A Soft Place to Land (23 page)

And then it occurred to Ruthie that with Julia not there, she could pick out some tops for her, put them on the emergency credit card Mimi gave her, and give them to her sister as a gift. Because really, Julia looked so ridiculous wearing that tie-dye. By trying to fit into her fantasy version of San Francisco, Julia simply looked as if she didn’t belong.

It was the first time Ruthie had ever shopped alone. Before, she had always shopped with her mother, or Julia, and now Aunt Mimi and sometimes Dara. Ruthie felt sophisticated being in the store by herself, combing through racks, holding on to items she wanted to try on, being treated like an adult by the friendly saleswomen. (Sales nymphs, Mimi called them, because they were pretty and puckish with their little bangs and bright red lipstick.)

For Julia she needed to find things that were a little hippie, a little “earth mama” without being a total throwback to the sixties. She chose a rose-colored shirt that had strips of rose-colored lace sewn down its front, a little revealing but also pretty. Feminine, her mother would have said. (How she had loved for her daughters to look feminine!) Ruthie also chose a soft white cotton top gathered around the chest but with loose, open sleeves, almost like a smocked dress a southern child might wear, but sexy. It had a poetess look to it that Ruthie thought Julia might appreciate.

Ruthie tried on the pink shirt with the little white heart in its center and, loving the color, the heart, the feel of the tissue-thin cotton, decided to buy it, too. At the register Ruthie asked the cropped-haired woman if she might use the phone to call her mom and make sure it was okay to use the credit card.

Ruthie had taken to calling Mimi her mom when talking to strangers she would probably never see again. It was just easier than having to explain things.

“It’s a local call, right?” asked the woman.

Ruthie nodded yes and the woman handed her the phone.

She took one of Mimi’s cards out of her bag and dialed Mimi at her design studio in Hayes Valley.

“Sullivan Design,” answered Marc.

“Hi, it’s Ruthie. May I please speak with Mimi?”

“Ruthie? Child of my heart? Love of my life?”

Ruthie smiled. “Yep.”

“How’s the sister reunion?”

“Great,” said Ruthie.

“But maybe it’s a little hard to reconnect with someone you haven’t seen in so long?” Marc prided himself on his intuition.

“No, everything’s great.” She wasn’t about to start spilling her feelings out to Marc while standing at the counter of Ambiance, talking on a borrowed phone.

“Well, that is so good to hear. Now let me get your wonderful aunt for you.”

When Mimi picked up she sounded flustered. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m just calling because I’m at Ambiance and I wanted to know if it’s okay for me to charge some things to your MasterCard. I’m buying a shirt for myself and two for Julia.”

“Oh good. I’m so glad everything is okay. I’ve just had this worried feeling all day, and then you called. . . . Anyway, yes, charge away. That’s fine. Julia deserves a treat and so do you. Do I need to talk to someone at the store to give you permission to use the card?”

“Um, yeah, probably. Hang on.”

Ruthie handed the phone to the cashier, who secured Mimi’s permission.

Once off the phone, the cashier rang up Ruthie’s items (“Great choices, sweetie!” she said), wrapped them in white tissue paper with black polka dots, and slid them into a paper bag, decorated with black and white stripes just like the store’s awning.

Exiting the store, Ruthie felt a prick of irritation toward her sister. She just could not figure out why Julia was so enamored of Haight Street culture. The fact that Julia loved the Haight and did not seem to note any of its deep flaws made Ruthie suspicious of Julia’s other choices, of her other preferences. Julia had always been her role model, her guide. But what if Julia had bad taste and Ruthie had just never noticed it before?

She walked down the street, keeping an eye out for the coffee shop. She knew it wasn’t far but could never remember exactly where it was. She passed a meandering family of five, all wearing fleece jackets with SF printed on the upper left-hand corner of the jackets like a badge, a badge that marked them undeniably as tourists, same as Julia’s tie-dye marked her as not really from around here. Ruthie guessed that the family was staying at Fisherman’s Wharf—which Robert called the tourist ghetto—and that they hadn’t packed warm enough for the trip, assuming the entire state of California to be perpetually seventy-two degrees.

She passed a shop that sold pipes and teddy bears wearing tie-dyed T-shirts. She passed a shop that sold crystals and juggling balls. She passed a shop that sold skateboards. Then she saw the coffee place, three storefronts down. Julia was sitting at one of the tables out front, drinking from a paper mug, and there was someone else sitting at the table with her. Someone with straight strawberry blond hair.

The hair was so straight and perfect it looked as if it belonged to a girl from Hall’s. Ruthie wondered if someone she went to school with had recognized her face in Julia’s, had asked Julia if she was Ruthie’s sister. But no, what eighth grader would do that—would approach a random older girl?

As Ruthie got closer to the table she heard Julia laughing, loud and show-offy, the way she had laughed the night before whenever Robert made a joke, flirting with him a little. Ruthie realized, suddenly, that it was not a girl sitting at the table with Julia but a boy. A boy she was flirting with.

Ruthie was standing by the table now, and the stranger turned to smile at her. She was right. The strawberry blond was a he.

Julia caught Ruthie’s eye, smiled. “Hey, spaz, what’d you buy?”

Ruthie had been feeling so grown-up, and suddenly, with Julia’s nickname, she was a child again.

“Secret things,” said Ruthie. She was trying to be playful, to not act as irritated as she felt, but her words came out clipped, making her sound defensive.

“Ruthie, this is Logan. Logan, Ruthie.”

“Greetings and salutations,” said Logan, lifting his hand.

Ruthie raised the corners of her lips in a barely perceptible smile. He was not bad looking, this Logan. He had a long slender nose on top of a long slender face. And then there was the hair, which would have been beautiful on a girl. Which was beautiful, even though Ruthie didn’t like long hair on men. Around his neck was a thick necklace woven from hemp rope, dull little stones embedded every few inches.

“You ready to go?” asked Ruthie, still holding her bag from Ambiance, not wanting to sit down.

Julia grinned at Logan. “Did I not predict her exact words?” she said.

“Psychic sister power,” he said. “Rad.”

“Ruthie, they have the yummiest chai lattes here. You should totally get one.”

Since when did Julia start drinking chai lattes?

“No thanks,” Ruthie said. “I’ll just wait for you to finish.”

Ruthie remained standing beside her sister. It felt good to be temporarily taller than her.

“Jesus, Ruthie, sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“Yeah, park it, dude,” said Logan. “I’m not going to bite.”

Ruthie sighed deeply and darkly before sitting down.

“Show me what you bought,” said Julia.

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

But Julia had already grabbed the bag from Ruthie’s hand and was pulling out one of the shirts wrapped in the white tissue paper with the black polka dots. She ripped loose the tissue paper, instead of gingerly prying open the gold sticker that held the wrapping together.

“You got the cute shirt! Good for you. And holy shit, it cost seventy-two dollars.”

“Dude, let me see,” said Logan.

Julia held the shirt up, unfolding it in the process, then put it down on the table. Put it on the dirty, scummy table that probably had cigarette ash all over it.

“You could buy some good bud for how much you paid for that shirt,” said Logan.

Ruthie snatched the shirt off the table and stuffed it into the bag, resentful that it would be wrinkled and dirty when she got home.

“Can we go now?” she asked.

“Oh my god! Can you relax?”

“Maybe your sister needs a bite of brownie,” suggested Logan.

Julia laughed. “Good idea.”

Logan pointed to the middle of the table, where a few remaining crumbs of a brownie rested on a piece of Saran Wrap. “Take some. I made them myself.”

“No thanks,” said Ruthie.

“Come on, dude. Who doesn’t like brownies? Have some.”

Though nothing about the brownie crumbs appealed to Ruthie, she picked up a small one and put it in her mouth. Just to show that she wasn’t a tightass. Just to shut Julia and Logan up. The brownie itself had the telltale chemical undertaste of a mix, but riding on top of that was an unpleasant texture, as if Logan had mixed chopped-up pine needles into the batter.

“Wow, Julia, these are
really
worth the calories. So much better than Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.”

Logan let out a little laugh. “You are one intense little chick,” he said.

He stood, stretched his arms above his head. “I’ve got to roll. I’m meeting some friends in the park. Stop by later if you want, Angelhair. We’ll be by Sharon Meadow.”

“Cool,” said Julia.

They watched Logan walk down the street, toward Golden Gate Park.

“Thanks a lot for running off such a hot guy,” said Julia.

“Are you kidding me? He’s a total loser. Do you know how many guys there are like that around here? He’s probably homeless, you know. He probably sleeps in a tent.”

“Beats the shit out of sleeping in the middle of a Laura Ashley explosion in a split-ranch in Virden, Virginia.”

Ruthie was beginning to think that she wouldn’t mind Virden nearly as much as Julia. In fact, Ruthie was beginning to wonder if Julia made Virden out to be much worse than it really was. Peggy, too.

“That was the worst brownie I’ve ever tasted in my life, by the way.”

“Well, the point of pot brownies isn’t the taste. The point is they get you high.”

Ruthie was stunned. She stared at her sister, leaning back in her chair, looking so smug in her stupid, awful tie-dye.

“That was a pot brownie?”

“Yep, though God knows it didn’t mellow you out.”

Ruthie started wiping her tongue with a paper napkin that was sitting on the table. “Why did you let me eat that?” she said, feeling panicked and teary.

What if she started hallucinating? What if she fell into a terrible trip she couldn’t escape from?

“You had half a crumb. If
only
it were possible to get high from that small of an amount.”

Ruthie glowered at Julie. A memory flashed through her head. She was eight or nine and Julia had tackled her to the ground
and was sitting on her, knees digging into her chest. From Julia’s opened mouth hung a thick wad of chewed-up Dorito. Periodically Julia would suck the wad in and warn Ruthie not to move.

“As long as you don’t move, as long as you trust me, I won’t let this drop on you,” Julia said. And then she would dangle the chewed-up wad from her mouth again, until finally she let it drop, a warm ball of chewed-up corn and Cool Ranch flavoring landing on Ruthie’s face.

That had been bad, but this was different. This was looking at the person across the table, the person you thought you loved most in the world, and wanting nothing more than to slap her. Ruthie had heard the expression “slap the smirk off your face” before, but she had never understood it. Now she did. She understood it because she wanted to make Julia sorry. She wanted to make Julia feel like shit. She wanted to make Julia cry.

“Robert and Mimi say that you’re self-destructive because you don’t know how else to deal with your grief.”

(What she didn’t tell Julia was that Mimi also said that she didn’t blame her, that she understood Julia seeking chemical solutions for the position she had been put in.)

“What are you talking about, spaz?”

Julia was leaning back in her chair, eyeing Ruthie critically, challengingly, as if Ruthie were an unruly patient and she, Julia, was the wise doctor who knew all the answers. But Julia did not know all of the answers. Julia was pigheaded and wrong. Julia was selfish and stupid and self-destructive, and she couldn’t even see it.

“They say you’re self-destructive because you know that what happened to Mom and Dad is your fault. I mean, if you hadn’t lied and told Mom and Dad you were going to Pawleys Island with Marissa, they never would have booked that trip. They never would have driven to the Grand Canyon. They never would have boarded that plane. But you already know that, right? I mean everyone else does.”

Ruthie’s words had struck. Julia appeared stricken.

“Jesus,” Julia said, her voice calm, collected, though there were
tears running down her cheeks. She stood, started gathering all of the napkins on the table into a ball, stuffing them into her empty chai latte glass. Julia’s hands were shaking.

She walked inside the coffee shop holding the glass filled with dirty napkins. When she came back out she did not look at Ruthie, just turned right down the street, in the direction of the park.

A part of Ruthie wanted to call after Julia, to yell, “Wait! Come back. I’m horrible. I’m sorry!” But a stronger, stonier self let her sister walk away, turned, in fact, to face the other direction. And who was walking up to her but Dara and her dad, Dara carrying a paper bag from Haight Street Market.

“Ruthie!” she said.

They were standing by the table, looking down at her.

“Are you okay?” asked Dara’s dad. “You look sort of shaken up.”

Ruthie looked up at Dara’s dad, who resembled a hunter from a fairy tale, with his green flannel shirt, his trimmed beard, his head of curly red hair. The expression on his face was one of pure concern.

“No. I’m not okay.”

It was the first time she had said such a thing since the accident.

“Oh, honey,” said Dara’s dad as Ruthie started shaking and crying. He and Dara sat down at the table with Ruthie. Dara scooted her chair as close to Ruthie as possible, put her hand on Ruthie’s arm. Dara’s dad fished a tissue out of his pocket, and though Ruthie did not know whether or not it was new or just “nearly new” (as Phil used to say), Ruthie used it to blow her nose.