I traveled northward alone this time, an away team of one. My destination: a memorial service for Eve Talmadge, my dear relative, by way of an old haunt, a place to park, sleep, unwind.
Some of the chatter after the service revolved around Cantwell, near where Lee works in Alaska. There'd been some kind of propane buildup in the Chevron station and the place had blown. Investigators and insurance people would need to figure out what happened in order to help with the medical expenses of the injured. There's no concept of no fault medical coverage.
Evelyn's parents ran Mercer Island's first gas station along its first paved road, connecting a ferry on the Seattle side to a bridge on the Bellevue side. Hap, her dad, was killed in a car accident, as was my dad. She became a nurse and continued to nurture her talents for music and painting.
Evelyn raised her family in Ohio with her first husband, who became a professor at Kent State. Later in life, she met John Talmadge. She and John were very connected to the life and times of Bellingham, Washington, were this service took place.
Tara stayed behind with the three women and the dog, working on college essays.
Snow played a role in my adventures. I saw quite a few accidents, though none seemed really serious.
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On the road with Global Data
