by Deb Caletti
Next door, I could see our patio. Our house was dark. A wisp of fog trailed along the beach like a tendril of cigarette smoke. Goose bumps trickled up my arms. I should have brought a sweatshirt.
I thought of those work gloves. The hands in them. I thought of those hands on me, and I hated it, and I was scared. I thought of those hands on me, and I liked it, and I wasn’t.
With no walls and in that darkness, it was too high up there, that’s for sure.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Exhibit 31: Woman III, IV, V, VI, graphite on paper, attributed to Willem de Kooning
“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m using you,” I said to Max after the driver stopped at Lands End and we got out.
He wagged and smiled. He didn’t seem to mind.
“You don’t think I’m being boy crazy, do you?” If I were, I’d have to be it in secret. Boy crazy was bad. It was trashy, messy, desperate. Guys thought so; girls thought so even more. You should have heard Meredith and her mother talk about girls like Quinn Jones, boy crazy since the sixth grade.
Max was a nonjudgmental dog, so he yanked me toward the beach. It didn’t matter to him either way, and he was probably right. Boys were never girl crazy. They could want and be hungry, and no one judged them for it. Girls were supposed to live the same way we were supposed to eat—politely, saying no to all the great food, nibbling on celery instead.
I took my sandals off, and just like that, I spotted him in the distance. That boy. He was right—if you went to Baker or Lands End, you were going to see him. Of course, this was especially true if you, um, planned to go to Lands End at exactly the same time and on exactly the same day of the week as when you saw him last. I mean, it was pretty clear by then that any exciting, life-changing IT was not going to be delivered to my front door.
He sat on one of the big rocks near the Cliff House. His head was bent down, his dark curls falling forward. I started giggling nervously. A bad beginning. “I know. Stop it, right?” I said to Max. His brown eyes told me not to be such an idiot.
I’d never just walked up to a guy like that. With actual intent. It was always his idea, and I kind of went along. But there was just something about this guy I liked. He felt familiar, yet not. Like a new book by your favorite author.
I almost chickened out, because he was concentrating and maybe I shouldn’t interrupt. But then Max recognized him too, and pulled hard. We were still a ways off when Nicco looked up. “Hey, I thought it was you!” I shouted. More like, I planned to try and see you, but whatever.
And then, shit. It was awful, because he clearly didn’t have a clue who I was. I’d gone and made him this big, important person in my head, but he hadn’t done the same. I was right in front of him, and he looked confused. Then he saw Max and remembered. “Oh, yeah. Hi! Big Max, Beautiful Guy.”
“I’m Sydney. I don’t think I told you my name.”
“Right. Nice to meet you. Officially. I’m Nicco.”
There was some awkward smiling and a few eons of me kicking myself and wishing I could vanish. Then, thank God, words. “You on your break again?”
He was wearing those same black pants and white shirt, even though the sun was beginning to beat down. His black dress shoes were off, and his socks, too, stuffed inside of them. His feet were sandy. God, even his feet were cute, which is next to impossible.
“Nah. Off early. They had a big corporate brunch.”
“Are you an artist?” I gestured to his notebook.
He laughed. “Uh, I can maybe draw one of those square houses with a triangle roof? No, it’s just…” He waved his hand to say whatever. He scruffed Max on the neck, which made Max sit totally still so he’d never stop.
“Poetry? ‘Dear Diary’?” I pretended to guess. I was trying to be funny, but, ugh, it sort of sounded like I was making fun of him. He looked a little struck. My insides collapsed with humiliation. Okay, making the first move could suck.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but then Max flopped down and rolled onto his back and showed off his glorious boy parts. God! Could it get any worse? “Oh, man,” I said. “Oversharing.”
Nicco handled this way more maturely than I did. “You big goof,” he said, and scratched Max’s tummy. “No to the poetry. Well… sorta poetry…” He peeked up at me like, What the hell, I’m going to risk it. “Hard to explain, but I just write down stuff I see. So I don’t forget. Like today, at that brunch, this old man was holding hands with this old woman. Then he raised them up and kissed hers. You know, so fucking tender. Things you’d forget in ten minutes otherwise.”
Picture my heart cracking in two.
“Like that toddler with sandy knees?” I pointed to this little guy wearing bright-red swim trunks and a draggy diaper.
“Exactly. Yeah.” He smiled. “I’m gonna write that down.” He did. He showed it to me. Toddler with sandy knees (Sydney).
Now I smiled.
He bent his head to write something else. Then he turned the notebook around so I could read it.
Sydney turning her heart necklace around in her fingers, nervous.
I was doomed.
I was seen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Exhibit 32: Sworn statement of Eli Mallory, Forensic Authenticator, Museum of Modern Art
We talked. We covered the basics. Him: Nicco Ricci, seventeen, four credits shy of graduating early from George Washington High. Recently moved from home and now living with a friend above a Cambodian restaurant on Balboa Street, north of Golden Gate Park. His two moms were nearby on Cabrillo. They supported the idea of his independence (they supported pretty much every idea of his, he said, down to crayon wall art when he was three) and ran a gift shop of Tibetan wares, featuring meditation cushions, prayer flags, and singing bowls.
Me: there on summer break to stay with my mother, since I went to school in Seattle.
No real details. I didn’t want to be that seen. Not yet. I was already doing the high math calculations you do when you might like someone, because what would he think of the sixteen-million-dollar house? What would he think when he learned about Lila?
“Since you’re pretty new around here, have you seen the labyrinth?” he asked.
“I tried to find it once, but no luck.” The labyrinth was a stone maze, built in a secret spot at the edge of the sea.
“Yeah, it’s hard unless you know where it is. I could show you, if you want. I’m not in the best clothes for it, but it’s great.”
More high math. Did he want to, or was he just being nice? Would I seem too eager, going to some secret spot with a stranger? Was I too eager, going to some secret spot with a stranger? Mostly, I was just really lonely. The past week, Jake had barely left and Lila was happier, but still. At home with my friends, I was a part of things, and here I was just apart.
“Sure. That’d be awesome, if you’re okay with it.”
The trail was unmarked, which was why I couldn’t find it before. The route basically hugged the side of a cliff, and it was kind of scary, especially with Max pulling, because he wasn’t great on the leash. There was a steep set of stairs at the end of the trail, leading down. When we got to the bottom, we walked straight through some trees and then maneuvered up a mountain of rocks.
And then, there it was. If you haven’t seen it… well, I thought it was going to be near the shore, but I was wrong. It’s way high up, set at the very edge of the bluff, a maze of concentric circles.
“Oh, man,” I said. It was almost an exhale, because wow.
Nicco turned and beamed. He was holding his shoes, and the notebook was tucked inside one of them. “Right?”
“That’s amazing.”
It seemed mystical, ancient. We walked the rings, starting at the outermost one and working our way in. We were quiet. Max was too, as if even he knew he should show respect. People had left things in the center—treasures, like shells, and sea glass, the feather of a gull. It was peaceful there, like the labyrinth had risen naturally from th
e earth. We made our way back out of it and then sat on a rock nearby and watched other visitors arrive, doing what we just did. I gave Max some water and shared mine with Nicco.
“It’s been destroyed a few times by assholes,” Nicco said, handing my bottle back to me. “But he always comes back to fix it.”
“He?”
“The artist, Eduardo Aguilera. He made it as a shrine to peace, love, and enlightenment. He’s lit it with candles a few times. On winter solstice or something, I think.”
“Man, there’s a lot in this city that’s been rebuilt after being wrecked,” I said. “By fire, earthquakes, assholes…”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
We watched a seagull pick its way among the rocks. And then we watched two young guys circle the rings and kiss when they reached the center.
“A middle kiss,” I said. Nicco took the notebook out of his shoe and wrote this down.
He showed me the notebook. Middle kiss, it said.
* * *
“I better get back,” Nicco said. “I help the moms in the store on Wednesdays. Rent money.”
“I totally lost track of time.”
I was glad Max yanked me up those stairs like a sled dog, because it was a hard climb. I felt bad for Nicco in those hot clothes. By then, his pants were rolled up to his knees, and his shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves up as far as they could go, but still.
We reached the beach finally, and my mind spun. Would I see him again? Should I ask? But you were supposed to play this game, right? Where you act like you’re not that interested? Where you manipulate the guy into liking you by being someone you’re not?
“Hey, let’s swap numbers,” Nicco said. What a relief.
“Great. For sure. I’d really like that. Today was fun.” He typed his number into my phone, and I typed mine into his. I wondered if he had, like, thousands of girls’ numbers in there, since he was so sweet and adorable. Oh, I was in trouble already. It was going to be hard work, pretending not to be vulnerable.
“Have you ever been inside Camera Obscura?”
I squinched my face to say I wasn’t sure.
“That weird little building behind the restaurant?”
“No. I always wondered what that was.”
“Next time. We need a clear day, though, so you can see all the way out to Seal Rocks.”
Next time.
“I’m late,” he said, and jogged toward the parking lot. I watched him get into a VW van, the old kind with the big, round front and friendly headlights. He waved. I waved. Max looked up at me.
“I know,” I told him. “Don’t even say it.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Exhibit 33: Sworn statement of Detective Reese Craig, 1 of 2
The house was empty when I got home. I didn’t know where Lila was, but I was glad no one was there. I wanted some time alone. I was happy, and the afternoon with Nicco belonged only to me. I wanted to cup my hands around it in my own mind, unwrap it again and again, like a secret present.
Suddenly, too, I felt really, really interested in my appearance. I mean, like, I needed new clothes and to work out and to become a more beautiful and amusing person, pronto. I should maybe lift weights and buy a new bra, since my old favorite was kind of limp. I wanted to do all of that immediately, but I also wanted to just stay still and replay every second of the last few hours.
I went upstairs and changed into my two-piece, got a towel, my book, and a big glass of ice water with a wedge of lime. I laid my towel out on one of the chaises on the patio.
It was so warm that I could smell the delicious sun, plus the sea. Max found a shady spot just inside the house. I tried to read, but ha. It was the kind of reading where you look at the same sentence again and again and it makes absolutely no sense, because you’re thinking about dark curls and the way he said so fucking tender. The way it made me want all of his so-fucking-tender heart and his so-fucking-tender hands. I was in trouble, because this was nothing like Samuel Crane. Nothing. I’d jumped universes. I looked at my phone on the outdoor table beside me. I wondered if I should text first or wait, and for how long.
Don’t be available, Lila had always said. Make him chase you. Be the prize he has to earn.
I couldn’t blame just Lila for that advice, though, could I? She was only living in the world that was ours. I’d seen it already, how beautiful and disinterested girls were the most popular. You weren’t supposed to want or show your want. You were supposed to look sexy without actually being sexy. Be the ice queen with the tight blond ponytail who they wanted to touch but never would.
Sometimes, a cold, disinterested guy like Reed Shaw or Ellis Jackson would also be popular. But so was Ben Avery, that senior guy who pulled girls down on his lap and hugged them from behind and pushed whatever girl he liked up against his locker to shove his tongue down her throat. So was Jason Varide, who took half the girls in our eighth-grade class down to his parents’ basement. Guys could be anything they wanted—disinterested, interested, polite, assaulting. No one complained about Ben Avery, because he was Ben Avery. But if a girl ever acted like that, even the other girls would be disgusted.
You were supposed to dangle the candy without giving the candy. I knew that. Everyone did. But what if you wanted to give the candy? What if everything looked like candy to some people, even a certain T-shirt or a skirt? What about when you thought you’d better hand over the candy to some bully? What about when guys stole the candy, grabbed what was yours right out of your hands? Sometimes a guy could steal the candy and you’d be blamed for not keeping it safe enough.
No wonder even texting was a minefield. I felt suddenly anxious. Every possible choice seemed wrong. Agatha just walking on the beach, being who she was so openly—she was a fearless queen from some fuck-you time in the future. Why were you always told to just be yourself when so much else said the opposite?
Right then, my phone buzzed and danced a little circle around the table.
Kid just stuck a piece of Red Willow incense up his nose. Weeping emoji. Thanks for a great afternoon.
You shouldn’t text back for at least a half hour, Cora’s sister told us once.
I typed, Poor kid. Everything is going to taste Red Willow now! Laughing emoji. GREAT afternoon. Smiling emoji.
Too many emojis, probably. Excessive use of caps.
Screw it.
I pressed send.
I wanted… I really just wanted to be real.
* * *
On the sprawling patio of 716 Sea Cliff, perched above China Beach, I spread the lotion all over my body. Legs, shoulders. As much of my back as I could get. I lay on my stomach on the chaise. I rested my cheek on my arms. I remembered sitting on that second-story platform that night, how you could see our house from there. I got the creeps, thinking he was maybe watching me right then, that man working next door.
Then again, so what? Everyone had a body, and here was mine. The sun felt so good. Dread? What dread? I was happy. I was hopeful. Not for something in particular, just the pure meaning of the word—full of hope.
Max trotted out. He sat down and stared at me.
“Now?” I said.
He stared harder.
“Right when I just got comfy?”
Stare.
Ugh! I got up. The house was still empty. It was strange that Lila wasn’t home yet. It was maybe four or four thirty, and there was no note, nothing. I could have called to check on her, but I was glad to be alone. For once, I didn’t mind being by myself in that big, empty house.
I let Max out into the walled front garden. I was going to have to go out there and pick up his poop, because no one else had been doing it. No wonder Lila left most of my upbringing to Edwina.
The wall was maybe four feet high or so. I’m not good with heights and distances. The point is, I could see over it. And as I stood there waiting for Max to finish, I saw this car parked across the street. A man was sitting in it. He wore a shirt and a tie, sunglasses, and h
e looked my way when I spotted him, and sure, he could’ve just been some real estate guy or something, but it didn’t seem like it. He was just sitting there, like he had all the time in the world.
I got a bad feeling. Really bad. Dread, doom, anxiety—all of it. He’s watching our house, I thought. I had no reason to think it. I mean, when you live in an expensive neighborhood, you always have reason to think it, but I didn’t have any particular evidence for it.
And then a truck turned the corner onto our street. It looked like the one that had delivered the paintings a few days before. But it turned a fast circle then. Back the way it came, and in a screaming hurry. Just, veeroom, getting the hell out of there.
The man in the parked car started his engine. He looked calm, but then he hit the accelerator, and it was like some chase scene in a movie where lots of cars blow up. It was one of those times when something big and terrible is actually happening, but it seems too dramatic to believe. You blame your own imagination because the truth would be too crazy.
“I’m nuts,” I told Max. He tilted his head as if this were quite possible. “I mean, look.” Aside from the commotion next door, and the arrival of a Molly Maid van heading to one of the neighbors’ houses, the street was quiet now.
Max trotted into the kitchen for some water and a cool spot on the marble floor. I felt distracted, but I went back outside. I lay on the chaise again, tried to return to where I was. I forced myself to think about Nicco and his dark curls and his notebook and his olive skin in that white shirt.
And then I heard someone. Max wasn’t barking, so maybe Lila was home. It wasn’t Lila, though. It was Jake, on the phone. This startled me. He was around all the time lately, even if he still supposedly lived in one of his other houses nearby. But—how long had he been there? All that time, I’d thought I was alone. I suddenly felt weird, since I hadn’t been. Did he see me with my straps all undone? I mean, I hadn’t exactly been careful.
