White Picket Fences (4 page)

He grabbed his tripod by its legs and dashed across the intersection, the blast of a punched car horn following him. Once across the street he held the camera to his left eye and zeroed in on the retreating figures. The footage would be jerky, wild. He smiled. The erratic images would add a layer of expediency to the recording: life in motion on the streets of San Diego. He liked it.

Chase closed the distance, settling into a stride behind the homeless man, who shuffled several feet behind the woman. At the street corner a waist-high trash receptacle came into view. The woman shifted the BlackBerry in her hand as she worked the bagel free from its place in her palm. The homeless man accelerated his pace.

A gust of wind from a passing Metro Transit bus caught the woman’s honey gold hair and lifted handfuls of it across her face. As she reached with the hand that held the BlackBerry to sweep her hair away from her face, she stretched her other arm forward. She misjudged the distance to the trash can, and the half bagel tumbled to the pavement. The woman clacked away unaware. Chase took a step toward the curb and leaned against a lamppost to stabilize his shooting arm. In the viewfinder he saw the man bend down and close his fingers around the half bagel. He squinted at the bagel as he straightened. Poked out a raisin. Frowned.

He tossed the bagel in the trash can.

The homeless man turned, and his eyes met the lens of the camera. Chase raised his head, ready to bolt if the homeless man confronted him. But the man smiled, revealing shiny pink gums and one front tooth. Chase smiled back and kept the camera rolling.

The homeless man shuffled past him and disappeared into a sea of silk, iPhones, and agendas.

Perfect.

Chase stopped recording and looked at his watch. Nearly six. His parents would be home soon, bringing with them a cousin he barely knew. They’d be ticked if he wasn’t home when they arrived with her.

It surprised him that his parents were letting Tally come just like that. His parents never did anything on the spur of the moment. Especially his dad. And it annoyed him just a little that he was expected to be her tour guide at school. She was a year younger than he was. They wouldn’t even have the same classes.

He’d wanted to know how long she’d be staying. His mother said she didn’t know.

Chase grabbed the tripod with the camera still attached and broke into a jog for C Street and the trolley line. It would take him fifteen minutes to get to Old Town where his car was parked and another thirty to get home. He would barely make it home before his parents, assuming traffic was moving along I-15.

The trolley pulled into the Civic Center Station, and Chase dashed the last few yards to board before it headed north. He slid into a seat and began to detach his camera from the tripod, wondering for the tenth time that day what it was going to be
like to have weird Uncle Bart’s daughter living with them. Chase barely remembered Bart; he’d been a little kid the last time he saw him. He remembered a tattoo of a dragon, the aroma of tobacco and limes, a leather jacket that squealed when Uncle Bart hugged him, and the curly twirl of his uncle’s ponytail. He remembered even less of his cousin Tally. She’d hung around with Delcey, though she was closer in age to him. He remembered that Tally smelled faintly of tobacco and limes too, that she ate her Lucky Charms dry, that she’d never heard of the television show
Full House,
and that she didn’t run to anyone when she fell on their patio and skinned her knee. She just got the garden hose and, with tears in her eyes, rinsed away the blood and gravel.

Chase had overheard snippets of conversations his parents had since that long-ago visit. Uncle Bart was in Manhattan. Uncle Bart was in jail. Uncle Bart was in Switzerland. Uncle Bart was living in his car in San Antonio. And there was the unspoken understanding that wherever Uncle Bart was, Tally was with him, except, of course, when he was in jail.

And this time was apparently an exception too. Tally wasn’t with him this time. Uncle Bart was in Poland and Tally was homeless in Arizona.

Homeless. The image of the toothless man rose up in Chase’s mind as the trolley shuffled through Little Italy.

He doubted Tally and Uncle Bart had been tempted to eat discarded bagels off the streets. Had they? Chase half-consciously moved his fingers across the slim body of his video camera, wondering.

This could be interesting.

This could be very interesting.

Chase shifted the tripod onto the seat next to him and noticed a matchbook peeking out from the seat back. He paused a moment and then reached for it. Duncan’s Sports Bar and Grill. It felt thin in his hands, empty. Chase frowned and opened the matchbook anyway. It wasn’t completely empty.

He stared at the lone match for a moment, then ran his finger up the match’s smooth cardboard body and the cat tongue--textured head. The trolley zipped along the tracks as he folded the cover and stuffed the matchbook in his back pocket.

five

A
copper sun was just beginning to slip into the horizon as Neil turned onto a wide landscaped street and into a neighborhood of stucco homes in creamy beiges, corals, and tans. The houses were all storied and stately, their green lawns bordered with rock, ornamental cactus, and flowering shrubs. Swaying palms lined the sidewalks and front yards, stretching past red tile roofs and trellises of bougainvillea. Porch lights began to wink on as they drove past. Chandeliers inside the houses gleamed through the slats of white plantation shutters. After a few turns onto streets with melodic Hispanic names like Corte las Brisas, Amanda announced to Tally that they were home.

Tally peered out the car window as Neil pulled into an expansive driveway. Three white garage doors with orange-slice windows were in front of them, but her uncle didn’t open one. He slowed to a stop next to a silver sedan, put the car in park, and cut the engine. Tally opened her door.

The color of the Janviers’ house reminded her of Texas sand, an overcooked beige. A flagstone path lit by amber footlights led up to an iron and glass front door. Flanking the entry were scarlet geraniums in enormous terra-cotta pots.

Tally reached for her duffel bag on the other side of the
backseat. “Someone’s here?” she asked, looking at the sedan next to Neil’s car.

Amanda shut her car door and turned to look at the other car. “Oh. No. That’s mine. Neil and I park our cars out here in the driveway. Neil has his woodshop in the garage. Chase is the only one with a parking place in there.” She smiled.

The front door opened, and a cocker spaniel came bounding out. In a halo of porch light a young man stood at the threshold. “Sammy!” the young man called.

“This is our dog Samantha,” Amanda said, leaning down to grab the dog by its collar. “And that’s Chase.” She nodded toward the front door. At that moment a second figure appeared in the doorway. “And that’s Delcey.”

Neil reached down for the dog. “I’ve got her.”

“C’mon.” Amanda draped an arm around Tally’s shoulder.

They walked in the direction of the front door. Her cousins hesitated at the doorway, watched her take her first steps toward them, and then stepped onto the porch.

Chase was tall like Neil, but Tally thought he looked more like her dad than Neil. The blond hair she remembered had darkened to a shade of dark honey, and it hung in waves to the edge of his collar. Delcey had her father’s features: large eyes, a slender nose, and dimple-less cheeks. The girl held a phone in her hand, and as Tally walked up to her, Delcey held up the phone and snapped a picture. Amanda said her daughter’s name, disproval in her inflection.

“All my friends want to see what my cousin from Texas looks like!” She took a step toward Tally. “I’m Delcey. I love your pink highlights. That is such a cool color.”

“Thanks,” Tally said.

“And this is Chase,” Amanda said.

The young man nodded. “Hey. Nice to meet you. Again.”

Amanda smiled. “That’s right! You remember when Tally and Bart visited us before.”

“I don’t,” Delcey chimed in.

“Yeah,” Chase said. “I remember.”

“Nice to see you again too,” Tally said. They closed the distance to the front door, and Sammy barked at her as she crossed the threshold.

The tiled entry led to an open and spacious kitchen with high ceilings and granite countertops. Opposite the kitchen was a living room and, beyond that, a staircase with a landing that led up to the second floor.

“How about if we show you around? Neil can order a pizza, and then you can settle in. Does that sound okay?” Amanda said.

Tally nodded. “Sure. Whatever.”

“This is obviously the kitchen,” Amanda said. “That door over there leads to the garage and Neil’s woodshop.”

“And my car,” Chase added.

“Yes. And we keep that door closed,” Neil added as he poured water into the dog’s dish and set it down. “It keeps the dust out of the house, and there are a lot of flammable items in there.”

“Okay,” Amanda went on. “The laundry room’s just down that hallway past the door to the garage. You can put your duffel bag in there if you want to do some laundry before you put away your clothes. I know you left your grandma’s in a hurry.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry about your grandma,” Delcey said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Tally replied.

Delcey leaned in close to her. “You really found her dead?” she whispered.

“Dels, get a clue.” Chase had heard Delcey but apparently no one else had. Amanda was pointing to a door by the laundry room and telling Tally that was her messy sewing room. Neil was washing his hands after handling the dog’s dish.

What?
Delcey mouthed to her brother.

Chase shook his head.

“Yeah. I did,” Tally murmured.

“What was that?” Amanda turned to face them.

A couple seconds of silence followed.

“Oh. Delcey was just asking me a question,” Tally finally said.

“Okay. So if we go this way, here’s the dining room, and through that doorway is the family room and the den. There’s a computer in there if you… want to, you know, e-mail your friends or do homework. If you can get Delcey off of it, that is.”

“That’s why I need my own computer,” Delcey moaned.

Neil came up behind Delcey and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “We are not having
that
conversation tonight,” he said. He gave his daughter’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.

Delcey wriggled out of his grasp. “Dad! All my friends have their own laptops. All of them. And don’t ask me if all my friends jumped off a cliff would I want to jump off a cliff too.” She turned to Tally. “I hate it when he says that.”

“Well, I’m sure you and Tally will find a way to share the
computer, Delcey,” Amanda said. She looked at Neil. “Maybe we should order the pizza?”

“Sure.” Neil turned to her. “Tally, what do you like?”

“Get Canadian bacon and pineapple,” Delcey said, the longed-for laptop forgotten for the moment.

“Let her pick, Dels,” Neil said.

Tally shrugged. “I like any kind.”

“Canadian bacon and pineapple!” Delcey chirped.

“Let’s get a couple, Neil.” Amanda walked toward the stairway to the upper floor. She motioned for Tally to follow.

Neil turned to his son. “How about mushroom, red onion, and avocado?”

Chase nodded. “Sure. That’d be great.”

“Ugh. That is so gross.” Delcey grabbed Tally’s arm. “C’mon. I’ll show you my room. We put a bed in there for you.”

Tally fell in step with Delcey, and Chase turned to follow them as well. “Mushroom, red onion, and avocado?” Tally said to him over her shoulder.

“I take it you’ve never had it.”

“Omigosh. Just wait till you see it,” Delcey groaned. “It’s like something out of a horror movie.”

They began to climb the staircase. Amanda was already at the top and heading into a bedroom. Family portraits hung on the wall to Tally’s left as she climbed the stairs. She passed a large family picture of the four Janviers, a couple of Chase and Delcey alone, and several of people she didn’t know. At the turn on the landing was a portrait of her father and Amanda when they were little. Tally recognized the photo. She had a smaller copy of it in her shoebox. Then she saw one of her, when she was in sixth
grade. It was the only year Bart decided to get school portraits. Actually it was an old girlfriend of Bart’s who had sent her to school with the order form and a check: Mellanie with two
l’s.
Rich and beautiful Mell. Tally stopped on the landing. She hadn’t seen that school picture in a long time. In the photo she wore a blue cashmere sweater and tiny diamond earrings that Mell had loaned her. A few months after the photo was taken, Mell had moved to Paris.

Delcey pointed to it. “That’s you.”

“I think she knows who that is,” Chase said.

“I
know
she knows!” Delcey retorted. She turned back to face Tally. “I like this picture.”

Tally said nothing.

“My mom says you were living in New York when it was taken,” Delcey said.

Tally nodded. “Manhattan.”

“You are so lucky. I want to see New York.” Delcey began to ascend the rest of the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

“So…,” Delcey said, taking the next step slowly. “Did you, like, scream when you found her?”

Tally stopped midstep. “What?”

“When you found your grandma. Did you scream?”

“Delcey!” Chase sputtered.

Tally told them she hadn’t.

six

C
hase stood at the doorway to the laundry room, his eyes fixed on the palm-sized, shimmering rectangle resting on the edge of the tiled counter. Tally was fishing clothes out of an army surplus duffel bag as the glass of the front-loading washer sloshed a bleary eye at her. At her feet were two small piles of dark and light clothes.

Tally was older than Delcey but shorter. Slim. Prettier. She’d seemed distant when she arrived a few hours earlier, like she was already contemplating an escape. After the awkward family reunion and pizzas for dinner, his mother told Tally she was welcome to settle in by taking a nice relaxing shower and washing her clothes before she put them away.
Way to go, Mom. Tell the homeless cousin you want her cleaned up before she lays her head down on one of your pillows tonight.