The Brevity of Roses

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  Quitting her job had a down side. Rick was a good guy, not much to look at, but he had his act together, mature, the kind of guy she should hook up with. The kind of guy she always overlooked while blinded by the all-looks-no-substance jerks like Matt. Rick was the closest thing to a friend she had, and she would miss him. But staying was not an option, she had to get out of this town.

  She opened her notebook and picked up her pen.

  Dear Mom,

  I guess it won’t surprise you to hear that I got dumped again …

  Renee could have saved time by driving all the way on I-5, but if she had to look at one more mile of nothing, she’d lose her mind before she got to Los Angeles. During a gas stop, she pulled out the map and saw she was only a few miles north of a road leading to the coastal highway. A few minutes later, she headed toward the ocean. She was still over 200 miles from L.A. when the warning light came on. Her car had run rough for the last couple of days, but she’d hoped it was only water in the gas line. Just once in her life she wanted to own a car that wasn’t a rolling junk pile. She kept driving. When she came to the next mileage sign, it read Bahia de Sueños 12. Okay, that’s where she’d stop.

  It turned out to be one of those quaint places—tourist towns—with a ton of art galleries and gift shops, but only one gas station in sight. She pulled in. The girl at the cash register looked to be all of sixteen, and stoned.

  “I need someone to take a look at my car. Can—”

  “We don’t do that here,” said the girl.

  Keep smiling. “No, of course you don’t, but I hoped you could tell me where the nearest garage is.”

  Blank stare.

  Wait for it …

  “Oh!” said the girl. “Like where they do car repairs?”

  “You got it.”

  The girl gave her directions and Renee set off in search of a place called Geary’s Auto Care. Along the way, she discovered the real town, the part where the residents lived and did business. She pulled up in front of the shop and walked to the door, anticipating the tinkle of a bell when it opened.

  An average looking guy, maybe in his thirties, stood behind the counter. He looked up. “May I help you?”

  She glanced at his name tag. “Hi, Keith, my warning light came on.”

  “Wow! Really?”

  It took her a second to realize he was joking. She faked a laugh. “Yeah. So, can you please check to see what’s wrong with my car?”

  “Sure can … but not today.”

  Renee flashed him her slinkiest smile. “But I’m sure it wouldn’t take—”

  “Just diagnosing the problem could take the computer an hour.” He pointed to the clock. “It’s five; I was just closing up.”

  She sighed. Not even a little flirting would get her what she wanted this time. “Okay, but you can do it first thing in the morning, right?”

  He shook his head, pushed aside some papers on his desk, and ran his finger down the appointment list. “I’ll put you down for two.” He slapped a form and pen on the counter. “It’s fifty dollars for the diagnosis, you’ll have to sign to authorize that. When I find the problem, I’ll give you a call to get your okay on the repair, so make sure your cell number’s on there.”

  She signed.

  He checked her signature, then looked up at her and smiled. “Enjoy your stay in our lovely village, Renee.”

  “How do you know I’m just passing through?”

  He laughed. “Big city girl, aren’t you? Believe me, if you lived here, I’d have seen you around, and if I’d seen you, I’d remember.”

  “Riiight.” She took a step toward the door. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Hold on. I advise you not to drive your car. Until we know what the problem is, you could be risking serious damage that would cost you a load of money to repair.”

  “Well, doesn't that just suck.” She flung open the door and stomped out to the sidewalk. Geary’s sat at the end of the block. To her left was a print shop, a realtor, and a video rental. On the opposite corners sat a drug store and a computer repair place. Between them, directly across from her, was the post office. No help. She needed a place to sleep and something to eat, preferably neither charging inflated tourist prices.

  Renee glanced over at the post office again as she opened her car door. Her eyes were drawn to the man who'd just left the building. Gorgeous. His black curly hair reminded her of Demetrios who'd lived in the apartment upstairs the year she was twelve. What a crush she’d had on him—even after she figured out he was gay. As the guy opened his car door, she realized her hand still rested on her own door handle and snapped her attention back to her dilemma. She reached into the back seat, pulled out the bag she’d packed for her motel stay while searching for an apartment in L.A., and stuffed a book and her iPod in it. Everything she owned was in her car. She hated the idea of it sitting on the street all night.

  The door to Geary’s opened and shut, but she paid no attention until the sound of footsteps came up behind her.

  “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Keith asked.

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. She turned to face him, but said nothing.

  “If you need a room,” he said, “there’s a nice little motel a few blocks from here. My cousin owns it. I’ll give her a call and get you a discount.”

  This time, she gave him a genuine smile. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

  He glanced through her car windows. “You’ve got a lot of stuff in there. If you're worried about it, I'll open the bay. You can pull your car inside, and I’ll give you a ride over there.”

  Just off the north end of the main street, around the corner from the motel, Renee had discovered Jennie’s, a small home-style restaurant run by its namesake, a middle-aged woman with the eyes of a friend. She had enjoyed dinner there the night before, and now, while she waited for her breakfast, she watched the town come to life outside the window. What had Keith called her, a ‘big city girl’? She was, yes. What would her life be like in a place like this? It might be nice to feel a part of a small community, an insider. So why was she on her way to another big city, another place to hide?

  Jennie arrived at the table with her order in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. “Here you go, hon. Can I get you anything else?”

  “I’m good.” She took her hand away from her cup while Jennie refilled it. “What does Bahia de Sueños mean?”

  Jennie laughed. “Bay of Dreams, if you can believe that. Just signal if you want more coffee.”

  After breakfast, Renee set out to kill time. She strolled along through what Keith’s cousin had called the Old Village. Sometimes she browsed a shop, sometimes only gazed in the windows, and twice she passed bars that a glance inside told her were near ringers for Rick’s Place. At the end of the district, she crossed the street and started back up the other side. Unable to resist the lure of the ice cream shop, she bought a cone of cherry chocolate and sat eating it on one of the many benches set in front of the shops, inviting locals and tourists alike to linger. She basked in sunshine and atmosphere. Nearly everyone smiled and said hello as they passed by. At first, she responded with suspicion, and then amusement. She could almost get sucked into thinking this was some kind of wonderful life here.

  Renee started toward Geary’s at half-past one, hoping the sight of her waiting would encourage him to get to her car sooner. Her hopes rose when she approached the garage and saw her car in the bay and Keith standing by it, wiping his hands. “Are you done already?” she asked.

  “I found the problem,” he said.

  “And you fixed it?”

  “Well … your engine was misfiring, so I checked your plugs and cylinder pressure, both fine.” He gave her an apologetic look. “It’s a bad ignition coil.”

  “And that’s expensive?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not the problem. Thing is, I don’t have that part in stock.”

  “So you can’t fix my car?”

  “I can …
tomorrow. After I get the coil.”

  “Crap.” She slapped her palm against the roof of her car. “I already checked out of the motel.”

  “No problem,” said Keith, “I’ll give my cousin a call.”

  No problem for him, he wasn’t living on her budget. But what choice did she have? She was stuck in Dreamville for another twenty-four hours.

  Before her head hit the pillow, Renee suspected this would be one of her sleepless nights. She lay with her eyes closed, but mind awake, for thirty minutes before giving up. How could anyone sleep on a motel bed anyway? She’d finished her book after dinner, there was nothing worth watching on TV, and now her stomach demanded food. The clock read 10:22. She wasn’t up for the bar scene, but doubted any place else would still be open. She pulled on her clothes again and left her room.

  Around the corner, to her surprise, the lights of Jennie’s beckoned. The only customers were two older men sitting at a table, both glaring at the chessboard laid out between them. She took a seat at the counter.

  “What happened?” asked Jennie. “Couldn’t Keith fix your car?”

  “Had to order the part. He’ll get it done tomorrow.” One of the men behind her called the other one a jackass, and she cast a look over her shoulder.

  “Hey!” Jennie said, “You old coots quiet down or go home!” The gravity in her voice belied the wink she gave Renee. “We have a limited menu this time of night, hon, but I’ll do my best.”

  “How about dessert?”

  “Good choice. I’ve got chocolate cake, three kinds of pie, and a couple danish left from this morning.”

  “Cake, please. And coffee.”

  “Ah, another night owl.” Jennie brought her order. “L.A., huh? Were you headed toward or running away from something?”

  Renee shrugged. “Some of both, I guess.”

  “Ha!” Jennie moved a few feet down the counter to finish filling the salt and pepper shakers. “If you don’t know exactly why you’re there, a city like that’s a good place to stay away from … especially for a pretty thing like you.”

  “It’s just a fresh start.” Renee stuffed a bite of the cake in her mouth, hoping to end the questioning.

  “So, you’re running from a person, place, or thing?” asked Jennie.

  Geez, an inquisition! Renee looked down and kept eating. All of the above. That was the answer to the question, but she wrote that stuff in letters to her mom; she didn’t blurt it out to strangers.

  “Uh huh,” said Jennie.

  The tone of that simple utterance made Renee want to smack the woman. How dare this stranger act like she knew anything about her? Renee grabbed her cup and downed the hot coffee. She’d been planning this move for months, so why—just because this Jennie Somebody questioned it—did the move sound like a stupid idea? She knew what Jennie’s ‘Uh-huh’ meant: her life wouldn’t be any better in L.A. because, whether it’s to or from, running makes no difference. Well, fuck her. Renee shoved her plate away and stood up. “What do I owe you?”

  “On the house,” said Jennie.

  Renee jerked a ten-dollar bill from her purse, and slapped it on the counter.

  Jennie smiled. “In a week or two,” she said, “this town is going to be crawling with tourists every day and I could use some help here during the lunch rush.”

  “No, thanks.” Renee headed toward the door. “I’m out of here tomorrow.”

  The door opened before she reached it. The guy she’d seen outside the post office pulled up short when he saw her, gave her a half-nod of greeting, and stood aside to let her pass. He was a little older than she’d first thought. One of the chess players called out, “Hey, Jalal …” That was all she heard before the door swung closed behind her.

  Her prediction of insomnia proved accurate, and Renee didn’t rise until after noon. She was halfway through her shower before it occurred to her she’d missed checkout time. Damn. Her money was flowing down the drain as fast as the water pouring over her.

  After drying her hair, she automatically reached for her make-up bag. Blessed with lush eyelashes, she never wore eye makeup in the daytime, and now, looking in the mirror, she decided to skip the foundation too and let the sun add some color to her skin. Time to get a start on a new look for her new life. Sometimes she forgot she was only twenty-three. Maybe she should do something fun with her hair, like add highlights or even vivid color streaks to liven up the brown. She’d see about that in L.A. Today it would be her usual. She bent forward, gathered her hair in one hand, twisted it up, and clipped it in place.

  In the bedroom, she pulled on shorts and a tee. No use packing her stuff. If she had to pay for another night anyway, it made no sense to take off today. She might as well pick up her car and see the rest of this town … and the beach, she hadn’t been there yet. She stuffed a hoodie in her tote and grabbed her iPod on the way out the door.

  Embarrassed at her over-reaction the night before, Renee nixed another meal at Jennie’s in favor of lunch by the ocean. She bought a sandwich and a Coke on her way to Geary’s. Keith had two surprises waiting for her. He had finished the repairs and not ripped her off on the bill. He directed her to the public beach as he handed over her keys and credit card.

  Since today was Wednesday, and evidently not yet tourist season, Renee saw no one around but a couple of fisherman on the pier and a lone jogger. It was cooler than she expected, and even after she retrieved her sweatshirt from the car and zipped it to her chin, the wind made her too cold to sit still for long. She wolfed her lunch and started walking. Chilly or not, it was a beautiful place to live. The cost of living had to be sky high, though. The ad prices in the realtor’s windows shocked her. Would it be any cheaper to live in L.A.? Why, really, had she decided to go there? Just because it seemed a world away from Sacramento?

  She could stay here and wait tables, of course, but it would be impossible to live on part-time pay from Jennie’s, and the length of her skirt or the depth of her neckline weren’t likely to influence the size of those customers’ tips. Probably one of the bars she’d seen yesterday would hire her, but then she might as well return to Rick’s. He would hire her back in a second. She stopped walking to watch the waves and weigh her options. The ocean was something she couldn’t see in Sacramento, only a city crowded with buildings, people, cars, and—for the last six months—realtor signs with her father’s face on them. Note to self: stop using that word. He wasn’t her father; the man was nothing to her. It was the frequent reminder of that she couldn’t take.

  Renee started walking again. Maybe she could live in one of the inland towns she’d passed through, one not too far a drive from the ocean, but cheaper to live in than here. Geez, a little car trouble had really messed with her mind. Just pick a town, any town. There were bars in all of them. Still, this was the Bay of Dreams. Would she have better luck in a town with such an ambitious name? Could she, for once, have a life not centered around and screwed up by a man?

  The waves crashing against the rocky cliff ahead prevented her from walking any farther, but instead of turning back she took the steps leading up from the beach. At the top lay a road. Unlike the one where she’d left her car, this road had no motels or restaurants along it. Evidently, she was trespassing on private property. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, so she kept going. Each house scattered along the road was a different size and style, but they all faced the ocean, their windows like eyes fixed on the horizon.

  Around a bend, she came upon a house with a picket fence and most of its front yard filled with flowers as though defying the stark shore. Oh. At the sight of someone sitting in the garden, she had stumbled over her own feet. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she crept forward, but just before she came even with the edge of the property, she recognized the curly black hair. His head was down. He held a book. Renee stood still for a moment, knowing she would speak to him, but not knowing why.

  Ten

  SOME DAYS, JALAL RAN NORTH along the beach. On alternate
days, he reversed the direction. Throughout the month, he coordinated the timing of his runs with the low tides. As the high tide moved from afternoon into evening, he switched to an early morning run, but with the month of June came a complication in the scheduling. Though the village was an artist’s colony on the scenic Pacific Coast and a magnet for weekenders and day trippers most of the year, by June the condo renters swelled the population to its limit. Too many people on the beaches made him uncomfortable. Secretly, he echoed the sentiment scrawled on the back of a nearby riptide warning sign: Valley leeches stay off our beaches! A bad attitude for business, of course.

  His house stood along a section of beach designated as private, though, at low tide, anyone could follow the shore from the public beach to the private one and beyond. Jalal ran six miles a day. He preferred, when the tide was out, to run three miles in one direction before turning around, and bristled at the seasonal restriction of having to run back and forth along this one-mile stretch for privacy. On the days when the low tides occurred at inconvenient daylight times, he ran in the dark along the village streets. Sometimes he was able to fall into bed exhausted afterward and sleep normally.

  Jalal wrote during the day, often while sitting in the garden. With the constant rush of the surf and cries of the gulls creating a kind of silence, he took comfort in his isolation. He lived as in a hermitage—and had for some time before publication of his last book—but he had underestimated the rabidity of some fans. Three times during the past eighteen months, women who read his poetry had hunted him down and breached his solitude to express their love. Love. Such experiences made him cautious and though he had not even flinched at the sound of a woman’s voice from the road outside his fence just now, it made him wary.

  “Excuse me,” she said again.

  Risking no more than necessary, he raised only his eyes from his journal, but at first sight of her, his head snapped up. Even with a halo of windblown wisps of hair, this woman looked less intense—safer—than his typical stalker. There was something familiar about her. He decided to take a chance. “May I help you?”