Pickleballers

Chapter Eight

Eight

Meg counted cars. Seven cars in front of hers. Now six. Five. Almost on. Four cars ahead of her. Two. A woman in an orange vest squeezed on a single car, then waved one more forward. She felt that familiar clench in her nerves. Meg rolled her window down, brimming with cautious optimism. She smiled with what she hoped was polite but not too kiss-assy good cheer, but it made no difference, because the no-nonsense ferry worker placed her palm in the air to stop Meg’s approach.

“Full,” she explained when Meg opened her mouth to protest. “You’ll be the first on the next one.”

Meg huffed, impatient in her desire to get the heck out of Seattle. Sure, she was running away, but as she saw it, an adventure on Bainbridge could be just the jump start she needed to move forward. So, ninety minutes later, when she was finally waved onto the ferry, she pressed on the gas a little too hard, garnering a steely glare from the dock lady.

Rolling onto the metal ramp, Meg drove to the front position on the open car deck. She stepped out of the car and took a deep, fulfilling lungful of the diesel-infused salt air. Despite the wait, it was always a victory to make it onto a ferry on a summer weekend morning, especially considering so many folks took advantage of the Fourth of July to take a couple of extra days off. This was Bainbridge’s prime time.

Being the first driver on had its perks. She pulled right to the front of the boat. Framed like a movie screen by the ferry’s walls, Puget Sound’s open water spread out before her like a perfect picture. She was on the ferry, on the way to a fresh start, and she could not help but feel that she had escaped Seattle just in time.

Of course, fleeing was in both Meg’s nature and nurture. The Bloomberg family were experts at bailing out when turbulence overtook the plane. Ned Bloomberg, Meg’s father, did not plan his escape. Nevertheless, when the irony of living the life of a nonsmoking health nut who developed lung cancer got to be too much for him, his brain called it quits and his body followed. After he deserted this world, Meg’s mom, Dina, departed. Not to Resting Hills, but far away from the daily reminders of his missing presence. Dina quit her molecular research job and disappeared to Bribri, Costa Rica, on the pretense of learning about medicinal plants from the indigenous villagers.

It had been three years since Ned’s death and Dina’s spontaneous departure. Mrs. Bloomberg did not return, and when Meg called her to commiserate about the end of the Vance era, her mother, as expected, was not in range to receive her call. Dina only rode her motorcycle into the nearest town with service to call Meg on her birthday or when she had a hankering for pizza.

Fleeing Seattle and its downpour of awkward situations seemed like the logical, self-care choice. The only thing missing from Meg’s perfect escape plan was her best friend.

“I’ll keep trying,” Annie had promised on the phone last night. “But it’s so last-minute with the holiday weekend. And nobody wants the night shift.”

Meg wished Annie weren’t so darned responsible.

“Just don’t show up.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe I can leave the kids a note. ‘Take your meds, and if anything goes wrong, here’s a scalpel.’?”

“Sarcasm corrodes relationships.”

“I was the one who told you that and now you’re using it against me.” Meg could hear a muffled page in the background. “ Dr. Yoon. Dr. Yoon to 204 …”

“You should go,” Annie urged. “Take a week for yourself. Think of all the weeks and months you spent putting your energies into supporting Vance’s practice. You get to do something for you now. Get yourself over there. And remember, don’t worry about the money.” Meg’s heart squeezed with relief. The inheritance Meg had received from her dad had given her enough buffer to kick the cat collars to the curb, at least for a little while. And last night, as a gift to celebrate Meg’s new beginnings, Annie had offered to pitch in generously for Meg’s hotel room on the island so she wouldn’t have to dip into her savings. She could take time out for herself. She’d feel guilty if she didn’t feel so grateful.

“Besides,” Annie continued, “Bainbridge is full of trees and beaches and mountains and nature, and you love nature. Get yourself some space away from your ex and from that Ethan jerk. Those assholes.” Meg could picture Annie shielding her mouth to whisper the last word.

“I just wish you could come with me.”

“Text me when you get there,” Annie insisted. “And I want to see pictures of you playing on those courts where pickleball started. And if you see Michael Edmonds, tell him…” Her sigh was so profound the phone vibrated. “Tell him to call me. I’ll join you as soon as I can—if I can.”

Brushing off her disappointment, Meg looked for the positives. She had made it onto the ferry, her room was paid for, she had found a way to continue practicing with Rooster, and she was taking an active step away from the court-closing tension and the confusing mixed feelings she harbored for Ethan. Annie was right. It was time to put herself first.

As cars continued to fill in the parking lanes, pulling bumper to bumper with scant space for her to walk between, Meg squeezed along the narrow walkways, spying through the windshields and imagining the purpose of each traveler’s journey. A man and woman drinking Starbucks and dressed in “Northwest casual” could be returning home to Bainbridge. The pair, she was certain, would remain unspeaking in their car for the length of the thirty-five-minute crossing. Not so for the load of college students who poured out of a Volvo, their hiking gear and bikes piled on top and behind the car like a parade float.

She snapped a classic selfie in front of the shrinking Seattle skyline—the same one Michael Edmonds must have shot on his way to coach his old friends or switch allegiances. Meg meandered to the railing on the side of the boat. Overhead, blue skies prevailed, but the white fog of a marine layer clung to the horizon. By and by, she could make out Mount Rainier, poking its still-snowy crown above the clouds.

This time when she pushed her way inside the main cabin, she found a spot near the rear where the space felt quieter; families engaged in conversations, and passengers reading, or scrolling on their phones. She settled herself in a booth across from a sleeping tourist, jacket pulled over her head. Meg took off her bulky windbreaker and suppressed a shiver. The air felt too chilly for her T-shirt and jean shorts. Reason and good sense had no place when packing in last-minute-vacation mode.

Her gaze drifted toward the café, where the scent of chowder and coffee wafted lazily into the main cabin. She caught herself looking for Ethan there, with his manicured fingernails and worn T-shirt. Blinking the image away, she combed her fingers through her hair and chastised herself, embarrassed by her desire to glimpse one of the very reasons she was fleeing.

She felt a sting of loneliness. Without Annie here, this trip wouldn’t be the same. She tried to mollify herself with a reminder of what awaited her: the fresh air, Puget Sound, and pickleball. And painting; with high hopes for inspiration, she had packed her travel oils in her backpack. Where better to be creatively motivated if not by the natural wonders of the Olympic Peninsula?

“ Now arriving, Bainbridge Island ,” announced the voice from the loudspeakers. “ Drivers, please return to your vehicles. ”

Collecting herself, Meg slipped on her coat. Before departing the table, she took another glance at the sleeping figure across the booth. The nice thing to do would be to wake her now that the boat was arriving.

“Excuse me. Miss?” Meg said. “We’re here.”

The jacket slipped from the woman’s head as she sat up. “God, I needed that nap,” she said.

“Annie!” Meg stuttered, her hand lifting to her mouth. “You’re here!” she exclaimed.

“I found coverage, baby. My first vacation in a year.”

Meg flung herself at her friend and crushed her into a bear hug. She marveled at how put-together Annie remained for someone who had been sleeping on a ferry. Her capri pants and white cotton blouse might have been recently ironed. Meg wouldn’t put it past her.

She tugged her by the elbow and, together, they skipped down the stairwell. All the while, Meg laughed, disbelieving. Annie’s sudden appearance had kick-started Meg’s energy.

They ducked into the little blue hatchback that waited like a good dog at the front of the deck. When the dock assistant removed the block that prevented the car from rolling right off the ferry into the Sound, Meg’s jaw twitched. Did that ever happen? Meg released the parking brake while her brain tried to tamp down a daydream featuring her car, with her and Annie in it, taking a flying plunge.

“You doing okay?” Annie asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” Meg smiled weakly. Her past had crumbled, and the only certainty in her future was an island hotel reservation. And who knew with reservations?

But here was Annie. She turned to her friend. “I’m really glad you came.”

“You didn’t think I’d let you go through this all by yourself, did you?”

Meg nodded her gratitude, a swell of emotion lodging in her throat. She blinked to cover the sting in her eyes. As Annie settled into the passenger seat, Meg joked, “Don’t worry. I had that seat belt fixed.”

And Meg drove off the ferry, no longer alone.