated her into the awareness that an hour and a half had disappeared with unbelievable speed. She felt herself coming out of something like a trance. And she reflected privately that the ferry ride to Anacortes had been more fun than anything she had done in months. Maybe years.
Standing, Mark looked down at her with a disarming half smile. “Hey…” The soft tone of his voice sent a pleasant prickling sensation along the back of her neck. “Are you taking the ferry back on Sunday afternoon?”
She stood as well, unbearably aware of him, her senses wanting to draw in the details of him: the heat of his skin beneath the cotton shirt…the place where the dark locks of his hair, shiny as ribbons, curled slightly against the tanned skin of his neck.
“Probably,” she said in answer to his question.
“Will you be on the two forty-five ferry, or the four-thirty?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Mark nodded, letting it go.
As he left, Maggie was aware of a sense of unsettling pleasure, edged with yearning. She reminded herself that Mark Nolan was off-limits. And so was she. Not only did she distrust the intensity of her own attraction to him, but she wasn’t ready for the kind of risk he presented.
She would never be ready for that.
Some risks you could only afford to take once.
Five
Growing up in the Edgemoor neighborhood of Bellingham, Maggie and her brothers and sisters had explored the trails of Chuckanut Mountain and played along the shores of Bellingham Bay. The quiet neighborhood offered views of both the San Juans and the Canadian mountains. It was also situated next to Fairhaven, where you could browse through unique shops and galleries, or eat at restaurants where the waiters could always tell you about the freshest catch and where it had been brought from.
Bellingham lived up to its nickname of “the city of subdued excitement.” It was laid-back, comfortable; the kind of place where you could be as eccentric as you wanted and you would always find company. Cars were bandaged with every kind of bumper sticker. Competing political yard signs sprang from people’s lawns like spring-flowering bulbs. Any kind of belief was tolerated as long as you weren’t pushy about it.
After Maggie’s sister Jill picked her up in Anacortes, they went to the historic Fairhaven District for lunch. Since Maggie and Jill were the two youngest siblings in the Norris family, only a year and a half apart in age, they had always been close. They had gone through the school system one grade apart, attended the same camps, shared the same crushes on teen idols. Jill had been the maid of honor at Maggie’s wedding, and she had asked Maggie to be the matron of honor at her upcoming wedding to a local firefighter, Danny Stroud.
“I’m glad we’re stealing some private time,” Jill said as they shared tapas at Flats, a small Spanish restaurant with oversized picture windows and a tiny outside patio lined with flower boxes. “Once I bring you to Mom and Dad’s house, you’re going to be swarmed and I won’t get to talk to you at all. Except that tomorrow night, you’re going to have to make a little time to meet someone.”
Maggie paused in the act of lifting a glass of sangria to her lips. “Who?” she asked warily. “Why?”
“A friend of Danny’s.” Jill’s tone was deliberately casual. “A very cute guy, very sweet—”
“Did you already ask him over?”
“No, I wanted to mention it to you first, but—”
“Good. I don’t want to meet him.”
“Why? Have you started going out with someone?”
“Jill, have you forgotten the reason I’m in Bellingham this weekend? It’s the second anniversary of Eddie’s death. The last thing I want to do is meet someone.”
“I thought this would be the perfect time. It’s been two years. I’ll bet you haven’t been on one date since Eddie died, have you?”
“I’m not ready yet.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the waitress brought a bayona sandwich, a grilled pepper sausage and cheese on crusty peasant bread. It was always cut into three parts, the middle being the most succulent, smoky, and melting section of all.
“How will you know when you’re ready?” Jill asked, after the waitress had left. “Do you have a timer that goes off or something?”
Maggie regarded her with exasperated affection, reaching for the bayona sandwich.
“I know a ton of cute single guys in Bellingham,” Jill continued. “I could fix you up so easily. And there you are in Friday Harbor, hiding. You could at least have opened a bar or a sporting-goods shop, where you could meet men. But a toy shop?”
“I love my shop. I love Friday Harbor.”
“But are you happy?”
“I am,” Maggie said reflectively, after consuming a delicious bite of sandwich. “I’m really okay.”
“Good, now it’s time to go on with your life. You’re only twenty-eight, and you should stay open to the possibility of finding someone.”
“I don’t want to have to go out there again. The chances of finding real love are about a billion to one. I had it once, and there’s no way it will happen again.”
“You know what you need? A provisional boyfriend.”
“Provisional?”
“Yes, like when you get a provisional driver’s license so you can brush up on your skills before you get the real one. Don’t worry about finding a guy to have a serious relationship with…just pick someone fun to help you get on the road again.”
“I guess that would make me a Class C dater,” Maggie said, entertained. “Could I do that while unaccompanied by a parent or guardian?”
“Absolutely,” Jill said, “as long as you practice safe driving.”