Sixteen

LINDSEY LEANS INTO the turn off Bayview Boulevard, gliding down the easy curves toward the south harbor enclave that was a separate township in the late 1800s. She grew up in this once-seedy neighborhood when the old brick buildings were mostly boarded up and the gingerbread Victorian homes derelict “haunted houses” the kids would sneak into for a good scare. Now, with the influx of California retirees and Seattle dot.com millionaires, it’s been restored and tarted up with trendy boutiques and condos overlooking the bay. And what cannot be prettified out of existence behind its greenbelt—the sewage treatment plant.

She grins into the salty mudflat breeze. A Subaru wagon swings wide to pass her bike, shadowed driver turning his head to give her a once-over. Her grin widens.

Lindsey’s getting over her surprise at how often this is happening lately. She’s actually been the object of catcalls from guys cruising in packs, and it’s funny when they look back to see her face and realize she’s not some young babe. Maybe it’s her change in attitude, or maybe the fact that she’s letting herself cool off the summer heat in her skimpy tank tops and short-shorts again. Hey, as long as her tight butt’s holding the line, why not enjoy it? There’s some kind of shift that has the cutie checkers at the co-op flirting with her, people on sidewalks smiling as she passes, and it’s not just men, it’s women, too. Can they feel the vibe? Lindsey’s in love with life again.

“Well, duh!” she can hear Megan saying. “You’re smiling these days.”

She celebrates the feel-good rush of the bike ride, swooping down toward the rack in front of the bookstore coffee shop, swinging one leg over to ride the last momentum sidesaddle and step off with a flourish onto the curb.

“Nice move!” A tenor voice from behind her.

She turns to see it’s the Subaru driver, standing beside his open door, flashing a white smile in a handsome dark face, long black hair pulled into a ponytail. He also happens to be Damon Perrera, here to finally meet her and brainstorm article ideas.

Well, here comes the “Oh, Ma’am” moment. Lindsey pulls off her helmet and shades, waits for the age-recognition reset when he sees her face.

He blinks, then smiles wider, holding her gaze.

Lindsey, her bluff called, glances away from those gleaming dark eyes. Phew. She clears her throat. Before this can get too convoluted, she steps toward him, holding out her hand. “Damon? I’m Lindsey.”

“Oh.” He does look surprised then. “Wow.” He laughs and steps closer, takes her hand and gives it a firm squeeze. “Hey, great to meet you!” He gestures toward her bike. “You’re making me feel lazy, should’ve walked my talk and ridden my bike today.”

Lindsey shrugs and leans her bike against the rack. “Okay, you can work off the guilt by buying me a latte.”

“Done.”

She pulls her cable lock from her pannier, as out pops, “You’re too easy.” Then she flushes at this boldness and hastily turns away to secure the bike.

“Not usually.”

She glances quickly back at him. He’s flashing those white teeth again.

She straightens, spreading her palms. “I better confess, I’m a big fake. I get all these environmentally-conscious credits, when I really just love to ride my bike.”

“I can see that.” A glance up and down her, and he doesn’t bother to conceal it.

Up close, he’s even more gorgeous than she’d realized at the hospital meeting. As if that coffee-and-cream skin and those long-lashed Latin eyes aren’t enough, there’s the high cheekbones, assertive nose offset by a strong chin, and he’s bursting with a palpable vitality. Is he this… on with every woman he meets? Puddles of melted-down ladies everywhere he passes?

Just then, perfect timing, a hot flash ignites. Prickling heat flares up Lindsey’s spine, sweat breaking out on her face and back. She turns away again, grabbing her bike pannier and clutching it against her chest, pulling out a kerchief to blot her damp face. “Guess I worked up a sweat. Maybe iced tea instead of that latte,” she lamely manages.

“That’s good. Have you noticed—the more fit you are, the easier you break a sweat?” He gestures toward the coffee shop. “After you.”

As Lindsey bites her lip and strides past him through the doorway, he’s glancing down again, checking her out. And Lindsey, hopeless, is enjoying it.

Damon acts the perfect gentleman, escorting her to a window table in the cozy cellar coffeeshop with its antique brick walls, relaying her iced tea request to the server and insisting she order a dessert “for energy on the way home,” but all the while those dark eyes glimmering with mischief. She pictures a doting mother throwing up her hands in protest while indulging his every whim. He compliments her again on the “Stages of Environmental Grieving” essay, then gets her laughing with his wicked take on the hospital road access meeting, a little preview of his forthcoming editorial for the Whiplash. His gaze meanders again over her tank top and bare arms.

Watch it, girl. Lindsey pulls out her jersey and slips it on. But what the hell, how often is she flirted up by such a handsome hunk of maleness? So what if she’s sublimating, she’s not going to sit around waiting for that return phone call from Newman that hasn’t materialized. All she’s felt coming from his direction is that sensation of static.

“So, if you’re up for it,” Damon pulls a notebook and papers out of the battered courier bag he’d set on the floor, “I’ve got some ideas for more articles. Plus, here’s a printout of some good markets, what you might call the literary-enviro readers, they go for the personal-experience, dig-deeper angle you’ve got going.”

Lindsey blinks at the shift into business mode. She clears her throat. “These places don’t mind if I publish first with you?”

“No problem.” He waves a long-fingered hand. “Little outfit like us, they figure minimal distribution and it’s no competition. They’ll just take second North American Rights, and you can negotiate anything else—like that anthology you mentioned. If they accept your essay, they’ll want to pin down all kinds of possible subsidiary and reprint rights. But that’s great, more exposure for you if it flies.”

“Guess I better do some homework on all this.”

“No sweat.” He grins. “Just run any contracts past me, I can sniff out the land mines in the dark.”

“Thank you.” She won’t look a gift horse. “So it’s not like you’re aiding the competition?”

Again a dismissive wave. “Like I said, we’re still pretty small potatoes, though I’ve got ideas for expansion, taking it a step at a time. And, to a certain extent, it’s ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ among editors. I wouldn’t give just anybody this list.” He taps it.

“Well… I’m flattered,” Lindsey confesses, giving him a quizzical look. “You’re willing to do this on the basis of the one essay?”

“I’ve got a feeling about you, Lindsey.” He shrugs. “I think we’re gonna do some good work together.”

“You hit me at the right time, anyway. I just got… laid off from my job at the hospital.”

“No shit? You worked there?” His eyes spark, this time all firebrand editor spotting an angle.

She laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some dirt I can dish. But—” She holds out a palm as he leans closer. “—Not until I get the papers on my termination settlement.” According to Allen Dunshire, the hospital has accepted her terms, and the paperwork “is in the mail.”

“I can hardly wait.” His eyes crinkle. “Whenever you’re ready…. Meantime, I’ve got a project I’d like to run past you. It’s….” Surprisingly, he hesitates, a blip in his assured manner as he looks down. He blows out a breath, looks up. “You could say I’ve got a personal stake in it. It’s a little complicated, but I’m not really the best person to write this one. I can give you a lot of inside info, and I think you’ve got the right touch for it. I’m thinking a series, and there’s a good potential to get it circulated widely into regional publications. Kind of a hot topic in environmental circles.” The last comes out in a rush, as if rehearsed.

Lindsey’s intrigued. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“I’d like to do some in-depth pieces on the Kwamish fishing and whaling rights controversy. Drill down, get past the finger-pointing.”

Lindsey blows out a breath. “You like setting off fireworks?”

“Hoping not to.” He lifts his palms. “So where do you stand on it?”

She pauses, getting her thoughts together. “I don’t have a stand per se. I mean, given how all the natives got royally screwed with the treaties and reservations, how can you blame them for claiming what rights they have left? And wanting to preserve, or maybe reclaim what traditions haven’t been lost.” She takes a breath. “But, man, killing whales? Endangered, and so intelligent? There must be something else that would be meaningful for the tribe. I mean….” She shook her head. “Maybe I’m the wrong person to say this, but just because something is a tradition, does that make it the right thing to do?”

He’s watching her intently, and she wonders if she just lost her new assignment. Then he slowly smiles. “Thanks, Lindsey. That’s what I thought you’d say, after I read your essay. There doesn’t have to be bad guys and good guys—gals here. And I think there’s a lot of learning that could happen.”

“Well, I’d love to get involved. You mentioned you have some research done?”

“Yeah, well, I’m part of it.” He gestures, open-palmed, toward himself.

She lifts inquiring eyebrows.

“The Kwamish. My tribe,” he says.

“Oh.” She blinks, takes another good look at him. The long black hair and strong cheekbones. “Perrera?”

Another lift of the palms. “Half-blood. My mom was tribal, my dad’s second-generation Mexican immigrant.”

“Mom was?” she asks quietly.

He glances at her, then away. There’s been another shift, into some other side of him, and she likes him for that glimpse. “Lindsey, I don’t know what it is about you….”

Oh, boy, she thinks. Is this the classic line?

He gives a little shake of the head, still looking out the window. “I don’t usually talk about my mom. She… died when I was eight.”

“Oh.” She hesitates. “I’m sorry.” Maybe there is something about her that seems to draw people to confide in her. She’d always guarded her privacy against what seemed like the too-quick intimacy of these revelations, but now she’s starting to feel maybe it’s a good thing.

Damon is looking down at his hands. “Long story…. Later, my dad remarried a gringa. I’ve got the cutest blondie half-sisters with these killer tans built in.” He looks up at her again, the humor back in his eyes.

Lindsey chuckles. “They must have to fight off the guys with sticks.”

He snorts. “About it. Anyway, to most everyone, I’m just Perrera and Latino and that’s it. I haven’t kept up my… tribal obligations, I guess you’d say, too well. That’s part of the complication with this story. That, and tribal politics. In-fighting.”

He purses his lips, pushes some papers across the table toward her. “Tell you what, maybe the best thing is if you read these article excerpts and my notes, then we can talk about it, do some brainstorming. How about we go for a hike? I’m dying to get out of town, up to the mountains.”

“Terrific.” Lindsey takes the papers, tamps them into a stack. “I’ll read this tonight.”

“All right! How about we do Goat Mountain on Friday, beat the weekend crowds? I’ll pick you up at eight in my trusty Subaru war-pony.” His eyes are glimmering with mischief again.

“Good, that’s one of my favorite hikes.” Then Lindsey hesitates. “Wait.” Damn, what about that hike with Newman? Since he hasn’t called? “I need to check my… calendar first.”

The lifted eyebrow again. “That means a boyfriend?”

Lindsey blows out a breath, tells him, “I’m not sure.”

He shrugs. “Well, give me a call, and one way or another we’ll firm it up.” Another sly innuendo? That irresistible smile spreads over his face again, starting slow and sweet, then widening. Does he have any idea how old she is? She can’t quite figure out a socially-graceful way to insert that topic into the conversation at this point. Maybe ask the server if they have an AARP discount? She gives up as Damon jots his home number on a business card and slides it toward her.

“Okay, I’ll call you,” she says.

July 21

Dear Diary,

Hot flash news flash: They’re tapering off! (Despite recurrence under smoldering glance of Damon Perrera.)

Remedies tried to date:

HYPNOSIS/GUIDED IMAGERY. I did get “very sleepy.” Attempted to descend mossy cool steps and float out on mountain lake to lower core body temperature. Very pleasant until I ignited into a floating pyre. Picturesque.

PROGRESSIVE RELAXATION. Tighten and release muscles from head to toes. Try to continue while pulling off clothes and fanning self.

DEEP BREATHING. Good for the lungs, at least.

WILD YAM CRÈME. “Natural” building blocks for lagging hormone production. Still lagging? Try leftover goo on Thanksgiving leftovers?

NATUROPATHIC SUPPLEMENTS. Black Cohosh, Dong Quai, Super Bs, Cramp Bark, Valerian Root. Excellent for reducing bank balance.

GODDESS ENERGY, TAKE TWO. Crystal summons healing spirits with rattles. Use half-empty supplement bottles?

PAST-LIFE REGRESSION. Crystal’s friend Mary swears by Raven Skywalker. Took her back to former life as a witch during the “burning days.” She screamed through burning at the stake, and after that the flashes went away. How desperate am I?

ACUPUNCTURE AND LOW-DOSE ESTROGENE CREME. Halleleuia!

My doc agreed that a low-dose estrogen creme was a sensible trial, and of course we’ll keep an eye on the risk of cancer recurrence. But given all my lost sleep, the nausea, etc., etc., we have to consider my overall health. Thank you! Down from peak 2 or 3 flashes per hour to 1 or 2 a day, usually not rip-off-the-clothes variety. (Saving that activity—wishful thinking?—for Newman.)

Questions: Does using needles make me an addict? Should I stick needles in a Newman voodoo doll? He finally called to say he couldn’t get away for a hike this week, after all, and he was on “Dad duty” for the weekend. How long am I supposed to be on hold?

So I called Damon to agree to that Friday hike! Hoo, boy….

It’s Thursday, and Lindsey’s trying to focus on a short news piece she’s writing as a last-minute thing for the Whiplash, about speculators buying up prime county farmland for housing subdivisions, fueling population sprawl gone crazy. Damon asked her to write the piece when she called to arrange the hike. Which is tomorrow. Which is giving her queasy butterflies in her belly.

Maybe it’s the way his voice dropped into a sort of caress over the phone line as he said, “Good night, Lindsey.”

Maybe it’s the way Newman’s didn’t, when he finally called to again postpone getting together.

Maybe she’s going to scream.

Or she could take a page from Nick’s book and run around banging her head on the walls and breaking furniture. Is this life in the trenches, in what one of her friends calls the post-dating era?

Plus, her mother’s been calling all morning, fussing over arrangements for Joanie’s birthday lunch. Now, just as Lindsey’s finally getting her article’s lead line together, the phone rings again. Lindsey curses and grabs it, about ready to fling the damn thing through the window. “What?!”

“Lindsey? Are you okay?” It’s Newman.

She blows out a breath. “What do you think?”

“You’re angry at me?”

“Newman, I’m tired of getting jerked around. We’re on. We’re off. So, yeah, I guess I’m angry.”

“Well, that about makes it unanimous,” he says. “I think I’ve managed to piss off everybody in my life right now. You want to let me have it? Take a number?”

“No, I don’t want to take a bloody—”

“Kidding.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Lindsey. All I can say is I’m getting pulled so many directions right now, sometimes I lose track of what I want to do, in all the supposed-to-dos. My life isn’t always this way. It won’t always be.” A pause. “Anyway, I got it together—at least for the moment. Cleared some time tomorrow, so we can do that hike after all. If you still want to.”

Now Lindsey does want to scream. A burst of anger, longing, frustration detonates inside. She has to grab her desk, grip it tight until she can catch her breath.

“Lindsey?”

“Damn it!” comes out through gritted teeth.

“Is… that a no?” Is he laughing? Then she’ll really be pissed off.

She takes a deep breath, fights the urge to blow off Damon and say yes, she’s dying to see Newman, eager for time in the wilds with him away from his goddamn cell phone, longing for his touch, so more than ready to swim with him into those deep blue ocean waves, or the mud, or both. Damn it.

She takes another deep breath. “Newman, I can’t go tomorrow. I’ve already made other plans.”

Silence, static over the phone line. Finally, “Oh.” Then, quickly, “Well, I just thought maybe we could finally connect. I don’t know when I can get another free day. Not until next week, I guess.” Another pause. “It’s not something you can shift?”

Again Lindsey fights the temptation to give in, seize the day with him. But something holds firm in her—pride? pique? drawing those boundaries and “holding to her integrity” the way counselor Kate urges when Lindsey checks in with her? She can’t be on call for any man this way.

“I’m sorry, Newman. I was looking forward to it, but when you said you couldn’t get free, I agreed to go with… a new work associate.”

“You got another job already? Wow. What is it?”

“Well, not really a job, but some writing assignments for The Weekly Whiplash. I’m going hiking with the editor, so we can talk about some big environmental pieces he wants me to write.”

“Hey, Lindsey, that’s great.” His voice is quiet. “Do you want to try for next week?” He blows out a breath. “Damn, I guess this is what I was talking about the other day, how I couldn’t always be there for you. Only I didn’t realize how… physically frustrating this could be. Maybe I kept it all so compartmentalized, in my marriage. I figured, okay, I need to be celibate to keep the family together, and it was settled. Then these past weeks I was getting so distracted, thinking about you, maybe I went back to that old habit and walled you off. I guess that’s not fair. I’m feeling out my way with all this….”

That odd sensation of static peaks then, and falls away. Suddenly Lindsey can feel him loud and clear, a surge of desire sweeping over and into her. Despite herself, she sighs.

“Oh, boy,” Newman breathes into the phone. “Lindsey, is it awful to want to rip your clothes off right now and just dive into you?”

“Damn it, Newman, don’t do this to me.”

“Sorry. I’m doing it to myself. I’m on my way to an appointment, and just thinking about you is getting me all hot and bothered.”

“Newman….”

“Okay. I’m trying. Can we set a day next week for that hike? And if Melani goes out with her friends this weekend and I get some time, could I call? Would you be open to something last-minute?”

She wants to fly through the phone line and jump him right then. She takes another deep breath, trying to settle her voice. “Carpe diem?”

He chuckles. “I’d like to seize more than the day. Respectfully, of course.”

She can’t help laughing. “I give up on being sane.”

“Good.” Another chuckle. “Listen, there’s something else I think might help. You asked me about meditation before. Do you want me to teach you a mantra to practice?”

She blinks. “I’d like that. Do we… set an appointment in astral time for that?”

“I’ll check my calendar.” Then hastily, “No, you check yours. Any days for a hike that won’t work for you next week? I promise I’ll call this weekend, and we can set a day.”

“I’m setting my own schedule these days, working on my writing projects.”

“Good. Okay, I gotta go now. Enjoy your hike, Lindsey.”

Right.