Page 49 of Sapphire Spring

“Jake, this is my neighbor Shirley Baxter. Shirley, this ismy friend Jake. He sells cars.”

Shirley raised her eyebrows and gave Mason a once-over.“We’re buying a car?”

Jake approached her with an outstretched hand, his eyeswide, his slack-jawed stare a sudden reminder that to the rest of the worldShirley Baxter was a celebrity. “Ma’am, it’s so nice to meet you. My mom lovedyour show. She used to DVR every episode, and my dad would get pissed’causeit was five days a week andthey kept running out of space.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Jake.” The tension aroundShirley’s eyes had Mason suppressing a laugh. Earlier that week, she’d jokedabout how most of the people who recognized her in public were the children ofdie-hard soap opera fans—die-hard soap opera fans who’d recently died of oldage.

“All right.” Mason clapped his old friend’s back, and theguy made a dramatic show of setting the keys to the Lexus sedan into Mason’sopen palm.

Then Jake was behind the wheel of the Ferrari and startingthe engine as Mason and Shirley backed slowly out of the open garage to watchhis departure. He pulled even with them and rolled the window down. “Lastchance,Worther. Notake-backs.I’m already fielding calls about this beauty.”

“Go with the Ferrari gods, my friend.”

Mason gave astart your enginesmotion, then Jakeshook his head and drove toward the guard gate, leaving the two of them infresh silence slowly filled by the nearby rush of surf.

“Soyou’resellingyourcar,” she finally said.

“Buying and selling. Something sensible, smart. This is agood sober car, right?”

She walked a slow circle around the sedan, but she wasmostly studying Mason. “A Lexus,sensible? Wow, sweetie. You aredefinitely achild of Newport Beach.”

“Ouch.”

“And if you’re trying to impress this old high school friendyou’re seeing later, I’m not sure losing the Ferrari is the way to start.”

“I’m not trying to impress anybody. That’s the point.”

“Ah, so there’s apointto this meeting. What is itexactly? It’s clearly on your mind.”

Mason turned. He’d deliberately avoided giving Shirley anydetails about Naser’s visit because he was sure she’d have opinions about it.And he’d be forced to listen because, so far, heeding her advice had beenworking well. But he was determined to follow through with his plan. In somesense, he’d come to see it as a reward for a week of sobriety and good works.Making things right with Naser by making Naser moan. The perfect blend—likeM&Ms after exercise.

“We’ve got history, and I’m trying to clean things up. Heseems open. You know, like a ninth step kind of thing.”

He figured throwing out someAAspeak might get him a win. Instead, Shirley nodded and studied the emptygarage. “I see. Well, just remember the twelve steps areinorder fora reason, and you’ve barely done any writing on one. Notsaying you should have. I mean, you just started. But nine’s a long way off,Mason. No need to rush.”

“Can’t hurt to do a little advance work then. Lay somegroundwork.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to talk to an unbiased thirdparty about what you need to clean up first. You know, make sure you’re layingthe right groundwork.”

If she was trying to put a torrid implication into thephrase, it didn’t show in her expression. She seemed serious as a grave. Basedon what he’d heard in a week’s worth of meetings, the ninth step asked you topay back money you’d stolen, give honest explanations to people you’d abandonedor slighted while trying to cover up the costs of your addictions. Even servetime for crimes you’d tried to walk away from. Sex with guys you bullied inhigh school hadn’t been mentioned.

Yet.

But shouldn’t Naser be the one to decide how Mason rightedpast wrongs?

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said.

Shirley nodded and held up her hands in a gesture ofsurrender. “All right. We’ll reschedule this morning, obviously. I’ve got tohead to the grocery store and start prepping for dinner tonight. My daughter’sbringing a new boyfriend I can’t stand, so I need to serve something that’ll makehim chew all night while I do the talking.”

“Spiritual,” Mason said.

“Speaking of spiritual, be careful today. And remember,don’tdrinkor take a pill or I’ll kill you,sweetheart. See how that works? God bless and all that. And don’t forget youtook the cookie commitment at Sundown Sobriety this evening.”

“It’s in my calendar,” he called after her.

With a wave, she turned and left him standing next to hisnew car.

A sensible car.Sensiblish.If you’d grown up in Newport Beach.

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