Pacific Avenue (26 page)

I got up and opened the door to Marilu Collins. She
waved an envelope. “Brought your mail up.”

She was wearing a long batik robe and gold hoop
earrings big enough for a gerbil to jump through. She handed me my letter and
tossed her hair back, freeing it from snarls in a necklace of heavy coins.
Henry poked his head out the door.

“You
are
supposed to get permission for pets,” she said, so mildly I could tell she
wasn’t going to make me get rid of him.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would be all right because you
have one.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it is. But
one
cat—I mean it, Kathy. No more. Don’t turn into a cat
lady on me.”

“Okay.” I started to close the door.

“Wait a sec, I came to tell you something. I’m starting
to fix up the other apartment. I’m using casuals, and they’ll be around all day
while you’re at work. So, lock your door. I mean, they’re probably all right,
they won’t make any problems, but lock it anyway.”

She glanced at Henry, who was surveying her as if
he
were the building owner, not her. She laughed.
“Where’d you find him?”

“At the end of the street in that place with all the
ruins.”

“Oh, the Sunken City. You’re not supposed to go down
there.”

“I slipped through the fence.”

“Wouldn’t do it again, if I were you. I mean, the
ground’s still sliding, and tough people hang out down there, too.”

“There wasn’t anyone there at all.”

“Just the same, be careful, okay?”

“Okay.” That time I
managed to close the door. I looked at my letter. It was from Sam. I opened it.

Hi, Kathy,

Haven’t heard from you in a while, and I wanted to ask how
you’re doing—really ask, not just some quick “how’s it going” on the phone. You
have a lot of hurts to get over, and I don’t want to crowd you. You’d think
this would be easier for me because I deal with some tough things in my
practice. But you’re my family, and it’s different.

I’ve been thinking about Jamie. I’ve always suspected it
was a case of crib death, even though I didn’t see her. We still don’t know
much about why some babies don’t make it. But it’s well known that premature
babies of young mothers are at high risk, no matter how well they’re cared for.
I’m convinced that Jamie’s death wasn’t anyone’s fault, not yours and not
Richard’s either. I wanted to say that to the court, but I never got a chance
because Richard decided to plea-bargain. I can’t figure out why he did that.

I’ve kept in touch with him, even though at first he didn’t
want to see anyone. He’s in Jackson now—maybe you didn’t know that. That’s the
prison for people who need psychiatric help. His being there isn’t necessarily
bad—a few doctors there do know what they’re doing.

Now that he’s in treatment, he may decide to discuss it
with you. If that happens, I’d seriously advise you to at least hear what he
has to say.

I only have one other request—if you need help, get it. If
there’s no one close you can talk to, let me know. I’ll find someone for you.
I’ve seen what mothers go through when they lose a child.

Sharon and I both wish you’d come back to New Orleans, and
every time I see Thu and Martin, they say they want you back. They’ve never
gotten another good scene painter—they just shelved a bunch of stuff when you
left. They’ll eventually have to replace you, of course, but they haven’t yet.

Eddie says to tell you he
misses you too. Whatever you need, though. We all love you.

Sam

Sam called to tell me he’d written to Kathy about Richard
finally getting some treatment. So, I wasn’t surprised when Kathy’s mood went
up and down like a roller coaster over the next few weeks. I spent a fair
amount of time dreaming up mindless tasks for her so no one would catch on that
she wasn’t pulling her weight. I did George’s work fast and put it on Kathy’s
desk so she could be the one to take it to him. Most of the time he was gone
anyway—the dry season was back, and concrete construction was in full swing.

I tried to help her without her resenting it, but she
was touchy as hell. And I had to keep remembering that, as far as Kathy knew, I
had no idea what was going on. I’d tell her someday, of course, but this was
not the time.

Willis, watching me get dressed one morning, gestured
toward my new shoes.

“Sure you want to wear those to work?”

“Why not?”

“Might mess ’em up, walking on all those eggshells.”

I flapped my hand at him. “You’re just as worried about
Kathy as I am, ever since we went to New Orleans.”

“That’s so. That trip sure wasn’t any second honeymoon.
Can we try again next Mardi Gras?”

I buckled my watchband and stepped to the mirror to put
on my earrings. “You better get reservations right now, if you’re planning
that. Otherwise, we’ll be at Francine’s again.”

“I
have
reservations.”

I looked into the mirror to see Willis standing behind
me with a silly grin on his face. I figured he was making a pun so I flapped my
hand again. “You had
that
kind of
reservations all along.”

“No, I mean real ones. At the Monteleone. For Mardi
Gras week.”

Every other time we’d gone, we’d stayed at some
second-rate motel. “The whole week at the Monteleone? We better start saving
for that now!” I put on lipstick and checked the effect. Too red. I rubbed it
off and tried taupe.

“That’s why I don’t want you to mess up your new
shoes.” Willis was back to kidding.

“I never even said I’d go, Willis.”

“You’ll have all this business with Kathy worked out by
then, and you won’t have started college yet.”

“Who said I was going to college?”

“You’ve gotten a taste of working with other people’s
problems. I’d like to see anyone stop you now.”

I turned from the mirror. “I think I’m Mardi Gras’d
out, to tell you the truth. Why don’t you go by yourself this time?”

“Uh-uh.” Willis shook his head. “Sweetheart, this year
was our silver wedding anniversary. But it’s been a tough year for both of us.
We need that second honeymoon. Twenty-five years ago you said you were gonna
love, honor, and obey me. You’re good at the first two, and I never expected
the third. Never even wanted it. But I sure want one week of your time, all to
myself.” He went down on one knee like he was asking me to marry him again.
“Can I have it, honey, please?”

“Well, since you put it that way, of course you can.” I
pulled him up and into an embrace that turned into a preview of that second
honeymoon. Twenty-five years, and Willis was still my love.

Marilu’s contractor started at the break of dawn. I woke to
hammering and the banshee wail of an electric saw. Henry was careening around
the place like a sideways yo-yo.

I fed Henry and tried to
comfort him, but he was trembling all over. I took him on my lap and petted him
to calm him down, but he tensed every time the saw screeched. I rubbed around
the corners of his mouth where he liked it most, and started to sing to him.

“I had a little nut tree.

Nothing would it bear
. . . .”

And then I lost it, almost as bad as that day at the
Sunken City. I sobbed and wailed. Henry ran and hid, even more frightened than
before.

I stayed home from work that day. Wasn’t as if I was
much use there anyway. I dragged myself in almost every morning and tried, but
I wasn’t worth even the little they were paying me. I was starting to wonder
why Lacey didn’t get them to fire me.

I knew she covered for me a lot. Mr. Giannini and
George were gone most of the time, supervising projects. They didn’t notice us,
as long as the work got done. And it did. Lacey saw to that. Lacey worked
double—her assignments and most of mine, too. I felt guilty whenever I thought
about it. That didn’t improve my mood, either.

The construction in the other apartment only went on a
couple of days. I waited for Marilu to put out her rental sign, but she didn’t.
I went into the shop one day to ask about it.

“Tell you the future . . . . Oh, it’s
you. What’s up?”

The change of tone from portentous to commonplace made
me smile. “You can tell me if my future is bringing me a new neighbor. What’s
happening with the other apartment?”

“My nephew’s moving into it on the first of August.”

That explained why she’d gotten around to renovating
it. I wasn’t happy to have kin of Marilu’s next door. I hoped he wouldn’t be a
warlock or something.

July passed, and Jamie’s birthday. I went to work that
day and tried to do a good job. I didn’t get all the way to normal, but it was
a lot better than if I’d given in to the memories. The old whisper started in
my mind again.
What if . . . . What did he do? . . .

I told the whisper to shut up. It did, at least for a
while. I went home with a feeling that I’d won something real.

* * *

The first Saturday in August began with a flurry of boxes as
Marilu’s nephew moved in. I tried to stay out of sight, not sure I wanted to
give him a chance to be a nuisance.
He’s probably weird.
When someone knocked on my door about six in the
evening, I thought about not answering.

I decided to get it over with and opened the door to a
guy about my age, very straight looking. He was blonde and freckled, only a few
inches taller than me. Glasses, short hair, khakis, polo shirt.

“Hi,” he said, as soon as I opened the door. “I just
moved in. My name’s Daniel.”

“Hi, Daniel. Pleased to meet you. Marilu told me you
were moving in.” I hoped that was all he expected.

“She probably said to look out for a tall, dark
stranger.”

“Well, you
are
a
stranger.
”

“That would be about Aunt Marilu’s usual batting average.”

I laughed. “Don’t you believe in psychics?”

“Some psychics, maybe. . . .” The
thought
Just not Marilu
hung in the air,
but neither of us came right out with it.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Sure, just for a minute. Or else
. . . . I need to go get a pizza or something. I’m not unpacked
yet. Would you join me?”

“There’s no place close, and I don’t have a car.”

“Isn’t it handy that I do?” he asked, wide-eyed. I
laughed again and went inside to get my purse.

At my favorite pizza place, we ordered at the counter,
got sodas, and sat at a corner table.

“So, Marilu’s your aunt?”

“My father’s sister, and believe me, she’s the black
sheep. Well, not a black sheep exactly, just the family oddball. No one knows
what to think of the psychic stuff.”

“She seems to make a living at it.”

“True enough.”

“What brought you to San Pedro, Daniel?”

“Cheap housing while I go to school at Cal State Long
Beach. I like San Pedro, too. It has a lot of character—more than most of the
beach towns.”

“It has a lot of
characters,
too. Pacific Avenue is pretty down and dirty.”

“It looks that way. But you know,
Pacific Avenue
does mean
the way of peace.
”

“You could have fooled me. It reminds me of the joke
about the little kid whose mother found him digging in a manure pile. She asked
him what he was doing, and he said, ‘There must be a pony in here somewhere.’”

Daniel laughed. “That’s the way of peace for you. Root
through the crap, dreaming of ponies.”

The waiter came with the pizza. As we each took a
slice, I asked Daniel, “What’s your major?” I would have bet any money he’d say
political science.

“Marine biology.”

Guess I wasn’t any more accurate than Marilu. “What do
you do with that?”

“My big interest is coral reefs. Probably most of the
jobs today are in marine ecology. Or I could go in the other direction and work
in fisheries management or push the oil companies’ agendas.”

I gave him a startled look.

“Oh, I’m not doing
that,
” he added quickly. “I’m also not taking some damned desk job writing
about the ocean for a government agency. I want to be in the water, not pushing
paper in some Sacramento high-rise.”

“Why would you? Work in a high-rise, I mean?”

“I dunno. People do. Money, I guess. They start off
studying oceanography because they love the ocean, and then they take a desk
job because it pays better.”

“So, why
wouldn’t
you?”

“I gather you’ve never tried diving.”

“No, I can’t even swim much.”
I hate the ocean. It
reminds me of that day—the anniversary of Jamie’s death, when I was going to
swim out and drown. I haven’t gone near the water since, not one time. Whenever
I hear foghorns at night now, I pretend they’re trains.

Daniel had a faraway look in his eyes. “There’s almost
no words for how beautiful it can be when the visibility’s good. It’s magical.
You want to go deeper and deeper, to stay down forever. The heck of it is, the
deeper you go, the faster the air gives out.”

“I guess I just don’t get it.” I wasn’t especially
interested, either, but I made myself sound pleasant, at least.

He shrugged. “Astronauts are at a loss for words when
they come back to the world too. The funny thing is, anyone could dive, but
almost no one does.” He laughed lightly. “I should shut up about it. If
everyone found out what it’s like, I’d have to stand in line.”

“Don’t worry—I won’t be part of the crowd.” He looked
up at me, surprised. “But I’m glad you love what you do. It
does
sound beautiful.”

“What do
you
do?”

“I’m a secretary for a construction company.”

* * *

Daniel and I saw each other occasionally on the stairs, but
I didn’t spend time with him again until the last weekend in August. Late in
the afternoon, he knocked on my door.

“Can I come in?” He seemed full of excitement.

I opened the door wider and stepped back. He might as
well see for himself that I didn’t have a couch or anything else to make guests
feel welcome. But he didn’t seem to care.

“Want to look at the nova tonight?” he asked.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a star that suddenly gets brighter. This may be
the best one since 1942!” He was almost wiggling with delight, like a puppy
with a new toy.

“Isn’t it the ocean you’re interested in?”

“Gotta do something at night.” He laughed. “The sky’s
almost as good as the ocean. It
is
an ocean,
really. Just one I can’t dive in.”

“Do you have a telescope?”

“Not yet. I want one someday, though. But this nova’s
so bright we won’t need one. Aunt Marilu gave me the key to the roof stair.
It’s flat up there—perfect for looking at the sky. You ever been up?”

“No, I haven’t. Is Marilu going to see it too?” No way
I was going if Marilu was. She’d talk my ear off about astrology or something.

“Uh-uh. Don’t get me wrong—Aunt Marilu’s a sweetie. But
when it comes to anything scientific, she drives me nuts. You know what she
said when I told her I was studying oceanography? She asked me if I was gonna
talk with the dolphins.” He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t occur to her that they
might not want to talk with
me.
”

When it got dark, I knocked on Daniel’s door. He came
out and handed me a wadded-up blanket. Then he unlocked the third door, and I
followed him up the dusty stairs. At the top, he unlocked a trap door, and we
stepped out onto the roof.

Gravel was underfoot, and pipes stuck up here and
there. I helped him spread the blanket on a clear spot, and we sat on it,
looking up.

“Over there! That’s it!” He pointed to one of the
brightest stars.

It didn’t look much different from the other ones to
me. “Isn’t that the evening star?”

“No, that one’s over there.”

We sat on the blanket and looked for a while at the
sky. And at each other.

“Kathy?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Are you dating anybody? I mean, I don’t want to seem
pushy or anything, I just wondered.”

I wished he’d wonder about the stars or the ocean or
something. I moved farther away from him. “No, but . . . .”

“Are you getting over someone?”

“You could say that.”
I’m getting over a couple of
people. I don’t want to talk about this. Leave me alone.
I stood up and tripped on a fold of the blanket.

Daniel shot out a hand to steady me. He hadn’t touched
me before.
His fingers are almost hot, like Richard’s.

“Maybe we could just go out sometime?” he asked. “I’d
like to get to know you.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I didn’t bring a sweater or anything.
I’m cold. Let’s go in now.”

The next night, I saw him in the hall, going up to the
roof again to look at his nova. I smiled and waved, and closed my door.
I’m
not giving him a chance to ask me again.

But that night I dreamed that Daniel and I went up to
the roof to make love. When he reached out his hand to touch me, I turned into
a shower of stars, falling around the Snow Queen in the puppet theater.

On Wednesday, I got a
letter from Richard. I brought it up to my apartment when I came home in the
afternoon, but I just laid it on the table, still sealed. Wherever I looked, it
jumped right into my field of vision. I tried not to think about it while I
fixed dinner. When I’d sat down to eat, I opened it.

Dear Kathy,

I haven’t heard from you in a long time. I’d decided to
leave you alone and let you get on with your life. You had a hard time, and
most of it was my fault. But Sam asked me to write one more time.

There’s one thing I have to tell you about. And then you
can be the one to decide what we should do. If you don’t want to even talk to
me, I’ll leave you alone, I promise.

I got moved from Angola to Jackson about six months ago.
Jackson is a prison, but it’s a hospital, too. I got into a program here for
veterans with problems. They’ve been concentrating on helping me make some
memories conscious so I at least know what happened.

The reason I’m telling you is that it has to do with the
night Jamie died. I’m sure you remember my nightmares. I don’t know if I ever
said anything understandable in my sleep, but the dreams were usually about being
trapped.

I’ll tell you what it goes back to:

One night during the war, we came under fire, and a buddy
and I got separated from our unit. We hid in an old building. It was
deserted—dark and damp, with boarded-up windows. Some wooden crates were
stacked against the back wall, and I sheltered by them. They probably saved my
life.

The building didn’t get a direct hit, but a round came
close enough that the roof collapsed. I was trapped in the wreckage, and so was
Ben, my buddy. He was badly injured. I couldn’t move to help him, and I spent
most of the night listening to him as he groaned and gasped and finally died.

In the morning, they pulled us out of the ruins, but of
course it was too late for Ben. I had a broken arm and some other injuries. It
was about the end of my tour of duty anyway. They sent me home, and that was
the last I saw of the army.

I didn’t remember that night,
not in detail. It was too awful. But I’ve had the horrors about it ever since.
It doesn’t take much to make me feel trapped.