for a long moment, and a sparkle of possibility hovers between them. Then he scoops Pooja into his arms and carries her up the steps, across the threshold and into the temple.
Fourteen
“S he’ll be okay, and I don’t want to go in there,” I say. I am too aggravated.
“Look, I’m sorry I made you late for the rehearsal,” Nick says.
“Oh, it wasn’t your fault. Pooja just needed a little cajoling.”
“I can take you home if you want. Or I can drive to Port Gamble, out on the peninsula. Great view of the Hood Canal. You can see right across the water. Ever been there?”
“I don’t get away from the shop too much these days.”
“There’s a lot to see here, Lakshmi.”
“Fine. Let’s go then.” What do I have to lose? I sit back, glad for the soft lullaby of the car engine as Nick drives back over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and up past Gig Harbor along the Olympic Peninsula, fir and pine trees rising dense on both sides of the highway. We’re heading farther from the city, away from the noise. I’m grateful for the quiet expanse of road and the jagged mountain peaks rising in the west. The slanting winter sunlight stretches down to the southwest, lending an orange-yellow hue to the dimming sky.
Nick takes off his sunglasses. How can such a stubborn, annoying man have eyes of such soft, caring blue?
Soon the road narrows, and the occasional neighborhoods give way to quaint farmhouses surrounded by meadows and thickets. The road curves around past a park. A wooden sign reads Welcome to Port Gamble and ends in a tiny New England–style town of manicured lawns, turn-of-the-century mansions, and, only a block to the west, the glinting ocean.
Nick parks on the main street, Rainier Avenue, lined with towering maples and elms. We’ve driven back in time, unrolling the years to the late 1800s.
A spark of enthusiasm flares inside me. How long has it been since I’ve driven somewhere new on a whim? “This is a storybook town!” I exclaim. “There’s a spa, and didn’t we pass a bookstore in that red house? Dauntless Bookstore? A museum! And a general store.”
“This was an old mill town, still operating until a decade ago,” Nick says. “None of these historic homes can be upgraded—they’re landmarks. My parents live near here, in Port Westwood. I grew up there. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He takes off his jacket and hands it to me across the seat. “Here, put this on. It’s chilly out there.”
Around my shoulders, his jacket feels heavy and warm as we stroll along the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to be out here today,” I say.
“Sometimes things don’t go according to plan,” Nick says.
“Yeah, right. Are you charging me extra for this side trip?”
“It’s on me.” Nick follows me into a fragrant boutique called the Rugosa Rose. He’s right next to me as I sniff soaps and thumb through greeting cards, the wooden floor creaking beneath our feet. The bubbles burst out of me and float around the store.
“You’re like my sister,” he says. “You both like soap.”
“We have a wedding package special,” the girl behind the counter says. “Got everything you need from lotions to massage oils.” Half her hair is pink, half black, and she’s wearing a scarf around her waist, over tight jeans and T-shirt.
“Thanks, but there’s no wedding going on here,” I say.
“Massage oil sounds like fun.” Nick picks up the package in question, gives me a wink.
I stomp out, my ears ablaze. “What was that about?”
“Have a little fun, Lakshmi.” He takes my hand. “When was the last time you enjoyed your day without work?” His fingers are warm and firm, his hand big and comforting.
My throat goes dry. He’s right. The needs of others clamor at me like babies, always crying for nurturing. And now, I feel the clean air moving through me, nourishing me, and the knowing lies dormant, giving me a break.
“Come on, I want to show you something.” He leads me
Fourteen
“S he’ll be okay, and I don’t want to go in there,” I say. I am too aggravated.
“Look, I’m sorry I made you late for the rehearsal,” Nick says.
“Oh, it wasn’t your fault. Pooja just needed a little cajoling.”
“I can take you home if you want. Or I can drive to Port Gamble, out on the peninsula. Great view of the Hood Canal. You can see right across the water. Ever been there?”
“I don’t get away from the shop too much these days.”
“There’s a lot to see here, Lakshmi.”
“Fine. Let’s go then.” What do I have to lose? I sit back, glad for the soft lullaby of the car engine as Nick drives back over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and up past Gig Harbor along the Olympic Peninsula, fir and pine trees rising dense on both sides of the highway. We’re heading farther from the city, away from the noise. I’m grateful for the quiet expanse of road and the jagged mountain peaks rising in the west. The slanting winter sunlight stretches down to the southwest, lending an orange-yellow hue to the dimming sky.
Nick takes off his sunglasses. How can such a stubborn, annoying man have eyes of such soft, caring blue?
Soon the road narrows, and the occasional neighborhoods give way to quaint farmhouses surrounded by meadows and thickets. The road curves around past a park. A wooden sign reads Welcome to Port Gamble and ends in a tiny New England–style town of manicured lawns, turn-of-the-century mansions, and, only a block to the west, the glinting ocean.
Nick parks on the main street, Rainier Avenue, lined with towering maples and elms. We’ve driven back in time, unrolling the years to the late 1800s.
A spark of enthusiasm flares inside me. How long has it been since I’ve driven somewhere new on a whim? “This is a storybook town!” I exclaim. “There’s a spa, and didn’t we pass a bookstore in that red house? Dauntless Bookstore? A museum! And a general store.”
“This was an old mill town, still operating until a decade ago,” Nick says. “None of these historic homes can be upgraded—they’re landmarks. My parents live near here, in Port Westwood. I grew up there. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He takes off his jacket and hands it to me across the seat. “Here, put this on. It’s chilly out there.”
Around my shoulders, his jacket feels heavy and warm as we stroll along the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to be out here today,” I say.
“Sometimes things don’t go according to plan,” Nick says.
“Yeah, right. Are you charging me extra for this side trip?”
“It’s on me.” Nick follows me into a fragrant boutique called the Rugosa Rose. He’s right next to me as I sniff soaps and thumb through greeting cards, the wooden floor creaking beneath our feet. The bubbles burst out of me and float around the store.
“You’re like my sister,” he says. “You both like soap.”
“We have a wedding package special,” the girl behind the counter says. “Got everything you need from lotions to massage oils.” Half her hair is pink, half black, and she’s wearing a scarf around her waist, over tight jeans and T-shirt.
“Thanks, but there’s no wedding going on here,” I say.
“Massage oil sounds like fun.” Nick picks up the package in question, gives me a wink.
I stomp out, my ears ablaze. “What was that about?”
“Have a little fun, Lakshmi.” He takes my hand. “When was the last time you enjoyed your day without work?” His fingers are warm and firm, his hand big and comforting.
My throat goes dry. He’s right. The needs of others clamor at me like babies, always crying for nurturing. And now, I feel the clean air moving through me, nourishing me, and the knowing lies dormant, giving me a break.
“Come on, I want to show you something.” He leads me
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