I stood in silence, reflecting on what to say. Rae stepped impatiently from one foot to the other, snacking on her nuts and raisins, while October remained still, and seemed as though she could have waited all day for my response.
Bear in mind, I didn’t yet know anything more than what I’d just seen about the kind of art October made, and that meant I had to think about the kind of art I knew—music—and offer her an honest reply.
I tried to remember how playing guitar used to make me feel and said, “I guess, for me, art is how to tell, not the truth, but my truth. It’s a way to communicate who you are and what you feel. Some people think art is pretending, but to me it’s the opposite. It’s the one place where you can’t pretend.”
October was watching me closely as I spoke, her eyes soft but curious.
“The job is yours,” she said. “If you want it.”
Rae jumped to attention. “Wait. You want to ask him more questions, yeah?”
October was still studying me. “Rae said you used to work in construction?”
“I did. For years.”
“On a scale from 1 to 10, how tech savvy are you?”
“About an 8,” I said. I was probably closer to a 5, but, like I’d told Rae, I’m a quick learner.
October looked at Rae and nodded, and Rae said, “All right, then. How soon can you start?”
I figured I had to give FarmHouse some notice and said, “Two weeks?”
It was a Thursday. October’s eyes widened and she said, “Monday would be better.”
I nodded. I wanted the job. Or, more specifically, I wanted the apartment. I still didn’t know what the job was. “I can probably make that work.”
The three of us stood inside a lingering silence that was awkward for me and ostensibly for Rae, who was picking bits of almond skin from her teeth. But October seemed relaxed and content, her eyes moving back and forth across my face as if it were a page in a book she was reading.
“If you need a place to live, it makes sense to live on the property. My days start early.”
Rae said, “Maybe wait and see if you like the job before you decide.”
“No,” I said quickly. The apartment was the main reason I’d come. I already had my heart set on living in it. “I’ll take it.”
“Great,” October said. “Follow me.”
I went with her to the back of the studio, to a tiny office with a desk, a computer, and an old futon. She picked up a bowl of keys, pilfered through them, found a keychain shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge, and gave it to me. “The blue key unlocks your apartment. The white one is to this building.” She grabbed a Post-it note, wrote a series of numbers down on it, and handed that to me too.
I looked at it, chuckled, and said, “My birthday.”
She looked taken aback. “That’s the gate code.”
I laughed and said, “Your gate code is my birthday.” I gave the Post-it note back to her. “I probably don’t need that.”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
She walked me to the front door of the studio and told Rae to show me the apartment, discuss the salary with me, and, if everything was acceptable, have me fill out some paperwork.
“You can start moving in over the weekend. We’ll hit the ground running on Monday.”
As I followed Rae across the driveway, I glanced back toward the studio. October was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with her arms crossed and her giant, mastodon dog beside her. They were both watching me.
FOUR.
My landlord said if I moved out on such short notice I would lose my deposit, but I left anyway. I was convinced this job was a sign of good things to come. A fresh start. I was going to show up on day one as a new and improved Joe Harper. Leaving my miserable years in Berkeley behind. Leaving the Mill Valley of my past behind. The Mill Valley of Bob, Sam, and even Cal behind.
Leaving my sorrow behind.
I didn’t have much to pack—just clothes, books, some kitchen paraphernalia, a couple of lamps, my laptop, and my guitar.
I threw it all in my truck and headed back to Casa Diez on Saturday morning.
The studio was dark when I got there, and I went to the main house and knocked, figuring I should let October know I’d arrived. The furry dinosaur greeted me first, rushing out through a linebacker-size dog door on the east side of the house.
“Hey there, Diego.” He walked underneath my hand and leaned into me, and I scratched his back without having to reach for it.
October opened the door seconds later, holding a pair of dirty sneakers.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she said back at me, a broad, thousand-watt smile immediately lighting up her face.
Only then did it hit me how pretty she was. I don’t know why it hadn’t been more obvious at our first meeting. Sometimes I can’t see things when they’re right in front of my face. But I saw it then. I saw how her eyes were like the forest that surrounded her house: mysterious but fresh, bright, and alive. And I saw how all of her features seemed kaleidoscopic: colorful and constantly changing, depending on the angles, the reflections, and the light.
However, it feels important to say this: It wasn’t anything as superficial as the way October looked that eventually drew me to her. It was something else. Something deeper. An energy. A spirit. Her presence warmed my heart and terrified me at the same time.
She sat down right where she stood in the middle of the doorway and put
