He of course had no work during his recuperation but his learning to which he was devoted. In response he put the book of early island history aside. He was studying the history of the place, what grew in each micro-climate, when it bloomed if it did, the resident birds, the migratory visitors, what was in the sea and what was beside it, the terrestrial life, the mammals, the invertebrates, the habits of each and their place in the order of things. It was an ambition.

Looking up at Haley’s face in an unguarded moment, the symmetry of it was pleasing, and the slight round of it and the softness in it had the look of caring. She was only 32 and beautiful. In her smile he saw the residue of pain. Lately, she was always very welcoming and when he looked at her it was starting to feel like Irish cream in his coffee. That 4th of July in 1994 passed through his mind again. He nodded.

“Of course,” he said “What’s up?”

“It’s about Ben,” she said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ben Anderson’s lady friend and personal assistant, Sarah, approaching, the fourth member of their little family. Sarah was an attractive, forty-five-year-old redhead who looked in her late 30s and always had a good word at the right moment. She was sincere, soft spoken, and liked corny jokes. Additionally she was a fitness fanatic and had the strong elastic body to prove it.

“I assume Sarah’s arrival is no coincidence,” he said.
Ben, Haley, Sarah, Sam and Haley’s best friend Rachel had created something of an extended family.

Haley nodded. “I asked her to come.”

It may have been Haley’s tone, or Sarah’s appearance here on a Sunday, but Sam had suspected something was up. Also the bicycle rental business was virtually shut down this time of year and Haley’s appearance to repair a bike was a little thin. Sarah lived on Lopez Island, and on Sundays she didn’t typically cross San Juan Channel in her little runabout until later, about the time Ben typically quit his weekend work. Sarah worked for Ben, had for years, but Sam figured there was something growing between them.

Sam stood. Together, he, Haley, and Sarah adjourned to the uphill side of the veranda in front of the sidewalk-servicing window of the local coffee shop.

They placed their orders, then retreated from the window to wait.

“Haley looks like a brunette version of Cameron Diaz in that hat,” Sarah said, referring to Haley’s tamoshanter. Haley always wore a hat of some sort.

Haley gave a smile as if she didn’t believe it.

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