Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor 2)

Dear Lucy,

Remember the Artist in Residence program I mentioned last time we talked? A full year, all expenses paid, working with artists from all around the world. You would be perfect for it. I believe you have a unique sense of glass as a medium, whereas too many modern artists overlook its illusory possibilities. This grant would give you the freedom to experiment in ways that would be difficult—if not impossible—for you in your current circumstances.

Let me know if you decide to give it a shot. The application form is attached. I’ve already put in a word for you, and they’re excited about the chance to make something happen.

Best,

Alan Spellman

The chance of a lifetime—a year in New York to study and experiment with glass.

Clicking on a link at the bottom of the e-mail, Lucy glanced over the application requirements—a one-page proposal, a cover letter, and twenty digital images of her work. For one tantalizing moment, she let herself think about it.

A new place … a new beginning.

But the likelihood of being chosen over all the other applicants was so slight that she wondered why she was even bothering.

Who are you, to think you have a chance at this? she asked herself.

But then another thought occurred to her … Who are you, to not at least try?

Seven

“I need to talk to you, Lucy,” her mother had said on the answering machine. “Call me when you get a minute in private. Please don’t put this off, it’s important.”

Despite the urgency in her mother’s voice, Lucy hadn’t yet returned the call. She had no doubt that the message had something to do with Alice, and she wanted just one day of not thinking or talking about her younger sister. Instead she had spent the afternoon packing her latest finished pieces and taking them to a couple of shops in Friday Harbor.

“Wonderful,” Susan Seburg, a shop manager and a friend, exclaimed as she viewed the selection of glass mosaic pieces that Lucy had brought. It was a series of women’s shoes: pumps, high-heeled sandals, wedges, and even a pair of sneakers. They were all made of glass, tile, crystals, and beads. “Oh, I wish I could actually wear them! You know someone’s going to come in and buy the entire set at once. Lately I can’t keep your work on the shelves—it sells as soon as I set it out.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lucy said.

“There’s something so charming and … I don’t know, special … about your recent stuff. A couple of customers are thinking of asking you to do something on commission.”

“That’s great. I can always use the work.”

“Yes, it’s good to stay busy.” Setting down the accent lamp, Susan gave her a compassionate look. “I imagine it helps to keep your mind off what’s happening.” Seeing Lucy’s blank expression, she clarified, “With Kevin Pearson and your sister.”

Lucy dropped her gaze to her phone schedule planner. “You mean the two of them living together?”

“That, and the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Lucy repeated faintly. It seemed as if a sheet of ice had instantly formed beneath her feet. Any direction she tried to go in, she was guaranteed to slip and fall.

Susan’s face changed. “You didn’t know? Shit. I’m sorry, Lucy, I would never have wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“They’re engaged?” Lucy couldn’t believe it. How had Alice managed to convince Kevin to make such a commitment? “I don’t mind the idea of getting married, someday,” he had once told Lucy, “but it’s not something I’d ever rush into. I mean, I’m willing to stay with someone, by choice, for a long time. But how exactly is that different from marriage?”

“It’s a different level,” Lucy had said.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just some goal that other people have set for us. Do we really need to buy into that?”

Apparently now he was buying into it. Because of Alice. Did this mean he truly loved her?

It wasn’t that Lucy was jealous. Kevin had cheated on her, and would likely cheat in his future relationships. But the news made her wonder what was wrong with her. Maybe Alice had been right—Lucy was a control freak. Maybe she would drive away any man who was foolish enough to love her.

“I’m sorry,” Susan said again. “Your sister’s been driving around the island with a wedding planner. They’re checking out locations.”

The phone was trembling in her hand. Lucy put it into her bag and attempted a smile that came out as a grimace. “Well,” she said, “now I know why my mother left a message for me this morning.”

“All the color’s gone out of your face. Come to the back with me—I’ve got soft drinks, or I could make some coffee—”

“No. Thanks, Susan, but I’m going to call it a day.” The mass of emotion had begun to separate into layers. Sadness, bewilderment, anger.

“Is there something I can do?” she heard Susan ask.

Lucy shook her head instantly. “I’m fine. I’m really fine.” Readjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she headed to the front door of the shop. She paused as Susan spoke again.

“I don’t know a lot about Kevin, and I know practically nothing about your sister. But from everything I’ve seen and heard so far … they deserve each other. And that’s not a compliment to either of them.”

Lucy’s fingertips found the glass panel of the door, and for a moment there was relief in the contact, the reassuring cool smoothness of it. She sent Susan a brittle smile. “It’s okay. Life goes on.”

Going to her car, Lucy sat and put her key in the ignition. When she turned it, nothing happened. An incredulous laugh broke from her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, and tried it again. Click-click-click-click. The engine refused to turn over. Since the lights were still working, it couldn’t be the battery.

Getting back to the inn wouldn’t be a problem, since it was relatively close. But the idea of having to hassle with mechanics, and pay for budget-blowing repair work, was too much. Lucy leaned her head on the steering wheel. This was the sort of thing that Kevin had always handled for her. “One of the perks,” he’d quipped, after making certain the oil was changed and the wiper blades replaced.

Without a doubt, Lucy reflected bleakly, the worst part of being a single woman was having to take care of your own car. She wanted a drink, a shot of something strong and anesthetizing.

Climbing out of the lifeless car, she walked to a bar near the harbor, where people could watch the boats and see the loading and unloading of ferries. The bar had once been a saloon in the eighteen hundreds, established to serve prospectors on their way to British Columbia during the Fraser Gold Rush. By the time the prospectors had gone, the saloon had acquired a new clientele of soldiers, pioneers, and Hudson Bay employees. Over the decades, it had turned into a venerable old bar.

A series of musical notes spilled from her bag as the cell phone rang. Fumbling among the assortment of objects—lip gloss, loose change, a pack of gum—Lucy managed to pull the phone from her bag. Recognizing Justine’s number, she answered wanly. “Hi.”

“Where are you?” her friend asked without preamble.

“Walking in town.”

“Susan Seburg just called me. I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t either,” Lucy said. “Kevin’s going to be my brother-in-law.”

“Susan feels like shit for being the one to tell you.”

“She shouldn’t. I was going to find out about it sooner or later. My mom left a message this morning—I’m sure it had to do with the engagement.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. But I’m going out for a drink, and then I’ll be okay. You can meet me if you want.”

“Come home and I’ll whip up some margaritas.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, “but it’s too quiet at the inn. I want to be at a bar with people. A lot of noisy people with problems.”

“Okay,” Justine said, “so where—”

The phone beeped, cutting her friend off. Lucy looked down at the tiny screen, which featured a blinking red battery symbol. She had just run out of juice.

“Figures,” she muttered. Dropping the spent phone back into her bag, she went into the shadowy interior of the bar. The place had a distinctive old-building smell, sweet and musty and dark.

Since it was still early evening, the after-work crowd hadn’t yet appeared. Lucy went to the end of the bar where the shadows were darkest, and studied the drink menu. Lucy ordered a lemon drop, made with vodka, muddled lemons, and triple sec, served in a sugar-rimmed glass. It went down her throat with a pleasant chill.

“Like a kiss from an iceberg, isn’t it?” the bartender, a blond woman named Marty, asked with a grin.

Draining the glass, Lucy nodded and set it aside. “Another one, please.”

“That’s pretty fast. You want some munchies? Nachos or jalapeño poppers, maybe?”

“No, just another drink.”

Marty gave her a dubious look. “I hope you’re not driving after this.”

Lucy laughed bitterly. “Nope. My car just broke down.”

“One of those days, huh?”

“One of those years,” Lucy said.

The bartender took her time about getting her the next drink. Turning on the bar stool, Lucy glanced at the other patrons at the bar, some lined up at the other end, others gathered at tables. At one table, a half-dozen bikers knocked back beers and made raucous conversation.

Too late, Lucy realized they were from the biker church, and that Justine’s boyfriend, Duane, was among them. Before she could look away, he glanced in her direction.

From across the room, Duane motioned for her to join them.

She shook her head and gave him a little wave before turning back to the bar.

But the big, kindhearted biker lumbered over to her and clapped an amiable hand between her shoulder blades.

“Lucy-goosey,” he said, “how’s it going?”

“Just stopped for a quick one,” Lucy replied with a halfhearted smile. “How are you, Duane?”

“Can’t complain. Come sit with me and the guys. We’re all from Hog Heaven.”

“Thanks, Duane. I appreciate the invitation. But I really, really need to be alone right now.”

“What’s wrong?” At her hesitation, he said, “Anything bothers you, we’ll take care of it, remember?”

As Lucy stared up into the broad face swathed in oversized sideburns, her smile became genuine. “Yes, I remember. You guys are my guardian angels.”

“So tell me your problem.”

“Two problems,” she said. “First, my car is dead. Or at least it’s in a coma.”

“Is it the battery?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Duane said readily. “What’s the other problem?”

“My heart feels like something that should be scooped up with a folded newspaper and dropped in the trash can.”

The biker gave her a sympathetic glance. “Justine told me about your boyfriend. Want me and the boys to take him down for you?”

Lucy managed a little chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to encourage you to commit a mortal sin.”

“Oh, we sin all the time,” he said cheerfully. “That’s why we started a church. And it sounds like your ex could use a little righteous ass-kicking.” A grin connected his extended sideburns as he quoted, “‘For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.’”

“I’ll settle for the car being fixed,” Lucy said. At Duane’s prompting, she told him where her car was, and gave him the keys.

“We’ll have it back to Artist’s Point in a day or two,” Duane said, “all fixed and ready to go.”

“Thanks, Duane. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“You sure you won’t have a drink with us?”

“Thank you, but I’m really sure.”

“Okay. But me and the boys are going to keep an eye on you.” He gestured to the corner of the bar, where a small live band was setting up. “It’s going to get crowded in here soon.”

“What’s going on?” Lucy asked.

“It’s Pig War day.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s today?”

“June fifteenth, same as every year.” He patted her shoulder before returning to his friends.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Lucy muttered, picking up her second drink and taking a swallow. She was not in the mood for a Pig War party.

The tradition had resulted from an event in 1859, when a pig belonging to the British-owned Hudson Bay trading post had wandered into the potato field of Lyman Cutler, an American farmer. Upon finding the large pig rooting in his field and consuming his crop, the farmer shot the pig. That incident had launched a thirteen-year war between the British and the Americans, both of them establishing military camps on the island. The war finally ended through arbitration, with possession of the island being awarded to America. Throughout the long standoff between American and British military units, the only casualty had been the pig. Approximately a century and a half later, the start of the Pig War was celebrated with barbecued pork, music, and enough beer to support a flotilla of tall-masted ships.

By the time Lucy had finished her drink, the band was playing, platters of free pork ribs were being served at the bar, and every inch of the place was packed with boisterous people. She gestured for the tab, and the bartender nodded.

“Can I buy you another?” a guy on the stool beside her asked.

“Thanks, but I’m done,” Lucy said.

“How about one of these?” He tried to pass her a platter of pork ribs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“They’re free,” the guy said.

As Lucy frowned at him, she recognized him as one of Kevin’s landscaping employees—she couldn’t quite remember his name. Paul something. With his glazed eyes and his sour breath, he appeared to have started his celebrating much earlier in the day. “Oh,” he said uncomfortably as he realized who she was. “You’re Pearson’s girlfriend.”

“Not anymore,” Lucy said.

“That’s right, you’re the old one.”