Chapter 8 - The Terrace on Elliott Bay
Three months later.
The early spring sun rose over the snow-capped volcanic peaks of the Olympic Mountains in a breathtaking, cinematic explosion of burning violet, deep copper, and brilliant, honey-colored gold that turned the waters of Puget Sound into fields of liquid fire.
The air on the private observation terrace of my newly restored craftsman home on Maple Street was crisp, vast, and smelling of sweet cedar woodsmoke, clean salt mist, and the rich, invigorating chill of the approaching summer solstice.
The four-bedroom house had undergone a total, magnificent resurrection.
The dark, heavy furniture Ethan had chosen had been completely removed, replaced by custom white oak cabinetry, soaring linen draperies, and wide-plank fir floors that had been sanded down to the pale natural wood, glowing like honey under the morning light.
In the dining room where Mark’s birthday party had ended four months earlier, the mahogany table was gone, replaced by an expansive, ten-foot communal drafting table made from a single slab of salvaged Pacific madrone.
On the table sat three sets of architectural blueprints for the new Seattle Waterfront Heritage Preservation Atelier—a public interest foundation funded entirely by the liquidated assets recovered from Ethan’s former partnership shares.
The terrace glass doors clicked open with a soft, familiar squeak.
Walking onto the flagstones, wearing a thick wool cardigan over an unbuttoned flannel shirt and heavy leather work boots, holding two steaming stoneware mugs of dark roast coffee from the neighborhood roaster, was Derek Vance.
At thirty-nine, Derek looked magnificent.
His face was sun-tanned from five months of managing container logistics on the sound, his posture straight, his gray eyes bright with unclouded, sovereign joy, completely at peace with his work, his family, and his life.
He walked over to the stone balustrade, setting one mug down beside my hand, resting his forearms against the warm limestone beside me.
"The port authority signed off on the terminal permits twenty minutes ago, Claire," Derek said softly, his deep, gravelly voice carrying the unshakeable peace of a partner who had stood through every storm.
"The historic brick warehouse at Berth Fourteen is locked into the public trust.
No private developer or corrupt contractor can ever touch the slipways.
The building belongs to the maritime workers forever."
I took a slow, leisurely sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth spread through my chest, looking out over the sparkling blue waters of the bay where the white-and-green Washington State ferries cut through the chop toward Bainbridge Island.
"And Natalie?" I asked quietly.
Derek looked down at his coffee, a small, sad, philosophical smile touching the corners of his lips.
"She closed the boutique on Friday, Claire," Derek said softly.
"She took a position as an entry-level staging coordinator for a residential property firm in Spokane.
She drives a six-year-old Honda.
She lives in a garden apartment four miles from our old college campus.
She told my brother on the phone yesterday... that she never realized how heavy fifty thousand dollars felt until she had to earn every dollar herself."
"And Ethan?"
Derek took a slow breath, turning his gaze toward the distant snowfields of Mount Rainier rising above the southern horizon.
"Ethan is working as an on-site safety coordinator for a commercial gravel quarry outside Centralia," Derek said.
"He lives in a rented trailer near the river.
He punches a timecard at six in the morning.
He wears steel-toed boots and an orange safety vest.
The supervisor told me Ethan stood by the gravel conveyor when the morning business news broadcast your keynote dedication of the new waterfront pavilion in Seattle.
He watched you cut the ribbon for five minutes, turned around, and walked back to his clipboard without speaking a single word."
I took a deep, uninhibited breath of the cold salt air, letting the clean breeze fill my lungs to the very brim.
May you like
"He built his own cage, Derek," I said, my voice rich with an unshakeable, eternal peace.
"And we built a home."
