Joe Burke's Last Stand Part 20

"We were camping out here last year, and we thought it would be the perfect place to get married."

They returned for the last of the chairs. A musician arrived carrying a guitar case and a battery powered amp. He unpacked and began plunking away at Bach and Vivaldi. A minister with a neatly trimmed beard stood by a large madrone oak. He was well dressed, quiet, and non-denominational to the point of disappearance. Joe, who was finding himself increasingly fond of people over fifty, engaged him in conversation. He looked as though he'd been created whole that morning in the image of the Northwest, but he admitted to being from Vermont.

That was as far as Joe could get. The minister evaded all questions about his youth, as though he had left a bad record behind--or maybe just an uncouth one.

"Hi, stranger!" Joe turned to the familiar voice.

"Ingrid," he said, opening his arms. She advanced and held him tightly for a moment before backing away with a satisfied smile. "You are looking well," Joe said, "and don't tell me it's because of your happy s.e.x life."

"It's the Mediterranean diet."

"Olive oil," he said. Ingrid had lost a few pounds, although she didn't need to. Her thick blonde hair was cut short and away from her even features. Her expression was practical and good-natured, dominated by eyes the color of transparent jade.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said.

"Ah, well."

"More serious," she said, "more gray in your mustache, thinner."

"Time's getting shorter."

"Tell me about it. I'm so happy for Kate."

"Yes, this is a good thing. It is so nice for her to have you and Max here. Did you see Maxie's giant sculpture?"

"He showed me the picture. I love it. I haven't been over to Vermont to see his land, yet. So, what have you been up to?"

Joe straightened. "This and that. I'm pretty well settled in Hawaii. I miss Portland sometimes, but . . . I've been writing a lot."

"Good," Ingrid said. "You always wanted to."

"And you?" Joe asked.

"Same old," she said cheerfully. "Selling quite a bit. I'm down to teaching one cla.s.s."

Joe bent over and looked at her earrings. A tiny woman swung from a trapeze on one ear; an elephant waited patiently under the other.

"Pretty good," he said. "A circus."

"A golden circus," Ingrid said. "I made a series. The clown is my favorite, but he's too sad for a wedding."

The chairs were filling. Joe took his seat next to Sally in the front row. Ingrid sat behind them with Max. A bridesmaid, six months pregnant, wearing a light blue flowered dress, stood prettily on the bluff, her hands clasped around lace and a bouquet of white roses.

After some minutes of suspense, Kate and Jackson walked down the aisle.

Kate was lovely in white; Jackson wore a smashing gray suit. Sally wiped away a tear. The minister smiled gravely. Vows were exchanged.

Spectacular rings, made by Jackson and a friend, were pushed on. Kate and Jackson kissed. Cameras flashed. Simple and touching. A rainbow or a pod of breaching orcas would have been too much.

They moved to the champagne table and drank toasts before departing in a convoy for the yacht club in Friday Harbor. Designated cleaners stayed behind; they would join them later.

In the club, a long table took up most of the main room. Vases of flowers were regularly s.p.a.ced along the white tablecloth. Places were set for at least sixty people, name cards at each setting. In a corner of the room, band instruments waited by empty stools.

Joe repaired to the bar in the next room. A short intense woman pouted when he ordered Glenlivet. "That's so easy."

"Are you bored? Want to practice something complicated?"

"No, that's all right." She put the whiskey in front of him with a quick smile. One Scotch and then wine. If he didn't go back to the hard stuff after dinner, he'd survive.

Roasted yellow pepper soup was followed by a salad of spinach and scallops, salmon with a thyme sauce, and risotto with wild mushrooms.

Wine servers patrolled vigilantly. Joe had a conversation about education with a teacher Kate had met on a vacation in Tibet. There were sentimental toasts, and then the band began to play. He remembered that he could dance, and he took a turn around the floor with the mother of the bride. Sally and he moved easily together out of old habit.

Time went backwards and then into slow motion as the band worked through hits of the 60's and 70's. Joe danced with anyone available, and when no one was available he danced alone. Occasionally, he went outside on a long porch to cool off in a fine drizzle that was drifting in from the harbor.

A group gathered around the wedding cake on a table at the far end of the room. Sally and Ingrid stood together looking mellow and nostalgic.

Gunnar and Bonnie were talking with friends. Max was taking pictures.

It was time to go, Joe realized. He had told Kate earlier that he would fade away at the appropriate time. He walked through the bar and said to the woman who had served him the Scotch, "Your little girl only gets married once." He went out the door and down the steps.

"Are you from around here? Seattle?"

Joe turned and looked back up at the bartender who had followed him onto the porch. "Hawaii."

"Uh--what do you do?" She was urgent. He remembered that she had been watching him dance.

"I'm a poet," he said. The words fell through the air like a sentence.

"Oh, a good one, I'm sure."

"There are only a couple of us," Joe said, drunkenly. "I've got to go now." A musician on break, watching from a corner of the porch, drew on his cigarette. The glow lit his face, a witness, someone Joe would never know. "I've got to go," Joe said. He turned and walked into the dark and the rain, leaving the younger generation and most of his life behind.

13

Joe was thirsty the next day, fuzzy, but not totaled. Dancing had worked off a lot of the booze. He caught the Clipper back to Seattle and sat silently for three hours while images and conversations flowed through his mind. The wedding had been a great success--well organized, yes--but mostly because Kate and Jackson were a good match and because they and their friends all had the same att.i.tude: let's have a good time; let's do it right. It was a relief after the weddings he'd been to that were dominated by ancient family feuds and personal problems.

On the other hand, no flying plates, no loud exits, no sobbing? He wondered if maybe he hadn't missed something. It was too bad that his father and Ann hadn't been there. Probably, he should call and see how they were. Kate would check in, no doubt; she and his father had a warm and easy relationship.

The Clipper docked mid-afternoon, and he checked in at his home away from home. His mind was too busy for sleep, so he took his notebook down to the bar and sipped a beer by the window.

"The writer," a voice said in a husky contralto. Joe looked up. The woman in a wheelchair who had watched him on Thursday was rolling slowly by.

"Hi," Joe said. Her face was sad and intense. Her eyes were large, brown, and circular behind round gla.s.ses. Her hair was light brown, shoulder length. Her coloring was warm, slightly flushed, whether from makeup or not he couldn't tell. She wore a light cotton blouse with bark colored b.u.t.tons down the front. Her lap was covered by a blanket with a Southwestern motif.

She stopped. "I saw you in here the other night. What are you writing, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, closing the notebook. "Just notes. My daughter got married this weekend."

"Ah."

"Want a beer or something?" He felt like talking. She turned towards the table, and he moved a chair out of the way.

"Thank you." The bartender came over. "The usual," she said. He brought her a glistening martini. "I like a vodka martini about this time. Was it a nice wedding?"