Page 15 of Timber Ridge
As May heads back to the kitchen, a sense of peace settles over me, and I turn my attention to Hailey. “Tell me about this special assignment.”
Hailey talks non-stop for the next five minutes about everything she helped Ms. Moore with. I dropped off a kid that was all doom and gloom and picked up a ray of sunshine. Normally, when Amanda doesn’t call, it’s a minimum of two days before Hailey finds her joy again. I’m grateful for the reduced sentence.
When Hailey finishes, I turn to Timber. “How was your day at the center?”
Timber’s face lights up much like my daughter’s. “It was wonderful,” she begins. “The kids were so engaged. We learned about buoyancy, ecosystems ... Lucas even built a little ship from paper! And Hailey, she categorized her rock collection by age and type—did you know she has a piece of quartz she found on the beach?”
“Is that the white one?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s white with lots of sparkle.”
“This one,” Hailey says and places the rock on the table.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. “She likes the sparkly ones.” I remember the day she found it. We were picnicking with my mom at the lighthouse. The day was uncharacteristically warm for early spring, and my mom was in good spirits. A month later, she passed. I give the rock back to Hailey, and she puts it back in her pocket.
“Tomorrow, we’re going on a little trek to gather herbs and learn about local plants.” Timber talks with her hands, painting a picture in the air of a classroom alive with discovery and laughter. “There’s so much you can learn just from the surrounding nature.”
She sounds so much like my mom and sister, getting excited about the silliest things, like a weed with a yellow flower. Mom always said there wasn’t anything called a weed. They were merely unappreciated flowers. A wave of memories washes over me. “Sounds like you made the most of the day.”
“It was a good day, considering I found out that I’m essentially a summer camp counselor and not a summer schoolteacher.” She laughs, shaking her head slightly. “But I’m okay with it. It’s liberating, actually. It takes all the pressure off.”
A twinge of guilt pulls at me as I internally wade through my own sea of half-truths and omissions. I’m with the murkiness of not being completely honest with her about the job.
But seeing her take it all in stride, focusing on the positives, eases the weight of my conscience.
I’m grateful that Timber views life as a glass half full. She sees the unexpected turn as an adventure rather than a misstep, a quality that’s rare and, frankly, needed in a place like Port Promise.
As I watch her interacting with Hailey, her laughter mingling with the soft light of the café, I make a silent agreement with myself to be more transparent going forward. Because someone who can find joy in the unexpected deserves nothing less than the whole truth.
“And what about you? How was the sea today?” she asks, shifting the spotlight.
I let out a half-laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Brought in a decent haul, but on the way back, the engine decided to quit on me. It took some coaxing to get her going again. She’s old, and I can’t wait to get a new boat—one that isn’t held together by spit and prayers.” I look at my little girl and think about the plans I have for us. “I need a summer of abundance before I can make that kind of investment. A new boat’s not just a purchase. It’s a commitment to a better future.” A future I can’t imagine without a new troller. It’s not just a dream. It’s a necessity. Without it, I don’t know if I can count on next year’s salmon season to support Hailey and me through the leaner months.
Before the conversation can drift in another direction, May arrives with a tray laden with steaming dishes. As she sets the plates on the table, the golden and flaky halibut is a mouthwatering sight.
Hailey squeals with delight when she looks at hers. The cook has shaped her halibut into a small boat with sails made from thinly sliced cucumbers. Everything is riding atop a sea of green vegetables and colorful bell pepper buoys. On the edge of the plate, a tiny flag made from a toothpick and a piece of carrot stands proudly, as if marking the start of a voyage.
“Daddy! My fish is sailing!” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“Healthy food doesn’t have to be boring.” May gives a knowing wink. She turns to Timber. “Did I hear you say you were going on a trek tomorrow?” May tells us about Old Danny, who’s been troubled by arthritis, and her plans to collect Devil’s Club for him. “That plant’s a bear to handle, being all prickly.”
Timber leans forward. “Devil’s Club is tough to harvest, but it’s an effective remedy. My mother often tried herbal treatments before she turned to modern medicine. She always had a jar of Devil’s Club salve on hand.”
“Is that so?” May asks. “What about you?”
“I’ve dabbled a bit in herbalism myself,” Timber says.
“Well, you’ll have to share some of your knowledge with me,” May says. “It’s nice to find someone else who believes in the healing power of nature.”
As they talk about herbs, I dig into my meal. Here’s Timber, fitting into our town like she’s always been part of it. And me? I’m just a fisherman trying to keep my head above water.
As I watch my daughter eat, I think maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all.
“If you happen to come across some Devil’s Club on your adventure, and you’re not too afraid to harvest it, Old Danny and I would appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to get you some if it presents itself.”
May nods and walks away.