Surviving San Francisco

  The color leeches from Leah’s face at the words, the implication, of what Tess just said. She searches Everitt’s face. “I thought…” But she’s too thrown to finish her sentence. So Leah doesn’t stick around. She takes off through the exhibit room and out the front door into the night air.

  “Leah!” It’s Clint’s voice beckoning her back. But she can’t return. She has to keep moving forward, away from the hurt, away from everybody.

  She hasn’t a clue how to get home, so she simply runs. Eventually, she takes off her high-heeled shoes and hoofs it barefoot through the streets of Potrero Hill. With no butterfly pin, no whistle, she keeps running.

  She stops down the hill and looks back. She sees Everitt’s silhouette looking up and down the road for her. She pushes back her fallen bangs and bursts into tears.

  ***

  Leah reaches the bottom of the hill and stops outside a wine bar. She doubles over, trying to catch her breath. The adrenaline abates, and she now gets the full effect of the icy, winter sea air of San Francisco.

  She left her coat at the gallery.

  Leah sidles up alongside the wall of the building and digs for her phone. Two messages: one voice, one text.

  She reads the text from her friend, Paisley, back in Zion. There’s a photo attached.

  “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

  The attachment is a newspaper announcement from the Zion News with a pixilated photograph of a pretty girl with long hair in the arms of an oh-so-familiar guy. Charlie. Leah skims the article. Announce the engagement of their daughter…to Charlie Masterson.

  Her arm with the phone falls to her side.

  She tips her head back and stares at the sky. Things cannot get much worse than this.

  Leah lifts the image back up and studies Charlie’s smug face. “Why do I even care? I don’t even love you. It’s just…it’s just…I deserve to be happy, too. You left me, you jerk. You don’t deserve happiness. I do.”

  Someone steps out of the wine bar, and Leah goes silent. She nods to the guy who crosses the street in what looks to be a very warm coat.

  Leah clicks off her text messages, searches for the number of a taxi service and orders a cab.

  While she waits, Leah listens to her voicemail message.

  “Hi Ms. Newland. This is Scott with Beaker Marketing. I’m sorry to call at such a late hour. But I wanted to offer you the Marketing and Communications Coordinator position at our firm. We were impressed by your innovative ideas and think you’re the ideal candidate. Please call me back…”

  Leah ends the message before it’s over.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Pink curtains billow in the breeze from the opened window. Leah lies in bed, staring wide-awake at the ceiling. Breaking free of her thoughts, she slides into slippers and a robe and creeps quietly toward the door.

  Out in the hallway, the muffled sound of dismal music comes from inside 3B. Leah taps on Clint's apartment door. The melody abruptly ends and the door opens on Clint, an unlit cigarette perched on his lip.

  “Wait. Where’s your licorice?”

  “Well, look who’s here.” Clint shoves away from the open door and marches into the living room.

  “I thought you quit.” Leah grabs for the cigarette, but Clint jerks back.

  “Don’t lecture me. Where the hell did you go? I counted on you to be there and you deserted me.”

  Clint rampages through the apartment, throwing open drawers and overturning cushions.

  “I’m sorry. I…” There’s no excuse for leaving, no reason to try for one.

  “So how did it go, Clint,” Clint says in imitation of Leah. “Thanks for asking. It would have been great, except for the fact that my best friend ditched me and my investor got rip-roaring drunk, apparently had a fight with her ex, and threw up all over the floor.” Clint searches around again. “Doesn’t anybody have a light in this place?”

  “I’m your best friend?”

  “Of course.” Clint throws the cigarette down. “So what happened tonight?”

  Everitt. Tess. Leah breaks down. “He said he was over her, but she kept touching him in this sexy way, and he didn’t stop her—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Tess. Your investor. She and Everitt were—”

  Clint holds up his hand. “Wait. She was the one at the café with him. Your vet and my investor were an item.”

  Leah nods.

  “And he dumped her on my opening night?”

  “No. I mean he already dumped her. I guess.”

  “Well your boyfriend messed everything up for me. I was so close to a sale. It would have validated my work, put me on a whole other level. And when I needed a friend to talk to, you weren’t there.”

  “I’m sorry I left. I was hurt. And…jealous.” She sinks into a chair. “He was my date. He was supposed to be with me. But you’re right,” Leah reaches out and takes Clint’s hand, “I suck as a friend.”

  “You don’t suck.” He doesn’t let go. “Well, you kind of suck, but mostly because you screwed up.” He rolls his eyes. “And all over love.”

  Leah jerks her hand away. “I’m not in love with him.”

  “Whatever you say.” Clint stands up.

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, the least you can do is buy me breakfast.”

  “It’s…” She looks at the clock. “1:00 in the morning.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right,” she says. “It’ll give me a chance to tell you about my job offer.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “Just let me change.”

  “Sweetheart, this is San Francisco. Jammies can be chic. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not in love with him,” Leah says again as they step into the hallway.

  “Whatever.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next morning, the sun waxes. It sends shards of light across Leah’s apartment while the sound of hostile traffic resonates from the street. She’s used to it now.

  Boxes lay scattered throughout the apartment. A disorganized assortment of shoes, clothing, books, and kitchenware rests outside the packages.

  Fur Elise observes the mess from her perch on the sofa top.

  Leah sits on the edge of the sofa. She takes Gina's sewing kit and removes the wad of bills that Darrell gave to her. With great temptation, she unfolds the money, counts it, and then places it back into the case.

  Her cell phone rings, and she snatches it. “I told you, the cat is no longer for adoption. I took the ad—”

  “Well I’m glad to hear you’re not getting rid of your cat.”

  “Everitt?”

  “Can I see you?”

  A lump forms in Leah’s throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Leah.” There’s a plea in his voice.

  “Everitt, I have to go.”

  Silence.

  Leah clicks the end button.

  “So you’re going to leave without saying goodbye to him?” It’s Clint who has edged his way into the apartment through the open door. He carries Leah’s music box.

  “Please, don’t lecture me.” Leah shoves items into a box. They’re half-wrapped. “The truck will be here soon.”

  “I guess this means you turned down the marketing job?”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  Clint opens and closes the music box as a distraction, and then extends it to her. “He wanted me to give it to you. Says it’s fixed.”

  “Tell him thanks.”

  “You run away from Charlie, run away from Everitt. Funny thing is, you can’t run away from yourself.”

  Leah marches over and takes the box from him. She slots it into the top of her carry-on bag without a care.

  “I’m not running away.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  The Hummel and Meyers delivery truck pulls up cu
rbside and honks. Leah goes to the window.

  “They’re here already?” Clint says. “Why weren’t they this fast on delivery?”

  Clint glances out the window at the truck, then he runs the back of his hand over his eyes. “It’s stupid to get sappy and sentimental over furniture, right?” he says, trying to hide the tears.

  “It’s not forever goodbye, is it?” Leah asks.

  “Sister, unless you’re planning to come back to San Francisco, I doubt we’ll ever see much of each other. It’s not like Indiana’s the art capital of the world.”

  “Illinois, but point taken.”

  Clint softens. “I'm going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Two moving men exit the truck.

  “Well,” Clint says, pulling a Red Vine from his pocket. He picks a piece of lint from it before shoving it into his mouth in lieu of a cigarette. “I hate good-byes so I'm out of here. He points toward the hallway.

  “Wait!” she stops him, and then throws her arms around him and holds on tight. He closes his eyes, savoring the embrace. Clint backs out of the hug, but spins back at the last moment. “I almost forgot. I have good news after all.”

  “Oh?”

  “A patron bought my painting.”

  “The one with the poppies?”

  “An abstract piece: Cotton Candy.”

  “Congratulations. Lucky for me, I snagged an original Clint Holloway before you became famous.” She motions to the fork-in-the road oil.

  “Stole is more like it.”

  “From the trash.”

  Clint tilts his head. “Well, it’s in good hands. That’s all that matters.”

  “I know I'll see your paintings in a museum someday,” Leah says.

  “As long as it’s not the Zion Art Museum.”

  “I don’t think the town has one of those.”

  “Bye country girl.”

  “Bye city boy.”

  “Stay in touch, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Before getting into her burdened Honda, Leah travels down the street to the pawn shop. Before entering, she recounts the wad Darrell gave to her. It’s enough to get the butterfly pin back.

  Leah marches up to the counter, combing the trinkets under glass for Grandma Gina’s pin. She doesn’t see it.

  “I want to buy back a piece of jewelry,” she says.

  “What’s it look like?” the guy asks.

  “Butterfly pin with rubies and emeralds on the wings. About this big.” She spreads her fingers.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the guy says. “We sold it.”

  Leah deflates. It’s like someone kicked all the air out of her.

  “That can’t be.”

  “I’m really sorry. We have this butterfly broach right here, though.”

  But Leah doesn’t even look at it. “Thanks, but…I have to go.”

  She slumps out of the shop and back to her car.

  The Honda labors in stop-and-go traffic. Leah finally inches curbside to the veterinary hospital. Pacific Coast Veterinary Clinic, Dr. Everitt Grady. Reading his name makes her heart trill. Leah notices the hours now etched on the door. There’s also a new poster with a cat, a dog, and a bird in the window.

  He listened to her advice.

  She thinks to get out, but something inside her freezes. Reluctantly, she turns the ignition key and drives away.

  ***

  Back at the apartment complex, the door to apartment 3A stands ajar. Everitt looms outside and hesitates. Finally, he knocks lightly. The door swings inward to a vacant apartment.

  “Hello?” His voice echoes against the walls and hardwood floor.

  He steps inside and investigates. No evidence of a lived-in residence remains. Disappointed, he turns to leave as Clint appears.

  “She's gone.”

  They both stand and look longingly into the empty apartment.

  “Did you give it to her?” Everitt asks.

  Clint’s blink says he did.

  “And?”

  “She told me to say thanks.”

  “Where did I go wrong?” Everitt asks.

  “You didn’t.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Honda cruises down a stretch of freeway. It zips away from the city and takes a detour toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Leah parks and steps out, taking in the view of the lighted International Orange set against the backdrop of a cobalt sky.

  “I never wanted much from you,” Leah says to no one, to the bridge. “A job, a place to live, a little freedom. But that’s not what you gave.”

  She balls her fists.

  “I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” she says quietly at first.

  “I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” she shouts.

  The Golden Gate is the same: beautiful, and yet unmoving and rigid—not easily broken. Not like she is.

  “I’m glad I’m leaving. You’re cold and unforgiving and…”

  She glances to the city beyond, remembering what—and who—she left behind.

  “You’re not worth it.”

  Leah looks on for a while longer, and then she gets back in her car and drives away from San Francisco.

  ***

  In the parking lot of a motel, vehicles hibernate for the night. Leah carries a bag and the kennel into room 123.

  She lets her bag drop from her shoulder to the floor. She bends down to pick it up and notices the top is partially unzipped. The music box peeks out. She pulls it free and sets it on the table. Fur Elise meows at her, and Leah opens the crate and lets the cat out.

  Leah runs a hand over the feline’s fur, but Fur Elise is too interested in checking out the surroundings to care about affection.

  Leah stands up and meanders into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, she stares in the mirror. She scans the ins and outs of herself, trying to decipher what causes her to fail at love.

  Leah spies the place on her shirt where the butterfly pin would normally be. Sure, the thing is gaudy with all its gemstones and sparkles. But it was meant for her. Grandma Gina gave it to her, not to one of her cousins. It was supposed to mean something, not just be a glaring fashion faux pas for the world to see. Leah slips into her flannel pajamas as Fur Elise finds her way to the bathroom and winds her body around Leah’s legs. Leah glances down.

  “Maybe she gave it to the wrong grandchild,” Leah says to the cat, but mainly to herself. “Glen was right about me all along.” She touches a vacant spot where the pin used to be, and then kills the light in the bathroom and goes to the bed. Her eyes light on the music box across the way. Leah opens up her handbag and takes a few things out. She sets her pill bottle on the nightstand. But then she opens it, pops one.

  Leah takes out her cell phone and types in the passcode, but hesitates before dialing. She finds her parents in the contact list and presses their number.

  “Hello?” the groggy voice of her mother says from the phone.

  “Mom, it's me.”

  “Leah?” It sounds like her mom just woke up. “We've been worried about you.”

  Fur Elise has jumped on the bed, and Leah pets her.

  Leah forces herself to hold back the tears, but they nudge at her voice.

  “Did something happen? Did that homeless man attack you?”

  “No. Mom...”

  “Do you need us to send you some money?” Lorna continues. “Did you talk to your landlord about the eviction notice?”

  “Mom, I'm calling because—”

  “You know, you really should consider coming home.”

  Leah pulls back the things she wanted to say.

  “Leah,” Lorna asks. “Are you there?”

  Leah directs her attention to the music box.

  “Leah?”

  She cracks it open. I Left My Heart in San Francisco now chimes from it.

  “Oh my God!”

  “What?” Panic rises in Lorna
’s tone. “Is everything okay?”

  And inside is Grandma Gina’s butterfly pin.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. It's that...”

  “Leah?”

  “It's just that I don't need the money Dad gave to me. I'm sending it back.”

  “You found a job?” Leah hears her mom’s voice address her dad in the background. “Darrell, she found a job!”

  “I have to go. I'll call you later.”

  Leah ends the call. She listens as the song winds to a close, but then another piece of music picks up after it—Für Elise.

  Perfect.

  Without warning, Leah storms through the motel room like a cyclone. The cat awakens and leaps from the bed. In a totally disorganized fashion, Leah packs. She snatches the cat and stuffs her in the kennel. Fur Elise mews in protest. After one last check of the room, Leah darts out the door in her flannels: San Francisco chic.

  But through all of her rush, Leah pauses for a moment. She digs through her bag and takes Charlie’s letter out. It’s no longer bittersweet to hold it. In fact, it’s the last thing she wants. Leah opens up the page and tears it into tiny pieces, letting the scraps of her past bounce along the motel blacktop, carried away by the wind.

  Before Leah pulls away from the motel, she reaches into Grandma Gina's sewing kit and takes something out.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Claps of thunder drown the silence of the neighborhood. The distant howl of a dog resonates through the air. The Honda clings to the curb in desperation. Everitt’s mint green apartment building towers over Leah who stands outside of it in her flannel pajamas.

  All the windows are darkened. Cautiously ascending the stairs, Leah rings his apartment number and waits. Nothing. She looks toward the Honda, debating a departure. She buzzes again. No one answers, so she retreats to her vehicle.

  Another boom of thunder as the front door opens. Everitt, wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt, his hair ruffled from sleep, stations himself in the doorway. Leah turns back.

  “I thought you went back to Illinois,” he says.

  “His name was Charlie. We met in college. I loved his stupid sweaters and ridiculous math jokes. I laughed when they weren’t funny. I changed my homework answers to match his, even though they were wrong. I gave so much, and then he met someone else and told me about it in a letter. Broke up with me. Broke my heart. So I ran away.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m tired of running, and because…because you’re not Charlie.”

  Leah inches toward the house as rain lightly falls.

  “I left,” Leah says, “ And I forgot to give you something.”

  She slides up the stairs toward him. She digs in the pockets of her flannels until she stands immediately in front of Everitt. The drizzle dampens her. Leah removes the cufflink from her pocket and hands it to Everitt.