“Damn! I’ve got something for him, finally.” He held up an envelope. “Ten thousand somethings, plus interest.”
Three hours of freeway driving and slow traffic later, San Francisco expanded into view, spectacularly beautiful as always, as colorful and varied in scale as a carnival, and just as loud and lively.
And maybe just as sketchy.
And smelly.
The idea of San Francisco as a carnival made her think of circuses. Which made her think of tightropes, which made her think of “Don’t Cry Out Loud.”
Which ironically made her cry out loud.
Gulping, messy sobs that threatened to obscure her vision. So she got a grip, because that’s what she did. She got a grip. She was a person who didn’t believe in magic anymore, so why the hell should she cry?
Maybe someday she would find comfort in beingrightabout Mac Coltrane being a terrible risk. Didn’t it prove she had great judgment after all?
The excess emotion made her nauseated and a little dizzy.
But in the thirty hair-tearing, harrowing minutes it took to find a parking place within four blocks of her building (she finally double-parked) she didn’t think much about Mac, which made her realize that merely getting around in San Francisco required every single one of her faculties practically every minute of the day; and who had time to dwell, or for emotions, or for love, when you were doing that.
But was looking for a goddamn parking place really a good use of the remaining minutes of her life?
She’d texted Corbin earlier to steer clear of her for the entire day she’d be in town, and he’d complied. She was in and out of the apartment inside an hour. She’d always kept the clothes to a versatile minimum in honor of the teeny closet, and for the same reason a good percentage of the rest of her stuff was made of fabric that could be wadded into balls. She didn’t even feel the slightest urge to take a pair of scissors to Corbin’s favorite ironic thrift store bowling shirt (it said “Bert” on the pocket), which was how she knew the spark, if they had indeed ever shared such a thing, was irretrievably extinguished.
She paused in the doorway for one last look around, but that only reminded her of pausing there and listening to the headboard bam, so she slammed the door quickly with a little shudder.
The next thing she did was shake Visine into her eyes then make a sweep through GradYouAte’s offices to soothe the nerves of her staff with her sunny, efficient presence and a few brisk decisions, metaphorically tugging here and there at all the loose ends and straightening Corbin’s messes as best she could. Apart from the money issues. Those they would have to finesse together, somehow.
But the issues surrounding the work they were doing suddenly seemed irritating and pointless. She literally felt as if she were trapped in the midst of a boring dream.
In fact, after a month of feeling nearly everything on a symphonic scale—happiness and anger, peace and beauty, hilarity and admiration, orgasms—the entire day seemed muted.
San Francisco itself, arguably one of the most colorful places on earth in every sense of the word, seemed muted.
And it wasn’t just because she was tryingnotto feel inconvenient emotions again. It was literally the difference between a banquet and a TV dinner, and about the...ingredientsin a day. Specifically, the people. The situations. The work.
The presence or absence of hope.
Or love.
Avalon crashed on Rachel’s couch in San Francisco’s Richmond District that night and instead of sleeping, listened to giant buses groaning up and down the hills. Before that, she drove around for forty-five minutes before she found a place to park her car. The Thai food was awesome, though, and Rachel had a line on a possible flat Avalon could sublet, one that would let her keep a little dog. Things could be worse.
She was glad Rachel worked late and had to get up early; Avalon could just barely handle the yawning hug and the few cheerful sentences they exchanged before they went off to their various sleeping arrangements. She missed Chick Pea. She missed knowing her sister could text for a favor and Avalon could get right in there and be a Hummingbird helper.
But the jobs were here, in San Francisco. Not only the one she’d created for herself, but the livelihoods she’d created for GradYouAte’s (albeit transient, young and flaky) staff, and she supposed she felt some responsibility to the people who’d been kind enough to buy the game and play it. She’d only planned for Hellcat Canyon and the house at Devil’s Leap to be an interlude, anyway. She knew Corbin was in no position to buy her out of GradYouAte, even if he wanted to—God only knew he didn’t want to run the place on his own. The whole company would look more attractive to a buyer if they could actually meet payroll, for God’s sake.
She exhaled. Then curled her hands under her cheek, and kissed her palm gently and thought,Godspeed, Mac, wherever you are, you fucker. Thanks for demonstrating that you didn’t run off with my heart, because I know now I never really got it back from you the first time.For a few weeks there, she’d remembered how it had really felt to have one.
Maybe Mac had been right all along. Romance was a racket. And nobody with any sense believed in magic.
The next day, as San Francisco shrank again in her rearview mirror, no part of her looked forward to returning to her life there. That was a first. At the very least, she’d always looked forward to good Thai food.
But she’d be back, and she’d make it all work out, because that’s what she did.
She currently just didn’t see any other way.
She finally turned the key in the lock of the Devil’s Leap house around four thirty that afternoon, and freed Chick Pea from her carrier to tinkle if she so chose. She chose only to sniff the flower beds and bark at a squirrel. She’d happily tinkled back at her parents’ house, apparently.
The house glowed like a bride inside from the fresh paint. The smell was evocative in some ways of spring: new paint had always smelled like anticipation to her. Like the beginnings of things.