Adaptation (13 page)

Frustrated, she crossed the street to sit on the low concrete wall at the 19th Street entrance to the park, staring at the building across the street where the girl had propped up her skateboard. That girl. Reese’s thoughts circled around her repeatedly, as if there was something there she didn’t quite understand. She could remember the girl’s face so clearly that when she saw her walking down the sidewalk twenty feet away, at first she thought she was just imagining it.

But then the girl saw her too, and she stopped, recognition lighting her face. “Hey,” she called. “It’s you.”

Reese blinked. The girl was wearing a red hoodie with a racer stripe down each sleeve, unzipped over a gray T-shirt printed with the image of a melting ice-cream cone.

She walked toward Reese and asked, “Revisiting the scene of the crime?”

Reese was startled to see her. But it was a good kind of startled. “The crime scene’s across the street.”

The girl grinned. “How’re your hands doing?”

“They’re fine,” Reese said without thinking. And then she remembered the reason she had come back to the park, and she
asked, “Do you remember—they were cut up pretty bad, weren’t they?”

A puzzled expression flitted over the girl’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—I—” Reese stopped. What was she going to say? That she thought she had miraculously quick-healing hands? That sounded ridiculous. “Nothing. Never mind.”

The girl cocked her head. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Reese.”

“Hi, Reese. I’m Amber.”

“Hi,” Reese said. The single syllable seemed to hang awkwardly in the air between them, and then Amber smiled.

“So, what are you up to? Can I buy you that replacement coffee now?”

Reese was surprised when a tingle of excitement went through her. “Um, sure.”

“Cool. Let’s go to the café on the corner. It’s the least I can do after knocking you over.”

Reese slid off the low concrete wall and joined Amber as she walked down the street toward the café, chattering about how she had only recently bought that skateboard and was still getting used to it. Reese found herself losing track of the conversation. Every time she looked at Amber, she became transfixed by the way the shocking pink of her hair clashed with the red hoodie, or the way the sunlight shone over her pink lip gloss.

When they entered the café, Reese saw the other patrons’ glances skitter off her, drawn to Amber. She turned to Reese and asked, “What do you want?”

Reese was taken aback. “What?”

Amber smiled coyly. “Coffee?” She pointed at the menu hanging on the wall.

“I—I’ll have a regular coffee.”

They took their drinks back outside to the sidewalk patio, choosing a table in a patch of pale morning sunlight. “So where do you go to school?” Amber asked, peeling the lid off her large cappuccino.

“Across the street. Kennedy.” Reese took a careful sip of her coffee. It was so hot, she almost burned her tongue. And it needed cream. She had forgotten to add that when they were inside. She settled for pouring in three packets of sugar.

“High school?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I’m new to San Francisco. What year are you?”

“I’m a—I’m going to be a senior.” Reese looked down at the black metal table. Through the mesh, she could see Amber’s purple Converse swinging in the air. “What about you? You just moved here?”

“Sort of. I went to high school on the East Coast; I graduated in June. I’m taking a year off before college, and my uncle has an apartment here. He’s traveling for the summer and is letting me house-sit for him.”

“Wow, that’s cool. What are you going to do in your year off?”

“I haven’t really decided yet.” Amber dipped a finger into the foam of her drink and licked it contemplatively. Reese noticed all the people seated nearby swiveling their heads to look at Amber. “My mom wants me to major in chemistry or microbiology in college, so she’s encouraging me to find an internship or something. But I don’t know if I want to be a scientist.”

“Is your mom a scientist?” Reese took another sip of her coffee, but now it was too sweet. She put it down.

“Yeah. How about yours?”

“She’s a lawyer.”

“Do you want to be a lawyer?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you like to do now? Like, are you in a band or anything?”

“A band?” Reese laughed.

Amber grinned. “Why not? You could be in a band. You have that look—you know, with your belt and that T-shirt.”

The sun suddenly seemed excessively hot. “Uh, no,” Reese said, glancing down at herself. She was wearing her metal belt and a blue T with the word
AMPLIFY
stamped on it over a faded image of a fist. She had bought it out of a bin at Community Thrift last winter. Actually Julian had picked it out for her, saying, “You should wear this to debate.” Reese watched Amber take a sip from her cappuccino, her purple nails almost black against the white paper cup. “I think
you
have that look. I’m, um, on the debate team.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.”

“Sweet?” Reese was skeptical. “That I’m on the debate team?”

“That you think I look like I’m in a band.”

“Oh.” Reese felt a twinge of embarrassment. “Um, yeah. Well, pink hair?”

“Do you like it? I’ve had it for a while. I’m getting kind of tired of it.”

“It’s—it makes a statement.”

Amber laughed, and everyone in the vicinity turned to look at her again. “I can’t carry a tune, and I don’t know how to play a
single instrument. But I’m good at dyeing my hair. How about you? Ever think of going pink?”

Reese smiled. “I can honestly say that I have never thought of going pink.” Amber’s smile turned into something of a smirk, sending an unexpected quiver through Reese.

“You should think about it,” Amber advised. Before Reese could come up with a response—she felt like she was missing something in the conversation—Amber leaned over and picked up Reese’s coffee, taking a sip. She made a face. “Ugh. How can you drink that?”

Reese let out a half-strangled laugh. “I put in too much sugar.”

“Do you want another one?” Amber started to get up.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Amber said dubiously. “You want some of mine?” She pushed the frothy drink toward her.

Reese shook her head self-consciously. “No, thanks.”

Amber sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. “So, where do you live? I don’t know the city very well yet. Is there anything I should do while I’m here?”

As the morning progressed, they talked about San Francisco, its neighborhoods and tourist traps; the way the fog rolled in at night and turned summer into crisp, chilly autumn within minutes; the fact that cafés were crowded all day, even during the middle of the week when people were supposedly at work or school. But every time the conversation drifted toward the June Disaster or how it had affected the city, Reese found a way to change the subject. She didn’t know how she could possibly explain that she had been in a medically induced coma for almost a month. It was a little soon, she thought, to bring that up.

As people began to come out of the café carrying plates of sandwiches and salads, Amber pulled out her phone and said, “Oh my God, we’ve been talking forever! It’s past noon.”

Reese picked up her coffee cup and was surprised to find that it was empty. “I guess I should go,” she said, reluctant.

Amber stood, slinging her bag across her chest. “Yeah, I have to go too. But this was really fun. We should hang out again. Maybe you can show me around or something.”

“Sure. That would be cool.”

“What’s your number?”

Reese dug out her new phone and stared at it. “I don’t know. I just got this number.”

Amber laughed. “Here. Call me.” She grabbed Reese’s phone, their fingers brushing against the gleaming plastic, and quickly dialed. Amber’s phone began to ring, and she handed Reese’s phone back to her. “Great, I got it,” Amber said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

She remembered the appointment with Dr. Wong, but she didn’t want to tell Amber about it. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Well, just text me when you’re free. I’ll be around.”

“Okay.”

“Cool! It was great to talk to you.” Amber dropped her phone into her bag and then stepped closer to hug her.

Caught off guard, Reese returned the hug awkwardly, their bodies pressing briefly together. Amber smelled like cupcakes, and long after she had waved and headed off in the opposite direction, the scent lingered in Reese’s memory: buttercream and the sweetness of sugar.

After dinner, the phone rang. Reese’s mom looked up
from her laptop and said, “Can you get that, honey?”

Reese had been loading the dishwasher while wondering what she should say to Amber tomorrow.
So, you wanted me to call you? Hey there, tour guide reporting for duty?
She dried off her hands and was about to pick up the phone when she saw the caller ID: Rick Holloway. Her father. She let it ring another couple of times—and caught her mom giving her a pointed look—before she answered. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetie. I’ve been hoping to catch you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Reese said automatically. She took the phone out of the kitchen, heading into the living room where she sat down on the leather armchair.

“Your mother told me that she made an appointment for you to see Dr. Wong tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Maybe she should offer to take Amber on a tour of Alcatraz or something. Didn’t newcomers to San Francisco want to do that?

“Well,” her dad said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure,” she said, half-listening. Then again, visiting a creepy old prison didn’t really sound like a great introduction to the City by the Bay.

“Have you been having any headaches or any other pain?”

“It’s not that bad.” What else was there to do? Fisherman’s Wharf? The only times Reese had been there were when out-of-towners came to visit, and they insisted on dragging her and her mom to see the disturbing pile of barking sea lions.

“I want you to watch out for them, though. Head injuries can have long-lasting consequences.”

“I’m fine,” she said curtly. An awkward silence ensued, and she felt a stab of guilt for not being friendlier.

Her father sighed. “You know, Reese, I want to be here for you. You can call me anytime. I know I haven’t been so great in the past, but I really want you to give me a chance. When your mom called to tell me about your accident, I thought—” He cut himself off and laughed bitterly. “I thought, What a dick I’ve been to you and your mom.”

Reese almost dropped the phone. All thoughts of tourist possibilities vanished from her mind. She had never heard her father talk like that before.

One of her most vivid childhood memories was of coming home from school during the third grade to find her mom
sobbing on Julian’s mom’s shoulder because Rick—her husband at the time—had been discovered having an affair. Reese hadn’t entirely understood it then, but over the years she put together the story from overheard conversations and a few uncomfortable discussions with her mother. Her father, it seemed, was a bit of a philanderer. Reese had looked that word up in the dictionary when she heard Julian’s mom use it, and she remembered her mother’s retort: “However you dress it up, he’s still a cheater.”

Two years ago, Reese’s father had been profiled in the
Seattle Times
. It painted a picture of Rick Holloway as a successful entrepreneur who spent a good portion of his money on romancing young women. In an interview with the
Times
, he didn’t apologize for it, saying simply that he appreciated feminine beauty, and he was lucky enough that some women appreciated him too. The article had been published along with a series of photographs of her dad attending various galas, accompanied each time by a different woman. All of them were in their early twenties, beautiful as models, wearing skimpy dresses and heels so high, Reese couldn’t figure out how they could possibly walk. There was no mention at all of his ex-wife and teenage daughter.

Reese remembered reading the article online in her room, door closed, hoping that her mom never, ever saw it.

“I want you to know that I love you,” her father continued over the phone. “And I hope you can find a way to forgive me.”

In the silence, she could hear him breathing. Waiting. Her fingers tingled as she held the phone so gingerly, it could have been a bomb. “Dad, I—” She didn’t know what to say.

“I know I just laid that on you. But remember what I said, and believe me. I mean it.”

She took a breath. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you go now. Call me whenever, all right?”

After they hung up, she sat there, stunned, cradling the phone in her hands and studying the edges of the coffee table. The wood was a little beat-up from where she had crashed into it several times as a kid on her Big Wheel, which she shouldn’t have ridden in the house but did anyway.

Her mom came into the living room and sat down on the couch. “Are you all right?” she asked, reaching out to take the phone away from her.

“Yeah. He—he apologized to me.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Reese looked up at her mom. She was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a tentative smile. “Has he ever apologized to you?”

The smile disappeared. “Yes. He has.”

“Do you forgive him?”

Her mom’s face paled. “Now that’s a different story. Some days I do. Some days I don’t. How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know.” Years ago she had carefully constructed a mental box into which she stuffed all her thoughts and feelings about her dad. She had nailed that box up tight and tried to forget about it. Now it was as if her father himself had arrived with a crowbar to pry it open. Even though he had apologized, it didn’t make her feel better. It made her remember all the times he had screwed up and not apologized. All those times she had heard him tell her mother she was overreacting instead of admitting that he had done something wrong. Her head began to tighten, and Reese rubbed a hand over her forehead, closing her eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to figure it out tonight.” Her mom
glanced at her watch. “In fact, it’s getting late. Why don’t you sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning?”