by Alexa Land
He hesitated before saying, “I understand guilt. It rules my life. There was just something in the way you told that story that made me think maybe you left something out, but you don’t have to tell me.”
I stared at the tabletop for a long moment before admitting quietly, “I smiled at one of the brothers in the convenience store. He was this big, blond, football player type, and I thought he was cute. For that, they followed me and beat me up. If I’d never smiled at him, none of that would have happened. The guy would still be alive. I’d still have my dad, and he wouldn’t have had to spend years of his life in that hellish prison.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was smile at someone.”
“Knowing that doesn’t stop the guilt from eating me alive.” I realized I was still holding the cookie and returned it to the plate.
After a pause, TJ said, “Please talk to Murphy about all of this. I think he’ll be able to help you.”
I nodded, and we sat in silence for a while, until TJ got to his feet. He kept his tone light as he said, “Come on, we’re going for a walk. You and I spend entirely too much time indoors. We’re like mole people. I bet we’re both on the verge of collapse from a massive Vitamin D deficiency, because we never see sunlight.”
“Let’s not go crazy.”
“This needs to happen. We’ve both completely bummed ourselves out with this conversation, and that combined with the aforementioned need for sunlight means we need to bust on out of here.”
“But the shop’s still open,” I said. “And isn’t it Saturday? That means it’s going to be totally crowded anywhere we go.”
“So many excuses.” TJ came around to my side of the table and grabbed my hands. “Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be missing a massive influx of customers, and San Francisco is always crowded.”
“But worse on weekends.”
He pulled me to my feet. “We’ll survive somehow.”
“You hate it out there as much as I do. I’ve known a few introverts in my day, but you’re the only one who meets or possibly exceeds Zachary levels of introversion.”
“So if I can deal, that means you can, too.”
“What about Chaplin? He probably misses us,” I told him.
“Chaplin is a cat. He doesn’t care if either of us lives or dies. Besides, I just visited him when I went upstairs to make tea. He got his two-minute mandatory ear scratching, so he’s set for the next twenty-four hours. And just so you know, that was the flimsiest excuse ever for staying in.”
“I know.” TJ was still holding my hands, and he tilted his head toward the door as he looked at me imploringly. Finally I said, “Fine. If you’re going to stoop as low as puppy dog eyes, I clearly can’t stop this from happening.” He smiled and towed me to the exit.
Chapter Thirteen
After TJ locked up the shop, he led me out the back door to his car. “I like the type of walk that involves no actual walking,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat.
He got behind the wheel and started the engine. “I’m taking you to Golden Gate Park. This neighborhood isn’t exactly stroll-worthy.”
“The park? Oh, come on! Are you going to try to make me toss a Frisbee around, too? Just so you know, that’s not happening.”
“No! Jesus, I haven’t gone insane. What would you and I be doing throwing a Frisbee? That’s almost like playing a sport.”
“Thank God.”
“The pedal boats at Stow Lake will be fun, though.”
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I’ve always wanted to do that, but never had anyone to go with me. There’s nothing more pathetic than being in a boat all by yourself amid all those families and groups of friends and couples.”
“Well, hell, now that you played the poor single guy card, I can’t actually say no. Technically though, you do have other people you could have talked into doing this with you, like Josh or Murphy.”
“They’d both spend the entire time complaining and probably claiming they had a thigh cramp so I’d have to do all the work. I love my friend and grandson, but they make you and me look like a pair of Olympic athletes.” He had a point.
It was a gorgeous day out, and since it was late September, the tourist invasion had dropped back to a dull roar. TJ played some music as he drove us to our destination, and I made fun of him because I was pretty sure it was free-form jazz, and therefore mocking it was well within my rights. He claimed it was regular jazz, and as such was above contempt. The debate continued all the way across town.
When we reached Golden Gate Park, he drove us to the quaint boathouse beside Stow Lake and I said, “Shit, you weren’t kidding.”
“Nope. Come on, let’s do this.”
The manmade lake ringed a lushly landscaped little island called Strawberry Hill. As we approached from the parking lot, I said, “The water looks awfully green. What if one of us falls in? We could wind up with cholera, or diphtheria, or whatever you get from tainted lakes.”
“Giardia, I believe, so if you fall in, resist the urge to take a big sip. Better yet, try not to fall in.”
A little old man was standing at the water’s edge, tossing in bits of bread. After a moment, I realized he was feeding a school of very large fish. I grabbed TJ’s arm and exclaimed, “Do you see that? What are those?”
“Fish.”
I poked him in the ribs as he chuckled and caught my hands. “They’re carp, I think. It’s kind of hard to get a good look at them through all that algae.” He leaned over the edge of the lake, so far that I was afraid he was going to topple in. As I held onto his arm and tried to pull him back, he said, “Yup. Carp.”
“Where’d they come from?”
TJ straightened up and told me, “Well, since the lake’s landlocked, I’d say someone put them there. Must have been a long time ago, given how big they’ve become.”
“Makes sense.”
“I have no idea where the turtles came from, though,” he said, pointing to a log a few yards from shore.
“Oh my God!” I actually bounced on my toes like a kid and exclaimed, “Turtles! Look at the one that’s being a total dork.” The animal in question was balanced on top of a second, slightly larger turtle. His head was back and all four legs were stretched out, as if he thought he was flying. “I’ve just decided he’s my spirit animal.”
“So the one he’s sitting on must be my spirit animal,” TJ said. When I shot him a look, he beamed at me.
“That looks good on you,” I told him, indicating his smile.
“Looks good on you, too.” I was smiling just like he was.
“It’s been a while. Feels nice.”
“Told you getting out in the sunshine was a good call.”
“So far. There’s still time to fall in the lake and die of LaGuardia.”
“Giardia.”
“Whatever.”
We rented a pedal boat at the counter of the boathouse and followed a tall, skinny high school kid onto a dock lined with little vessels. Most were open-topped two-seaters with white decks and brightly colored bottoms, and they reminded me of enormous bath toys. When we reached the one we’d been assigned, TJ climbed aboard first and held his hand out to me. The boat had a big number forty-two on the side, and I said, “How appropriate, we got the Hitchhiker’s Guide boat. It should say ‘don’t panic’ in huge letters across the front.” We were right in the middle of reading Douglas Adams’ terrific series, and my comment made TJ grin.
I’d never been on a boat of any kind before, so trying to get in wasn’t pretty. When I stepped onboard, the little boat bobbed and swayed, and I flailed about frantically to keep from tipping over. TJ grabbed my hand while the kid working the boat rentals grasped an arm. After flinging the kid around a bit, I finally swung my butt into the plastic seat and said, “I have no idea how I’m getting back out of here.” I gave the teenager a little wave and called, “Sorry for almost pulling you into the lake.”
&n
bsp; “You’re not the first. Have fun,” he said cheerfully, before unhooking a rope and giving the boat a push.
“Well, we’re screwed,” I said as we drifted away from that nice, solid dock.
“Pedal with me.” At least that part was easy. As we began to propel the boat forward, TJ asked, “Do you want to steer, or should I?”
“You saw me trying to get in this thing, right? Clearly I don’t have a seafaring bone in my body. Or lakefaring, for that matter. Why would you trust me with the controls?”
“It’s not like I’ve ever driven a pedal boat either, so you’re just as likely as I am to figure out the steering.”
“You do it,” I said. “I’ll screw it up.” The controls consisted only of a single joystick between the seats, and after a moment I asked, “Where are the brakes?”
“Boats don’t have brakes.”
“Then how do you stop?”
“Just quit pedaling.”
“But momentum will still move us forward.”
“I know.”
I asked, “Do we at least have an anchor to throw in the water?”
“Nope.” TJ was grinning as he experimented with moving the joystick left and right. Or port and starboard. Whatever.
“Don’t hit that duck,” I said, pointing at a big mallard ahead of us.
“If you’re going to backseat drive, you have to take the controls.”
“I’m not. Just don’t hit the duck.”
“I’m pretty sure it knows to get out of the way.”
“He. The females are the plainer brown ones.”
“I did actually know that.”
“I figured you did,” I told him. “I’m just spouting off some random duck facts to make up for being too dumb to know boats don’t have brakes.”
TJ glanced at me and grinned. “The duck got out of the way.”
“He’s smart. He probably even knew that brake thing.”
We pedaled along for a while, and TJ said, “I’m proud of us. Check out what we’re doing right now. We left the house. We’re participating!”
“I think we’ll be set for another six months after this.” Suddenly, I pointed to something on a fallen tree at the water’s edge and exclaimed, “Turtle!”
TJ smiled and said, “That’s like your version of ‘squirrel!’ It’s very cute, please keep doing it.”
“You just referenced a Pixar movie.”
“I did.”
“Turtle!” I pointed to another little animal on a rock and TJ laughed. It was the best sound imaginable.
“Oh hey, look at that,” he said a little later. We’d rounded a bend, and a graceful red pagoda with a green tile roof had come into view.
“It’s beautiful. If we survive this three-hour tour, let’s go over to the island and take a closer look.”
“Sure, Gilligan.”
“I think I watched every single rerun of that show as a kid,” I said. “I have no idea why.”
“Neither do I.” TJ let go of the controls and draped his arm over the back of my seat. “Tag, you’re it. Time to take the wheel. Or, you know. The stick.”
I muttered, “Oh hell,” and grabbed the joystick with both hands.
I found it didn’t do much. Even pulling it quickly to one side just made the boat meander in a lazy arc. “Okay, this isn’t bad,” I said after a while. But when a rowboat appeared ahead of us, I got nervous and told TJ, “Maybe you should take over.”
“Nah. You’re doing great.”
I managed to get around the other boat without causing a full-scale maritime disaster, then announced, “I’m going to hit that bridge.” A graceful stone structure arched over the lake, connecting the island to the rest of the park.
“Just stay in the middle and you’ll be fine.”
When I failed to Titanic us into the bridge, I relaxed a bit. After a few minutes, TJ glanced over his shoulder and frowned, and I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. There’s just a duck following us.”
“Is it the one you tried to run over?”
He smiled at me and said, “No, it’s a huge, white one.”
“Is it a swan?”
“Not unless it’s wearing a duck disguise.”
I glanced over my shoulder and said, “I think that’s a goose, and he’s gaining on us. What do you think he wants?”
“A fight to the death so he can take back the Black Pearl? Or in this case, the Plastic Pedaler?” I chuckled and TJ announced, “He’s still gaining. Pedal faster.”
We both increased our efforts, and when TJ looked behind us again, he said, “He seems pissed off. Did you do something to make him angry?”
“I did. I showed him a cookbook with a recipe for Christmas Goose and dragged my finger across my neck in a threatening fashion. Apparently he didn’t find it funny.”
“He must be overly sensitive. Out of curiosity, have you ever eaten a Christmas Goose?”
“Hell no. Who am I, Tiny Tim? I always have Chinese food on Christmas.”
“I’ve heard that’s a tradition in some Jewish families, since everything else is closed. Are you Jewish?”
“No. My dad just wasn’t much of a cook, and we both loved Chinese, so he’d take me as a treat on Christmas day. I’ve kept that tradition alive.” TJ glanced at me, and I said, “Don’t worry. I don’t automatically go into a tailspin every time I talk about my dad. I have a lot of good memories from my childhood, including that one.” A splashing sound behind us made me glance over my shoulder. Our pursuer was flapping his big wings and seemed like he was trying to run in the water. “The goose is gaining.”
We both applied an extra burst of energy and passed three other pedal boats. Their occupants stared and pointed, and a couple people pulled out their phones to film the goose pursuit. “We’ve been singled out,” TJ said. “The goose has no interest in the other boaters.”
“Maybe he just wants to be friends.”
“Do you want to stop and find out?”
“I really don’t.” After a few more minutes of intense pedaling, I gasped for breath and said, “I’m completely out of shape. My legs are about to snap like twigs. Thank God I gave up smoking at least, even though my lungs were in no way prepared for this.”
“When did you quit?”
“While I was detoxing a few weeks ago. Everything smelled completely disgusting to me when I was so sick, including cigarettes, so I quit by default. It ended up working out pretty well. I mean, what’s a little nicotine craving in the face of massive heroin withdrawal? I don’t intend to pick it up again. I need to stop talking now because I need my breath for aerobic goose avoidance.”
“Stop pedaling for a minute and take a rest,” he said. “I’ll keep going.”
“Oh no. This is a two-person operation. We live or die together. If it’s the latter, they can bury us side-by-side. Our headstone will say ‘their goose was cooked.’ Murphy will appreciate that. He’ll probably put it on a T-shirt to honor us. I need to shut up now.”
We probably broke some kind of record for fastest pedal boat ride around Stow Lake. The flapping goose remained in hot pursuit right up until we approached the dock. Then he veered away and floated off tranquilly, as if nothing had ever happened.
After the high school kid secured it to the dock, TJ stepped out of the boat and offered me his hand. I flopped out gracelessly and rolled onto my back. A moment later, I burst out laughing. TJ dropped down beside me and cracked up, too. People were staring. We didn’t care.
Every time TJ and I looked at each other, the laughter started all over again. I could barely breathe. It was a couple minutes before I sat up, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and said, “That was a hell of a workout. The goose could earn big bucks as a spin instructor.”
TJ was still chuckling as he got to his feet. “He could. Hell of a motivator.” When he lifted the hem of his baggy T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face, my eyes flickered to his tight stomach. Then he he
ld his hand out to me and said, “Come on. I need CPR, but I’ll settle for a Popsicle.”
He bought two bottles of water and two ice cream bars at the snack counter, and as he handed me one of each he asked, “Are you still up for a walk after that? If not, we can come back another day.”
“I’d still like to see that pagoda. All my muscles probably won’t seize up until tonight, so I have a little time before complete paralysis sets in.”
We drained the water bottles like two men who’d just emerged from the desert and tossed them in a recycling bin before strolling around the lake. “Thanks for today,” I said as we ate our ice cream. “This has been so much fun.”
“For me too, and you’re welcome.”
“I feel like I should just tattoo the words ‘thank you’ across my forehead. You do so much for me that I need to say that every three minutes. If I could just point to my forehead instead, that’d be a real timesaver.”
“It’d look awesome, too. Not everyone can pull off a face tatt, but you could.”
“Thank you. Ah see? Again.”
We walked around the edge of the lake, dropped our Popsicle sticks into a trash can, and crossed at a concrete bridge. Once we were on the island, we followed a wooded path, pausing to admire a waterfall we hadn’t adequately appreciated during the boating portion of our outing. When we finally reached the pagoda, I said, “It’s a lot bigger than I thought.” A stone table and several stools were built into the center of the structure, and the ceiling panels were painted with intricate, repeating patterns. “It’s gorgeous.” I reached for TJ’s hand without a thought. “This doesn’t feel real. It’s like we wandered onto a movie set or something.”
He squeezed my hand gently and led me to one of the red benches around the edges of the pagoda. As we looked out at the lake, I leaned against him and said quietly, “I can’t believe I feel this good. Less than a month ago, I was completely strung out and on the verge of losing everything. Back then, I thought I could only find peace like this at the end of a needle.”
“You’ve come so far. You should feel good about what you’ve accomplished.”