Surviving San Francisco Read online

  “Dr. Grady removed the bandage last night. He wants you to keep an eye out for any stiffness of the limbs, any unusual gait.”

  Leah’s not sure what the typical gait for a cat is, but she’s too distracted to think to ask. Instead, she eyes the room and lands on Everitt’s framed degree on the wall. Beneath his Doctorate designation is a second line that reads First Class Honors.

  Her eyes skim to the counter where a bouquet of fresh flowers lays with a card stuck in the holder.

  “She’s been tested for feline leukemia and FIV.”

  Mary’s words draw Leah away from her speculation.

  “She must have been living indoors for a time because she’s free of fleas. But maybe Dr. Grady told you this already,” Mary says. “I think he mentioned you have accessories. Litter box, bowls, food?”

  Leah thinks of the bag Everitt dropped off. “Yes.”

  “She needs to finish up her antibiotics, and make sure her wounds don’t reopen.” Mary shows Leah where the healing lacerations are.

  “Other than that, Fur Elise is all yours. In fact, she’s even been micro chipped for you.”

  Mary smiles over at Leah, who works hard to muster even a grain of enthusiasm.

  “She can go home now,” Mary says, trying to elicit a happier response.

  Leah pets the cat and finally looks at her for the first time. “You hear that?” she says to the cat. “We’re going home.”

  Mary puts Fur Elise back in the kennel.

  “Ev—Dr. Grady said I should make a follow-up appointment?”

  “You can do that at the front desk with Stacy.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you up front.”

  Leah rummages through her handbag for keys, but her attention is almost magnetically drawn back to the flowers.

  She pads over and sneaks a peek at the card.

  It reads, Forgive me. Love, Tess.

  There’s a sinking in Leah’s chest. She takes the kennel handle and lifts Fur Elise out of the room and back to the lobby.

  Mary hands paperwork to Stacy. “If you have any questions,” Mary says to Leah, “be sure to give us a call.”

  Us.

  Leah nods. It’s all she can manage.

  Stacy reads from the sheet. “Says we should see you back here in one month.”

  She clicks in the computer. “We’re looking at February 14th. How sweet! Valentine’s Day.”

  “You know,” Leah says, “I don’t have my calendar with me. I’ll just call and schedule it later.”

  “Sure.”

  Leah picks up the cat carrier, ready to leave and find herself another veterinarian. But then the door flies inward, and Everitt walks through. His jacket collar is pushed up and his hair is a mop from the wind. The gusty weather keeps the door wide open, and Everitt fights to close it.

  He prepares to move straight to the back exam rooms, but stops when his eyes meet Leah’s.

  “Hi,” he says, brushing back his bangs.

  “Hi.”

  He swallows hard, and then tears his attention away from Leah to Fur Elise. “She’s going home.”

  He kneels down and teases a finger through the wired door to the kennel to stroke the tip of Fur Elise’s ear. He stands back up, now a little closer to Leah than he was before. “I was getting used to having her around.”

  Everitt scans the room. “You by yourself?”

  Leah squinches her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “I thought…” His sentence trails off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He looks outside at the whipping wind. “It’s blustery out there. Do you need some help?” Everitt reaches for the carrier handle as Leah moves to cinch it, too. She gets there first, but their fingers meet.

  “I’ve got it,” she says.

  His hand rests over hers, and he doesn’t take it away. He inhales. “I want to be able to help.”

  “Mary went over everything.”

  Everitt pinches his eyes closed for a brief moment. “About that—”

  Leah shakes her head. She doesn’t want to hear about his girlfriend, fiancée, whoever the blonde may be. She doesn’t want another rejection. The job loss was already enough. Charlie back in Zion was already enough.

  “Don’t. It’s okay.” She touches her temple.

  Everitt lets go of the cage and lays a hand on Leah’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  Leah’s eyes wander to Everitt’s hand—to the fingers that were just touching her own. “Yeah. I mean, no.”

  He studies her and waits for more.

  “I’m thinking of going back to Illinois.”

  Everitt forces away the frown that commandeers his expression. “Why?”

  “I think I made a mistake coming here. Things aren’t working out.”

  “You’ve only been here a few weeks.” Everitt ransacks his mind for reasons, spills them out in front of Leah. “You’ll find a better job, find…” he stops himself and then redirects his thoughts, “something that makes you happy.”

  Leah latches on to Everitt’s eyes.

  “Besides, what about Clint?”

  “What about him?”

  Stacy clears her throat. “Dr. Grady? You have a patient waiting in exam room two.”

  “Sure I can’t help you outside?” he asks Leah.

  “I’m sure.”

  Everitt studies Leah and gives her a slight nod before tearing himself away.

  “Coming, Stacy.”

  He hesitates before heading further into the room.

  “You’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Because I’ll need to say goodbye to Fur Elise.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Leah watches him walk away.

  Forgive me.

  Then Leah walks away, too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The sun casts a spotlight on Leah’s apartment floor. The suitcase and sleeping bag are tucked away, and Leah is more than ready for her furniture to be here. She checks her watch for the hundredth time and paces back and forth through the room, her footsteps echoing against the naked wall.

  “They’re late.” Leah announces the obvious. She works to quell the panic rising within her by clasping her prescription bottle. She twists the cap, but then rethinks her decision and puts it away.

  Clint gets up from his place against the wall. A piece of paper sits on the floor in front of him, and he picks it up. “Seriously,” he says, “don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

  Leah takes a deep breath, and then stops moving long enough to assess whether or not she believes Clint’s statement to be true. “You know where everything goes, right?”

  “Well, it’s marked off with tape on the floor, so I don’t see how I could miss it.”

  “Make sure they follow the layout exactly.”

  “You’re freaking out over five pieces of furniture.”

  “Six.”

  He glimpses his own watch. “If you don't go now you're going to be late.”

  Clint pushes Leah out the door, but she digs her heels in. “The sofa goes along the wall that adjoins—”

  Clint fans out his arm across the laid-out room. “Leah?” Clint’s voice contains a caliber of seriousness now. “Just go get your parents already.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The airport terminal bustles with activity. A flood of people ripple through the corridors. Seats are filled with lethargic travelers. Leah waits nervously. She bites her thumbnail as she dodges moving passengers to look beyond airport security.

  She finally spies her parents as they reach the end of the moving walkway. But then they suddenly stop. Lorna appears to struggle to get her luggage off the belt, and it looks like a piece of Lorna’s clothing is stuck. Darrell tugs and tugs. Leah studies their expressions and body language, her dad’s irritation at having to pull something free that’s caught. She sees her mom’s fretful expression: her hands splayed a
cross her face with worry. Then Darrell pulls Lorna’s cardigan sweater free, handing it to her as he marches past the TSA and out to freedom.

  Lorna spots Leah and waves her arms in the air, rushing over. Darrell, devoid of emotion, approaches as Lorna ensnares Leah in her arms.

  Lorna releases her daughter, and then holds her at arm’s length. “You're so thin. Did you lose weight?”

  She steps back and spins Leah around to examine her from all angles. “Have you been cooking?”

  Leah ignores her mom and looks at her father. “Hi Dad.”

  He pats her on the shoulder. Darrell redirects his wife, and the three of them meander to baggage claim. During the walk, Lorna inundates Leah with questions. “How’s your new job? Have you met many friends?”

  “Give her a chance to breath, for Christ’s sake,” Darrell says.

  Lorna shoots a quick and almost imperceptible look at her husband, and then chooses to ignore him. “Have you found a supermarket you like?”

  “Mom, it’s really not like that here.”

  They reach the baggage carrousel for the flight. It slowly spins as hordes of passengers fish for their luggage. People push and shove in a relentless pursuit of their baggage. The sudden chaos releases Leah from the clutches of her mom’s interrogation.

  Lorna stands behind the crowd, watching Leah and Darrell fight their way to the luggage belt. “It’s the big red one. You remember,” Lorna shouts after Leah. Darrell pulls a few pieces free. Leah spots the suitcase her mother described. She remembers it vividly. It’s red, for sure. But it’s not just big. It is gigantic and looks to contain all of her mother’s possessions. Leah struggles to yank the thing off the moving belt. But it’s heavy. She follows it around, bumping into other people. Finally, she’s forced to let go.

  On the second go around, Leah manages to heave the suitcase off the belt and lug it over to her parents.

  “I'll have to fatten you up while I'm here,” Lorna says. “You look like Twiggy. Men like women with meat on their bones.”

  “Mom. Twiggy? Really?”

  “You know, you always have a home with us.”

  Thank goodness the humungous red bag is a roller. Leah pulls the handle out and pushes it toward her mother. Then the three of them head down the corridor.

  ***

  Leah drives while Darrell sits in the passenger's seat. Lorna rides in the back. Leah maneuvers through the winding streets. A Chevy pulls out in front of her, and she swerves to miss hitting it.

  “The people in California drive like maniacs,” Lorna says, holding on for dear life to the door handle.

  “You want me to drive?” Darrell asks his daughter.

  “I'm fine.”

  The Honda stops at an intersection. An unkempt man spits on the windshield and smears the saliva with his hand.

  “Hurry!” Lorna cries. “Roll up your window, Leah.”

  Lorna jams the locks on the back doors.

  “And lock the doors.”

  The light turns green and Leah makes her way to her street. But the furniture delivery truck sits at the front of her apartment building, so Leah makes an abrupt turn down a side street. Darrell crashes into the side of the car; Lorna tips over in the back seat.

  “Sorry,” Leah says, clearing her throat. “Wrong way.”

  She drives in an intricate maze through the twisting San Francisco streets.

  “You always knew your way around Zion,” Lorna says.

  Leah pulls into an open parking space along the curb. Lorna and Darrell look at the building, at each other, and then at Leah.

  “This is where you live?” Lorna asks. She pulls the two sides of her cardigan closed and clasps them at her neck.

  “I thought you lived north of here,” her dad says.

  “I do.”

  “I don't think I like this neighborhood.” Lorna only takes side-glances out the window, following the principle if I can’t see you, you can’t see me.

  “She doesn't live here, Lorna.”

  Lorna seems not to hear. “It doesn't seem safe for a young, single woman.” She lowers her voice to a whisper.

  “I don't live on this block, Mom.”

  Leah gets out of the car, followed by her dad. They collect the luggage. “So why is it you don’t park on your street?” Darrell asks.

  “Um…” Leah clears her throat. “Are you coming, Mom?”

  Lorna glances around, and then follows her family.

  As the three trudge up the street, Darrell and Lorna labor more than Leah.

  “Why'd we park so far away?” Lorna asks.

  “It’s just the way the city works.”

  “The city is backward. In Zion you park in driveways.” She looks around. “I don't see any driveways around here. Do you, Darrell?”

  “Zion has three hundred people,” Leah says.

  “24,339,” Darrell says without cracking a smile.

  “There's a parking space. Why didn't you park there? This has to be murder on your feet.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  They finally arrive. The furniture delivery truck still looms in the road. Leah turns so that her parents face away from the apartment building.

  Leah reaches for her anxiety med.

  “You’re having an attack,” Lorna says. “I knew it! This city is affecting your health.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

  “I think she's having a spell, Darrell. We should go to the hospital.” Lorna turns to Leah. “Are you having a spell?”

  “No, Mom. I just need to rest a minute.”

  Leah looks past her parents at the delivery truck.

  Lorna glances around. “It's the polluted air. I can barely see past my fingers.” She splays them in front of her face.

  Leah sits down on the filthy curb.

  “Oh, we're resting here?” Lorna asks, trying to be flexible. Lorna removes a tissue from her purse and places it on the concrete planter before she sits down. Darrell continues to stand.

  Leah notices the driver get into the delivery truck and pull away. She jumps up.

  “Okay. All better now.”

  “That quickly?”

  “That quickly.”

  Lorna stands. “Usually you don't recover from attacks that fast.”

  “It wasn't an attack.”

  The three take off toward the apartment and climb the stairs.

  “Isn’t there an elevator?” Lorna searches around for one.

  Finally they reach Leah’s floor. Lorna and Darrell, both breathless, dump their luggage inside.

  Leah rushes into the living room to examine the furniture as Lorna and Darrell peruse Leah’s new place.

  Lorna’s head pivots like an owl scanning the place for a predator. “It's ... cute.”

  “How much are you paying in rent?” Darrell asks.

  “Darrell,” Lorna scolds, “that's personal. Besides, she's got a big-city job at Granberry.”

  Darrell fixes a stare on his daughter. “How is your job?”

  Leah sucks in a breath of air to help answer the question. “Fine.”

  Darrell appears unconvinced.

  “You don't like it,” Darrell says, “you come home.

  Lorna walks the apartment like a real estate agent. “You could stand to get some Oriental rugs in here.” Lorna opens the closet door and inspects.

  “I don't want any rugs.”

  Without realizing her racial faux pas, Lorna spits out her next statement. “They should be easy to come by with all the Asians living here.”

  “I like wood floors.”

  But Lorna is unrelenting. “Rugs really spruce up a place.”

  “Do you want anything to drink?” Leah asks her parents.

  “Beer,” Darrell says.

  “Pop,” says Lorna.

  Leah opens the refrigerator. It's empty. She grimaces. “How about water?”

  Lorna hones in on the sound of running water. She enters
the bathroom. Leah hears the toilet handle jiggle.

  Out of sight, Lorna speaks. “The toilie runs. Why is it running?”

  “Just does.”

  Leah turns on the tap and fills two cups. She lifts one of the glasses to the light, watching the grayish particles swim in the water.

  “Where's the television set?” Darrell asks.

  “I don't have one.”

  “We’ll get one for you,” Darrell tells Leah as if television is a necessity.

  “Really,” Leah insists, “I don't want one.”

  Lorna goes into the bedroom. The cat stares at her from the windowsill.

  “Leah,” she says from out of sight. “What is this?”

  Leah, not having looked in the bedroom yet, rushes in. She calms herself at the sight of the bed. Fur Elise meows and jumps down. Lorna startles.

  “I got a cat.”

  Darrell stands in the doorway.

  Lorna feigns a chipper smile. “But they climb curtains and walk on counters.”

  “I don't have curtains,” Leah tells her.

  “We'll have to get you some pretty pink ones. Just like your room in Zion. Won’t we, Darrell?”

  Darrell says nothing.

  “It will make you feel at home,” Lorna says.

  “That's okay, Mom.”

  “We insist.”

  Now Leah remembers why she left Zion in the first place.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The lamps Lorna and Darrell recently purchased for Leah light up the apartment. An Oriental rug covers a huge section of flooring. The window is open, letting in the cool night air and the sounds of rushing traffic from the street below.

  Darrell stares at the new television positioned along the wall of Leah’s living room—something they also purchased.

  Leah works her way toward the door, handbag strapped over her shoulder.

  Lorna looks up from her cross-stitch. “Your father and I thought it would be nice to go to Sees Chocolates on the waterfront. Want to come?”

  “Ghiradelli. And I can't. I have…a class.” In reality, Leah just wants to get away and breathe for a while.

  Lorna sets her project down. “Oh? What kind of class?”

  Leah looks around, hoping to find the answer on her bare white walls.

  “Painting.”

  “Like Bob Ross?”

  “Something like that,” Leah says.

  Lorna scurries for the television remote control and grabs it. “He may be on right now.” She surfs through the channels, completely obliterating the news channel Darrell was watching. “You don’t need to take a class.”

  Darrell huffs. “Is nothing sacred?” He reaches for his wife. “Give me that!” He snatches the remote from her as Leah heads for the door.

  “I'm just trying to find PBS,” Lorna says to her husband. “Did you paint this one?” Lorna asks, gesturing toward the stolen perspective.