“You look miserable,” said Dave, patting the seat next to him. “Come on in and warm up.”
“I gotta get going,” I said, but climbed into his car. The car’s heater was pumped up and I relaxed into the seat, Root against my side. I was feeling lightheaded with relief and then just lightheaded. When I started heaving, Dave took a plastic bag out of the glove compartment and handed it to me before I made a mess all over his car.
“You need to rest,” he said, but he didn’t look rested either. He had deep gray circles under his eyes. “Let me take you up to our cabin. It’s just over the bridge. My wife’s up there already, waiting for us.”
“Us?” I said.
“I told her I was going to bring your dog back here. I thought he’d find you if I couldn’t,” he said. “He was on the street last night, shaking in the rain.”
He probably was thinking that I was reckless, like his kid. All I had was a dog and I nearly lost him and then I came and puked in his car. I remembered the bedroom at Miss V’s house and how it was set up for kids who might show up there any time. She planned for it. Maybe Dave had a room like that in his cabin, if he really had a cabin and wasn’t going to knock me out and put me in the trunk. My mom was right: people were out there, ready to take you if you didn’t stay alert, all the time. I knew it was ridiculous to think that. Dave could have done that before if he wanted, when he’d taken us to North Beach. But there was something he wanted from me.
“Come for the day,” he said. “I’ll bring you back whenever you say. We just want to talk. And you look like you need to rest and get into dry clothes.”
I told him I’d go, but only if he drove down Haight so I could tell Ash and everyone. When we got close I shouted hey to them from the car and said I was going to visit Dave and his wife. “Look at you,” said Ash. He jumped up and down, his fist raised. Then he waved at Dave like they were old friends. I could see he wanted Dave to invite him along. “Let’s just go,” I said. Sometimes it seemed that Ash was trying to scrape my nerves raw. Dave wanted something from me, not from Ash.
“Later,” I yelled to him.
“See you, dude,” he said. I waved my fingers, half friendly, half fuck you, I’m not your dude, and we drove away, across town toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
Dave didn’t say much and I was too dizzy to talk. Root turned around a few times on the seat, then lay down with a loud tired sigh before closing his eyes. Thick fog closed in so tight on the bridge that Dave had to slow down and turn on his headlights. “A lot of nothingness here,” he said. He leaned forward, as if that would help him see through the haze. I couldn’t make out the rusty orange of the bridge or the water below. Unable to see where we were, I was dizzier. I was thinking how he might turn in the wrong direction and flip us over the railing, but we drove into the clear as suddenly as we’d entered the fog. Dave sat back, squared his shoulders, and turned on the radio to some soft rock station.
“My father hated the Beatles,” he said. “Long hair and all that. I always thought they sang exactly what I was thinking but magnified to the extreme.”
He looked at me and back at the road. “I get it,” he said. “Shane didn’t like the Beatles either. Too much melody. He listened to rap music, which sounded like a lot of swearing and noise to me. But how could anyone not like the Beatles?”
He turned up the radio and started singing along. “When I find myself in times of trouble . . .” He knew all the words. The song got to him every time, he said. He bopped his head back and forth and then wiped at the edges of his eyes.
I tried to imagine what he must have looked like when he was young. I thought about the picture of Shane that had been on his shirt, similar, but square-jawed and handsome in a chiseled way. They must have had the same eyes, like blue crystals. This was going to be a long night if every little thing made him cry, if he couldn’t listen to the stupid car radio without having a breakdown.
“Actually,” I said, “I like the Beatles.”
Dave laughed. “I didn’t mean to say that all of you,” and he stopped, searching for the right word. All of us what? Runaways? Punks? I almost filled it in for him. “I don’t mean that kids coming up now didn’t like them. I don’t know what they like.”
chapter 11
Karen used to let us watch Little House on the Prairie if one of us wasn’t in trouble. On TV, the cabin’s roof had a high peak on one side and sloped down like a skateboard ramp on the other. That’s what I was expecting to see when Dave pulled off the road onto a steep gravel driveway, but his cabin was not a one-room house with a wood stove. And it was not small like the apartment where I’d lived with my mom. We walked into one long front room that smelled of fresh cut wood and lemons, as if someone had just finished nailing it together and polishing it. There were windows along three of the walls that looked out onto a lake that Dave said was a finger of the ocean stretching for miles. He said it was a giant hotel for birds passing through on their way to South America. They came every year at the same time and left at the same time. If one stayed behind, there was a good reason. It was sick or there was a temperature-changing storm brewing. Birds, he said, were easier to figure out than people.
The guy knew a lot, for someone who lived in a small town in New York. I couldn’t decide whether it must have been cool to have a dad whose brain was an encyclopedia. Maybe Shane was embarrassed. I didn’t know anything about what was in my dad’s mind. My mom said he didn’t care about anyone except himself. How did I know if that was true? I had almost no memory of him. I had one picture of the three of us, which I’d left in my room at Karen and Chip’s. They probably threw it out after I took off. Someone new would have moved into the room, another kid who would find my initials on the bottom of the dresser, if she stayed that long. In the picture, my dad had an arm around me and my mom, who was staring into the distance. My dad had a slight smile that he probably faked for whoever was taking the picture. I was wearing ladybug rain boots, which must have meant we had gone to the beach and they’d let me run in the water. I thought I remembered that, but maybe I made it up because of the picture.
Dave went into the part of the room that was a kitchen and put down a bowl of water for Root. He said he didn’t have any dog food, but he could go get some. I told him Root usually ate what I did, or anything he found. He wasn’t picky. I stopped myself from telling him how Root had poisoned himself on weed brownies and rotten food he found on the street. Dave opened a can of tuna fish and put some slices of apple on top, all of which was gone about a second after he put it down.
“It’s what we gave him last night and he liked it then too,” he said. “And you? What can I get you?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t need anything.”
“Why don’t you let us help you?” Dave said. “When did you eat last?”
I told him I hadn’t eaten in a while so he started going around the cabinets, saying how his wife did most of the cooking when they were at home, but that he’d learned a few tricks. The guys at the firehouse took turns cooking. Beef stew, grilled steak, things like that. “It’s how I got this,” he said, patting his stomach. I sat on a tan couch that was low to the ground. There were two matching chairs and a coffee table colored the same as the light shiny floor. There wasn’t a single piece of paper anywhere, just furniture, a shelf with a row of tall white candles and a giant photograph behind the couch of a waterfall under a full moon. Somehow, though, the room didn’t feel empty, just empty of what went on before. No one lived there, or anyone could. Even the waterfall in the photograph looked stopped in time.
“Don’t get any ideas that we live anything like this,” said Dave, watching me as I looked around the room. “Our house in New York is a mess. And not a fancy mess. Shane’s brother saw this place on the internet. The owners are selling it and they didn’t want it sitting empty. When they heard why we were coming, they let us rent it for almost nothing. I don’t like charity, but sometimes you have to take it.�
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He must have realized how that sounded, so he got quiet. Now I was his charity case.
“The owners call it minimalist,” said Dave, coming over to pet Root. “They said they only stick to what’s necessary. No clutter. Said it makes it easier for them to concentrate on what’s truly important. Experiences, instead of possessions.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Then it’s working on you,” he said. “The minimalism.”
“I’m not so distracted by stuff that I need it all taken away, is what I mean,” I said.
“Of course,” said Dave. “These people have so much money they used it to get rid of all their stuff.”
“That is stupid beyond belief,” I said.
Dave laughed. “Agreed,” he said. “At home we layer our things. Old papers over older papers, over winter clothes and shoes no one has worn in ten years. And Shane’s things, his hockey sticks and skateboards, of course. We never got rid of anything in his room even after he left. Marva never wanted to. She was still washing his clothes once a week, then putting them back in the drawer. In case.”
I took in a sharp breath. I thought about what his room must look like, imagining it like the one that the boys shared at Karen and Chip’s, with blue walls and plaid bedspreads, every inch of wall space full of music and sports posters. Probably no graffiti. Dave would not allow that. Karen and Chip didn’t either, but that didn’t stop the boys from tagging the walls. Someone had to know you were there.
“I hope this is okay,” said Dave, putting a bowl of chili on the white counter along with a plate of orange sections and crackers. “It looks a little pre-fab.”
Root followed me over to the counter and sat looking up at me hopefully, waiting to lick the can, which he always got to do. He wasn’t thinking about what he was going to do after that.
“It’s some organic brand,” said Dave, offering me a chair. “All they had in the cabinet. I prefer the regular kind. But the owners, they use organic sugar and tea. They even have organic bath soap. I guess in case they eat any of it while they are taking their two-minute shower with the water-saver showerhead. It delivers a drip a minute.”
I looked at him while I ate the chili, not as good as what we got at the corner store, which we ate cold, from the can.
“I’m not making it sound too homey, I know,” he said. “But I think you’ll like it here.”
I put my spoon down and looked up at him. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said. “I just wanted you to talk to us and get a rest. I promised my wife I’d try and get to know you more. That’s all. Why don’t you finish up and I’ll get Marva and then we’ll take a walk. Look at the marsh, get some fresh air?”
He left me at the counter, and I held out my bowl for Root to lick clean. Squares of sunlight gleamed on the floor. My stomach had settled down from queasy to rumbling and I felt drowsy. I needed to block everything out. I had made it through the storm. I had Root. We’d survived. I moved over to the minimalist couch, my wet, smudged up boots hanging over the edge, an arm across my face. Maybe I could get used to this, a place where no one left a trace of what went before.
“I think she’s sleeping,” said Marva. I could see her walking into the room on her tiptoes.
“No,” I said and jerked my feet off the end of the couch.
Marva was tiny, at least next to Dave, with his thickened middle and wide face. I could fit one hand around both of her wrists. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that made her look, sideways, only a few inches thick. I wasn’t that big myself, but I’d been born larger than Marva. She smiled, the lines on each side of her mouth turning into crevices, and stuck out her hand. When I didn’t respond she swept me into a hug. I stood there and took it, and let her cradle my head into her bony shoulder.
“Want to take a walk?” Dave said.
Root was already waiting at the door, his tail flapping like he’d known these people forever. One night with them and he was ready to move in. I’d rescued him, fed him all those months, and he could just forget about it all. Shit, Root, I was thinking and only half laughing to myself while we tramped in a line down the driveway. My boots sunk into the gravel that crackled at every step. Dave and Marva walked ahead, like they weren’t fighting the sludge the way I was. Root wove in and out of the redwood trees that lined the road, his nose down, noticing, as always, what I couldn’t. The air smelled wet and sweet. Drops of water fell on my head from the branches stretching up to a sky that was dotted with silver clouds.
Dave turned onto the main road at the end of the driveway, Marva behind him, with me at the end. I called Root, who ran up beside me and stuck his muzzle against my leg. We walked for what seemed like an hour, in silence except for the peaked cries of birds and shrieking seagulls that hovered above us like little helicopters.
“I brought the lens so it will take me a minute to figure out if that is a heron or an egret,” said Dave. He stopped and pointed across the water to a tall gray-white bird that looked like it was dancing in slow motion. “Great blue heron, I’d say. Look at how he uses his neck to force down the fish he just caught.”
The bird had a bulge in its throat that was moving slowly down its freakish neck. I thought how weird it must be to be able to move one muscle, control one shivering piece of your throat or your stomach. Or your heart.
“I’ve started going on these bird walks early every morning I’ve been here. That’s when they’re all out here on the lagoon,” said Dave, reaching into his pocket for a small pair of binoculars. “Terns, coots, loons, kingfishers. They are all out there. Magnificent, huh?”
He looked at me and gestured back to the bird. “See if you can tell if he has anything hanging out of his mouth. If he’s got another fish we’ll stay and watch.”
“I don’t think he’s got anything new, at least nothing I can see,” I said. The bird was standing still, only its throat slowly working and inching down whatever was in there.
“Marva’s not that interested,” he said, “so I usually come out here alone. I started back home, which isn’t too far from Sapsucker Woods. They have more kinds of bird sounds there than anywhere else in the world. I was amazed to find out I could learn to recognize each call, like I’m listening in on their conversations. They use a certain tone of voice when they are threatened or if they’re happy.”
“I’m interested, just not obsessed,” said Marva. “I don’t need any hobbies right now. I need to focus on why Shane ended up in that park.” She turned and looked at the bird for the first time.
“I am focused, Marva,” Dave said sharply. “I just need to get away sometimes. I can’t do it all the time. I can’t think about him every second I’m awake.”
“It’s all I do, think about Shane,” said Marva, looking at me, like I was supposed to explain it to Dave.
The bird stood still, but the wind ruffled the flyaway feathers on its wings, which were pouched out like it was deciding whether to take off. The water churned on the lagoon, the top layer white as diamonds moving toward the shore.
“He sees something,” said Dave. He pointed the binoculars at the bird. “I think he’s going after it.”
The bird flapped its wings, then stabbed its face into the water and emerged with a silvery fish whipping around in its beak. The fish disappeared slowly down the bird’s throat, one minute swimming, the next being punched down into darkness.
“Oh my god, that was great,” said Dave. He handed me the binoculars. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I can see without them.”
“Not the point. Look through these and it makes you feel like you are right there with him. Or her. I’m not sure which gender yet.”
He held them up to my eyes. All I could see was an enlarged blur of shapes.
“Fiddle with the little wheels here,” said Dave. “Adjust them and you’ll see what I mean.”
I took them and twisted the lenses. The bird came i
nto focus slowly. It was not the holy moment Dave experienced, but I could see the beady yellow eyes and the thorny black feather standing up on its head, like a hat it had found at the Goodwill. I felt myself sliding into its world. After a minute, it squished itself up into a solid block and stood gazing into the wind. Dave took the binoculars back and kept looking at the bird even though it wasn’t doing anything.
“I’ve watched herons before,” he said. “But I’ve never been lucky enough to see one this clearly while it’s fishing. I guess I had to come all this way to see one this close.”
“Let’s turn back,” said Marva. “It’s cold. Maddy, you must be freezing.”
I could see she was using me to get Dave home. She’d had enough bird time. She might have had enough of Dave. She looked like she was bored and annoyed and just holding it all in. Maybe Shane got his nervous system from her. I thought about what I’d be doing if I had stayed in San Francisco. It would almost be time to line up for dinner at the shelter. We’d probably all be staying there tonight, if only to take a shower and dry off for real.
I walked behind Dave and Marva again on the way back to the cabin. Root loped along beside me, panting. I put my hand on his head and squeezed a handful of his fur, glad that at least he was there with me. Dave put his arm around Marva’s shoulders and she pulled away, but let his arm stay. He stopped and put his arms around her, holding her so tight that her tiny bones disappeared behind her puffy coat. As puny as she was, she gripped him back. This time I could hear him crying, loud enough for both. She let him go and rubbed his back as I caught up to them.
We walked together up the driveway, but I felt like an outsider. Dave didn’t try to wipe off the tears dribbling down his cheeks. Marva’s were dry, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Had my dad ever cried? Did my mom ever put her arms around him like that? She talked more about people she barely knew than about him. She’d told me about the other clerks at Safeway, how one woman had nightmares about a baby she gave up for adoption at fifteen and another who took money out of the cash drawer every Friday. “You can’t judge people because you just never know why they do what they do,” she’d said, in one of the moments she’d made sense.
At the Edge of the Haight Page 8
