by Nina Revoyr
“You keep this up,” Dr. Morrison warned, “and you might be running this place someday.”
The promotion had led to a raise that made another change possible—six months before, with Oscar’s help, she’d bought a condo in Baldwin Hills. Yes, she’d needed to borrow some money from her mother and stepfather to cover the down payment, but she would pay this back as quickly as she could. She didn’t have much furniture yet, and there was nothing on the walls. But there was a decent-sized grassy area where Timber could run, ringed by a small garden of native plants. She couldn’t be happier about her condo-in-progress. She finally had a place of her own.
As the last of the students stepped off the stage, Gwen felt her eyes welling with tears. A year ago, her sense of purpose and faith had been wavering; she’d despaired over whether she could really make a difference. She didn’t feel that way anymore. Not every kid they helped was going to make it, she knew. But many of them did.
As she looked out at the boys—jostling and kidding with each other, accepting the hearty handshakes from men and cooing from the women—she thought for a moment of Robert. He’d been gone for two years now. She still grieved for him, but the pain was more manageable these days. She knew that he was still with her, and always would be. And the best way she could honor his life, she realized, was to fully live her own.
* * *
From his seat in the fifth row, Todd watched Gwen and smiled so much his face began to hurt. She looked lovely up there, and happy. It wasn’t just that she was wearing a bright, patterned dress and that her hair was flowing over her shoulders. Something exuded from her, a confidence and self-possession. He could see the other men checking her out, and felt pride and amusement. Gwen seemed oblivious to the attention; she didn’t even get why her colleague Devon had wanted to hike with her, and had gotten his hackles up when Todd appeared.
Todd was glad to be here today, glad to have something to do on a Saturday morning. Several months ago, Kelly had asked him to leave, and so now he was renting a one-bedroom condo off of Beverly Glen and getting used to being single again. Things had been tense when he returned from his trip—she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. And she wasn’t pleased by the sudden crashing of their household by Timber—who was wild, and wrestled with leashes, nipped and herded the children; who jumped on tables with all four feet and ate straight off the dinner plates. But Todd couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. Things had changed. He had changed. And he was surprised by how much he’d been shaken up by Tracy’s disappearance. For all her gung-ho craziness, she’d brought something out in him, in all of them, and it was strange to think that her vibrancy, her life, might now be gone from the world.
Not that the separation from Kelly had been easy. Even though he knew it was over between them, it had still been a tough few months. He missed his wife, he missed what they once had been. And he missed his children terribly. Right now they were spending every Sunday with him and a couple of nights during the week; otherwise, the condo felt horribly empty. Dogs weren’t allowed in his complex, and Timber was most attached to Gwen anyway, so as soon as she had closed on her place with the yard, Timber joined her in Baldwin Hills. He made the best of the time he had with his kids and tried to keep things cordial with Kelly. He’d heard from a colleague that she was dating an heir to one of the city’s old oil families.
Because of the divorce and upcoming custody battle, it wasn’t practical to leave his job. He didn’t like it any better than he had before. But volunteering with Gwen’s agency had given him a new sense of purpose. Like today—although he didn’t admit it to Gwen, he’d been nervous about coming to Watts, to an event in an open-air venue that had apparently been a gang stronghold. Even this morning he’d felt exposed and self-conscious—he was the only person, including the cops, who wasn’t black or Latino. But the park had been surprisingly nice, and the event was clearly a success, with no hint of trouble. And as he saw the parents hugging and crying over their kids, the kids who were so thrilled just to have money for clothes, he felt both shame and pride. He had come to take so much for granted. He was impressed by the park too—he would never have believed there was such a pretty place in Watts. But there was beauty everywhere, he realized, everywhere around, if you just knew where to look.
* * *
From his spot in the last row, Oscar was smiling at Gwen too. She was doing well up there with her speaking, better than he would have imagined. Seeing her in her element, and driving through the surrounding neighborhoods to get to the park, he had a greater appreciation for what she did.
“She’s like to faint up there in this heat,” a mother said from the row in front of him.
“She’ll be all right,” Oscar told her. And he knew that she would be. She’d handled a hell of lot tougher than this.
Beside him, Lily was wiggling impatiently—just a little bit longer, he told her. On her other side sat Claudia. He’d seen a couple of the other men watching her and had felt not the angry possessiveness he might have a year ago, but pride. He knew that if they looked down at her hand, they’d see the simple diamond engagement ring. They were to be married at the end of summer. And then they’d start working on a brother or sister for Lily.
It had taken Oscar three weeks to fight off the infection from the bullet wound, another couple of months for the shoulder itself to heal. He’d undergone surgery to sew his shoulder together, and now it was fine, except for the dark raised scar the size of a cigar that bisected his lion tattoo, and the pain he sometimes felt when he lifted his arm. He’d even started working out again, although he didn’t go to SportZone—it was too strange being there, with Tracy gone. He hadn’t missed much in terms of work, since there wasn’t much to miss, but when he went back in the fall, he represented a few more buyers—including Gwen—before going to work for his uncle David. Now he spent his days visiting the same neighborhoods he had as a realtor. He’d downsized and simplified—traded the BMW in for a Kia, bought tidy, more casual clothes. Although there were aspects of the old job he missed, there were also things he gained—the satisfaction of working steadily and hard, and seeing tangible results. Getting a paycheck every other week. When they were done here, they were going shopping for a new sofa and table; before she moved in, before they were married, Claudia wanted to replace his bachelor belongings.
* * *
Gwen stepped down off the stage to receive a flurry of thank yous and hugs from the families. Oscar and Claudia approached, and she thanked them for coming. Todd, who’d reappeared, gave Lily a hug and congratulated Claudia on her engagement. He and Oscar shook hands and clapped each other wordlessly on the back.
After Oscar and Claudia left and the crowd dispersed, Todd helped with the cleanup, folding chairs and picking up fallen streamers and untaping signs from posts. When everything was in order, he came back, looking sweaty and a bit sunburned.
“So, now that the school year’s over, do you have any summer plans?” he asked.
“Actually,” said Gwen, “remember Ranger Montez? She called me a couple of weeks ago and invited me on a hike she’d leading up in Mineral King.”
“Oh really?”
“I think she feels bad about what happened last year,” Gwen said, blushing. “She said she wants to show me another side of the Sierras.”
“She didn’t ask Oscar and me if we wanted to see another side of the Sierras.” He smiled. Awkward as this was, he didn’t begrudge it. Sure, he’d wondered if there might be something between Gwen and him—despite their differences, despite his sadness about the end of his marriage. But they were good as friends too, and he’d be fine with that. She was meant to be in his life, no matter what.
Gwen smiled and looked away. What could she say? She wasn’t sure what Jessica’s invitation meant either, but she’d been glad for it. She had thought about the ranger often in the months she’d been back. She felt a bit nervous about going to the Sierras again, but this—a day hike, no camping out, i
n the company of a ranger—seemed like to good way to do it. And she would be happy to see Ranger Montez again, whatever it meant. Jessica was a good one.
So was Todd. She was aware of this as they stopped by the potluck reception that the parents had put on, and ate plates full of tamales and fried chicken, mac and cheese and chilaquiles, carnitas and cornbread, flan and bean pies. She watched him interact with the families—nodding and bowing respectfully; shaking the hands of the young scholars with gravity and tenderness. She and Todd were so different, and she was aware of that here more than anywhere else, where he looked so out of place. And yet they were connected, and she did not want that to change. She wondered, half-smiling, what would piss her mother off more—if she brought a white man home for Thanksgiving, or a woman. Neither of them would try to tell her what she couldn’t do. She would never let anyone tell her that again.
After they’d eaten, they walked across the park and back toward their cars. It was almost one o’clock now, and the park was full. On two baseball diamonds, Little League games were underway; boys and girls of about twelve years old wore crisp uniforms and new-looking gloves. The soccer field and basketball courts were teeming with kids. In one corner of the park, the farmer’s market was still open—dozens of booths were packed with fresh produce and fruit, home-baked goods, brought by farmers who’d driven in from the Central Valley. Beyond the farmer’s market was the playground, where children played on new swings, slides, and seesaws, and dug in sandboxes, while their mothers—and even some fathers—watched from the side. A few hearty souls were still jogging despite the midday heat, and a group of senior citizens were using the leg press machines. They passed a large stage and sound system set up for an afternoon concert; people of all ages were already beginning to gather.
“I had no idea this was here,” Todd said.
“These people have always been here. There just hasn’t been a place for them to come.”
Things weren’t perfect, Gwen knew, not by a long shot. Here in this oasis, with its fresh grass and new sports facilities and large shading trees, it was lively and safe—thanks to overdue county funding and community-minded—finally!—police and stubborn residents who demanded the right to enjoy their own neighborhood. But there were families in the housing project just across the street who were still afraid, because of gang boundaries, to come to the park. And in the other housing projects and other neighborhoods, just out of sight, the despair, drugs, and violence continued. Beyond this area of green, beyond the sight of the police, there was trouble still, trouble not easily fixed, trouble as old as the city itself.
But Gwen didn’t want to think about that now. She was proud of the kids whose success she’d been a part of, proud of the families, schools, and community that produced them. She felt comfortable in the presence of this man, who—whatever he was to her—did not question what she could do or who she could be. Tonight, she’d go for a jog with Timber around her new neighborhood. She’d come home and drink a glass of wine on her upstairs patio, and look out over the city she loved.
As they headed toward the edge of the park, past the trees, the mountains came back into view. There, in those mountains, she’d started to hike and first learned to trust her body. There, she was with Robert on what might have been the last happy day of his life.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” Todd said.
They both stopped and looked. Even from where they stood, they could see the folds of small canyons, the lines of a trail, the antennas on top of Mount Wilson. A few more clouds had drifted in over the range, and it was dappled now in shadow and light. She loved these mountains, despite everything—these, and the San Bernardinos to the east, and the grand, untamed Sierra. They would stay there at the edge of her city, her life, to return to whenever she needed.
“Yes, they are,” she answered. She smiled at Todd with an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken, and they turned and walked out of the park.
Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful to the following for their help with this book.
Thanks to Jennifer Gilmore and Kyoko Uchida for their early and insightful readings.
Thanks to Johnny Temple, Johanna Ingalls, Ibrahim Ahmad, Aaron Petrovich, and everyone else at Akashic Books for taking on another of my novels.
Thanks to Richard Parks, Monica Valencia, and Hugh Evans for their specific and expert help.
Thanks to the friends who’ve accompanied me on trips into the wilderness. And love to two big-spirited men who’ve been called home to the mountains.
Thanks to the dogs: Russell, the English springer spaniel, for his spirit and companionship; and Ariat, the border collie, for choosing our cabin.
And finally, my love and gratitude to Felicia Luna Lemus—for her caring attention to this book and our lives, and for always walking beside me.
NINA REVOYR is the author of four previous novels, including The Age of Dreaming, which was nominated for the LA Times Book Prize; Southland, a Los Angeles Times best seller and “Best Book” of 2003; and Wingshooters, which won an Indie Booksellers’ Choice Award and was selected by O, The Oprah Magazine as one of “10 Titles to Pick Up Now.” Revoyr lives and works in Los Angeles
E-Book Extras
Discussion Guide
An excerpt from Southland by Nina Revoyr
Also available from Akashic Books and Nina Revoyr
Discussion Guide
1. Lost Canyon opens with two very different epigrams. What do they mean? How do they relate to each other—or not? What do they suggest about the book?
2. What compels Gwen, Oscar, Todd, and Tracy to go on their trip to the Sierra? Are they driven by the same reasons? Different ones? What are they?
3. The first part of the book contains descriptions of three different areas of Los Angeles. How are these neighborhoods different? Collectively, what kind of picture do they paint of the city?
4. When do you first get the sense that the trip may be more complicated than the group originally expects? When do you know that something may go wrong?
5. When the group stops at the Franklin Cash Store, they have very different reactions. What is the significance of their time at the store? What do they learn? How do the events in the store foreshadow what happens later in the story?
6. Why do Gwen, Oscar, and Todd go along with Tracy's suggestions? Do you consider Tracy brave or reckless?
7. Lost Canyon includes many descriptions of nature and the mountains. Is nature enticing in the novel? Compelling? Frightening? How do the descriptions of nature contribute to the story?
8. Do you think of Jose as a perpetrator or a victim? Why?
9. Do you think that the growth of marijuana on public lands is a problem? Why or why not? If marijuana were legalized, what effect would it have on the growing of marijuana fields—and on the drug trade overall?
10. What does A.J. find so irritating about the hikers? Why? Do you think his attitudes have developed in spite of the increasingly diverse population of California—or because of it?
11. Which character do you identify with the most? Why?
12. How have the characters' different backgrounds shaped how they respond to things—whether it's the cash store in Franklin, or the solitude of the wild, or their perceptions of Jose and A.J.?
13. How would you describe the dynamics between the four main characters? How do these dynamics change throughout the book?
14. What did each character discover about him or herself through the course of the story? How did each of them change? Were you surprised by their evolutions?
15. Late in the novel, Todd is described as feeling "better in his body than he ever did at home." What does this mean? Why does he feel better, when he is literally running for his life? What does this suggest about his life in the city?
16. In some ways, Gwen may be the character who is changed the most by the events of the story. How would you describe what happened to her, and where she is now? Why do you t
hink these changes occurred?
17. The main characters have to make choices that involve participating in violence. What do you think of their decisions? Does violence change them? Are there situations in which violence is justifiable?
18. What do you think will happen with each of the characters after the end of the novel?
Please enjoy the following excerpt from Southland by Nina Revoyr
_________________
PROLOGUE
NOW, THE old neighborhood is feared and avoided, even by the people who live there. Although stores wait for customers right down on the Boulevard, people drive to the South Bay, or even over to the Westside, to see a movie or to do their weekly shopping. The local places sell third-rate furniture and last year’s clothes, and despite the promises of city leaders in the months after the riots, no bigger businesses, or schools, are on their way. A few traces of that other time remain—a time when people not only lived in the neighborhood, but never chose to leave it. And if some outsider looked closely, some driver who’d taken a wrong turn and ended up on the run-down streets, if that driver looked past the weather-worn lettering and cracked or broken windows, he’d have a sense of what the neighborhood once was. The grand old library’s still there, and the first public school, with a fireplace in each of the classrooms. The Holiday Bowl’s still open—although it closes now at dusk—where men came in from factory swing shifts and bowled until dawn. There are places where old train tracks still lie hidden beneath the weeds, and if the visitor knelt and pressed his ear against the dulled metal, he might hear the slow rumble of the train that used to run from downtown all the way to the ocean.
Now, the children feel trapped in that part of the city, and because they’ve learned, from watching their parents’ lives, the limits of their futures, they smash whatever they can, which is usually each other. But then, in that different time—the neighborhood even had a different name—Angeles Mesa was a children’s paradise. It was table land, flat and fertile, and the fields of wheat and barley made perfect places for young children to hide. The older children borrowed their fathers’ guns and hunted rabbits and squirrels, because the Mesa was part of the growing city only in name; everybody knew it was country.