Chapter 3
Dawn stood behind the register of the Forgotten Hug and rang up a purchase. Her shop’s location on Third Avenue saw a steady stream of customers flowing from the Harper Landing-Port Inez ferry. Today was Saturday, and the antique store hummed with customers. She’d sold three Nordic sweaters for two hundred dollars a pop, plus a vintage Pendleton blanket from the 1980s.
Wool items always held their value well in the Pacific Northwest, unless they were moth-ridden. The Forgotten Hug smelled like orange oil and lavender because Dawn tucked sachets in every nook and cranny she could find. They protected her merchandise and helped combat the funky smell of antique furniture.
“Thank you and come again.” Dawn handed a brown paper sack to the woman with short gray hair and bright-red lipstick.
“I will.” The lady opened the sack and peeked inside at the dishtowel she had purchased. “My neighbor has these hanging in her kitchen, and I thought they were so cute I had to come in and get some for myself.”
“I believe in ferries,” Dawn said with a wink.
The Forgotten Hug’s dishtowel line, which displayed the Harper Landing-Port Inez ferry with the unofficial town motto, “I believe in ferries,” was so popular it proved difficult to keep them in stock. But they were just one of many items her customers coveted. The Forgotten Hug had something for everyone, from mid-century modern bookshelves to pump organs with candle holders to typewriters to Nancy Drew books. Brightly-colored Fiesta Ware also flew off the shelves, although Dawn never purchased any Fiesta dishes made earlier than 1972 because they could be radioactive due to the uranium oxide glaze. She was originally from Kennewick, in eastern Washington, and took radioactivity seriously. Dawn’s father had worked for a Department of Energy contractor at the Hanford Site, a decommissioned nuclear production complex on the Columbia River, for thirty-two years.
Jim Maddox’s job had been to help clean up nuclear waste in the almost two hundred underground tanks. Eighteen months after Jim retired, he died of dementia and unexplained respiratory problems. Dawn and her sister, Wendy, split a one-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar payout from his death as part of the Energy Employees Occupational Illness Compensation Program. Wendy used her money to buy a house in Kennewick, where she worked as a hairdresser. Dawn took her half and turned her Etsy shop into a full-fledged store.
“I might be back later today to look at those quilts,” the customer said. “I need to bring a wallpaper sample with me to see if the colors will match.”
“I hope you do,” said Dawn. “I love when those quilts find good homes. A lady up in Skagiton makes them for me.”
“Quilting is an art I’ve never mastered.” The lady held out her hand to shake. “I’m Liz Anker,” she said. “I’m opening the yarn shop where the Sugar Factory used to be.”
“Hip To Knit?” Dawn eagerly shook the woman’s hand. “I’m thrilled that’s going in. My name’s Dawn. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“I know who you are.” Liz grinned. “I saw your picture in the Seattle Times this morning.”
“Oh.” Dawn flushed. “That.”
“You and your daughter brought up great points about protecting the beach.”
“My daughter’s still worked up about it and wants to know what we’re doing next.” Dawn rested her hands on the counter. “But I’m not sure.”
“You’ll think of something.” Liz waved her hand around the store. “Creativity flows in your bones. I can tell.”
“Thanks. I’ll save you a seat at the chamber of commerce meeting next Monday. Are you coming?”
Liz nodded. “My first one.” She stepped aside so Dawn could help another customer who waited in line.
The next hour blurred by with numerous transactions as the farmer’s market crowd began strolling in. Dawn was happy for the business but also felt overwhelmed. One of these days, she would hire an assistant, but her budget couldn’t support one yet. The Forgotten Hug was only a year old. Renovation expenses from turning the former ballet studio into an antique shop had been expensive. Her landlord, Julia Harper, owned the building, but Dawn had been responsible for cosmetic refurbishments inside. Building up her inventory had taken funds as well. Dawn hated debt and rarely used credit because it was something that her parents used to argue about. She paid with cash whenever possible and always kept a good amount on hand for estate sales, where she found most of her goods.
Throughout it all, Dawn felt lucky that her family had been so supportive. Sierra thought it was cool that her mom ran her own business, and Dawn’s ex-husband, Mark St. James, had helped with legal details, like rental agreements and forming her LLC. A litigation lawyer from Seattle, Mark was pretty much her opposite. He was a minimalist. Dawn preferred an explosion of colors and patterns. Mark enjoyed five-course meals paired with expensive wines. Dawn would rather relax at a backyard barbecue with a bottle of beer. The list went on and on.
But when it came to their daughter, she and Mark almost always agreed. They wanted Sierra to be happy. They encouraged her to explore her passions, which changed as frequently as her nail polish. Most importantly, Dawn and Mark wanted their daughter to know their family would always be intact, even though it looked different than others. That was important to Dawn because she was also a child of divorce. She and her mom had moved to Harper Landing in middle school, but her sister had stayed in Kennewick with their dad. Growing up, Dawn had always felt different—and not in a good way. She didn’t want Sierra to feel that angst too.
“Excuse me,” said a woman wearing a baby in a sling. Fresh flowers and a canvas bag of groceries from the farmers market overflowed the stroller she pushed. “Are you the woman from that Facebook post on Harper Landing Moms?”
Dawn looked up from the register. “What post?” She hadn’t looked at her phone that morning beyond checking in with Mark, since Sierra was at his house this weekend.
“The one about the beach.”
The woman’s baby had curly black hair and gummed the fabric of the sling so intently that a huge drool stain had developed.
“Oh.” Dawn nodded. “Probably. Was it the newspaper article?”
“No, but someone shared that in the comments. The post was a picture of you and your daughter standing up to the mayor and council members.” The woman adjusted the sling’s position across her shoulder. “Melanie Knowles shared it. We’re on the board of the Orca Street Preschool together.”
A small head poked out from behind the flowers and other farmers market goodies stashed in the stroller. “I wanna go to preschool,” said the chubby-faced toddler. “When’s preschool, Mommy?” He held a sippy cup of what Dawn hoped was water because droplets flew across the wood floor every time he waved his hands.
“It’s July, sweetie.” The mom bent down and tightened the lid of the sippy cup. “Preschool’s on vacation.” She straightened. “Anyhow, I wanted to say thank you for standing up for the beach. If I can do anything to help the cause, let me know.”
“Will do.” Dawn smiled, unsure of what else to say. Seeing Sierra’s picture in the paper had been exciting, but so far, Dawn hadn’t planned anything beyond yesterday’s impromptu protest. Sierra loved to be the center of attention, unlike her mother. It would be different if there were a script to read or choreography to perform. Dawn had danced in high school and loved being part of an ensemble. But grab the mic and step into the spotlight alone? No way.
But she had to find a way. Her daughter was counting on her to protect the beach. Apparently, so was the woman standing in front of her, along with the people who had commented on the Facebook post Dawn still hadn’t seen. What was she going to do?
“Safety’s important,” said the woman, “but there are other ways to accomplish it besides destroying the most beautiful spot in town.” Her baby started fussing, and she sighed. “I better go before we miss nap time.”
“Thanks for stopping by.” Dawn waved as the woman walked away then whipped out her phone. There was a lull between customers, and if she hurried, she could read the post on Harper Landing Moms.
It wasn’t hard to find, considering that it floated at the top of the feed and had four hundred likes and over two hundred comments.
“What can we do to help?”
“How did we not know what was happening?”
“What could the mayor possibly be thinking?”
There were more questions than answers. But the picture garnered the most attention. Melanie had photographed Dawn and Sierra from a different angle than the Seattle Times had caught. Sierra’s mouth was open mid-speech, and the passion in her eyes made her look like an eleven-year-old warrior princess with her dress billowing behind her in the wind. Dawn’s expression emoted softness. She gazed at Sierra with her hand on her daughter’s back. It was a position of support, a mother guiding her child to do brave things.
Goosebumps ran down her arms when she looked at it. Could Dawn do brave things? Was it possible for her to be as fierce as her daughter?
Yesterday, when Dawn had confronted those people at the press conference, it hadn’t originally been to protect the beach. It had been to shield her child. Dawn’s blood boiled when she thought of that city-council-wannabe Brittany Barrows calling Sierra an idiot or Will Gladstone, the smarmy property developer with the Colgate smile, telling Sierra that her concerns meant nothing. At least the hunky firefighter had behaved professionally. Captain Berg had made a good case for why a safety solution was needed, even though Dawn disagreed with his conclusion.
What would she do next, if anything? Dawn had no idea. She voted but didn’t consider herself political. She recycled but wasn’t particularly environmentally conscious. Despite the past twenty years she’d spent living in western Washington, Dawn remained an eastern Washington woman at heart. She’d rather pick apples than hug trees or go to the gun range instead of a wine-tasting room. Her parents had raised her to believe that people in authority usually knew what they were talking about. That point of view had driven Mark nuts back when they were married.
Now, here she was, raising the poster child for the Save the Beach movement right here in Harper Landing. Maybe she was wrong to question the town officials about the safety bridge. Perhaps she should have told Sierra to be quiet and keep walking to the car yesterday, instead of interrupting the press conference.
“You do you, and I’ll do me,” her own mother had taught her. Beth Maddox lived an hour and a half away in Mount Vernon and worked at an outlet mall. They hardly ever saw her because Beth had so many hobbies. Dawn didn’t need to call her mom to know what advice she would offer. “Stay out of it,” Beth would say. “You can’t change anything, so don’t bother trying.”
But as Dawn read comment after comment from other women in Harper Landing, she saw that lots of people agreed with Sierra. The Harper Landing Beach was worth protecting. The decision to build a safety bridge had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere. The community wanted time to sort this out before construction began. The people needed a leader, and as much as Dawn wanted to leap out of the spotlight and yell “Not it,” she seemed to be the person they were looking to for guidance.
Dawn took a deep breath and turned off her phone. She was grateful to have customers to help because making sales cleared her head. The next four hours in the shop passed by in a blur. Dawn rang up sales, dusted with her microfiber mitt, and folded tea towels. She also rearranged a collection of leather-bound classics on the bookshelf next to the gumball machine.
When closing time came, Dawn locked the front door and packed up merchandise for her Etsy shop. She’d sold two more Nordic sweaters online that afternoon. At this rate, she’d run out of knitwear unless she spent a solid weekend hitting estate sales in Seattle. Ballard was the best neighborhood for finding the vintage sweaters, since it had a large Scandinavian community.
Dawn signed out of her Etsy account and was about to turn off her computer when she saw a private message from Melanie.
Your portrait gallery will be ready next week , she said. I’m still editing them.
Thanks, Dawn replied. No rush.
Did you see how much support you and Sierra got on Harper Landing Moms?
I did. Dawn grimaced. But I’m not sure what to do next.
How about an online petition?
That could work. Dawn had seen friends share petitions online, but she had never signed one. Wait. That wasn’t true. She remembered filling out a petition to encourage the school district to purchase Chromebooks for every student. It didn’t seem fair to her that lack of access to technology should hold kids back. Like a Hear Our Voice petition? Dawn asked.
Exactly! A few seconds later, Melanie attached a picture of the beach. Here’s an image you can use.
Thx. Dawn waited for the thumbs-up sign from Melanie before she left the chat window. She hated not knowing when online conversations were officially over.
Once it felt polite to leave, she clicked over to HearOurVoice.com and created a free account. That was the easy part. Uploading Melanie’s picture was simple too. But when it came to the writing section, Dawn chewed on her bottom lip while she thought. She wasn’t a great writer, but she’d learned how to write ad copy for her Etsy store. The headline mattered the most. “Blue-and-White Wool Sweater with Pewter Buttons” would linger in the online shop for months. “Viking Sweater for Badass Babes” would sell almost as soon as she posted it.
Dawn’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she waited for inspiration. “Save Harper Landing Beach,” she wrote in the heading box. “Don’t let politicians and property developers destroy Mother Nature. Sign the petition to tell Mayor Eliza Jordan and the Harper Landing city council to find a different safety solution, one that doesn’t ruin our shoreline.”
Dawn massaged her temples and stared at the screen. Should she have put a semicolon in that last sentence? She wasn’t sure. Oh well, she thought with a shrug. Probably only a few hundred people would see it anyway. She clicked the submit button and copied the link. A couple of minutes later, she’d posted the petition on Harper Landing Moms and on her own personal Facebook Page. She powered off her computer. It was Saturday night, and she had things to do.
Dawn treasured her daughter, but she also valued her alone time. Every weekend when Sierra went to Mark’s house, Dawn created a personal retreat for herself. Sometimes, she’d watch a film at the old-time theater on Main Street, especially if there was a new Disney movie showing. If she could get a group of friends together, they’d have dinner at the Western Cedar and watch The Monte Cristos perform jazz. Tonight, Dawn’s plans revolved around the beach, and not just because of what had happened yesterday. She’d been plotting all week to order takeout from the Nuthatch Bakery and eat dinner on the shoreline. The sun wouldn’t set until almost nine p.m., so she had plenty of daylight left to enjoy the evening.
After dropping off her Etsy packages at the post office, Dawn walked up Main Street to the Nuthatch. A mechanical bird tweeted when she opened the door, and the fragrance of cinnamon and spice enveloped her. Dawn joined the long line of customers that stood in front of the display case and read the chalkboard menu. Maybe she’d get a grilled chicken salad and unsweetened mango iced tea. After dinner at the beach, she could swing by the gym. Dawn was exhausted, but her pants felt annoyingly tight. She longed for her twenties when she didn’t have to worry so much about carbs.
The line creeped past the display case of baked goods. Snickerdoodles the size of her hand were stacked neatly in a row, dusted with sugar. Cheddar-and-chive biscuits in brown parchment wrappers tempted from behind the glass. A lonely cinnamon roll called out for a lover who would bring it home for the night. Dawn forced herself to look away before she started drooling. She pulled out her phone to distract her.
An email from Hear Our Voice thanked her for starting a petition and asked for a fifty-donation to support their platform. Dawn hit the delete button and kept scrolling. Another email contained an automatic Craigslist alert notifying her of an estate sale in Ballard next Saturday. Dawn scanned the details and zeroed in on the words “sweater collection.” That sounded promising. She was just about to click over to Facebook when she reached the front of the line.
“I’ll have a grilled brie sandwich with a Caesar salad and a chocolate brownie,” Dawn blurted before she could stop herself. “No, wait.” She held out her hand, feeling the need to show a modest amount of restraint. “Please put the dressing on the side.”
“It’s always on the side,” said the girl behind the counter. “That way, the croutons don’t get mushy.”
“Your croutons are the best.” Dawn fished out her credit card.
“We bake them in house.” The clerk finished the transaction and handed Dawn a pager. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
“Thanks.” Dawn took the pager. She strode over to the beverage bar and picked up a pitcher of water.
“Do you want some wawa?” asked a friendly voice.
Dawn turned around to see who had spoken and narrowly missed having the pitcher yanked out of her hands by a squirming toddler. Dawn blinked and started to move the pitcher away, but it was too late. The boy plunged his fist into the water, which splashed her in the face. She was soaked.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry.” Julia Harper, Dawn’s landlord, wrangled the toddler off the pitcher. “No, Jack,” she said in a stern voice. “That’s naughty.” Julia’s blond hair hung in a droopy ponytail and her pink T-shirt had an unexplained stain on the shoulder, but she appeared as fresh faced and naturally beautiful as ever.
“It’s okay.” Dawn passed the pitcher over the counter to a server.
Jack whined, and Julia bounced from one foot to the other, trying to shush him. “He’s not normally this cranky,” she explained. “We got back from Europe a week ago, but he’s still jet lagged.”
Jack lunged for the bowl of lemon slices and almost knocked Julia off balance.
“Sleep changes are hard.” Dawn picked up a lemon slice with tongs. “Can he have one? It might keep him busy until they bring fresh wawa.”
Julia laughed. “Good idea.” She took the fruit and gave it to Jack.
He bit into it hungrily but then immediately made a sour face, puckering up with such shock and outrage that both women giggled.
“I can tell you’ve done this before,” said Julia.
“Sierra was once a toddler too,” said Dawn. “It seems like forever ago, but also like yesterday.” She felt a pang of sadness. Dawn had always wanted more children, but now that she was approaching forty with no partner in sight, a new baby seemed like a dream that would never come true.
The clerk returned with fresh water, and Dawn poured Jack a small glass and a tall one for Julia.
“Can I help bring these to your table?” Dawn asked. “It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” Julia smiled. “I’m here with my in-laws. Well, kind of my in-laws. It’s hard to explain.”
Dawn knew Julia from her rental agreement and as the owner of Sweet Bliss, the froyo shop, but they weren’t close. She followed her to a table where a handsome man was disinfecting a high chair with wipes. An older couple sat in their chairs and watched.
“This is my husband, Aaron Baxter,” said Julia, “and Jack’s grandparents, Martha and Frank Reynolds. Family, this is Dawn Maddox, who owns the Forgotten Hug on Third Avenue.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Aaron as he scrubbed the highchair.
“I love your store,” Martha said with enthusiasm. Her curly hair was cropped short, and her jacket matched her pants. “I bought a sweater there last week.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Dawn set the waters on the table. “I’ll go get some more glasses.”
“You don’t have to do that,” said Julia.
“Martha,” Frank mumbled.
“What, dear?” Martha turned to look at him.
“Why are we here?” Frank asked.
Martha patted his hand. “We’re eating dinner with Aaron and Julia,” she said loudly enough that Dawn wondered if Frank had hearing loss.
“I’m ready for him now.” Aaron held out his hands for Jack.
“Good.” Julia passed the boy over. “My arms are about to drop off.”
A pager went off, and Dawn looked down to see if it was hers, but it wasn’t.
“Oh boy,” said Martha. “That’s us.” She picked up the pager and stood.
“I can get it,” said Julia, who was still standing.
“It’ll take both of us.” Martha pushed in her chair. Frank stood to follow her, but she pulled his elbow down.
“You stay with us, Frank,” said Aaron as he slid the high chair closer to the table. “Jack wants time with his grandpa.”
“Okie dokie,” said Frank.
Jack, gnawing at the lemon, stared at Frank with wide eyes.
Dawn’s pager went off too, and she waved. “Nice to meet you all,” she said. “Welcome home from Europe.” She slipped away, eager to walk to the beach and enjoy her meal.
Dawn couldn’t imagine traveling to Europe with a baby. She enjoyed camping and would love to visit all fifty states but had zero interest in international travel. Dawn would have made an exception for Disneyland Paris but had never been able to talk Mark into it.
Her food was waiting for her on the counter. The grilled cheese smelled delicious through the compostable cardboard. Dawn picked up her dinner and went back to the water station to get a to-go cup. She was just snapping on the lid when a loud clatter from across the room startled her.
“Frank!” Julia cried. “Are you okay?”
Dawn whipped around to see what had happened. Julia and Martha stood by their table, their arms loaded with trays. Martha’s tray was empty and had tilted, the food it had held scattered across the floor. Frank had one hand on the empty tray as he lurched forward, looking as though he might collapse onto the table. Jack started bawling.
“I feel woozy,” Frank cried. “So woozy.”
“Call 911!” Aaron shouted. “He might be having a heart attack.”
Dawn set down her drink and took out her phone. Her peaceful evening on the beach would need to wait.
“Hello,” she said when the dispatcher picked up. “Please send an ambulance to the Nuthatch Bakery on Main Street right away.”