city, veiled in a grey mist.
Cara glanced at Ben, who appeared equally enthralled by the scene. After a few minutes, the waterfront estates of Bainbridge Island came into view as they entered an inlet. Before them lay rocky, wind-tossed beaches, behind them a swath of towering evergreens.
They returned to the truck as the ferry docked at the town of Winslow in Eagle Harbor. Ben gunned the engine and followed the row of cars out over the pier and down the two-lane road. He headed west to loop around the harbor, giving Cara a drive-by tour of Winslow’s quaint downtown.
“It’s a tourist trap, but a very picturesque one,” he said.
They passed a bakery, and Cara’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten that morning, and it was almost noon.
“I promised Tom we’d be there in time for lunch,” Ben said. “Otherwise we could stop and walk around a bit.”
After a fifteen-minute drive, they turned east again, along a road flanked by evergreens.
“That’s Blakely Harbor, a little south of where we came in,” Ben said, pointing.
Cara looked out but couldn’t see the water through the trees. Ben turned left on a private road which angled downward for about half a mile. The water came into view ahead of them as they parked in the driveway of a rambling brown wood house. Cara flipped down the sunshade and tried to tidy her windblown hair in the small mirror. She fumbled in her bag for her lipstick.
“You look great.” Ben gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
As he spoke, the front door opened, and a boy of about five, with a sunburned face and a shock of wild brown hair, ran out. He was barefoot, dressed in shorts and a tie-dyed shirt. He stared at the truck and then ran back inside, yelling, “Ben’s here with his friend!”
Chapter Twelve
Ben and Cara walked through the open door of the Sanders’ home into a high-ceilinged post and beam room, an open-space combination of living, dining and kitchen area. A small, curly haired girl dressed in nothing but a diaper ran in a circle around the slate-flagged floor, waving her hands in the air and singing to herself. She glanced at them through long bangs.
“Hi Alice.” Ben bent down to her level. “Remember uncle Ben?”
“I’m not Alice, I’m Sleeping Beauty,” the little girl announced, and went back to her singing and dancing.
A moment later, a short, thickset man strode into the room and wrapped Ben in a bear hug. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said.
“Tom, I’d like you to meet Cara. Cara, this is Tom Sanders.”
Tom turned an interested gaze on Cara as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Trudy’s out back, puttering with the plants. We’ll eat al fresco today, if it’s not too cold for you.”
Like Ben, Tom was in his mid-thirties, but unlike Ben he had started to develop a small paunch. He had unruly brown hair and a frank, freckled face with wide-set brown eyes. He was deeply tanned and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.
They crossed the living room and walked through French doors to a large, fenced-in cedar deck that looked out over the beach and the Puget Sound.
“What a great view!” Cara exclaimed.
“When it’s clear you can see the Seattle skyline out there, and the mountain,” Tom said.
They sat down on wicker chairs around an iron table, and Tom went to fetch drinks.
“Ben!” The boy ran out and put something into Ben’s hand. Ben looked carefully at the small plane built out of Lego.
“Hey, James, that’s awesome.”
“It’s a British Lancaster,” James said excitedly. “See, here’s the propellers, and this is the machine gun.”
“Wow. Did you build this yourself?”
“Yes. Well, daddy helped me a little bit.”
A petite woman emerged from the side of the house, dressed in jeans, an old denim shirt and a floppy sun hat. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail.
Like her husband, she was deeply tanned, with pale blue eyes, a smatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and
Cara glanced at Ben, who appeared equally enthralled by the scene. After a few minutes, the waterfront estates of Bainbridge Island came into view as they entered an inlet. Before them lay rocky, wind-tossed beaches, behind them a swath of towering evergreens.
They returned to the truck as the ferry docked at the town of Winslow in Eagle Harbor. Ben gunned the engine and followed the row of cars out over the pier and down the two-lane road. He headed west to loop around the harbor, giving Cara a drive-by tour of Winslow’s quaint downtown.
“It’s a tourist trap, but a very picturesque one,” he said.
They passed a bakery, and Cara’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten that morning, and it was almost noon.
“I promised Tom we’d be there in time for lunch,” Ben said. “Otherwise we could stop and walk around a bit.”
After a fifteen-minute drive, they turned east again, along a road flanked by evergreens.
“That’s Blakely Harbor, a little south of where we came in,” Ben said, pointing.
Cara looked out but couldn’t see the water through the trees. Ben turned left on a private road which angled downward for about half a mile. The water came into view ahead of them as they parked in the driveway of a rambling brown wood house. Cara flipped down the sunshade and tried to tidy her windblown hair in the small mirror. She fumbled in her bag for her lipstick.
“You look great.” Ben gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
As he spoke, the front door opened, and a boy of about five, with a sunburned face and a shock of wild brown hair, ran out. He was barefoot, dressed in shorts and a tie-dyed shirt. He stared at the truck and then ran back inside, yelling, “Ben’s here with his friend!”
Chapter Twelve
Ben and Cara walked through the open door of the Sanders’ home into a high-ceilinged post and beam room, an open-space combination of living, dining and kitchen area. A small, curly haired girl dressed in nothing but a diaper ran in a circle around the slate-flagged floor, waving her hands in the air and singing to herself. She glanced at them through long bangs.
“Hi Alice.” Ben bent down to her level. “Remember uncle Ben?”
“I’m not Alice, I’m Sleeping Beauty,” the little girl announced, and went back to her singing and dancing.
A moment later, a short, thickset man strode into the room and wrapped Ben in a bear hug. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said.
“Tom, I’d like you to meet Cara. Cara, this is Tom Sanders.”
Tom turned an interested gaze on Cara as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Trudy’s out back, puttering with the plants. We’ll eat al fresco today, if it’s not too cold for you.”
Like Ben, Tom was in his mid-thirties, but unlike Ben he had started to develop a small paunch. He had unruly brown hair and a frank, freckled face with wide-set brown eyes. He was deeply tanned and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.
They crossed the living room and walked through French doors to a large, fenced-in cedar deck that looked out over the beach and the Puget Sound.
“What a great view!” Cara exclaimed.
“When it’s clear you can see the Seattle skyline out there, and the mountain,” Tom said.
They sat down on wicker chairs around an iron table, and Tom went to fetch drinks.
“Ben!” The boy ran out and put something into Ben’s hand. Ben looked carefully at the small plane built out of Lego.
“Hey, James, that’s awesome.”
“It’s a British Lancaster,” James said excitedly. “See, here’s the propellers, and this is the machine gun.”
“Wow. Did you build this yourself?”
“Yes. Well, daddy helped me a little bit.”
A petite woman emerged from the side of the house, dressed in jeans, an old denim shirt and a floppy sun hat. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail.
Like her husband, she was deeply tanned, with pale blue eyes, a smatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and
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