Ana of California

by Andi Teran

  “Twenty-five. It’s a collector’s item.”

  Ana fished for the bus ticket money she’d always kept at the bottom of her backpack, just in case, and paid for it.

  She was in such a daze from ditching school and finding the album that she didn’t realize she was early when she entered The Bracken. There were a few people inside at various tables, so Ana had a seat at the counter.

  “Food, coffee, or both?” asked the new waiter behind the bar.

  “Nothing. Actually, I’m looking for Will. Is he around?”

  The waiter headed to the kitchen. Ana swiveled in her seat. The café was becoming more crowded, she noticed: a few people having coffee in the corner, a man enjoying a bowl of soup. It was sunny outside despite the dropping temperatures, a golden tint to the afternoon light. Ana felt a longing to know what it must feel like to belong to a place, and hoped that if she continued to make things right, that maybe she would. Maybe this would be her place.

  “Aren’t you early?” Will said, drying his hands.

  “History midterms. I finished early.”

  “Want something while you wait for Abbie?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “But I brought something for you.” She reached into her backpack, pulled out the brown paper bag, and handed it over to him.

  “What’s this?” Will said, sliding the album out of the bag, his eyes going wide. “No! Where did you find it?”

  “At Bungle across the street. She’s been there all along.”

  He laid it on the counter and stared at it.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Ana said.

  “It is,” he said, picking it up and holding it in front of him. “Still slays me right through the heart.”

  Will flipped it over and they both read the song names, laughing at the titles and the photo of the band, who featured the requisite amount of hair and black leather pants.

  “What are you two so engrossed in?” Abbie said, coming in and sitting down at the counter.

  They both looked up, startled.

  “What is that?” Abbie said, leaning in before going completely rigid. “Whose is this?” she demanded, her face flushed.

  “I . . .”

  “It’s mine,” Will said. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Get your things, Ana.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  She marched out of the restaurant. Ana grabbed her backpack and turned to Will, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t know what had happened either.

  • • •

  Abbie drove faster than normal. She whipped the van around and rolled down her window, the cold air streaming in.

  “Was that some kind of joke?” she said.

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Why on earth would he have that? I bet he’s had it the whole time! I told him I never wanted to see that thing again.”

  “I bought it for him.”

  “You what?”

  “I found it in the record shop, and I knew it was something Will might like, so . . .”

  “How would you know that it would be something he would like?”

  “Because he likes you.”

  They rounded the black oak tree and pulled into the driveway. A white Mercedes was parked along the fence. “Who is this?” Abbie said before both she and Ana saw Nadine Brannan standing on the front porch with Emmett. “Here we go,” Abbie said. “As if this day couldn’t get any more absurd. Let me do the talking.”

  They got out of the van and walked toward the front door. Emmett was pacing back and forth while Nadine stood still, one hand resting on her hip. “Hello, Nadine,” Abbie said, approaching.

  “I hope you’re happy with yourself,” Nadine said to Ana.

  “What’s going on?” Abbie said.

  “Why don’t we all go inside,” Emmett said. “Ana, please wait on the porch.”

  “No, she should hear this,” Nadine continued. “My son has had a tremendously difficult time,” she said, turning to Abbie. “I’m sure you’re aware of our family situation. It’s been difficult on my kids—Cole especially. All was going well after all that business last year. I’m sure you heard about the bonfire from the paper and, well, you know the rest. He’s finally back in school, getting his grades up, back together with all of his friends, and then in the last few weeks—I couldn’t put my finger on it—but something shifted. And then my mind went back to that night in our laundry room . . .”

  “What night?” Abbie interrupted.

  “That’s when it all began, the two of them. And now my son is sneaking out to ride his bike, listening to all of this loud music, locked up in his room. He came home last night telling me all about this girl, this Ana, and how he wants to make everything right at home, as if that is going to fix all our problems. . . .”

  “I’m not sure what we’re getting at here, Nadine,” Emmett said.

  “Well, I’ve made some inquiries and discovered quite a lot about Miss Cortez.”

  “Ana, go back to the van, please,” Abbie said, but Ana remained standing at the foot of the front steps.

  “I know the two of them have been meeting out in the woods. Cole is forbidden back there, and we signed papers with you and with Mr. Kinman that forbid anyone from cutting through our property to the cliffs.”

  “Wait a minute,” Emmett said. “Let’s not go accusing—”

  “Did you not walk to the cliffs yesterday?” Nadine said accusingly, turning toward Ana.

  “Yes and no . . .”

  “Which one is it?” Emmett asked.

  “I ran into Cole in the forest a long time ago. We had a brief conversation before I headed back. I also ran into him yesterday when I took Dolly for a walk. . . .”

  “I never gave you permission to walk all the way to the beach,” Emmett said.

  “You see,” Nadine said. “She is not to be trusted.”

  “Hey now,” Abbie said.

  “Look, you have no idea about the money we have spent rehabilitating our son this summer. He had a bit of a hiccup last year, but we sent him away and fixed the problem. He’s a happier kid, and my daughter is happy to have her brother back. I don’t expect either of you to understand the gravity of a situation such as this, but when my son confided in my daughter what he’s been up to and she dutifully divulged all of this to me, including the fact that the other night he was drinking with her—” Nadine pointed to Ana. “I had to come over here and set things straight. I understand you are the sort of charitable people who feel comfortable opening up your home to someone like this, but I cannot and will not allow my son to be taken back down that road again.”

  “And which road do you think that is?” Abbie asked.

  “Not the road my husband took, getting involved with someone like . . .”

  “Someone like what?” Abbie pressed.

  “I would think that you of all people would understand, Emmett,” Nadine said.

  That was all it took. One sentence, one look from Nadine Brannan, and Emmett allowed all the pent-up rage to spill out onto the porch.

  “Get off our property right now,” Emmett said, taking a step toward her. “I said get in your goddamned car and leave!”

  Nadine walked down the stairs as Ana watched, dumbfounded at what just took place, trying to understand what she did to cause this much of a commotion. Abbie walked over to Emmett and tried to put her hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away.

  “I can’t handle this,” Emmett said, speaking to himself. “I can’t handle this anymore.”

  He made his way to the barn as Nadine sped out of the driveway and back down the road.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Ana said.

  “Let’s go inside,” Abbie said softly. “This isn’t your fault. I n
eed to explain a few things.”

  She held open the door, but Ana couldn’t move. She’d been here before, been in the corner, under the table, behind the couch. There was always an accusation followed by yelling. There’d be a conversation, an explanation, and then she’d be asked to leave.

  “I need to tell you about Emmett and Josie,” Abbie said. “It will all hopefully make more sense. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to be alone for a while.” Ana walked past Abbie into the dark house, crossing through the parlor, knowing which furniture to dodge, which paintings on the wall not to knock into. She made her way upstairs and fell into the bed. She stayed there, giving in to the heaviness, waiting for Abbie to knock. The house remained quiet and still.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but it was dark when she woke up. She turned on the light and sat up, propping her sketchbook on her knees. She thought she heard a rumble outside. The light was off in the hallway, so she went to the window and pushed back the curtain. There was a single light fixed on the road, someone on a motorcycle. She turned off the lamp and turned it back on again, then turned it off and on again one more time. The figure in the road flashed a headlight in the same way.

  Ana put on her jacket and opened the window.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She was surprised they made it down the farm’s dirt road without being caught. They pushed the motorcycle down the hill together. It was just a quick joyride, Cole had said. He handed her a helmet and she hesitated before jumping onto the back behind him, her arms encircling his waist. He kicked the machine to life, and they sped down Crescent Lane, away from the farm and toward the beach.

  Cole continued on the road for several miles. The motorcycle roared underneath her, the wind shushing against her helmet. Ana wondered if Abbie had knocked on the bedroom door by now. She closed her eyes and held on tight. When she opened them, she and Cole were speeding through the redwoods, flashes of green and brown and red illuminated by a single headlight. Cole slowed down and pulled off the road, edging them up to a metal sign advertising a campground. They sat there for a moment before he eased them both off the leather seat.

  “Here seems good,” he said.

  Ana glanced from side to side. The sky was a ghost gray. Nothing but trees surrounded them. “Where are we?”

  “There’s a campground through the trees,” Cole said. “I dirt biked all over these woods with my dad when I was a kid, so I know exactly where we’re going. I thought we could watch the sunrise.”

  “But what are we doing?” she mumbled to Cole and to herself.

  “Getting lost,” he answered.

  She nodded, still unsure. “Fine. Just for a little while, and then you can take me back, okay?

  Cole grabbed his backpack from the rear of the motorcycle. He led them down a path and into the woods with a flashlight. The air was clean and pungent, the trees still dripping from a recent rain. There was a chill in the air. Ana was glad she’d worn her sneakers and jacket. She zipped up the jacket over Emmett’s Tom Petty T-shirt.

  They arrived at the camping area, which was completely empty. There were signs that read NO TRESPASSING.

  “Technically the grounds aren’t open,” Cole said. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

  Ana pulled a blanket out of the backpack and threw it around her shoulders. She wandered over to a nearby picnic table to watch Cole make a fire.

  “Rye told me you were a pyro,” she said. “I believe the word ‘nihilistic’ was also thrown in.”

  “My bonfires are legendary. But trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  He got the fire going as she spread the blanket out on the ground. They sat down next to each other and watched the fire crackle and burn.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing.” He wanted to tell her that even when she scrunched her face, he never wanted to stop staring at it. “You scare me, that’s all.”

  “I scare you?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it, but you have this look that’s one part ‘I could kill you’ and one part ‘Rescue me.’”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Rescuing me? Because I can rescue myself.”

  It was the first time anyone had come to her rescue, though, she thought—besides the time Abbie helped her get into art class, and the time Mrs. Saucedo got her a job on a farm, or earlier in the day when Will had lied on her behalf.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Cole couldn’t read Ana’s mood, but it had shifted since they’d entered the woods.

  “I think I need to get back,” she said, remembering what Manny had told her about going with her gut.

  “What’s the rush? It’s not as late as you think, and if they’ve already discovered you’re gone, what’s one more hour?”

  Cole was right. It wasn’t as if Abbie and Emmett cared in the way she thought they did anyway. It was almost November. They’d probably be sending her back soon. After the incident with Rye, ditching class, Nadine accusing her of being an alcoholic influence on Cole, and now this, she figured she might as well enjoy what might be the last good night for a while.

  “So, about my mom coming to visit the Garbers earlier,” Cole started to say.

  “Can we not?” Ana said. “I don’t want to relive it for both our sakes.”

  He walked over to the fire and pushed the logs around, making the flames leap higher.

  “When I asked you if you wanted to get lost with me forever, I sort of meant it,” he said.

  “Where are we going to get lost to?”

  “I don’t know, Portland? There’s so much good music, and I hear they have killer doughnuts.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Kind of, not really. It was just a thought.” But Cole was serious. The thought of going back to a fractured household seemed worse. He was sick of his mother’s constant worry, sick of her blaming his father for everything, even though he agreed with her.

  “But you have a family. They’d be devastated if you left. Your mom can’t even handle you talking to a girl in the laundry room of your own house.”

  “Actually, it’s me she can’t handle. I just feel it would be better for everyone if I weren’t there all the time. It’s like my mom sees my dad’s face in mine or something, like I’m a constant reminder of what he did to her, to us.”

  “She loves you, you know; even if it means attacking other people, she does it to protect you. She said some crazy things to me, and I can still tell you that she did it because she wants nothing but the best for you. I think you’re luckier than you think.”

  Cole shook his head and exhaled toward the sky. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say when people go on about how perfect they think my life is just because I live in that stupid house.”

  “That’s not why I said it . . . but please, lump me into a stereotype.”

  “That wasn’t what I was doing. Sorry. I’m just sick of the whole situation at home. I’m tired of hearing my sister cry all the time.”

  Ana didn’t press him.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. “Hungry?”

  “All of the above, I think.”

  He reached into the bag and pulled out several small wrapped packages. He slid one over to her. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Leftovers pilfered from our kitchen.”

  Ana unwrapped a wedge of cheese. There were crackers, nuts, olives, fruits, and chips along with half a loaf of bread, cookies, and plastic utensils. He reached back into the bag and pulled out a thermos.

  “Courtesy of Nathaniel Brannan,” he said, raising the thermos to the sky. “What is promised to be an extraordinary pinot noir.”

  “Did you pilfer the family vineyard too?”

  “Yep, got it right here in my pack.”

  They sna
cked and sipped, periodically stoking the fire, trying not to laugh at each other when there were moments of silence. It was easier to study him in class when Ana was a row behind and he wasn’t looking. She liked that he sometimes rested his hand on his neck, an absentminded reflex as if he were trying to reach out and hold onto himself. Ana never knew that he’d always imagined reaching for her.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “You just . . . I don’t know. I want to kiss you all the time. Not gonna lie.”

  “I think I just got wine up my nose.” She laughed, doubling over.

  “What’s that?” he asked, reaching over and touching the nape of her neck.

  “A tattoo.” She pulled up the collar on her jacket.

  “I know it’s a tattoo. May I see it?”

  “It’s getting cold . . . right?”

  He reached over and grabbed her hand, touching each finger, pressing his thumb into her palm. She didn’t understand how every logical thought seemed to evaporate with even his lightest touch.

  “Why don’t you want to talk about it? We’ve got a whole fireside chat going on here.”

  “Because it’s hard to . . . because I hate it.”

  His hand went to her neck again, brushing her hair away and resting on her back. “It’s interesting, though, and it’s obviously something you chose—”

  “It’s not, and I didn’t,” Ana said, pulling away and staring into the fire. “I was six years old, they held me down, I screamed the whole time.”

  “You had that done when you were six?”

  “It happens sometimes, but they usually do it in a more hidden place until you’re old enough to get one that’s visible.”

  “Who did this?”

  “Some people my parents were involved with. . . .” She didn’t want to come right out and say it was a gang. She didn’t want to name them or give them any more attention than they’d given her. “More of an organized crime group—drug dealing, guns, that sort of thing. Both of my parents were a part of it.”

  “And these people did this to you? Why?”

  “Because my parents were taken, and my grandma.”