Chapter Twenty #2
“Just one,” George said.
I hoped it wasn’t a setup of some kind. Like bringing me to the dock or something to see Janite.
I hadn’t spoken with her. She hadn’t reached out to me, either, though she probably wasn’t reaching out at all.
I was mad at her, I guess. For all the ways her life had weighed on you.
For planning to move, for not saving you.
But we headed out toward Gas Works Park and North Lake Union.
I caught sight of the lake and forced my eyes back toward George’s car.
I watched the map on the GPS, because I might accidentally see your dock, or the places we used to bring food for a picnic.
That mini-mart, even. Where we stopped to grab some sodas.
It was dangerous out here. Every corner was a precipice I might fall off, into some memory, terrible and perfect.
We pulled up to a marine supply store, and George idled at the curb. “Just some random stop?” I asked.
“Just some random stop,” he confirmed.
I didn’t usually come here, probably because my route was in the evening, so I didn’t often go to businesses, just homes. I pulled the pizza from the bag. The Papa Angelo’s menu was taped to the top. I saw the Sarafina, and my eyes pricked with tears. “Okay,” I said.
“Hood,” he reminded me.
I yanked my hood down. It was a rule. We didn’t want to scare anyone, looking like some burglar.
I hurried, because once the pizza was out of the bag, it got cold, fast. The door chimed as I entered.
There were shelves of sailing stuff, and pieces and parts that I didn’t recognize. Stuff that kept you afloat, I guess.
A young guy was behind the counter. “Hey! Nice!” he said when he saw me. He gave me a huge smile.
“One extra-large Arturo?”
“That’s us. Skylar!” he called over his shoulder. “Pizza’s here!”
I handed him the box. His eyes were super blue, happy. Lots of meat and cheese could do that. “Have a great day,” I said.
“Thanks! Hey, wait. Here.” He handed me one of their stickers. It featured the outline of a sailboat. Seas the day! with Moore Marine Supply in tiny letters at the bottom.
I smiled my thanks. The door chimes marked my exit, and then I was back in George’s Subaru. I shoved the sticker in my pocket.
“We done?”
“Yup. Good job.”
George drove me back home. I remembered to hand him back Cora’s gloves. My hands felt weirdly bare without them. Unprotected. I pretty much poured myself out of the car, hauled my body back up to my room, dumped my coat on the floor, and was back in my pajamas and bed in seconds.
But George honked his horn. Another time, another. Damn it. I had to get up again. I looked out my window.
He was just there, waving.
Okay, you people, okay. I waved back. The world was still there, like it or not.
The next day, we did two deliveries. A Maurizio to the bookstore across from Green Lake, and four Sarafinas to a little day care nearby.
The Sarafina was becoming a kid favorite, with options to swap out the anchovies for other ingredients that were more child-friendly.
In the bookstore, I was surrounded by the comforting, watery smell of crisp pulp, and the covers invited me to open them.
At the day care, I spotted a lone, optimistic dandelion, oddly flowering in January, a tiny yellow sun in the grass.
One of the kids must have been having a birthday.
In the playroom, the little guy wore a hat and a paper lei, and another tiny little girl in a Frozen outfit ran to me, screeching, “Cheese peet-ZZA!”
“Four Sarafinas, no anchovies?” I said to the woman in the Sunbeam Day Care apron.
“Orange-pepper smile?” she asked.
I checked the order. “Orange-pepper smile,” I confirmed.
If you could have seen this…I choked up. But George was beeping his horn for me to hurry.
On day three, three deliveries. I took a shower before I met George.
He drove me to the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research offices, where I brought two extra-large Romas.
Across the street, Lake Union buzzed, busy even in winter.
The Center for Wooden Boats was right over there, and my throat cinched tight seeing it.
Chester had called and left a message saying that everyone was thinking about me, too, but I didn’t call back.
I wasn’t sure I deserved those thoughts.
I jogged back toward George’s car. He was in a loading zone, so we had to rush even more.
We delivered to an apartment, a door with a wooden welcome sign hanging from it, and a welcome mat that read, Hi, I’m Mat.
“Margherita for a Margaret?” the woman who answered said.
“Yep,” I said. “That’s my name, too,” I told her.
We chatted for a second about all the ways people misspelled it, but I had to get going.
We had an Arturo to get to our next place, a tiny Craftsman a few streets over.
It was an old lady’s house, and her television was blaring.
She handed me a cookie on a napkin in thanks.
I patted her dog’s head as he stood on the porch.
Kids and old ladies, people at work, a dandelion, a party hat, a double welcome, a dog.
I’d been so silly, and my father knew this all along, I was sure. It wasn’t the pizza that cured you, that saved you. It was the connection.