Chapter 1
A pirate.
A very contemptible line of life,
with a premium at a high rate.
—Gilbert and Sullivan,
The Pirates of Penzance, Act I
“You know what your problem is?”
I waited for the ramble from a distant clap of thunder to fade away into nothing before answering. “Yes. We can’t get the legislature to understand why their repeal of the roadless act is going to devastate this country’s wild forests to the point where they will never recover.”
Tara sighed. “No, that’s not it.”
“Ah, then it must be the blatant disregard of the Clean Water Act by the cement industry, and the subsequent poisoning of several hundred streams and the countless generations of salmon who spawn there.”
Another sigh followed, drawn out and martyred as only a sixteen-year-old could make it. “No, not that either.”
I frowned at the computer screen, giving Tara only part of my attention as I typed up a press release that would be sent out the following day. It sounded like a storm was coming, and I wanted to finish before I had to turn off the electronic equipment. “No? Hmm. Well, you must be talking about the fact that our state legislature took a step into the Dark Ages when it caved to the pesticide industry’s pressure by removing hazardous pesticides from the program to eliminate toxic chemicals from the environment.”
“No! I’m not talking about that! And you’re not even listening to me.”
Another rumble of thunder stopped conversation for the count of five. “You wouldn’t by any chance be referring to the fact that I have a daughter who doesn’t understand the concept of not disturbing her mother while she’s working?”
“N-O spells no. Besides, you’realwaysworking.”
“Pays the bills, pays the mortgage, and pays for you to hang out at the mall rather than working at a local McDonald’s. Hand me that paper, honey. No, the ‘Indigenous Streams of the Pacific Northwest’ one. Are the stereo and TV
off? It sounds like that storm is heading right for us.”
“Yes, and you didn’t answer my question,” the spawn of my loins answered after she passed me a bound collection of environmental position papers, hands on her hips, thick straight brown brow, so much like my own, furrowed as she glared at me.
“I did. Four times, in fact.”
“Mom!”
“Hmm?” I double-checked a couple of statistics in the fact sheet, adding them to the press release in hopes they would be quoted verbatim.
“I asked you a question.”
“And I answered it.” The silence that followed, pregnant and pointed, chafed at me enough to disrupt my train of thought. I took my hands off the keyboard and swiveled in my chair to face Tara. “All right. You have my undivided attention. For… er…” I glanced at the clock. “Forty-five seconds.”
The blue flash of lightning and a subsequent loud crack of thunder were perfectly timed with Tara’s “Mom!”
I heaved a martyred sigh that rivaled hers, fighting to keep the smile from my lips at her look of righteous indignation. She might have my eyebrows, but her flair for dramatics came straight from her actor father. “Very well. I’m prepared to be generous. You have two minutes. Use them as you will.”
“Yourproblem,” she said, following me into the kitchen as I refilled my jumbo coffee mug with Espresso Roast, “is that you don’t know how to play.”
I gave in to the urge for a little eye roll and made sure everything that safely could be was unplugged. Another blue-white flash illuminating our tiny backyard heralded the onslaught of the storm.
“I’m serious, Mom. Free Spirit says that people like you use the excuse of work to compensate for the things that are lacking in their lives.”
“Free Spirit?” I leaned my hip against the counter and sipped my coffee, watching my daughter as she stood in front of me. She was looking more and more like me, her thick strawberry blond hair just as unruly as my own, defying all attempts by hair spray, styling mousse, and industrial-strength hair gel to form it into something other than a wild tangle of curls. Her blue eyes were a shade darker than my own, but those straight brows that refused to arch no matter how many trips to the beauty salon she made were all mine.
“Free Spirit Blue. Hello, she’s just my counselor! The one you talked to last month?”
