Back in my room for the last time. Bag packed. Club leaning against the wall. The tide is high and pushing against the rocks below, but for once it feels like just water moving, not a warning.
Today wasn’t loud or dramatic. No cameras, no police cars, no black SUVs. Just people working on boats again, talking about engines and tide charts instead of fear. The kind of day you don’t realize you needed until it’s gone quiet.
Tomorrow morning, before the sun is up, I’ll be leaving Port Townsend. No long goodbyes. Just steps forward.
The Beach
This afternoon I walked down to the stretch of beach near Point Hudson — driftwood piled where storms had thrown it, gulls arguing over scraps, wind sharp enough to clear the head. I carried the 5-iron and let the weight of the grip settle into my palm.
Hit a few balls into the gray water, watched them skip once or twice before sinking. Each swing took more of the last few weeks with it — the fear, the pressure, the anger. By the third one, my shoulders dropped like somebody loosened a rope.
That’s when I heard footsteps behind me.
Mara stood a few feet back, hands in her jacket pockets, hair pulled forward against the wind.
“You’re leaving.”
Not a question.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
She watched the water for a long minute.
Then, very quietly:
“Who are you really?”
I didn’t answer right away. The wind carried the sound of halyards clinking against aluminum masts. A ferry horn called from far out in the fog.
“I used to step into situations when they got out of hand,” I finally said.
“Different places. Different people. It didn’t end clean.”
She studied my face like she was searching for pieces she missed.
“Were you working for somebody?”
“Used to,” I said.
“Not anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t satisfied, but she understood.
“You don’t owe me details,” she said.
“But you could stay.”
I shook my head.
“Places like this aren’t built for people like me. They’re built for people who stay and fight even when they’re scared.”
She looked down at the sand.
“Thank you… for what you did here.”
“You all did it,” I said.
“I just pushed when the tide started to turn.”
She stepped forward like she wanted to say more, then stopped.
Just nodded once and walked away.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
Eddie and Walt
Before sunset, I stopped by Walt’s place. Eddie answered the door, Anna just behind him.
He hugged me once — firm and quick, the way men say thank you when words don’t fit.
“You saved my life,” he said.
“You stood back up,” I told him.
“That’s something nobody can take from you.”
Walt walked me to the porch.
“If you ever need a place to tie up,” he said, voice low, rough, steady,
“you’ve got a slip here.”
I nodded.
Didn’t trust my voice to answer.
Call from Shaw
Back at the marina, the payphone rang before I lifted the receiver.
Like she already knew.
“Heard you’re leaving,” Shaw said.
“Sunrise,” I answered.
“You disappear fast.”
“Staying never worked out well. You know that.”
Long silence.
“Be careful this time.”
That was all.
Some people don’t need long sentences.
The Quiet Before
Now I’m sitting here with the last coffee from the diner downstairs, watching the harbor lights blink through the window. The wind has calmed. The boats are still. Feels like the marina is taking a deep breath.
Leaving Port Townsend doesn’t feel like running.
Feels like stepping out of a story that belongs to someone else now.
Tomorrow I’ll walk out before the sun hits the docks.
No one will see me go.
That’s the cleanest way.
Sand Rating
0 / 10 — washed clean
— BG
🌊 Travel light. Swing hard.
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