by Jen Malone
“I guess it’ll have to. I came to see it once in high school, after I found out they shot the final scene of Star Trek II here. It’s where Spock’s coffin landed on the Genesis planet.”
I look up from my screen. “You’re a Trekkie?”
Jonah leans back against one of the trunks. “Mayyyybe?”
“Cool.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “You a fan?”
“Sure. I mean, I prefer Star Wars, but that’s probably just because I live with Drew.”
Jonah grins and affects a shaky, high-pitched Yoda voice. “Judge not the fandoms, do I.”
I grin back. “Weirdo.”
“Weirdo who brought you here, don’t forget. Wanna see more?” He turns and ducks under a giant hanging leaf.
“There’s more?” I ask, chasing after him eagerly.
We wander the trail for a bit, and Jonah is very patient about my need to document every species with my phone. He even lets me drag him across the street to the Conservatory of Flowers, and then we hike half the park to the botanical gardens, where he covers my eyes and unveils the Helen Crocker Russell Library of Horticulture.
“Nearly thirty thousand volumes of books on all aspects of plant life,” Jonah says, stepping back so he can see my face.
I gape, eyes wide. “How do you know that? People don’t just know statistics like that!”
He ducks his head. “I may or may not have researched it this week when I was planning today.”
Planning today? I’m blown away. I mean, I guess if I stop to think about it, obviously he had to have some kind of a road map for the day, but this goes beyond just giving passing thoughts to spots in the city he’d been to before that I might like. He researched? With my specific interests in mind?
He must notice how quiet I get, because he quickly adds, “Listen, I consider myself sworn and bound to convert everyone I encounter into a San Fran fanatic, and it’s possible I may take extraordinary measures to assure a favorable outcome.”
“Well, so far, your evil plan is working. Consider me fanatical.”
“Now, now, Sprite. Don’t make it too easy for me. We still have lots of ground to cover. Hey, did you bring your sketchbook?” he asks.
I pat my backpack.
“Perfect. You get to go inside and take all the time you want. Just so you don’t have to worry about me getting bored or breathing down your neck—not that I’d do either, of course—I’m gonna hang out here and make some calls to see if any of my local gang is in town.”
All the time I want in a library devoted just to plants would take us into the following year and then some, but I content myself with an hour of copying sketches from some of the first botanical books ever printed and term it heaven. When I emerge again, Jonah is sitting cross-legged on a bench, chatting on the phone. When he spots me, he holds up a finger while he says a quick good-bye, then stands.
“Was it all that you hoped for?” he teases.
“And then some. Don’t mock!”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I told you before. I don’t judge the fandoms. Even when they take plant form.”
I laugh, but I hope he knows how touched I am that he backed away and gave me that time in there to overdose on botany. In case he doesn’t, I say, “Seriously, Jonah, that was really sweet of you to think of this and to be so patient when you could be off with your friends doing—”
He waves me quiet. “Stop. This is exactly where I want to be today. And if you want to keep exploring here, we can, but otherwise . . . my San Francisco awaits. Ready for it?”
“A thousand percent.”
Despite blissing out all morning over everything Jonah planned for my version of the city, I’m totally ready for more exploring . . . and maybe just a little curious to see what he’s into.
17
“Okay, so if there’s one word to describe the tour we’re about to go on, it’s random,” Jonah states.
“I’m good with random.”
I follow him out of the gardens, where he hails another cab, instructing it to drop us at Seward Mini Park.
“Another park? I thought we’d moved on to your version now?” I ask. “Wait, are you a closet botany freak too?”
“Hush now. You’ll see,” he replies with a cryptic grin.
When Jonah has the cab pull over outside a liquor store along the way, I’m even more curious.
“Stay right here,” he tells me before sliding out and popping inside.
Not much time passes before he returns and places two empty cardboard boxes on the seat between us. He begins tearing off the sides.
“Do I dare ask?”
“Nope,” he says, giving me another mysterious smile.
The cab drops us on a nondescript corner, next to a tall concrete wall that blocks whatever’s on the other side. Jonah finds a recycling bin for the pieces of boxes he doesn’t want, then gestures for me to follow him through a gap in the wall. Immediately, I figure out what the cardboard is for.
We’re at the top of a hill, facing side-by-side slides carved into the downward slope. I can’t quite see where they end, only the first five feet or so, before they twist out of view. They look like waterslides, except they’re entirely cement. A trio of green metal archways lines the launch point.
“Your magic carpet, m’lady,” Jonah says, offering me one of the box bottoms.
“How long is this thing?” I ask, trying to peer over the edge.
“Long enough. And I want credit for passing up a perfect ‘that’s what she said’ opportunity,” he answers, and laughs when I roll my eyes at him. He drops his cardboard “sled” on the left slide and settles his butt onto it. “C’mon! Time’s wasting.”
When I’m situated on the right side, he holds out his hand. “When we were kids, my friends and I used to bet other teams to see which of us could keep connected the whole way down. The challenge comes when you start picking up speed; one slide’s always faster than the other.”
“Baby Jonah, the swindler. Or was it all just an excuse to get the girls to hold hands with you?”
“Who says they needed an excuse?” he asks with a grin. “Now don’t be a wimp. Grab on.”
“A dislocated shoulder isn’t exactly the San Francisco souvenir I was hoping for.”
But I slide my palm against his and shriek as he uses his other hand to repeatedly push off against the concrete. My squeals soon turn to laughter as we twist and turn down the hillside. Just as my butt starts to slide off the cardboard and my fingers threaten to slip loose from Jonah’s, we hit the bottom, passing under a last metal archway.
I can’t stop giggling. “That was amazing.”
“Right?” He drops my hand and shakes out his fingers. “I think you cut off my circulation!”
“You’re the one who said we had to stay connected. I don’t back down from a challenge.”
Jonah laughs. “Noted. I’m not sure I’ll have fine motor skills in this hand for a week or so, but hopefully Christian won’t need any help hauling lines before then.”
I give him a look. “Dramatic much?”
He pointedly ignores me and scopes out the playground we’ve landed in. “God, I loved this place as a kid. I used to beg my nanny to take me here, but most of the time she insisted it was too far.”
“Your nanny?”
Jonah grins. “Hey, it’s not like I hired her. I can’t help my background.” He steps close and uses his hands to draw an imaginary box around us. “Judgment-free zone?”
“I can handle that.” I smile up at him. When he returns it softly, I’m suddenly very aware of how little space there is between us. I suck in a breath and take a step away. “Again?” I hold my cardboard up and gesture to the staircase leading back to the top.
“Only if we can race this time,” he answers.
Oh, it’s on.
After the slides (which he wins every time, damn him), we take off on foot up Twentieth Street, stopping to grab slices of pizza. Our ta
ll cups of root beer have ice in them! Normally that wouldn’t merit exclamation levels of excitement, but after the last few weeks at sea, that’s become a total novelty. My mattress freezer has only so much space, and none of it is dedicated to ice cube trays.
When we reach yet another park, I let Jonah drag me to the very corner, where he points. “Voilà! Our next stop.”
“It’s a fire hydrant.”
He scoffs at my unimpressed tone. “Yes, Captain Obvious. It’s a fire hydrant. But not just any fire hydrant.”
“Well, sure, I can see that it is, in fact, a golden fire hydrant. Color me dazzled.”
Jonah pretends to be offended. “It’s gold because it gets painted that way every year on April eighteenth. Ever heard of the Great Earthquake of San Francisco?”
“Of course.”
He examines the hydrant with a mixture of awe and respect. “Afterward, most of the city was on fire, but the water mains were damaged in the quake, meaning none of the hydrants worked. Except this one. This now-golden hydrant allowed firefighters to save most of the Mission District. Pretty cool, huh?”
What’s cool is the pride in Jonah’s voice as he talks about his city. I love my hometown, but there’s not much to show off about it, outside of ordinary suburban neighborhoods, some farmland, and the chain restaurants in nearby Springfield.
After I pay a suitable amount of homage, as determined by Jonah, he asks, “You up for more walking?”
“Are you kidding? After being stuck treading back and forth across the same forty feet of deck for the last few weeks?”
He must take that as a challenge, because we spend nearly an hour hiking to our next destination: a hotel in Union Square. I don’t care, though, because I’m soaking in everything about my surroundings, even when we’re walking through parts of the city that aren’t spit-shined and prettified for tourists. I like those areas; they give me a sense for what it must be like to live here.
In front of the Westin St. Francis, Jonah stops us, and I eye the deep red awnings and the doormen lining the carpeted entrance.
“Huh. Yeah, so, I’m not all that sure our relationship is at the point of ‘afternoon delight,’ big guy.”
He snort-laughs, which should be gross, but is pretty funny actually. Why does it feel so good to make someone else laugh?
“Don’t worry, I have nothing but mostly honorable intentions. Hey, do you have any coins on you?”
I ignore the “mostly” tease and dig in my pockets instead. “Will these work?”
“Perfect! Follow me.”
We walk through an opulent lobby that is all pillars, dark wood paneling, and giant globe chandeliers, until we reach the reception desk, where Jonah asks, “Is Lillie working today?”
The clerk places a phone call and we hang in the lobby for a minute or two, until an older woman with thinning gray hair and wearing a flowered sundress appears at the far end. When she reaches us, Jonah’s hug practically lifts her off her feet, and she giggles as he sets her down. Just as I suspected: serial charmer.
“Lillie, I’d like you to meet my friend Cassie. It’s her first time in our fine city by the bay. How could I pass up the chance to introduce her to the only professional money launderer in the world?”
She shakes my hand as I process his words.
“I’m sorry—money launderer? Like . . .” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Like a mobster?”
Wait until Drew finds out. He and Mom were heading to Alcatraz to see where Al Capone lived about a million years ago, but I get to meet a real live criminal. And she’s a woman. So cool.
Except both of them laugh.
“Not quite. Follow me,” Lillie says.
We trail her through an employees-only entrance and down flights of stairs into the basement of the hotel, where she holds open the door to a small room and gestures us through. The space is hardly bigger than a closet and has black-and-white pictures of women wearing fancy hats and furs on one wall. An ancient-looking machine lines another, and a table with a handful of lamps pointed at its surface sits in a corner. On the tabletop are coins of every denomination, which appear to be . . . drying?
Jonah watches my face with that now-familiar twitch in his lips. “Lillie here washes all the change that comes through the hotel. She’s the only one of her kind in existence. A literal money launderer.”
Lillie inclines her head modestly. “Man before me held the job for thirty-one years, and I’m just trying to fill his shoes. It’s an honor.”
I can’t help asking, “But why wash the money? It’s the coolest job ever, don’t get me wrong. I’m just curious about the reason behind it.”
“Came about back in the thirties. This has always been one of the most esteemed hotels in the city. Back then, proper women wouldn’t dream of being out and about without those.” Lillie points to a picture on the wall and gestures to the short white gloves worn by a lady clutching her fur stole around her neck. “Our owner noticed that the ladies were dirtying theirs whenever they handled change, so he decreed that all of the coins used here at our hotel would be clean and shiny. Earned us quite the reputation too. Got to be so cab drivers around the city would know to ask ‘How was your stay at the St. Francis?’ just by noting the gleam on the money a passenger paid with.”
She indicates the table, where the coins are all, indeed, sparkling.
Jonah prompts, “Give her your quarters.”
I hand them to Lillie, who immediately places them in the machine behind her. “These’ll have to sit in this burnisher for several hours while the bird shot and Borax work their magic, then dry for a bit under the heat lamps. Something tells me you don’t have that kind of time.” She pauses to glance at Jonah—who shakes his head—before continuing, “Go on and grab a couple replacements.”
I select two of the shiniest coins I’ve ever seen. “Thank you so much.”
“Anything for a friend of this troublemaker,” she replies, and I dart a glance at the subject of Lillie’s praise. He’s clearly basking in the attention.
She notices too, and says, “Stop using an old biddy to impress the ladies, would ya?”
From the corner of my eye I watch Jonah elbow Lillie lightly. “Who says I’d need your help with that, Lil? I got game when I need it. Anyway, I won’t be intruding on your peace after today, because I’ll be safely tucked away in Mexico.”
“Still thinking you’ll stay on down there?”
“Yup. Come visit. Maybe I’ll hook you up with a surfing lesson, if you think you can get those creaky knees to hang ten.”
Lillie doesn’t return his smile. “I was hoping you would change your mind. You need a diploma, J.”
Jonah crosses his arms. “Not for every job.” He gestures to the coin-washing operation. “Case in point.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “You know damn well I used all three of my degrees plenty when I worked with your father. This is great fun, yes, but it’s a retirement job, not a career. Don’t be an idiot, kid.”
“Now you sound like Dad,” Jonah says, scowling. He darts me a look, and I immediately bend over the table and resume my pretend examination of the other coins there.
Lillie says, “I’m sure he’s also telling you to at least think about what you’re giving up. Can you try that?”
Jonah squares his shoulders. “We should get going, Lil. Thanks for showing all this to Cassie.”
Clearly the discussion part of our visit is over, and Lillie gets the message too, because after one lingering look at Jonah, she escorts us back to the lobby and hugs us both good-bye. I notice she seems reluctant to let go of Jonah.
“Good luck,” she tells him. “You can always come home. Remember.”
“Wanna talk about any of that?” I ask as we exit the hotel.
“Nope,” he says, and his body language screams “pissed off,” which is a definite departure from his usual playful vibe.
I’m not sure how to act right now—our “relationship,” for
lack of a better term, has been entirely based on mutual teasing and goofing around. The only time we had a real opportunity for quiet conversation—on our foggy morning sail—we both deflected when more serious topics came up, and that was just fine by me. But now, after witnessing all that, I’m strangely curious about the Jonah hiding behind those smirky grins of his. I fall quietly into step beside him.
Whether he has to force it or not, I don’t know, but within a few minutes he’s back to his usual smiling self as he tugs me onto a cable car in Union Square. “You’re gonna love this! It’s crazy fun to watch someone experience these for the first time.”
We find seats, and I peer all around as we ride up the steepest hill ever, lined by immaculate buildings. Jonah pulls me off at the intersection of California Street and races us across to a different cable car, going in a crossing direction.
“Okay, no more benches for you, newbie. You’ve had your introduction, so now we’re doing this the right way. All the way in the front, stand on the platform down here, and no closing your eyes.”
We’re balanced on a tiny ledge hanging off the side of the cable car, and if I were to lean over any, I’d be inches from the street. When we crest the hill it’s like reaching the top of the roller coaster . . . and the downward drop awaiting us is terrifying. There’s no way we’re not going to hit a thousand miles an hour!
Jonah’s standing close behind me, and I involuntarily lean back into him as I shriek for the second time today. Immediately, his free arm wraps around my stomach and pulls me close, and it surprises me almost as much as the fact that this car is heading down a kamikaze decline attached to the street by only a single cable. It’s entirely possible he’s just trying to keep me from splatting onto the pavement, but still. Even though I was grasping his hand in a death grip on the slides earlier, this kind of embrace is completely different, and I’d have to be dead not to notice how firm his chest is.
His breath is soft in my ear, as is his voice when he says, “I gotcha, Sprite.”
When we reach the bottom, the car stops, and I exhale as Jonah releases me lightly. I step off, avoiding his eyes as I clear my throat. “Now where?”
