The Heart of Henry Quantum
Page 18
But looking around, Henry Quantum suddenly understood—he saw what he had really come for. And it wasn’t Chanel No. 5.
CHAPTER 14
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9:04 p.m.–?
He had tried to call Margaret, he really had. But of course she never answered when she was with a client, so he left her a voice message, and also texted her, and also e-mailed her.
“Margaret,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t pick up Arthur. He’ll have to take a cab or a shuttle. He’ll be fine. I don’t have his cell number so I left a message for him at the airport—you know, the white courtesy telephone. He’ll figure it out. But I just can’t take him tonight. And also, Margaret, I’ve got something I have to do, so I’ll be late. I mean, I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’ll explain later. Sorry about this. Okay. ’Bye.”
On the text and e-mail he merely wrote: Hope your meeting going well. Can’t pick up A. Left message. Don’t know when home.
Then he deleted the Hope your meeting going well. He didn’t mean it, so he decided not to say it.
By now Arthur would have arrived anyway, would have gone through his panic, would have called Margaret, who probably did answer, or he used his head for once and got into a cab all by himself. Whatever he did, Henry didn’t care.
What he did care about was the package in his arms, which was actually not a package. He’d asked the woman to tie a red ribbon around it, which she did.
Then he’d driven like a madman. He’d driven up 280 and down Nineteenth Avenue and along Park Presidio until it fed onto the Golden Gate Bridge, and after the bridge he continued up 101, past Sausalito and Mill Valley and Larkspur and Corte Madera and up Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, past Greenbrae and Ross and San Anselmo and then down Center Street to Lansdale Station, and then down Lansdale to Baywood Court, just exactly as was indicated on the Google Map on his iPhone.
The entire time, his mind was blank. The only thought he had was to follow the directions of the lady in Google Maps, who spoke so calmly and never fretted if you made a wrong turn or did something stupid. Finally, he parked his car in front of the house and took up the package in his arms. It was a white teddy bear with a red ribbon around its neck. He named it Christmas Bear. The saleswoman had given him a hard time when he told her he no longer wanted the perfume, but he didn’t care about that, either. He paid with cash and didn’t wait for change.
Now he stood beside his car looking up at Daisy’s house. It was so much smaller than her old place, or his place. He remembered something from the poet Milton, something he’d never understood until this very moment. That hell is vast and formless, but heaven is small and contained, a small room, a little house, like this one with its Christmas tree blinking in the window and a warm glow drifting out from the living room. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind the clean, bright scent of sugar pine and Douglas fir, and above him the stars began to sparkle through the thinning clouds, and the moon, three-quarters full, smiled to see her minions happy again, and Henry Quantum also smiled. Whatever might happen next, he had finally chosen the perfect Christmas gift.
POSTSCRIPT
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A Note from the Author
With one or two notable exceptions, every place in this book is real. If you care to, you can walk Henry’s walk, drive Margaret’s drive, or visit Daisy’s house or her kids’ schools. If you do decide to follow in Henry’s footsteps, you will have the pleasure, as I have, of falling in love with San Francisco, the most magical city in America, and perhaps in the world.
The author would like to gratefully acknowledge the following: Tom Owens, for falling head over heels for Margaret and explaining to her the ins and outs of real estate development; to Dr. Russell Hamer, PhD, for giving Daisy, the girl of his dreams, the inside scoop on molecular eye research; to an old love of mine, my ancient copy of Zen Flesh, Zen Bones that includes The Gateless Gate transcribed by Nyogen Senzaki and Paul Reps that in turn includes the koan “Lightning Flashes” by Mu-mon, Anchor Books, undated; to Karen Kosztolnyik, my wonderful editor, for her always enthusiastic support and incisive, loving editing, as well as Louise Burke, Jennifer Bergstrom, Jennifer Long, Liz Psaltis, Jennifer Robinson, and Becky Prager at Gallery; to my dear friend, best cheerleader, lover of literature, and brilliant agent, Michael V. Carlisle; and of course to GSG, love of my life, and the one without whom this, and all my other works and days, would be for naught.
PEPPER HARDING is the pen name of a San Francisco writer known for an entirely different kind of literature. Born in faraway New Jersey, educated in Pennsylvania, Tennessee, and finally at the University of Chicago, Pepper is a longtime resident of the city, with stints in Marin, Berkeley, and, currently, Sonoma County. Pepper has two kids, two cars, one spouse, and, some say, multiple personalities.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Pepper Harding
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition October 2016
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Interior design by Jaime Putorti
Jacket design and illustration by Ella Laytham
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-5011-2680-2
ISBN 978-1-5011-2682-6 (ebook)