The Alpine Journey Read Online Free Page A

priest.” The cat's eyesdanced. “Now, if you were all sensible Episcopalians like us, Adam could be a priest and still get married.”
    Over the years Mavis and I had engaged in good-natured banter about each other's religious preferences. But when it came to Adam's decision to enter the priesthood, I seemed to have lost my sense of humor.
    “It could still happen,” I said defensively. “A married Catholic priesthood may be down the road.”
    “A long, bumpy road,” said Mavis, polishing off her brandy. “You should live so long. So should Adam.”
    “I just hope he's sure,” I said. “He's changed majors and colleges so often that I can't really believe he's got a vocation.”
    “Once he's in the seminary, he'll find out.” Mavis uttered a small laugh. “We never think our children know what they're doing. Look at our three—just because Jeff liked to scuba dive, he decided to become an oceanogra-pher. Ray and I thought he was nuts. But he's down there in San Diego, loving it. And Brent wanted to make movies, which really struck us as harebrained. He'll never get to Hollywood, but he's happy as a clam producing films for the City of Portland.”
    I smiled, recalling the Fulkerston boys as little kids who couldn't have been more different: Jeff was an obstreperous, fidgety child who, if the condition had had a name in the Seventies, probably suffered from Attention Deficit Syndrome. Brent was shy, withdrawn, almost introverted, yet gifted with tremendous imagination. But it was Mavis and Ray's daughter, Jackie, who I knew best. I had stayed with her and her husband, Paul Melcher, in Port Angeles three years ago. The baby that Jackie had been carrying that summer was now working his way through the Terrible Twos.
    “They're all fine,” Mavis responded in answer to myquestion about the Melcher menage. “Little Rowley is a terror, but he'll get over it. Maybe. It's a good thing Jackie has so much energy. When she isn't down in the dumps, that is.” Mavis made a face.
    Jackie was a combination of her brothers, exuberant one minute, morose the next. I'd hoped that motherhood would put her on a more even keel, but apparently it hadn't. “I'm sorry they may have to move,” I remarked. “They had such wonderful plans for that old house Paul inherited in Port Angeles.”
    Mavis shrugged. “You know all about timber towns. ITT Rayonier is closing the pulp mill, and Paul's probably out of a job, along with three hundred and sixty-five other people. He's hoping that with his engineering degree, he can find something else in the area, especially if the site is converted into some kind of similar, downsized operation. But right now everything's up in the air.”
    “That's rough,” I said with feeling, and leaned back against the peach-and-plum-striped sofa. “We never stop worrying about our kids, do we?”
    “Nope.” Mavis stared out through the big picture window, where a sleek pleasure craft passed close to the riverbank. The city sparkled around us, lights like fireflies dancing among the gentle hills. Even after dark, Portland seemed alive. In Alpine, the clouds come down over the mountains, and sometimes the only sound is the lonely whistle of a freight train, crying like an abandoned child. The lights of logging towns are going out in many ways.
    “So,” Mavis said after a long pause, “tomorrow we'll head downtown and you can see all the changes since you lived here. We'll drive by the Rose Garden where the Blazers play and maybe stop at Lloyd Center. Then, if wehave time, we can go to a special place made for middle-aged mamas like us.”
    “Which of the bars on Burn side do you mean?” I asked with a smirk.
    Mavis smirked right back. “Actually, I was thinking of the Shrine of Our Sorrowful Mother. But come to think of it, I like your idea better.”
    On Saturday, we did everything we'd intended to do except the shrine and the bars. By five o'clock we were still at Lloyd Center, trying on shoes.