after Shey. Fifteen minutes later, Eva and Shey return to the cabin, shower, and change. Now they take their places at the small dining table, their wet hair still drippy but their faces glowing pink.
“That was great,” Shey says cheerfully, chomping on a strip of bacon. “What do you think, Eva? Did you have a good swim?”
“Great,” Eva echoes, matching Shey bacon for bacon.
“Get going on the pancakes,” I say, still standing at the stove and flipping the final batch. “Don’t let them get cold.”
Neither needs any encouragement, and by the time I pull the last pancakes off the griddle, Shey looks as if she’s ready for more.
“It’s not fair that you can eat so much,” I complain, passing her the platter after I’ve taken my three.
Shey smiles her dazzlingly white smile. “It’s payback for everyone making fun of me in sixth grade.”
Eva looks up, intrigued. “People made fun of you, Aunt Shey?”
“Heck, yeah. Stilts. Grasshopper. Giraffe legs.” Shey leans forward, elbows on the table, and whispers conspiratorially, “And Eva, it wasn’t just the girls making fun of me, it was the boys, too. You see, by fifth grade, I was the tallest kid in my class. By sixth, I was taller than nearly all the teachers. I hated how tall I was. I hated being so skinny and ugly.”
“You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful,” Eva protests indignantly.
“But I didn’t look the way I do now, back then. I was just plain skinny then, and awkward, and uncomfortable.”
I watch Eva’s face. She’s staring at Shey hard, as though she hoped to see something else, see something new. “Didn’t everyone know you were going to be a famous model?”
Shey chuckles, and it’s southern and comforting. “No, darling. I didn’t even know I was going to be a famous model. It just kind of happened.”
“How?”
Shey’s brows furrow, and she looks at Eva and then at me and then back to Eva. “I got confident,” she says. “And I learned to trust myself.”
Eva’s puzzled again. “But what does that mean?”
Shey’s lips curve. “It means I stopped listening to what other people said about me and started listening to myself.”
We take the ferry back to Seattle early afternoon. By walking on, we avoid the lines that have been queued up for hours.
One of my happiest memories of being a kid living in Seattle was taking the ferry. It didn’t even matter where we went or if we even got off at Bremerton or one of the islands. I just liked cruising around the sound in the big white-and-green boat.
Eva wants to stand outside at the rail and watch the cars board, so Shey and I take a bench against the side and let Eva watch the loading of the cars while we finish catching up. And now that I know Shey will be leaving soon—she’ll be catching a flight back to New York tonight—there’s suddenly so much to say.
Shey looks at me. “She’s going to be fine, Ta. She’s smart and kind. Sweet and sensitive—”
“And that’s what’s getting her hurt,” I grouse, leaning against the bench. “She’s too sensitive.”
“She’s stronger than you think. Stronger than you were.”
“No.”
“Yes. That’s why she wants to be in the in crowd, she thinks she can handle the in crowd. And you know, I think she can, too.”
“But why this desire to be popular? What’s that about?”
Shey shrugs. “It’s about power. Dominance. Eva is confident enough, she wants to compete—”
“But on whose terms?”
“
Her
terms.”
“No.”
“
Yes.
” Her shoulders lift, fall, and in the sunlight I see a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Eva can handle this. She’s not going to crash and burn. The person I’m worried about is you.”
“Me?”
“Running my own business has taught me that we don’t exist in a vacuum. We’re part of a community, something larger than ourselves, and we need to be involved in the community. Not just Eva, but you, too.”
“It’s not easy to
“That was great,” Shey says cheerfully, chomping on a strip of bacon. “What do you think, Eva? Did you have a good swim?”
“Great,” Eva echoes, matching Shey bacon for bacon.
“Get going on the pancakes,” I say, still standing at the stove and flipping the final batch. “Don’t let them get cold.”
Neither needs any encouragement, and by the time I pull the last pancakes off the griddle, Shey looks as if she’s ready for more.
“It’s not fair that you can eat so much,” I complain, passing her the platter after I’ve taken my three.
Shey smiles her dazzlingly white smile. “It’s payback for everyone making fun of me in sixth grade.”
Eva looks up, intrigued. “People made fun of you, Aunt Shey?”
“Heck, yeah. Stilts. Grasshopper. Giraffe legs.” Shey leans forward, elbows on the table, and whispers conspiratorially, “And Eva, it wasn’t just the girls making fun of me, it was the boys, too. You see, by fifth grade, I was the tallest kid in my class. By sixth, I was taller than nearly all the teachers. I hated how tall I was. I hated being so skinny and ugly.”
“You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful,” Eva protests indignantly.
“But I didn’t look the way I do now, back then. I was just plain skinny then, and awkward, and uncomfortable.”
I watch Eva’s face. She’s staring at Shey hard, as though she hoped to see something else, see something new. “Didn’t everyone know you were going to be a famous model?”
Shey chuckles, and it’s southern and comforting. “No, darling. I didn’t even know I was going to be a famous model. It just kind of happened.”
“How?”
Shey’s brows furrow, and she looks at Eva and then at me and then back to Eva. “I got confident,” she says. “And I learned to trust myself.”
Eva’s puzzled again. “But what does that mean?”
Shey’s lips curve. “It means I stopped listening to what other people said about me and started listening to myself.”
We take the ferry back to Seattle early afternoon. By walking on, we avoid the lines that have been queued up for hours.
One of my happiest memories of being a kid living in Seattle was taking the ferry. It didn’t even matter where we went or if we even got off at Bremerton or one of the islands. I just liked cruising around the sound in the big white-and-green boat.
Eva wants to stand outside at the rail and watch the cars board, so Shey and I take a bench against the side and let Eva watch the loading of the cars while we finish catching up. And now that I know Shey will be leaving soon—she’ll be catching a flight back to New York tonight—there’s suddenly so much to say.
Shey looks at me. “She’s going to be fine, Ta. She’s smart and kind. Sweet and sensitive—”
“And that’s what’s getting her hurt,” I grouse, leaning against the bench. “She’s too sensitive.”
“She’s stronger than you think. Stronger than you were.”
“No.”
“Yes. That’s why she wants to be in the in crowd, she thinks she can handle the in crowd. And you know, I think she can, too.”
“But why this desire to be popular? What’s that about?”
Shey shrugs. “It’s about power. Dominance. Eva is confident enough, she wants to compete—”
“But on whose terms?”
“
Her
terms.”
“No.”
“
Yes.
” Her shoulders lift, fall, and in the sunlight I see a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Eva can handle this. She’s not going to crash and burn. The person I’m worried about is you.”
“Me?”
“Running my own business has taught me that we don’t exist in a vacuum. We’re part of a community, something larger than ourselves, and we need to be involved in the community. Not just Eva, but you, too.”
“It’s not easy to
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