I Almost Forgot About You (20 page)

She stands up.

“Thank you, Sofia. And please call me Georgia.”

“Good-bye, Georgia. You have a blessed day.”

And she leaves. And I feel much better.

A few minutes later, I hear a tap-tap at my door. “Dr. Young, I have something for you,” Marina says.

“Come on in.”

And when she does, she hands me that envelope.

“I can't believe you finally said yes,” James says.

“I've had good reasons for saying no,” I say.

“Well, I hope I don't give you any more. Cheers,” he says, and presses his wineglass against mine.

He looks better than I remember. Even in broad daylight. We're at a seafood restaurant in Jack London Square. There are all kinds of boats rocking in their berths and pelicans marching up and down the dock.

“So,” James says, crossing his arms. He's wearing a pink polo shirt that I think is sexy and brave. Nice broad shoulders and solid muscles stare at me. “Do you date much?”

“No. How about you?”

“Depends on the month or year,” he says, and chuckles. “I thought I was in a serious relationship but learned over the holidays that her perception of serious differed from mine.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Don't be. I'm a free agent hoping to find a new team, if you don't mind that terrible analogy.”

“Finding the right ‘team' isn't easy as we get a little older.”

His thick eyebrows go up as if to say,
Ya think?

We smile. Nibble on sourdough and take our time eating our big bowls of clam chowder.

“How's your son?”

“Wow. Thanks for asking. He's fine. He likes Berklee. Says it fits.”

I don't really know what to talk about without getting too personal, and even though he's pleasant, he's not exactly arousing my curiosity or lifting the hem of my dress so far.

“How do you feel about camping?” he asks.

“You mean in a cabin or a tent?”

“Do you have a preference?”

“I prefer hotels, but it's because I'm afraid of what lurks in the great outdoors.”

“What about water?” he asks, pointing to the boats. “How do you feel about floating—or I should say cruising—up the coast?”

“I'm open. Why, do you have a boat?”

“I do. A cabin cruiser. Small, but it's good for my soul. Operating on hearts takes a lot out of you, and boating is one of my sources of comfort.”

“I'd go on your boat.”

“Really?”

“But not too far. I have to be able to see the shoreline.”

“Does this mean we might have a second date?”

“We haven't finished this one yet,” I say.

“And?” Wanda asks after I tell her I went on a real date.

“He was pleasant enough.”

“Pleasant? What the hell does that mean?”

“He was nice. I didn't feel any sparks, but he's a good conversationalist.”

“What'd you talk about?”

“Life.”

“Well, that pretty much narrows it down. What else?”

“I told him in less than five minutes that I was selling my house, but I didn't bother to get into leaving my practice, because it just didn't feel appropriate.”

“Good. He probably wouldn't understand anyway. So do you want to fuck him or not?”

“Probably. When I go on his boat.”

“Well, at least you'll already be rocking, so you'll get a head start.”

James helps me onto his boat, which is really a yacht. He's wearing white everything, including the baseball cap with a big
A
on the front, and I don't dare ask what team it's for.

“Welcome aboard,” he says. “You look lovely in yellow.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It feels a little bright.”

“You need a hat,” he says, and whips out one just like his from a bin under the long blue seat cushions. He puts it on me. He smells good.

“This is a big boat,” I say, because I can't think of anything intelligent.

“I'm a big man,” he says, and laughs. “I sleep on it from time to time. Go on below deck and take a look. You might want to put your life vest on now, too. I set it on the table for you.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” I head down into an area that is sleek and modern and full of smooth wood. It's equipped with everything you'd have in a studio apartment but in miniature, except the bed. It's a real queen. I put on my orange life vest, grab a nectarine and a bottle of sparkling water, and head back up when I hear the engine.

“How much time do you have?” he asks.

“How much time do we need?”

“That's a pretty loaded question, but I like to go out the bay, then out through the Carquinez Strait and up the Sacramento River, so it could take three or four hours if that's okay with you.”

“That's fine. But what about when we get hungry?”

“All taken care of.”

And out we go.

It's breathtaking, of course, and other boats, especially sailboats, pass by, and everybody waves. The swells are thick and sloshy, and after an hour we eat fancy finger sandwiches, sweet pickles, cheese, dried fruit, and have a glass of wine.

“I've got some great news to share, even though you might not find it as thrilling as I do,” James announces.

“I'm listening. I love good news.”

“I've just gotten a research grant, so I get to spend four months in India.”

“India?”

He nods as the boat rocks from side to side. “Yes. I'm thrilled.”

“Well, it sounds like an amazing opportunity. How soon?”

“We have to work out the dates. But because I have my own practice, I've got colleagues I trust who'll cover for me.”

“Cool,” I say, and try to stand up.

“You want to steer?”

“I don't think so.”

“Come on up. It's fun. It's like driving a car.”

He takes my hand, and I step up. When I get close, he gently ushers me in front of the steering wheel and stands behind me and puts his long arms around me, takes my hands under his and places them on the metal rim and leaves them there. He's warm and he feels good. All of this feels good.

“See how easy it is?”

He leans down and kisses me on the cheek and then softly on my neck. This feels even better.

“I don't want to lose control,” I say.

“It would be okay with me.”

And for the next ten minutes, I do my best to keep my eyes on the water and the boats around us and the hills to the right until I feel my belly turning flips. As I'm about to say,
I think I'm getting sick,
I throw up all over the steering wheel and let go.

“It's the waves,” he says, and grabs a towel. “Don't worry, this happens. But I know how you're feeling, and I'll get us back to shore as soon as possible.”

And he does.

“Georgia, great news! We've got some very interested buyers who've seen the house twice. They want to come by today about eleven just to take one more look at the backyard, and if they can do what they're hoping to do back there, they said they'll make an offer today.”

I listen to the message again.

My heart is beating like a snare drum.

Amen did say “today,” like in today, didn't he? I look at the little clock on my phone. It's 12:19. Shit! I play the second message.

“Georgia, when I didn't hear back from you, I took the liberty of bringing the couple over this morning, since there was no need to go inside. I hope you don't mind, but the good news is that they've made an offer.”

I call Amen back, with some wariness because I don't quite believe this. It was too easy.

“Well, hello, Georgia! I was hoping to hear from you right away. I apologize for going into the backyard without your permission, but I knew they were serious, and they had to catch a plane back to Seattle. Aren't you excited we got an offer so soon in this market? I certainly am.”

“Should I start packing?” I ask, obviously with a ton of sarcasm.

“Not yet. I have to tell you that their offer is below our asking price, which I explained I'd have to discuss with you after telling them that you're not underwater nor are you under any pressure to sell.”

“How much below the asking price?”

“About sixty thousand. But of course buyers always come in low for wiggle room.”

“Wiggle room? This is insulting.”

“I agree, but it's a start. As soon as I get their app, we can go from there.”

“They live in Seattle?”

“They do.”

“Why're they relocating?”

“Divorce.”

“Then who is ‘they'?”

“They're now a blended family. Not married yet, but each has a child from a previous marriage.”

“How old are they?”

“Who? The kids or the buyers?”

“Well, the kids will give me some idea how old the parents are. Not that I really care, but if they're little, this hillside isn't the best place for them to play.”

“The kids are seven and nine. The parents are in their mid-forties. I should know more in the next day or so, but sometimes these negotiations can take a little longer. Keep your fingers crossed that we can make this happen.”

“They're crossed,” I say, and shake them out as soon as I press End. I close the garage door and enter the house I'm now grateful I don't have to speed-clean.

I suppose I should be happy, but as I walk down the hallway and into the entry, I sit on these metal stairs and look around. Am I going to have to move out of my home of thirteen years for real? Where am I going to live? And how soon will I have to move? And who
are
these people that want to live in my house? Sleep in my bedroom? Swim in my pool? Park in my garage? Use my toilet? Hell, I was just starting to get used to the idea that it was even for sale.

And although it doesn't look like my home anymore, it is. And it has a history. I've lived in here with my children and a husband, and now they're all gone. There are thousands of memories like brown ghosts in every room. I'm beginning to wonder if I really want to move. The whole idea has been like dreaming out loud, but this is no dream. Is this how it feels when you get what you asked for?

I don't hear from Amen for three days.

On the fourth day, I call him.

“What's going on, Amen? I thought I'd hear from you by now.”

“I thought you would, too. I was just about to call you, as I've finally heard from the buyers—who aren't buying.”

“What?”

“They changed their minds.”

“But why?”

“Their broker claims they found another property in the same area that better suits their needs.”

“Oh, really. Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Wow. Well, I imagine this is how a bride might feel being left at the altar.”

“I'm really sorry, Georgia. But as brokers we really have no control how buyers decide what home they love enough to marry.”

“Well, I'll call the movers and tell them to hold off.” I follow it with a chuckle.

“You don't sound all that disappointed.”

“Because I'm used to disappointment.”

I'm on Interstate 5 heading down to Bakersfield. I needed to get away from my faux home but also to see Ma and Grover. Apparently they decided to postpone the nuptials until after Grover recovers from hip surgery, and they've been shacking up because he couldn't be left alone. Ma told me she does not sleep in the same bed with him, as he's too fragile. He's got one of those hospital beds right next to hers. God understands, she said.

When I hear the first few chords of “Slave Driver” by Taj Mahal, I know it's Frankie. I'm hoping the baby's not here early, but if he or she is, I'll turn this car around.

“Are you at or on your way to the hospital?”

“No, Mom! The baby's still baking! But I've still got some awesome news to tell you!”

“Then spill it! Nothing like good news, honey.”

“Hunter got a job at a start-up in San Francisco, and he's going to be making megabucks, Mom! And guess what else?”

“I'm too happy and excited to guess. Spill it!”