Summer Season
by Mab
Blair had said that they had to go see the lighthouse, because it was a Naomi thing. “When I was - oh, god, must have been seven, and Naomi and I did this road trip, and she told me all about lighthouses, and the danger of the seas. I swear, man, she should have made a living as a professional storyteller.” And Jim had nodded encouragingly because it was a relief to see Blair being enthusiastic again. There had been way too much determination recently and not near enough enthusiasm.
The route they travelled was - undulating. That was definitely the word. But not so green. It was mid-January, early mid-summer, and already the land of this eastern coast was turning brown underneath a shimmering blue sky.
“You're supposed to keep left, man.”
Jim's eyes rolled behind the shades he wore against the glare. “I'm not planning on having a wreck any time soon. I just didn't like the look of that piece of the shoulder.”
“Yeah, sorry. Feels so weird being on the left side of the car and not driving.”
Jim negotiated the next bend. “That's the fifth time.”
“What?” Blair asked in distraction, his head bent over the guidebook in his lap.
“Twice in Christchurch, once in Queenstown, once in Franz. That you've said how weird it is to be in a right-hand drive car.” Jim's voice wore amused resignation.
Blair shrugged. “So I find it hard to let go of ideas sometimes.”
“Ya don't say,” Jim drawled, all incredulity.
A middle finger waved in his direction, and was ignored.
They crested a hill.
“Would you look at that,” Blair breathed in awe.
“It's the ocean, Sandburg. It's the same Pacific that you can see at home.”
It was glorious, but Jim was feeling hot and head-achey, the way he had for much of the trip. But it was only a headache and he had a theory about that now, anyway. He was looking forward to the right moment for springing his theory on the little professor in the left hand passenger seat.
“Not in this light.” Blair stared out at the blue of sky and sea meeting at a shining horizon.
Jim grunted, a little ashamed of his grumpiness. It was just a headache. Another couple of miles on, the road began a twisting descent to the coastline. “Now there's something they never mention in the tourist brochures,” Jim muttered, indicating a small sign that read, 'Warning. Tsunami inundation zone'.
Blair laughed. “Don't get smug. It's not as if good old Washington State doesn't have a few warnings here and there. Cascade might get washed away one day.”
“Something to look forward to.”
“I've always wondered if you'd sense major catastrophes like that. There's some evidence that animals sense earthquakes and big waves – whether by noise or sensing atmospheric changes or whatever.” He looked at Jim over his own sunglasses. “Not as if you wouldn't be equipped to deal with that.”
“Fine, Chief. We'll wait for the next time something in the Cascades goes for the big boom and I'll tell you if I sense any atmospheric changes.”
Blair raised his eyes to the roof of the car, as if to beg of the fates why they'd cursed him with a smart-ass sentinel.
“Ah, great, this must be Ngawi.”
“And this would be good, why?” Because it was a tiny fishing village with boxy houses crawling up the hill and Jim saw nothing to recommend it, except of course for the –
“Restroom. Right there. Stop now, man.”
“Yeah, sure Chief. Because, after all,” but Blair had already galloped for the small shed, “it's not as if that wasn't a real big café latte you had at the last stop.” Jim smirked, secure in the possession of a militarily trained bladder.
Blair returned.
“You do know that real men do it by the side of the road?” Jim enquired.
“I don't see you whizzing over the balcony first thing in the morning back home.” Blair pointed ahead. “Seals and lighthouse thataway. Or,” and he jerked a finger sideways to a small picnic area on the other side of the road, “ we could have an early lunch.
“I'm still stuffed. Seals and lighthouse – thisaway.”
The narrow coastal road became a narrow coastal track, flanked on the left by amazingly steep hills rising from a strip of flat land. “It's here, Jim, at least I think it is. Because that's sure as hell the lighthouse up there, and the woman at the information centre said it was just before the lighthouse.”
The lighthouse stood pale and sturdy, perched part of the way up the precipitous hills.
Jim shrugged. “Easy enough to check.” He stepped out of the car, and stood still, looking out across sandy land sprinkled with grass clumps and outcrops of rock; listening. He smiled at Blair. “I can hear them, Chief. Grab the binocs.”
The day further inland had promised still and burning heat and the breeze coming off the water took only a little edge off the warmth. Jim breathed deep of sea smell and Blair smell, as the two of them tramped across sandy ground interspersed with spiny grass and some bulbous-leaved plant he'd never seen before. Jim reached out a hand to bar Blair's way.
“Not that way, Sandburg,” he murmured.
“It'd be quicker ,” Blair said, his own voice soft, but he looked at Jim with expectant trust.
“One of them's asleep just over the rise there. And you do not want to get between one of those guys and the sea.”
Blair smiled in pleasure at this evidence of the sentinel at one with nature and the two of them finally found a suitable rocky perch to look down on the inlet. There were perhaps five seals basking in the heat, coats gleaming like melting chocolate under the sun. They stirred sometimes to unsweetly bark and bellow. More were playing in the water, their dark sleekness lost sometimes against the kelp that heaved with the small swell. Blair lowered the heavy binoculars and leaned his head against the rock, face lifted to the sky. There was only the muted rush of the water and the cries of a few gulls.
“Enjoying yourself?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, this was totally a great idea.” Blair watched for a while without the binoculars, one of his hands in a loose and sweaty grip in Jim's.
“Let's go up to the lighthouse,” Blair said eventually, and they stalked with goofy mock-Hiawatha stealth away from the beach.
Jim squinted up the narrow wooden steps going perhaps a hundred, a hundred and fifty feet up the hill. “After you, Hilary.”
“Next time we climb up to some lookout, I get to watch your ass.”
Busted. Not that Jim cared. He had no complaints about having his own scenic wonder along with him. “Deal.”
At the top they paused to read the plaque attached to the lighthouse's red and white painted wall and then propped themselves together to admire the view.
“South Island over there,” Jim said.
“The South Island, Jimbo.”
“Dunno why they have to have an article. Not like anyone's going to mistake it for any other island.”
“Little things matter sometimes.”
“Like you not calling me Jimbo.” Jim poked admonitory fingers into Blair's ribs.
Blair snorted, and then quieted as he contemplated land and water.
“Mom would have loved this.”
Jim felt a vaguely nervous relief. After five months of obliquely not mentioning that Naomi was gone, when in the end this whole damn trip was about that – her unmet plans, her unfulfilled daydreams and her legacy to her son, it was about time that Blair did acknowledge it; outside of such context such as 'I paid the funeral director' or 'she left how much money?'.
“Yeah,” Jim said, because he could just see Naomi ecstatically inhaling while turning a smiling face into the wind.
Blair positioned himself a little more securely under the arm around his shoulder and said, “I miss her.”
“She was your mom, Chief.”
Blair sighed, and moved so that he was more leaning back against Jim than beside him.
“You know what I thought when they played that damn song?” That damn song being 'Turn Turn' by the Byrds; apparently Naomi's idea of an appropriate crematorium musical theme. Jim had blanked the irritation out of his face and simply kept a tight hold on Blair's hand as the coffin disappeared behind the curtain. He always had been more of a 'rage against the dying of the light' sort of man himself.
“I thought, I'm not ready for this season.”
Jim had no words so he tucked his arm a little more tightly across Blair's chest. He could see how the water swirled in different patterns around the rocks out to sea. Too many rocks and reefs and never enough lighthouses.
Blair said nothing more, and after a while Jim lifted his arm and pointed up the harsh, uplifted coastline.
“Home's that way.”
“I think that even someone as directionally challenged as me could work that out.”
“I figured out my headaches, Darwin. Home is exactly that way.”
Blair turned bodily and sighted down Jim's outstretched arm, as if he could see across the great Pacific all the way to Cascade.
“Oh, now that is so cool.” Jim might have suffered a little jealousy of that legendary figure, The Sentinel, if he hadn't heard just that tone of ecstatic admiration for more domestic moments, such as a good plate of chowmein, or one of his more stirring blow-jobs.
“And before you ask, I have no idea if I could have done this in Peru or Sierra Verde. This has been a little less - crisis-ridden.”
“Less crisis is good, man. I have no trouble with less crisis. I'm hoping that you have no trouble with more testing?”
Jim groaned, but it was theatrical and Blair grinned hugely.
“I'm resigning myself. You ready for the drive back, Sandburg?”
“Yeah, I guess. Guaranteed that we won't get lost.”
“So long as the road's going the right direction,” Jim replied. They walked down those vertigo-inducing steps, hand in hand.
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