And she didn’t think that she was being that impulsive. She wasn’t picking up strangers in Newport Avenue bars.
Two men didn’t seem like too many.
It was just better if David didn’t know about Sam.
The check came. They’d each had two fish tacos and a beer. As usual, they split the bill. Sam liked coming here on Tuesdays because it was so inexpensive, and he didn’t have a lot of money.
It didn’t bother her that Sam couldn’t pay for things. She guessed it would have bothered her Before, but not now. She had plenty of money now, and she didn’t care if men could take her out or not, even though she was supposed to. Actually, she wished she could just buy Sam lunch all the time. But that might raise too many questions.
Sam didn’t know that she had money, and she wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to tell him.
That was another thing she and Helen talked about. How she needed to be careful, or people could take advantage of her.
After lunch, she stuck to her Tuesday routine.
First, she went down to the beach, then south, past the faded stucco apartment with the tattered peace flag hung in one window and the yard of sand that had once been a saltwater pool, onto the tide-pool flats where generations had carved things into the soft rock; their names, mostly. Why did people do that? Kari wondered. They wanted to be remembered, maybe, but she read their names now, and she had no idea who they were. She watched crabs scuttle in and out of the crevices, listened to a man sitting on a rock play his guitar, his feet dangling over the ocean, catching spray.
After that, she walked onto the pier off Newport and bought a cup of coffee at the cafe there. Walked past the guys fishing, the Mexicans and the tattooed Anglo with the Volcom cap, the rusting blood on peeling paint, the faint shimmer of scales on the railing.
At the very end of the pier, she paused and stared out over the ocean, today the color of midnight with sapphire peaks where the wavelets arced and crested.
One Leg was there today. She got out the Tupperware container in her tote bag and retrieved a sardine from it, put it on the splintered rail.
One Leg was a big gull, all white with a yellow beak, one leg amputated above the joint so that it waved around like a conductor’s baton when the bird hopped over to grab the sardine.
“Hi, One Leg,” she said. “There’s another one for you.”
He didn’t seem to be doing badly, even with one leg, but she still liked feeding him.
Then it was time to go north, to Dog Beach. She liked to watch the dogs running free in the sand, splashing in the surf, their owners tossing Frisbees and tennis balls. The other reason she liked to go there was that a bunch of stray cats lived over among the rocks on the jetty, and she liked to feed them.
There were only a few out now: the little gray cat with green eyes, the big white one with black patches, and a half-grown calico kitten she hadn’t seen before.
“Hi, Cow Kitty,” she said. Cow Kitty let her get really close most of the time. Once she’d even extended her hand for Cow Kitty to sniff, and he’d rubbed against her fingers.
She had a baggie full of kibble, and she scooped out a couple of handfuls and left them on the flat rocks.
And after that, it was time to go home.
Her little cottage wasn’t far from Dog Beach, just off Voltaire. It was old, wood, with peeling paint and boards gnawed by termites, and the wrought-iron gate had rusted in places. Inside, the house was similarly rundown. The couch sagged in the middle; the area rug was frayed; there were cobwebs hanging from the high splintered rafters, but she didn’t care.
It was comfortable. It was hers.
The gray bank of clouds that waited offshore had started to roll in, as it often did late afternoons or early evenings in June. Settling in for the night. She liked that thought. As if the clouds and fog were tucking her into bed.
She would watch TV, maybe. Have something small to eat. Lift some dumbbells, since it was not a gym day, and it was important, her physical therapist told her, to maintain her strength, to reinforce those frayed connections between her brain and nerves and muscle.
Oh, and David was home tonight.
“Spare some change?”
The bum stood just outside her fence, leaning against the telephone pole. She caught a sharp scent of sour sweat, and tar.
“I …” Did she have change?
“So I can get something to eat,” he said. “A dollar.”
He was young, skinny, his body taut to the point where it almost seemed to vibrate. His green eyes were big in his face, too big, his hair greasy and ready to mat, his jeans crusted with grime.
She reached into the pocket of her shorts. She had a couple of dollars there. “Here,” she said, extending her hand.
He reached out and took it. His nails, she noticed, were chewed and rimmed with black.
“God bless you,” he said. “We’re bathed in the light of the Heavenly Host.”
“Kari?”
