The Eclipse of Moonbeam Dawson (6 page)

“It'll spoil our dinner. Harvey's asked us to eat with him.” Abby turned left on Campbell Street and headed out of town.

“Again!”

“Look, we wouldn't even know about the jobs at the lodge if it weren't for him,” she bristled.

He knew she was right. And he had to admit so far he didn't seem to be a weirdo. But he still didn't have to like the guy moving in on her so fast. “Okay, but after dinner, we're leaving for the campground.”

“Okay.”

They rode in silence past the Co-op gas station, MacKenzie Beach Resort, and Ocean Village. Beyond Ocean Village, Moonbeam noticed the surf shop and its large beckoning sign,
LIVE TO SURF
! Now that's something to try! He could just see it. He'd be all decked out in his jet black wet suit, paddling out beyond the silver breakers on a fine board. His new friends from the lodge would be with him, it would be their day off. He'd catch a big one, carefully mount the board, his legs steady and sure, his arms poised gracefully, balancing him as he expertly rode the wave. The new friends would paddle next to him. They would cheer.

All through dinner at Harvey's, Moonbeam imagined surfing with Gloria and being alone with her at the beach. And as soon as they finished eating, he insisted on doing the dishes. “Might as well get in practice for my new job!”

“Let me give you a hand,” Harvey offered.

“No, you made the dinner,” he insisted. “Can Gretta have any scraps?”

“Sure, just scrape them into her dish.”

Gretta followed Moonbeam into the kitchen and waited patiently by her dish.

“Here you go, girl.” Moonbeam patted her head; her dark fur was silky and soft. Great dog, he had to admit, as he scraped the scraps from the plates into her bowl.

Moonbeam looked under the sink for the soap and took it out along with a rack to dry the dishes. This isn't so bad, he thought, as he began swooshing the dish cloth over the dishes.
Swoosh.
Especially when he'd have Gloria to talk to.
Swoosh.
That would be so great. Someone his age, and so pretty, too.
Swoosh.
Nothing to it, washing these dishes! Moonbeam looked out Harvey's kitchen window at the ocean, imagining his life at Stere Island Lodge.

Abby came in the kitchen as he was finishing up. “Moonbeam, I'm exhausted. Harvey said we can stay another night. I'm just too tired to set up camp tonight.” She waited, as if bracing herself. “Don't hassle me,
please.
”

Moonbeam started to argue, but then thought better of it. She really did look beat, and after all it was only a matter of time, probably just a few days, before they'd be settled in on Stere Island.

Chapter Four

“Mum?” Moonbeam looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. She should be up by now. “Hey, where is everybody?” The house was quiet, the bedroom and bathroom doors were open, and there was no sign of either Harvey or his mother. Where was she anyway, and that guy? Okay, so Harvey wasn't a scumbag, but where had he gone with her so early?

It was a beautiful morning. The spring sun was burning off the mist and the ocean sparkled under the bright sky. Colorado sky. That's what she always called it when there weren't any clouds and the sky seem to glow the color she called cobalt blue. What were they up to, anyway? Moonbeam searched the house, the garage, the shed, the yard, the path, and the beach below; all unsuccessfully.

Might as well eat something, he decided, and went back in the house. That's when he noticed the note on the refrigerator.

Dear Moonbeam,

I have gone with Harvey to look at Palmer's Land near Ellis Lake. We should be back by noon. Harvey said to help yourself to whatever you want to eat. Hope you slept well.

Love,

Mum

Moonbeam opened the refrigerator. Harvey kept plenty of food around, you could say that for him. There were a half-dozen eggs, a pitcher of orange juice, a lot of fancy bottled water, a couple of beers, some cold salmon, lettuce, tomatoes, some leftover pizza, pita bread, cheese, and some mystery food in plastic dishes. Moonbeam settled on the cold pizza. Cold pizza for breakfast was one of his favorites. Although this one had weird stuff on it, he discovered. Not regular pizza-type cheese and pepperoni or sausage. But it still tasted pretty good.

He was finishing his third piece when the phone rang. Moonbeam wasn't sure if he wanted to answer it. He was not thrilled with being Harvey Hattenbach's secretary, taking messages for this guy while he and his mother were out stomping through the bushes, or whatever it was they were doing. But on the fourth ring, he picked it up anyway.

“Hello.”

“This is Jim Goltz. I'm calling for the Dawsons.”

“This is me, Moonbeam. Hi, Jim.”

“Hi, son, is your mother there?”

“She and Harvey went somewhere; they're supposed to be back around noon.”

“Well, I can tell you anyway. We'd like you to work for us at the lodge. In fact, the sooner you can start, the better.”

“Oh, man, that's great! When do you want us?”

“Actually, tomorrow.”

“Cool!”

“We need you in the kitchen, where you'll probably do a bit of everything, dishwasher, prep person, some bussing.”

“Hey, you name it. I'll do it.”

“We could also use your mother in reservations and reception. She mentioned yesterday that she had worked at the Empress. That's about the best reference we could have. But we need to formally process her application.”

“Great! What time do you want us to come tomorrow?”

“First thing in the morning, then if you want to live in the employee apartments we can—”

“We do, we do. That's exactly where we want to live.”

“Then you can move your stuff in, get settled, and be ready to work on the dinner shift.”

“I don't have that much stuff. I could probably be ready to work lunch.”

Jim laughed. “Dinner's fine. The first day is more like on-the-job training and Saturday we'll go over your questions, then take you in town to get the clothes we require for work in the dining room. Unless you already have black slacks and a white shirt?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“We'll get you set up. Just be at the boat at the same place tomorrow at nine o'clock.”

“Okay, and uh, Mr. Goltz?”

“Jim.”

“Right. Jim. Well, there's just one thing. I'm going to change my name. It's not going to be Moonbeam anymore.”

“What's it going to be?”

“I'm not sure yet. Maybe you could just call me Dawson, until I get it figured out?”

“Sure, Dawson. Whatever you say, as long as you can handle the work in the kitchen I don't care if you want to be called Humpty Dumpty.” Jim chuckled. “See you in the morning, Dawson.”

Moonbeam hung up the phone and pounded his fist on the counter. “Y-E-S!” Then he grabbed another piece of pizza. He chewed the pizza, bounced an imaginary basketball, and took his famous hook shot. He could just see himself shooting hoops at Stere Island Lodge, hanging with all his new friends who worked there. He stopped and looked out the kitchen window at Kathryn Bay. Humpty Dumpty. I'm sure. Not funny, buddy. And I'm not your son. But, he grinned, you're the boss. And I've got the job!

Moonbeam finished his breakfast, threw the empty pizza box in the trash, and decided to hitch out to Long Beach. It would be a good place to think about his new name and there didn't seem to be any point in hanging around Harvey's place. Besides, it would be another few hours before his mum got back and he could tell her the great news.

Hitchhiking was a common form of transportation around Tofino. It was the kind of place where people assumed they had more to fear from nature, from wild storms and getting lost at sea, than they did from their fellow humans. Moonbeam figured it was fine to hitch, although his mother had a real thing about it. Growing up in a city in the States, her fear was deeply ingrained. Evil can happen anywhere, she always cautioned him. Although when he got to be in his teens, she finally gave in. As long as he promised never to hitch alone, to always be with at least one other guy.

Well, my name's not the only thing I'm going to change, Moonbeam thought as he left Harvey's place and walked toward the road. There's no other guy around, so I'm hitchin' solo.

He stuck his arm out and walked briskly along the road south to Long Beach. They had camped there when they were here in ninety-three. It was an exquisite stretch of hard-packed white sand adjacent to a Native village on the Esowista Reserve that had existed there for hundreds of years.

Moonbeam heard a car and began walking backwards, so the driver could see him. He tried to look like a decent, friendly person who would be most grateful for a lift. He knew that usually the locals gave each other rides, since everyone knew everyone else in a small town, or at least had seen each other around. Maybe the driver would think he looked familiar. He wanted to look like he belonged here. The car got closer. It was a late-model Honda, a woman by herself. No use. Moonbeam put his hand down.

In a few minutes he heard another one. Walking backwards, he thought it looked like there were two people. Maybe this would be it. He stuck his hand out and smiled like a friendly guy. There were two of them, a couple in a shiny Dodge van who didn't give him so much as a glance. Moonbeam turned around and kept walking, noticing the California plates. It figures, he thought. Tourists would never stop.

Maybe the third time's the charm, he hoped as he heard another car. Moonbeam turned around for his backwards walk, which he was now perfecting, to see that it was a truck. Not only was it a pickup, but it was slowing down! All right! Slowing down and pulling right over. The driver, a burly guy wearing a baseball cap, motioned for him to get in.

“Hey, thanks.” Moonbeam opened the door.

“Where to?” The guy looked in the rearview mirror as Moonbeam hopped in, then pulled out into the road.

“Long Beach.”

“That's easy. I'm going to Port.”

“Are you from around here?” Moonbeam asked.

“Ukee. Been here most of my life.”

Moonbeam had actually never been to Ucluelet. He had seen the billboard,
UCLUELET: EXPERIENCE LIFE ON THE EDGE
, advertising the attraction of Ucluelet's location on the edge of Pacific Rim Park. But most people in Tofino added the phrase “of a clear-cut” to the slogan. Directly across Ucluelet Harbour stood a hideous monument to clear-cut logging, Mount Ozzard. Its barren earth, scarred with desolate stumps and the debris from the mountain's pillage, suggested the devastation of a war; far from attracting tourists, it repelled many, who flocked to Tofino at a rate of about ten to one.

“I've never been to Ukee,” Moonbeam said, using the town's nickname.

“Where you from?”

“I lived near Heather Mountain for a while, but I'm going to be from here. I'm moving to Stere Island tomorrow. Got a job at the lodge.”

“I hear it's quite the place.”

“Sure is.” Moonbeam smiled. “Say, do you know anything about Ellis Lake?”

“Like what?”

“Well, like why somebody would go there?”

“As far as I know there's just a campground on the north end. And that hippie place on the south shore. Got a lot of tree huggers and granolas living in shacks there, that's about all I know.” He pulled over to the side of the road. “Here's the road to the beach. It's a little less than a kilometer in.”

“Okay, thanks a lot.” Moonbeam jumped out and waved as the guy pulled out into the road.

Must be a logger, Moonbeam thought, as he watched the truck pick up speed as it rounded the corner then disappeared out of sight. Tree huggers were what they called the environmentalists, and Moonbeam was glad the guy hadn't asked him his name. His new name was going to be a regular name, that was for sure. Tom Dawson had sounded pretty good when he imagined being in the nice foster home with the beautiful daughter, Andrea. But he wasn't sure that was the one he definitely wanted to settle on for his new life at the lodge.

The wind was stronger as Moonbeam walked across the parking lot and along the trail to the beach. As he got closer to the end of the trail, the roar of the ocean got louder. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the salty ocean air, then climbed across the huge driftwood lots that had been tossed against the bank from countless winter storms. Shading his eyes he looked north, wondering if he could see Stere Island from here. He could hardly believe it. They'd only left Heather Mountain three days ago and they already had jobs, and not just dumb jobs. Jobs at this fantastic place! What luck!

Moonbeam picked a stick from the driftwood debris and walked across the wide expanse of beach closer to the water where the waves broke over the hard-packed wet sand. He wrote his last name in the sand in big letters. D … A … W … S … O … N … and then began thinking of possible first names. Something quite ordinary and easy to say. Like maybe Tim or Bill or Bob, he decided. Then he took the stick and pulled it through the wet sand, carefully writing the letters of each name.

TIM    DAWSON

BILL    DAWSON

BOB    DAWSON

After writing each entry, he stood back and studied the names in the sand, trying them on for size.

Boring. They were all boring. Maybe a name from sports or some kind of hero would be better than these names. Moonbeam had been a big hockey fan when they lived in Victoria. Even when they lived on Heather Mountain, he and Meadow MacLaine still tried to keep up with the NHL. Meadow's father had a radio that was pretty good, and they could get the games to come through if they took it to a clearing near the highway about a mile from the commune. It was so great sitting out there at night with Meadow, bundled up, stomping up and down to keep warm, and yelling their heads off for the Canucks. Maybe he should think of some of the really all-time-great hockey names. People like Bobby Orr, Gordy Howe, Phil Esposito, Wayne Gretsky (although he had never forgiven him for leaving Canada), and Mario Lemieux. Mario Dawson? Gordy Dawson? Phil Dawson? Hey, maybe he should let fate decide. He would write the initials of each name in the sand where the waves washed up and the first name to be touched by a wave would be the one. Fantastic! His new name chosen by Neptune, God of the Sea.