Pacific Avenue

by Watson, Anne L.

  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

  ~ 30 ~

  July 1975

  San Pedro

  Lacey

  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.

  ~ 31 ~

  July 1975

  San Pedro

  Kathy

  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 wen
t 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.

  It’s weird to sit across from a guy who isn’t Richard. It’s not a date. It’s not. Just a couple of neighbors having a pizza. I made polite conversation while we waited for our order.

  “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.”

  Not much to talk about there. He loves his work. I used to love the puppets. I miss Martin and Thu and the Motleys. And they want me back. . . . Why don’t I go? Why?

  * * *

  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.