Select Few

by Marit Weisenberg

  JULY

  Chapter Sixteen

  I usually had to remember to blink for appearances’ sake, but the clear California light gave me the urge. After being in the car for four days, the shopping center where we’d pulled over didn’t quite feel like a real place. It was another new landscape, this time of palm trees and gentle mountains in the background, so different from where we’d started the trip.

  “Park there,” Angus directed. He’d helped me navigate off the 280 freeway at the Menlo Park exit, past my hotel on Sand Hill Road, and directly into the Stanford Shopping Center. The outdoor mall was enormous. I found a narrow space in a back row.

  “Get out.”

  “What?” I asked, startled.

  “Get out here. I need the car. You can get a rideshare back to your hotel.” He wouldn’t look at me.

  “Already?” my voice sounded small. Our separation today had crept up too soon.

  “Meet me here—I don’t know—in two days at the—” Angus looked in the rearview mirror. “Outside the American Girl store. At noon.”

  “Two days? Why that long?”

  “Get your shit in order, act like you’ve been living here, I don’t know. I’ve got to go.” Angus seemed agitated. He put his sunglasses on.

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” he said, exasperated.

  I was about to say one more thing, to wrap up our trip, to say thank you. “I—”

  “Go!”

  Stung, I got out without a word and walked to the rear of the car. I unloaded my silver, hard-shelled suitcase and duffel and closed the trunk with a decisive slam. I didn’t look back. I was just a girl in rumpled clothing, dragging a rolling suitcase with a duffel across my back.

  I wended my way to the center of the labyrinth, taking note of the elaborate landscaping. It was the most manicured, upscale shopping mall I’d ever seen. I walked to the shaded middle with its view of Louis Vuitton, Ermenegildo Zegna, and a Tesla showroom.

  I sat on a bench by an outdoor fire pit and beds of peonies, dahlias, and feathery green ferns, the sounds of shoppers echoing from the covered walkways. Not one person stopped to look at me. There was an international, cosmopolitan crowd here, and a girl burdened with an expensive suitcase didn’t warrant attention.

  Without removing my sunglasses, I wiped the stream of tears with the tail of my shirt. What was wrong with me? I would see him in two days. He wasn’t abandoning me.

  I reached for my phone. Surprisingly, there were no new voice mails. John hadn’t called to tell me he’d won. He’d texted, and I should have called him hours and hours ago. I wasn’t sure what excuse I would make. I looked around, feeling lost. I had nothing grounding me here. Not yet.

  It was seventy-five degrees on a July afternoon. I could actually breathe. The temperate weather was a welcome shock after the triple-digit temperatures of Texas.

  I took in the view of the rolling brown hills from the suite where I’d been hiding for the past twelve hours. Just over the Santa Cruz Mountains lay the ocean. I’d be following it when I drove north with Angus in a matter of hours.

  When I’d checked in yesterday, I’d met my personal concierge and been escorted through the exclusive lobby for a quick tour. Donna had told me that the hotel was in the epicenter of the Silicon Valley tech world, on the famous road lined by venture capital firms, and she had arranged an extended stay. Thus, I found myself in a clubhouse of sorts primarily filled with men. If I was noticeable so far, it was because I was female. As I walked through the halls, I sensed an innovative and exciting energy—like a modern-day gold rush.

  Novak would have fit right in as a youthful billionaire in a T-shirt, accurately predicting the next unicorn. For a second, I wondered if I could make it in this world, betting on where the technological revolution was headed next, using my instincts that were far sharper than the average person’s. Maybe one option for me was to make a home right in this hotel if Stanford didn’t work out. I pictured myself in the Rosewood dining room, multiplying my money.

  It would be a way to pass the time until John was free, and waiting around for him in a hotel suite while he built his own life wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to have a life of my own, and it somehow felt within reach, like I’d just had a taste of it on the road trip.

  Around mid-morning, when I couldn’t stand the room anymore, I ventured to the nearly empty gym. After an hour, I turned off the treadmill, grabbed a soft white hand towel and checked my phone, the usual one. It had been a relief to throw my cheap phone away. Of course, I had missed John trying to FaceTime with me.

  I practically ran back to my suite, a bit put off to find that someone had been inside. The towels were replaced and my few things neatened. Quickly, I slipped the “do not disturb” sign on the outside of the door.

  “Hey!” I hadn’t even put my things down before I initiated the call. We hadn’t really spoken since Taos. I held out the phone and John appeared on the screen, the first time I’d seen him in days. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “Still Florida. Where are you?” His voice sounded the same, maybe a little brusque.

  “My hotel room.” I wanted to tell him how I’d just arrived, how I couldn’t believe what this place felt like—how the weather was cool, how the ocean and San Francisco were so close—but as far as he knew, I’d been here since the day I left Austin. “I went to the gym,” I said instead, explaining why I’d missed his call.

  “Ah. This is the first time you’ve called me back in minutes instead of hours.” Of course, John said it like it was an observation instead of an accusation. But I think he had picked up on my evasiveness. “That FBI agent called me. And my parents and my brother.”

  “What?” I nearly flipped over my chair when I stood up. I wanted to pace, but I had to keep holding the stupid phone. “Agent Kelly?”

  “That guy.”

  “What did he want? Why is he bothering you?” I said, angry. Already my fresh start was going down the drain.

  “He wanted to know where you were and when I saw you last. He said he’d been looking for you since last week.”

  “What did you tell him?” I tried to keep all emotion off my face.

  “I told him what he wanted to know. What’s going on?” John asked.

  “I gave him the cell phone of the man who took your picture so he could look into it. I should have called him back right away. He obviously doesn’t like to be ignored.” I was kicking myself. I should have known he’d go to John and his family if he couldn’t find me. And I really should have followed up.

  “Let me know what Rafa says, okay?”

  “I’m sure it was nothing. What’s going on with you?” I asked lightly.

  “Not a lot. Sleeping, playing tennis.”

  “Congratulations. I can’t believe you won the tournament.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was pretty cool. I’m playing well.”

  “You’re playing great. Maybe too great.”

  “I’m not throwing tennis matches. Tennis is the one thing I can do.” There was frustration behind his words that reminded me of how Angus and I, and the rest of the boys, had felt a year ago—knowing there were natural instincts that we should be using, like animals caged in a zoo.

  “You look much better,” John said, interrupting my thoughts.

  I surreptitiously glanced at the mirror above the desk for a better look. I’d forgotten that the last time he’d seen me, I’d looked like death warmed over. Now I had the glow. I didn’t have the same hair color or skin color as the rest of the Puris, but if I had an identifiable physical marker that said I was a Puri, it was the glow. It had faded when they left and now it was back after being with Angus.

  I turned away from the mirror and returned to my chair, trying to relax. “I am feeling better. I’ve gotten lots of rest.” I felt
like such a jerk, telling him to do one thing while I’d been doing the opposite.

  John had purposely changed the subject because I knew he was uncomfortable with what he thought was complaining. He was too stoic in general. From reading his mind in the past, I knew he was a worrier but kept it well hidden. His parents had no idea of the pressure he felt. But, this time, I ignored the warning signs and let it slide because I didn’t want him to argue with me. I just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing and get through it.

  “Are you nervous about your interview?”

  “Not yet. I’m trying not to think about it. I still have a few weeks.” I recognized how much the importance of the interview had faded in my mind.

  But the mention of the interview made me realize we were beginning to make a dent in the timeline. I tried not to think that Angus was the one responsible for making time fly. I decided to go ahead and mention my first foray into searching for Elizabeth Blackcomb. I left the ‘how’ deliberately vague.

  “Are you serious? What made you decide?”

  More like who had made me decide. Guiltily, I tilted my head back and stared up at the crown molding while I gained control over my expression. Then, ready, I looked him in the eye once again. “I have the time, that’s all. I’m sure it won’t lead to anything.”

  He was perceptive enough to know that I wanted to move on. After a beat he said, “Call me if you find her, okay?”

  “I promise I will.”

  For the first time since we’d begun the conversation, he smiled. Just a little bit. “Pretty soon we won’t have my parents around. No curfew. We can finally take our time.”

  “I don’t know,” I joked, “you may be too busy for me with your tennis, your classes…”

  “What about you? You’ll probably be taking seven classes or something crazy like that.”

  As hard as I tried, I could no longer see it. There was an awkward pause I didn’t manage to fill fast enough. John picked up on it.

  “I gotta go,” he said.

  AUGUST, one month later

  JOHN

  The phone wasn’t really doing it for either of us. So much of our communication was nonverbal. Like the way we naturally gravitated toward each other at Austin High—at the drinking fountain after tennis, walking to the parking lot together. I felt like when we spent time together, it was simply being next to each other.

  It hurt when you didn’t return my calls. Then Agent Kelly called me asking where you were, signaling that you weren’t at the Rosewood.

  I still don’t know where you really were that first part of July…

  JULY

  Chapter Seventeen

  At ten the next morning, after walking around aimlessly for an hour as planned, I saw Angus near the entrance of the American Girl store. When he saw me, he quickly walked a ways ahead, leading me through the parking lot until he got into a new car. One door of the maroon Hyundai was grey and mismatched.

  “Where did you end up staying?” I asked when I slipped in beside him.

  “San Jose,” Angus said, sunglasses and hat in place. “How are you?” He looked me over.

  “Fine.” I shrugged. I didn’t let on how relieved I was to see him.

  “Miss me?”

  I just shook my head and gave him a half smile. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  It was Angus’s turn to shake his head in an “it’s nothing” gesture.

  “Hey!” I leaned forward.

  “What?”

  I watched a fit man in his thirties or forties with dark hair and sunglasses covering his eyes climb into a white Ford sedan five rows away. For a second I thought he looked familiar. Before I could get a better visual, he ducked down into the car.

  I squinted and saw California plates. “Nothing.” I settled back into the seat.

  Angus seemed to know where he was going. He stayed on back roads to SR 92, then the car wound up the long switchback highway beneath thick redwoods and through a small town called La Honda. The change in temperature and scenery surprised me. Sunny and dry changed to shaded forest until we climbed a peak and came out into fog. Driving down Skyline Boulevard, we followed a ridge that ran parallel to the ocean far below the rocky cliffs. When I first saw the ocean I thought, I’m here, like I’d finally made it to a place I’d been trying to get to. The temperature on the dashboard dropped to the low sixties.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” Angus asked. We’d been driving for only twenty-five minutes since we’d left the shopping mall, but it felt like we’d traveled far away.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said after a long pause. “You’re only pushing me because you’re hoping you find another group of us.”

  “Yes.” When he felt my anger building he added, “Look, I do think you need to know if she’s like your boy and what happened to her after she spent time with Novak.” Because he wanted whatever I found out to force me away from John.

  “What if she’s insane?”

  “Then you probably need to know that too.”

  “We only have this address,” I said skeptically.

  I imagined Angus meeting this person and then forever looking at me differently—with just a bit of that Puri distance and disregard. The snobbery and mistrust were still inside me too, as much as John’s family and Donna had made an impression on me. Other than the night of my last conversation with Novak, I’d never been so scared and nervous. If it weren’t for John, there would be no call for this visit. I kept telling myself chances were slim that we would find her today.

  Angus wasn’t deterred. “What do you think she’s like?”

  My only impressions were from the pictures I’d seen online. The similarities I’d seen between us.

  “I don’t know. Maybe like one of the assistants? A girl he met and thought was special?” I thought of Kendra again. The guilt of not being forthcoming about how she’d died was still right there, riding alongside me. I hadn’t left it behind in Texas.

  “Remember my father said that Novak loved her? Wanted to marry her?” When I didn’t respond, he said, “You are about to face her. You should prepare yourself.”

  I began to feel like I was going to throw up. Every part of me wanted out.

  We reached our destination, a coastal town just south of San Francisco, and I paled as Angus began navigating the streets of a neighborhood. But we drove the same few streets for the next thirty minutes, unable to find the exact address we were looking for.

  “It doesn’t exist,” Angus finally said.

  “Let’s stop.” I was more than happy to have a way out.

  “One more time, okay? We were right there. We must have missed it somehow.”

  “What if we find her?” I asked abruptly.

  Angus paused, like he wasn’t sure how to handle my fears. But then, so kindly, he said, “It’s just information. We gather it and leave. You were raised by Puris. This isn’t going to change you.”

  The tension in the car was white-hot as we drifted alongside the edge of a steep, rocky cliff enshrouded in fog. A bright orange traffic cone folded onto itself, disappearing under our tire as Angus slowed to a complete stop. The posh homes that lined the block across the street looked like oversized dollhouses, narrow and tall with decorative trim and large bay windows. They had a waterfront view but were far from the beach below. More traffic cones dotted the street in front of the slim pathway running along the cliff, succulents propagating in the sand and dirt every few inches.

  “2330 Ocean,” Angus said.

  “That has to be close.” I indicated the house number 2319 on the residence in front of us. The new pseudo-Victorian house was painted in yellows and browns. A telescope sat on a third-floor roof-deck enclosed by a white railing.

  I led the way through the small picket fence and postage stamp–size lawn to the front door flank
ed by mullioned side windows.

  Angus rang the doorbell. We waited. I chewed a nail, no longer breathing, letting myself go blank.

  The door flung open and a woman wearing marbled purple and white spandex and a midriff-baring American flag T-shirt stood in front of us.

  She looked at us cautiously. A small boy in Ralph Lauren rode a cherry-red tricycle in the background.

  “Hi,” Angus said “I’m looking for an address for Elizabeth Blackcomb,” he said, speaking for me.

  Barefoot, the brunette stepped onto the patio. Almost eagerly, she softly closed the front door behind her. It was easy to tell she had fillers in her cheekbones. I noticed a dolphin tattoo on her ankle.

  “She lives down there.”

  “Where?” Angus asked.

  “The beach. There are stairs right by those cones. Is that your car?” We both nodded in response. “You’re going to need to move it. Otherwise my husband will go ballistic. Are you guests?” The woman scrutinized us skeptically.

  Neither Angus nor I knew how to answer. “We were just looking for her,” I said.

  “Good luck. You can’t just go down there. Unless you pay thirty thousand dollars and wait six months.”

  “What’s down there?” I asked.

  “They call it ‘The Cove.’ ” She held up her hands to make mocking quotation signs. “It’s a commune. Elizabeth Blackcomb owns the beach from some grandfathered deal. That should be protected land. They shouldn’t even be allowed to have it. And then they go and operate an illegal business.”

  Suddenly the door behind her opened. A much older man with silver hair wearing a polo shirt and holding the Sunday paper by his side said with no greeting, “You need to move your car. Didn’t you see those cones?”