RUNNING SCARED – CHAPTER 15


I spent the next ten days getting to know Fern better; “Just call me Fern, she’d said. ‘Aunt Fern’ sounds like someone who keeps company with cats.” When she was working with her computers I practiced driving the RV around the area. I parked near the jetty and watched the waves crashing against it. My life was up for review once again. I was tending to identify with the jetty when I realized that having the RV for a couple of months would widen my options. I needed to sort out what to do next.

I made a decision not to go back to Madrona so I let both Steve and Sarge know. I found a poker game in Coos Bay and began to increase my stash of money for gas. I tried to pay my way at Fern’s by doing minor repairs around the house and restocking her pantry. I had no timetable for leaving. Actually I had no timetable for anything anymore. But I felt safer at Fern’s than I had for a long time.

Fern and I settled into a routine. We ate most meals together and I learned that, despite rumors to the contrary, she had led a full life. Turned out she had been married briefly. “Not really suited for marriage,” she admitted. “Couldn’t stand having someone underfoot every day,” she said.

When I asked she talked openly about having Asberger’s Syndrome. She said that she had been in her forties before that label had been attached to her. When she was growing up and in her early life all she knew was that she experienced things differently from others in her life; she had difficulty understanding them. She learned to cope with things being different in her own way. She’d always known she was book-smart, and found that it was easier for her to work for herself than to do someone else’s nine-to-five. “I can’t stand being told what to do and how to do it.” She was non-materialistic; hence her offering me her RV so casually.

Fern said she had always been immune to the social niceties even after she learned what they were. She had limited interest in people. She never gossiped about others and my talk of family doings bored her. I noticed that she was lucid and interested as long as the subject matter fell into areas she was obsessive about. Her current obsessions seemed to be war stories of her struggles and adventures, Gorseport history, and anything to do with computers.

So I tried to be sensitive to her need for space and for privacy. Her manner still was abrupt, and her questions bordering on rudeness, but I learned not to take them personally. “I’m done,” she would say after a long conversation, and leave for her computer cave. Although she seemed to bounce between lucid and confused, she was always more lucid after one of her self-administered time-outs.

I also learned that since that early marriage she had had a series of long-term lovers none of whom had lived with her. “Things work out better for me if the man doesn’t actually live in Gorseport,” she said, “and if he prefers not to sleep over.”

I found out Gorseport was named that because the town was a vital port for the lumber trade to the Far East, and because gorse, a local fast-growing shrub was abundant. Gorse, Fern said, was an evil cousin of Scotch broom; it evidently resembled Scotch Broom when it bloomed, but had wicked thorns, was highly flammable, and had been responsible for several devastating fires that nearly wiped out the town early in the twentieth century. Since then it was illegal for property owners in the town to harbor the shrub.

“Gorse was inflicted on this area by a homesick ship owner who brought the first sprigs from Scotland,” Fern said, handing me a pair of heavy gardening gloves as we walked around her backyard. She pointed out the gorse-lets that I needed to weed out and that we carefully burned in the burn barrel. “I could get fined for letting them grow on my property,” she said. “This damned stuff spreads like the wildfires it fuels when it gets the chance.” I pointed out that the constant winds off the Pacific didn’t help.

I kept in touch with Katherine who said she still wasn’t able to find out anything more about Vern’s condition. I called Aaron and filled him in on what I’d been doing. Told him I thought the only way I’d be able to find out what was going on with Vern might be just to drive up to Seattle and check things out for myself. “Are you sure that’s a good idea considering everything that has happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just know I’m tired of running.” I was beginning to differentiate between running away and traveling. Traveling appealed to me. Regarding running, I felt like Fern needing to say to myself, “I’m done, I’m done, I am so done.”

That evening I told Fern all about what had been going on with Vern the last few years. How I’d been so badly hurt, then on the run, hiding out the best I could. I said that I was tired of feeling afraid – tired of being victimized. That somehow I needed to free myself from Vern and his threats. How could I do that without acting foolish – without putting myself back in harm’s way? I told her I was thinking of going to Seattle to confront Vern, or at least to see what was true.

“If you do that you’ll need backup. If I were a little younger I’d offer to go along,” she said. “But you’re smart enough to figure out what’s right for you.”

“Maybe I just need to be more patient,” I said. “But I’m tired of waiting for things to get resolved by the prosecution of Vern.”

“Are you in danger from others besides Vern?” she asked. “I suspect you’re probably strong enough to handle him. He sounds like a common bully. But if your testimony gets others in trouble as well, that would complicate the issue of your safety.”

One afternoon I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard a knock on the front door. I didn’t know where Fern was or what she was doing, but was reluctant to answer the door on my own. Someone knocked again as I had when I arrived. Finally I heard Fern’s footsteps. “Hold your horses, I’m coming,” she said as she unlocked the door. “Why are you bothering me?” she added. I noticed her greet-the-stranger routine was identical to what I’d experienced.

“Are you Fern Albright?” a familiar voice asked. I stood up.

“Who wants to know?” Fern asked.

“I’m looking for Morgan,” Aaron said as I emerged from the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” I asked from the kitchen door.

“May I come in?” he asked with a nod to Fern.

I noticed that Fern was taking a lively interest in what was going on between us. “Come on in,” she said. “Would you like some tea?” She headed to the kitchen. “Come along, the two of you. Sit.”

Aaron came in. I managed awkward introductions. And we sat.

“This the guy who built the boat in the tree?” Fern asked setting out mugs and tea bags.

“Guilty,” Aaron said with a shy smile.

“So, what are you doing here?” Fern said pouring hot water in the mugs, and staring intently at Aaron.

“Visiting a friend?” Aaron offered tentatively with a sidelong glance in my direction.

“How did you find your way here?” I asked.

“The same way you did. I stopped at the library and asked.” He smiled.

I found myself smiling back. We sat making small talk for a few minutes; none of us were very good at it. “You leave when Morgan says so,” Fern said to Aaron. “I’m done,” she announced, and was quickly gone as usual.

Aaron looked startled. “It’s not about you,” I reassured him. “She’ll return, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and asking rude questions, before too long.” I sighed. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Visiting a friend?” he asked again. “I thought I might be of some help. You have pointed out that I have skills that you don’t.”

“I have no need of your skills to deal with Fern,” I said.

“I heard you say you were of thinking about going to Seattle and confronting Vern.”

“And, you thought I might need your help dealing with the body?” I asked with a touch of asperity.

“If necessary,” Aaron said with a smile “Besides, there’s this hardware store in Seattle I need to visit.”

“I’ve heard that story before,” I said, wondering why I wasn’t happier to see him. “Besides I haven’t said I was going for sure,” I protested.

“I don’t want to get in your way,” he said. “I’ll leave any time you say.”

“There’s no place for you to stay here,” I said.

“I already have a room for the night at the motel out front,” Aaron said. “All I ask is that you think about what I’ve said.” He paused. “Maybe I should go for now.”

“Why don’t you come and see the RV,” I offered. “And, you’d better stay for dinner. “Fern needs another crack at you.”

“How could I not look forward to that?” Aaron’s sarcasm was delivered with a shrug, and peace was restored between us for the moment.

I showed him the RV and we talked about the pros and cons of borrowing the RV at all. He pointed out that I would need to have it checked out mechanically to see if it was roadworthy, and he offered to help me check out the electrical and water connections as well as the propane furnace and stove. He asked if it was insured. I said I didn’t know.

I drove him around town and down to the jetty. We sat there and watched the waves. “Did I ever tell you how I learned to play poker?” I asked. Aaron looked bewildered at the change of subject. “It’s the only thing I have to thank Vern for. He and his friends used to play poker every Saturday night. I got drafted to sit in one night when a regular didn’t show up. I got lucky and in my great ignorance I was the big winner of the evening. Playing poker has excited me ever since.”

“I understand you win more often than not.”

I’ve learned a lot playing poker. Luck is a factor not controlled by the players, although a positive frame of mind can help, but beyond that it’s a game of patience, and well-timed aggression. Much of the time it’s boring waiting for the right time to make a move. Being able to read the other players is an advantage, but mostly it’s patience and aggression. Being able to never give away an advantage by broadcasting your hand and your intent is useful; the proverbial poker face.”

Aaron exercised his patience by just listening, and using his poker face.

“Since I left Seattle over two years ago,” I began, “ I’ve been running scared and trying to be patient, hoping things with Vern would get resolved and I wouldn’t have to deal with anything directly except testifying at his trial. My patience has run out. I think it’s time for me to deal – to be aggressive. I’ve decided that Vern is probably less of a threat than I’d thought; he’s mostly a bully. I’ve decided to return to Seattle and try and see him for starters.”

Aaron started to say something. I settled him down with a look, and continued.

“I do want your help. Fern was telling me I needed backup and I agree. I do need help checking out the systems on this rig later today, and I could eventually use your help with driving, but although I may ask for your advice I need you to respect my decisions.”

“I think I’ve done a fair job of doing just that since I first met you,” Aaron said.

“I agree. It’s the only reason I’d consider you coming along at all.” I said. “And, just to be clear, when I use the word aggressive I simply mean to take action instead of waiting to react.”

We stopped at the grocery store for food for dinner then returned to the house where Aaron patiently coached as I did some hands-on learning of how to connect, disconnect, turn on and turn off the many separate housekeeping systems in the RV.

Over dinner I found out that the RV was insured and that Fern intended to keep the policy in effect for the next two months. Past that it would be up to me to get insurance in my own name. Fern brought out a file folder of maintenance records and warranties for the RV. She gave me the name and phone number of her mechanic in case I had questions.

Aaron and I decided to head north on Monday.