Padilla Bay

As one would imagine, talk and discussion and planning took over the entire household. We decided I would re-assume the identification of Johnathan Harris, because my father had access to the records needed to confirm my identity for marriage purposes. After broad discussion, we decided to invite Suzie and her husband, at her discretion, as well as Jenny and her kids if they wanted to come.

We decided to hold the marriage on Christmas Eve, in honor of my and the Maloney’s first Christmas together. Cheryl agreed to looking into getting ordained to perform the ceremony. We would decorate the inside of the old barn for the wedding. Jason agreed to be my best man; my dad agreed to give Kelly away.

Kelly wanted a dress; so I decided to get a tuxedo. Besides us, though, it wasn’t going to be a fancy affair. It was all about family and togetherness, after all. My dad also had to go home to Hornell; Cheryl agreed to go with him. He needed to make all the plans for moving to North Dakota, ready the house for sale, and all that stuff. They would be back in a couple of weeks time to start making all the preparations required for the wedding.

All of the family started in massive haste to fall all over themselves as to who was going to do what when it came to preparing for the wedding. Menus had to be made, a cake designed, an old and decrepit workshop-barn redecorated into a wedding venue, and all the other stuff that would need to be done.

It had been done before for the marriage of Samantha and Jason. That marriage had been entirely internal, however. Legally, they were adopted siblings, and could not marry. The marriage had been a celebration of their love, and their marriage was official in the eyes of the family, but it was not a legal one. My marriage to Kelly would be a legally observed one, especially since some of her benefits from her tenured position at the university would transfer to me.

I had enthusiastically participated in all this classic Clan Mahoney chaos. The truth was they loved to get together and party at the drop of a hat, and I had been through a lot of plans like this over the years. My dad was the only one who was caught a bit off-guard at the inner workings of the family. He’d get used to it; he was going to be a part of it.

Inside, though, I was beginning to falter and get nervous. This was the end of the story. Well, it was the end of one story and the beginning of another. For 25 years I had roamed the world, priding myself on no connections, being a rogue, a vagabond, a hobo. I had this family for most of them, yes, true, but a major part of my identity was going to be changed.

It was the beginning of a new story. Hopefully a great story. Johnny, the father who actually sticks around and raises his kids. Johnny the husband. Johnny the bread winner, perhaps. Johnny the guy who doesn’t just hit the road the moment he gets bored. It was a new adventure I was abut to embark on. And I was terrified.

More than terrified. I felt like this was a sort of betrayal to Rachel and some of my ideals. I mean, I was ok with that. The family I was part of, or marrying into, or however you want to actually phrase it, had morals and ideals that I could abide. They were one of the bright rays of sunshine in a dark and depressing world, and had been for me for most of my adult life. I loved them all. And I loved Kelly so much, I couldn’t describe it.

It felt wrong that I would run away from Rachel at a moment where she needed me the most, and yet decide to marry Kelly, even though she didn’t actually need it. Kelly was not lesser than Rachel, nor more. They were different. I could intellectually comprehend that. I wasn’t having second thoughts really. I just felt very guilty.

We all went up to bed, and I lay with Kelly. She wanted to make love. Somehow I couldn’t get myself into it.

“I understand, Johnny,” she whispered, “You’re not so young anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I snuggled her close, though. I loved her being with me.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, “It’s been a long, long, day. I understand this is a little scary for you. You are making a huge change. I need you to understand that I understand that. I’m here for you, as I have always been. We will conquer this together. That’s the point of getting married. I will give you a very long leash, just as long as you promise you are mine.”

“I’m yours,” I said, “No matter what, I belong to you now, I promise that.”

“I belong to you, too,” she kissed me, “Don’t forget that part.”

We lay together, and eventually her breathing changed. She was asleep, soundly.

But I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep at all. I felt this sense of betrayal of Rachel. To Suzie a little bit, too, but I mean that had been ... we were kids. Rachel and I had bonded and promised to each other as adults. It was ... it felt wrong.

I was restless. Sleep eluded me. My mind was spinning, revving like an out of control engine. I kept thinking and my mind kept wandering to all sorts of things. It kept kicking back to betrayal. I needed to sleep, to get my mind off of all this. It was driving me batty. I kicked my covers off and tried to let the cold calm down my nervous sweating body, but it didn’t help me at all.

I finally got out of bed. I needed to shut my mind down. I put my robe and slippers on, and went down the creaky old stairs, doing my best to minimize the noise. I went to the liquor cabinet. Samantha was an amateur corn distiller, and made this rotgut corn whisky moonshine that tasted just like Fritos, actually. It was strong stuff, though.

I poured myself a very generous tumbler of it, and sat down on one of the armchairs near the fire place. I got up again, still restless, and lit a fire. Then I sat down again, sipping the whiskey. I wish I could consult Rachel about how I felt. She was dead, I had lost her. My head was still whirring, even though the whiskey was about half finished and starting to have a distinct effect.

“One ting I’ll tell yuh is yuh ain’t betrayin’ me. Yuh with me?”

My head jerked right to the other armchair, there was a silver-haired beauty, her oversized facial features, her tall and lanky body, occupying the chair with a sort of eerie glow.

“Rachel?”

“Yuh were tinkin’ Bob Dylan, maybe, or what?”

“I wasn’t there for you,” I said, “I ran, like a fucking coward.”

“I ain’t givin’ yuh a free pass on dat,” she chuckled, “But I was askin’ a lotta yuh, and I shoulda known bettah, too. Okay?”

“I love you, Rachel,” I said, “So much. I wanted to marry you, I wanted us to raise our family. I was such a coward.”

“Don’cha be sucha tragedy queen,” she hissed, “Yuh always tended tuh be, okay? Yuh axed me in Colawhado, and I ran dat time. Right? It ain’t just your fault. Yuh got me so fahr? It’s botha us. Okay? I love yuh, mawh than I have evuh loved anyone or anythin’, and I ran, too. Okay? I fawhgive yuh, I have always fawhgiven yuh.”

“Losing you has left me bereft,” I said, “For so long. You have to understand, I owe Kelly for giving me the will to carry on. Don’t you understand?”

“Oh, puh-lease,” she said, “Yuh will always miss me, butcha are de one who needs tuh unnerstand. Ya’ dig? I owe Kelly mawh than yuh do, becawze she gave yuh de will tuh carry on. Okay? Your stawhy wasn’t ovuh yet, Johnny. Yuh with me? Which means mine wasn’t, eithuh, becawze I am a part of yuh.”

“You want us to be together?” I asked her, shocked.

“Fawh goodness sakes,” Rachel snorted, “We have a child togethuh. We had a life togethuh. I wantcha tuh settle down and raise our child. Yuh got me so fahr? I wantcha tuh be happy. Right? Yuh’ll nevuh bee happy wanderin’ wit’out me. Okay? Can we at least be honest about dat?”

“I’ve been miserable wandering without you,” I replied, “That’s the gods honest truth. Every time I went to some place we’ve been, I’d just sit there being sad remembering the good times we had. Every time I went someplace new, I was miserable wishing you were there, or sad that I could never tell you about it.”

“I’ve always been dere wit’ yuh,” she replied, “I am always wit’ yuh, Johnny. Okay? I was wit’ yuh when yuh met wit’ Suzie and realized all of de realities of how tings ackshully are. I was wit’ yuh when yuh reconnected wit’ your fadder. I was wit’ yuh when yuh saw how tings had ackshully been wit’ Suzie. Ya’ dig? Butcha know what else?”

“What?”

“I was wit’ yuh tonight,” she continued, “When yuh proposed tuh Kelly, and I was scared wit’ yuh. And den I was overjoyed when she said yes. Okay? Yuh have anudder life in front of yuh, and I am overjoyed tuh be wit’ yuh tuh see it. Right? Yuh didn’t run tuh huh as some sawht of rebound. Don’t yuh get it, or what? Yuh’ve always loved huh, too. Yuh with me? I’m so glad yuh weren’t too dumb and let it happen. Okay?”

“But-”

““Fawh fucks sake, Johnny,” she hissed, “Haven’t I taughtcha anythin’? De point of life is tuh enjoy it, and I wantcha tuh enjoy it, not mope around like some love-sick dope mournin’ my loss. Okay? I’m glad I meant enough tuh yuh dat yuh need tuh mourn me, but it’s time tuh move on. Yuh with me? Live fawh me! Love fawh me! Have mawh kids, fawh me! Fawh both of us! Okay?”

“Okay...”

“Do it all, Johnny,” she continued, excitedly, “Raise your family, make love tuh Kelly, connect wit’ your fadder. Move on! Okay? Start a business, and hire othuh good hobos and help dem along! Okay? Pay it fawhward! Okay? We didn’t just kill people and hurt people, Johnny, we helped people. Yuh with me? Yuh know dat. Dat’s de part dat mattered. Ya’ dig? Help people, and help yawhself. Ya’ dig?”

“I remember,” I said, knowing she was right.

She picked up my glass of moonshine, and took a sip, then coughed.

“And fawh gods sweet sakes, I know it ain’t yuh family’s ting, but sometimes go out and enjoy some bettuh hooch den dis rotgut,” she laughed, “A 20-year-old single malt, or at least a 12-year-old. Okay? And a good bottle of wine, not dat concawhd stuff. Yuh got me so fahr? I taughtcha how tuh live a little, so live a little, fawh me. Okay? I love yuh, Johnny. Yuh with me?”

“Always with you, Rachel,” I said looking at the fire, “Wait, how the hell do you drink my whis-”

I looked back at the seat, and she was gone.

I felt a whole world better. I didn’t really need Cheryl’s permission, but I ... I needed Rachel’s. And she had just given it to me. I stuck my tongue out at her, though, and poured more of ‘dis rotgut’ and drank it down.

Rachel had taught me to be happy, and it was time I listened to her teachings. I was still nervous, but she had been right. I had been miserable wandering without her. I was looking to bring our magic back. But our magic had been the stuff I had been avoiding mostly. Pay it forward, help other people, move the world along. And yes, if I was gonna be living here, we needed some better liquor. And a job to pay for it, too.

I had a whole life to look forward to, with a family I loved. I had nothing to be scared of. They had been helping me live for over 20 years, unconditionally and without hesitation. They would help me make my new challenge a breeze. We’d be working together, to build a better life for all of us.

I stumbled up the stairs, and back into the bedroom. I took off my clothes, and got back into bed with Kelly. I held her. She was still naked. I was finally hard, no longer worried. I snuggled up to her back, put myself between her legs, and hugged her close to me. I felt so warm and content, so happy. I fell asleep, very content.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, a dream came to me, a bit of a scary one. It was part of a little trip we had been doing in the late fall in Washington state.

We had bought a 1982 VW Vanagon in poor shape somewhere near Portland and we were sort of drifting up the coast with it. Somewhere in its life its seats had been removed, and we had built a platform on it and threw down a little mattress. It was tight, but it made for an ok makeshift camper. It was in several different colors, orange and green mostly, and had clearly been in more than a few fender benders.

Rachel was nervous. She was convinced a mid-to-late 80’s Chevrolet Caprice in white was following us. I kept trying to calm her about it. I wasn’t seeing one constantly, and white Chevy Caprice sedans were not exactly uncommon vehicles. The shore in northern Washington state was rather pretty, and the roads were enjoyable to drive. We took turns. Her hair was still brown then, and she was mostly happy. We were intending to turn inland and drive to Spokane over the next few days. The van seemed like it would be able to run pretty far.

Still, at the moment we were taking in the scenery on the Washington state coast, which was winding and fun, albeit slow going in the last of the air-cooled Volkswagen vans. The two liter, air-cooled, horizontally-opposed four-cylinder engine made a mere 70 hp. At over 3000 pounds, and with the aerodynamics of a brick wall, the van was four inches longer, just as wide,13 inches taller, and slightly heavier than the Dodge Caravan, but with an engine 24 hp down on even the smallest engine from that van.

It was slow, with the only saving grace being the four-speed stick, which gave it the ability to actually climb hills ... albeit slowly. Also it was vague and worn out, same as the steering, the suspension, and everything else on the 230k mile rust bucket. It was, however, only a few hundred bucks to buy so it sorta worked.

The further along the route we drove, the more I was beginning to suspect that Rachel was not being paranoid. Really, I should never have been thinking that. It was not a normal part of her personality. Anxious to be anonymous, yes, but that’s not paranoia. With the way we live our lives, being fingered as what we were would be a disaster that would probably land us in jail or a sanitarium. It’s not paranoia if they are really out to get you.

“It’s not a Caprice, it’s an Impala,” I said, “White, missing a hubcap on the driver’s side, mud covered front plate.”

“Yuh see it tuh, huh?”

“I do now,” I responded, “I’ve seen it a few too many times over the past 30 minutes. Bear left up ahead onto the Mukilteo Speedway.”

Rachel made the turn at the last second without signaling, causing the van to veer a little bit and rock from side to side. Stability was not a feature of the VW Vanagon. The Impala went the other way. We pulled over at a coffee shop, and got cups of coffee.

“I told you,” I said, “You’re being paranoid.”

“Maybe,” she said, “But I got a bad feelin’, yuh know what I’m sayin’?”

We pulled back on to the road, and passed 80th street ... where a white 1984 Chevrolet Impala with a missing front drivers hub cap pulled onto the road behind us.

“You’re not paranoid,” I said, “There it is again. Who the hell would be following us?”

“Maybe its a coppuh?”

“No way,” I said, “It’s too old, cop cars aren’t in service for 8 or 9 years. And they replace fallen off hubcaps, and they don’t leave dents in them, either.”

Also, if the police were interested in us, they wouldn’t be following us in just one car. This was the only car that kept popping up on my radar.

“There’s a ferry at the end of this road, take it.”

“What if he follows us on tuh de ferry, or what?”

“That would make it interesting, wouldn’t it?”

“We need tuh lose dis guy! Okay?”

“We’ll lose him, trust me.”

We got to the ferry terminal just as the half-hourly ferry was boarding at the Mukilteo terminal. We bought the ticket and drove the car onto the ferry. I watched behind us and the Impala followed us onboard. It was only a twenty minute ride, and we elected to stay in our car. So did the Impala driver. They were four cars behind us, so I was hoping I could lose them when we got to the other end of the ferry.

“Who de hell is he, or what?” Rachel asked, “I mean nobody knows who we are, who de hell could he be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I replied, “Probably somebody we messed with somewhere. I guess our anonymity isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe I could sneak back dere and-”

“If he’s following us,” I said, “He’ll be watching our van carefully. He’ll see you.”

“It won’t mattuh if I stop him from followin’ us,” she countered.

“The ferry is too crowded, and you can’t kill everyone you suspect might be following you. We’re not even 100% sure he is.”

“Like 99%, okay?”

“Me too, but its 1% too little.”

The ferry came in and we booked it, but he was right behind us as we kept following state road 525. It wasn’t hidden anymore, it was an open tail. It was outright scary, actually. 525 became 20 at Keystone, and I was scared of taking the next ferry, so we continued going north. He was now making us fully aware he was following us, which means whatever his intentions, he would not be so subdued.

The scenery was still pretty nice but was getting wasted on us as we were afraid of him catching us at this point. We knew nothing about him; we didn’t know if he had a gun. We didn’t want to bring our knives to a gun fight. We didn’t know his intentions. We just knew he was clearly following us.

We got to an intersection near Whitney and made a way-too-sharp and fast turn against traffic onto Bayview-Edison Rd. We finally made a left onto the Samish Island Rd, and he followed. He had gotten a bit behind us at the veer onto Bayview Edison, but his car seemed to have the police-package 5.7 V8, meaning it had at least double the horsepower our van had. I was frankly relieved he hadn’t tried to ram us, yet.

We finally came to the end of the road, and a currently abandoned Camp Kirby. It was late fall, and I guess the camp was seasonal. Anyway, we were at a dead end, so we were going to at least figure out who the devil he was.

I was no longer 99% sure, of course. I was now 100% sure that the person was following us.

We both got out of the van and faced the Impala. We both recognized the man immediately when he got out of his car. The little bearded southern man stuck well in our memories. How the hell he found us on the other side of the damned country is a better question.