Waiting

Rain pounds on the metal roof above my attic sleeping spot, where I'm reading in bed. No boat, and no word. Charley must be caught up somewhere, unable to send a message for the last several days. We're still packed to leave on short notice, totes in the way in the middle of the main room and all our backpacks leaned up together.

Rick has a list: roof and new tarpaper on the woodshed, dismantling the deck of the old torn-down house, a test for the rubber dinghy's bilge system, going fishing. When I get up he reads out the litany of things we can do instead of waiting around. I eat breakfast; he leaves for a hike.

Some time after Ryan is up, we hear motor sounds: a little gray dinghy, headed to our beach from across the bay. The two figures onboard resolve: my cousin Caitlyn in the bow and aunt Bonnie with news: she's heard from Charley. He's "in town", which must be Juneau for the texts to go through. Good news.

Bonnie and Caitlyn visit inside for most of an hour as the rain pounds down, but Rick is still out hiking when the tide comes up to float their boat, so they head out. Not much later, Rick comes around the point on the beach. He's had word too; his hike goes up above the current snow line to grant line of sight to a cell tower. Once Charley gets ice and bait, he'll be on his way to us.

Fishing boats aren’t built for speed; the Ocean Aire is reckoned to reach Pelican around midnight tonight. So we still lounge by the fire, make latkes in the cast iron pan, watch the eagles and the goose keep their daily routes across the beach. But tomorrow, for real this time, we’re almost sure: off to the grand adventure.

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