Without Words

by Stewart, Delancey

  “Where?” I asked, stepping back in front of her.

  “You’re terrible at this.”

  “Well, you’re not supposed to tell me anyway,” I reminded her.

  “Maybe I should just let you find it.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “No,” I whined, pulling the pillows off the couch next to her to check under them.

  “So close now,” she said, grinning. “Other pillows…”

  I wrinkled my nose, thinking, and then ran to my room and ripped the pillows from my bed. There, under the pillow I’d slept on all night, was a simple silver charm bracelet I’d been coveting during a recent window-shopping trip in La Jolla. I squealed loudly as I snatched it up and ran back to the living room.

  “I love it! I can’t believe you got this.” I remembered the price. Too much.

  “It’s a congratulations gift. I was sure you’d find it last night or this morning. It’s to commemorate the shop. See?” She pointed to the two charms hanging from it. “A book. And a wine bottle.”

  I admired the little charms and then pulled my big sister into a huge hug. “It’s amazing. Thank you so much.”

  “You deserve it. Congratulations, sis.”

  I tucked it into my jewelry box to wear later and then headed back out to the door. “Sure you don’t want to run?” I asked with my hand on the doorknob.

  She shook her head and switched on the television.

  As the door closed behind me, my focus shifted. I needed this. I needed to stay laser-tuned on the things that mattered, and running was one way I could do that.

  I let myself out the door and opted to head west, crossing beneath the freeway and jogging between buildings until I reached the wide boardwalk that flanked the marina and ran up the side of the harbor. Once I was next to the water, I paused to stretch. When I was loose, I took up an easy pace, heading north toward Seaport Village. I’d have to dodge a few tourists, but the boardwalk was wide, and it was too early for any but the most intrepid sightseers to be out.

  Nan was on my mind. So was the guy from the night before, if I was being truthful, but I was experienced enough to know how ridiculous that was. I’d never see the guy again, unless I stalked him at the club where he played. And while that was strangely tempting, I knew I’d be better off keeping my mind clear. Nan would have agreed if she were around to counsel me about it.

  My feet found a steady rhythm. How many people were lucky enough to spend their mornings edging the San Diego Harbor, enjoying one of the prettiest places in the world? How many people got to live their dreams? Nan had made it possible, of course. Two little runts from a trailer park in El Centro would never have ended up living where we did, enjoying what we had. By all rights, Amy and I should be every bit as fucked up as the family we came from.

  But Nan had rescued us, maybe out of some kind of guilt over everything that had gone wrong with Mom. Not that Nan could have stopped it, but I know she wished she could have. So she’d saved us instead. And everything I did now was a tribute to her memory. Or I tried to make sure it was.

  …

  At exactly ten o’clock, I was outside the storefront on Newport Avenue in Ocean Beach, my sister at my side, and my beautiful bracelet on my wrist.

  “This is it, huh?” Amy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, peering through the smeary glass to the space inside.

  I bounced on my toes, grinning. I couldn’t help it. “Amazing, huh?”

  Amy’s gaze wandered up and down the street, taking in the funky colors of the other storefronts, the straggling homeless man crashed out a few feet away, and the dreadlocked Rastafarian watching us from across the street. “Why Ocean Beach, Dani? It’s so…gritty.”

  Where Amy saw grit, I saw color and originality. Ocean Beach was one of the few communities in San Diego that hadn’t been totally washed over with a corporate brush and zinged with a big-box-store wand. The people who lived here had protested Starbucks for years before the place finally opened, and many of them still refused to go in. Where so much of San Diego was homogenous—made to stand in neat little rows, all matching and perfect—Ocean Beach was a bastion of uniqueness. The storefronts were as colorful as the people, and it was perfect.

  Newport Avenue, where my shop would be, ran directly out to the beach, ending in a concrete pier with a snack and bait shack clinging to its end. And that pier was one of my favorite places in San Diego. I was building a life in a spot where I’d be able to walk its length every day.

  “When do you get the keys?” Amy was tapping her foot impatiently while I paced in front of the store.

  “Now,” I said, spotting the Realtor who’d helped me get the lease set up.

  “Dani.” The Realtor smiled, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Sorry I’m late, there was a lot of traffic this morning.”

  I grinned and bounced, so happy there was a chance my body would become unglued from gravity and float into the air. “Nancy Malone, this is my sister, Amy.”

  They shook hands and then, after what seemed like an unnecessary delay, Nancy pulled a key out and dropped it into my palm. “All yours, Danielle.”

  I closed my fingers around the solid evidence of my adulthood. This was a step forward, a real move toward a life that was built by me, just for me. “Thank you,” I said, attempting—and failing—to contain my enthusiasm.

  “Good luck,” Nancy said, sweeping back down the sidewalk. “I’ll stop in and see how it’s going once you’re all set up.”

  Fifteen seconds later, I was standing in the center of my own shop, envisioning what it would become.

  “I’ll put shelves up all the way around,” I told Amy as she high-stepped through the thick dust, looking worried a zombie might reach up through the cement floor and grab her ankle. “A counter back here with glass, for pre-packed food and bakery stuff.” I swooped my arms toward the back of the shop. “And comfy couches and bookshelves over here.”

  Amy seemed to be at a loss for words, so I continued.

  “There’s a teeny little kitchen back here, but big enough to bake,” I told her. “Once I get it all cleaned up, this place is going to sparkle. It’ll be funky and cool, with a sophisticated edge.”

  Amy swallowed hard and looked me in the eye. “You have your work cut out for you. But I know you can do it.”

  “And you’ll help?” I asked.

  “Help?” Amy’s attention had returned to the years of dust on the floor. She repeated the word like it was one she’d never heard before.

  “Or maybe just be moral support,” I suggested, as I tried to imagine her pushing a mop around. “That’d be good, too.”

  “Yeah, I can totally help like that,” she said, pulling me into a hug.

  Despite her best efforts to avoid manual labor, Amy proved herself to be handy with a bottle of Windex and a rag, and by the time we stopped working to grab some lunch, the front windows were clear and sparkling and the first layer of dust on the floor was gone.

  “Can you see it yet?” I asked as we sat at a high table facing the window at The Pier, the restaurant at the foot of OB’s famous pier.

  “Getting a glimpse of your vision,” Amy said around a mouthful of taco.

  I was beginning to see it, too. My dream was a comfortable little spot that combined my favorite things—wine, books, baking, and people. I was calling it A Book and a Bottle, and I hoped it would become the kind of place people naturally thought of when they wanted to hang out, get a bite, or just do something a little different than the usual bar scene. Thanks to having worked in restaurants for years—from high school through college graduation—I’d already gotten most of the initial legwork done on the licenses and permits I’d need, and inventory was already on its way.

  “You should hire someone,” Amy said, breaking me from my train of thought.

  “I’m not really ready for that. The place isn’t even open.” I sipped my iced tea and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Not like a permanent person. A handy
man or something. One of the doctors I call on told me about a guy—I can get his number. You need new floors, and all those shelves you talked about. Someone who knows how to do that stuff.”

  I nodded. She had a point. I’d been watching YouTube and lots of HGTV, picking up tips about building shelving and laying tile. But it probably wasn’t as easy as those videos made it look. Still, there was the issue of money. “Between the lease, licensing, and stock, I need to be careful with money. I have to buy materials and stuff. I need help, but I need to do a lot of it myself. I can’t afford to have someone come in and build it for me.”

  “You can’t afford to screw it up, either,” she pointed out. That was Amy, always the voice of reason.

  I slumped a bit. I knew she was right, but money was tight, and I didn’t want to let my dream slip away in unnecessary expenditures. “I need to do some more work, figuring out costs,” I admitted.

  “Maybe you could put out a help-wanted sign. There’re plenty of surf rats wandering this neighborhood. They’d probably be cheap.” Amy looked around. There were at least three tables near us surrounded by guys who looked like they’d recently rolled in from the waves. The rack of surfboards out front agreed. “Hire a hot one,” Amy suggested. “Maybe he’ll take off his shirt while he’s working and can lean his board up against the building out front. On breaks, you could rub oil into his big, strong shoulders, and…”

  “Um, Amy?” Where the hell was she heading with this?

  “Sorry. Got carried away.” She was glancing past me at a table with three big blond surfers. “Can you blame me? All I ever see are stodgy doctors and receptionists who try to shoot tiny daggers from their eyes.” She shrugged again. “Luckily, that’s a very hard skill to master.”

  I laughed around my mouthful of taco. “That is lucky.” Amy’s job as a pharmaceutical rep had never sounded fun to me.

  “But I’m jealous, I guess. Even if this neighborhood is a little bit different, you’ll be around interesting people all day. And I’ll still be trying to push meds no one in my territory can actually get with their insurance.” She looked dejected for a moment, her shoulders slumped a bit and her chin low over her collarbone. But then she seemed to recover herself—Amy had never been one to pout for long. “I’m just going to have to find reasons to visit Ocean Beach a lot, I guess.”

  “You’d better,” I told her, pushing my plate away. “If you hate your job, why don’t you come work with me, then? It can be our shop together.”

  She shook her head and a sad smile passed across her face before the steely gleam returned to her eyes. “I’m not a dreamer, sis. That’s you. I need something more secure. I could probably help with some of the construction costs, though. If you need it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, vowing not to spend a single cent of my sister’s inheritance.

  Amy still felt like she had to be my safety net. In the face of all the tragedy we’d seen as small kids, Amy had been the strong one, my protector. And in so many ways—too many—she still played that role. And maybe I let her. I hoped Amy would feel free to follow her own heart someday, too.

  Chapter Three

  Rob

  “Roberto!” Mom stepped out into the driveway in front of her house to meet my truck. She had a royal air about her, always had. Maybe it was an act, or maybe some distant bloodline would confirm she was actually a princess. She played the part either way.

  “Mom.” I smiled and pulled her into a hug. She was small and thin in my arms. “You eating?”

  A guilty look crossed her smooth face, but she played innocent. “Of course I am.” She wrapped her arms around her waist as she backed up for Sampson and me to get down from the truck. “Hi, big doggy,” she said, bending down to rub Sampson behind both ears. He sat and stared up at her adoringly.

  Mom stepped back and grabbed my hand. “Come in, Anna is so excited to see you. Unfortunately, Teddy had to travel for work this week.”

  I didn’t feel too torn up that Mom’s new husband wasn’t around. He and I had never seen eye to eye, and since my accident, I didn’t have the verbal stamina to handle him anyway.

  We went inside the enormous house, and I sucked in a breath as I always did, surprised each time I entered at the sheer size of the entry, and everything else. The place went up two stories and was filled with light, but the most impressive thing was the clear view of the Pacific out the back wall of windows. Mom had remarried well. Teddy was a real estate developer. If she wanted to be a princess, she had the castle.

  “Rob!” My half sister bounced out from the back of the house. “I’m so glad you came out.”

  “Anna,” I said, giving her a hug. “Wow.” Anna wasn’t little anymore. At twelve, she was still mostly enthusiasm and excitement, but now she looked more woman than girl. Mom complained Anna was spoiled and moody, but around me she was sweet. We hadn’t really grown up together since she had been born just a couple of years before I’d moved out. But we had been part of each other’s lives, and I liked seeing her. Especially when Teddy wasn’t around. “You look good, sis.”

  Anna tried to suppress her pleasure at the compliment, but she hadn’t yet mastered the attitude most girls acquired somewhere in adolescence, the one that made them accept compliments like they were some God-given right. Good. I roughed up her hair as she leaned down to pet Sampson.

  “Brought you something.” I pulled a sketchpad and set of watercolor pencils from behind my back.

  Her eyes glowed as she took them from my hands. “Thank you! These are awesome. I’ve been working a lot with acrylic, but I’ve wanted to try watercolor…can you show me?”

  I nodded. Anna and I had bonded over a love of drawing and a penchant for color and design. “After lunch?”

  “It’s almost ready,” Mom said, waving me toward a stool at the counter. “I’ll just finish up here and then we’ll eat out on the deck.”

  Mom didn’t really cook anymore. Anna sat beside me, throwing smiles my way as Mom pulled plastic containers from the refrigerator and emptied them onto plates. Some kind of crab salad appeared, and drumsticks that she popped into the microwave. “Nothing fancy,” Mom said, handing plates over the counter for me to carry out. “Anna, will you get water?”

  The deck spanned the entire back of the house and was probably as many square feet as Trent’s condo. Teddy had ridiculous parties on that deck. That’s where he’d met my mom when we moved to San Diego from Ensenada. Mom was right at home in Coronado. She’d lived here before meeting my dad, so it made sense that she’d come back, even if it had turned out to be about the worst possible place for me to be the new kid.

  Anna brought water and we sat at the big round table at one end of the massive deck, Sampson perched at the edge where he could keep an eye on the tide. He growled at it, warning the water to keep its distance. Sampson’s love/hate relationship with the Pacific was always good for a laugh. The ocean gave us color and background noise as we ate and soaked in the sun that heated the planks of the deck and radiated back up.

  “Nice day,” I said, gritting my teeth as my voice reverberated in my head.

  “It is nice to see the sun. I hate the marine layer that hangs over us all summer,” Mom said.

  “You can still get tan,” Anna said around a mouthful of chicken. “Even when the sun isn’t out.” Her golden skin proved her right.

  “You mean you can still get skin cancer,” Mom chided, then nodded at me. “Rob is lucky, he’s got that beautiful dark skin like his father. He doesn’t have to worry as much.”

  My skin tone and eye color were about the only things I’d gotten from my father.

  “Have you talked to him?” Mom asked lightly. “Or to Mateo or Antonio?” My family fell pretty far on the dysfunctional side of the scale. Mom asked me because my brothers wouldn’t speak to her directly. And I didn’t speak to them often. I didn’t talk to my dad at all.

  “No,” I answered. “Talked to ’Tonio a few months ago.” I swallowed hard,
forming the words I needed in my mind before speaking them aloud. “Not great on the phone, Mom.”

  She smiled a sad smile, reaching over to brush my cheek with her fingers. “You’re fine, honey. I know it’s hard.” She pushed crab around on her plate for a moment, and I could tell she was thinking about something. “Have you reconsidered going back to the station?”

  They’d offered me light duty after the accident, since I couldn’t fight fires anymore. But sitting at a desk had never been my thing. I shook my head.

  “Would that count as being a productive member of society?” Anna asked, her question feeling a lot like a knife in the back, even though her voice and face were innocent. Those were not her words, and I knew it. But they still hurt. Even my little sister thinks I’m a deadbeat.

  “Anna!”

  “Probably,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. Failing miserably.

  “What?” Anna looked at Mom. “That’s what Daddy always says. That Rob needs to become a productive member of society again.” She parroted Teddy’s words again. They didn’t hurt less the second time.

  Mom looked embarrassed. “Rob will find a job when he’s ready. He’s been through a lot.”

  Teddy hadn’t been my biggest fan when I was gainfully employed. I swallowed, trying to push down the anger I felt, at myself, at Teddy. At the situation I was in, thanks to my damaged and malfunctioning brain.

  “Please don’t worry about it, honey,” Mom said. “Let’s not let it ruin our visit. I hardly get to see you anymore.”

  I didn’t point out that our distance was mostly due to her husband. But I had enough to be angry about. Teddy was good to Mom, and to Anna. “It’s fine,” I managed.

  Mom got the look that told me she was about to ask a question I wouldn’t like—her eyes widened and she lowered her chin slightly, angling in for the kill. “So, Roberto. Have any young ladies caught your eye lately?” Mom was desperate for grandchildren. And with three sons of marrying age, things should have been in her favor. What were the odds none of us would start a family? Then again, when you grow up with a crappy example of family life, maybe you make some decisions on that front.