Page 15 of Find Me in California

Less than twenty minutes later, she flew out of the store, arms loaded with groceries. I watched her jog walk to her car. Then, mesmerized, I gathered my leather satchel, flute, and change, and followed her.

Fishing for her keys in her purse, she juggled the grocery bag, trying to jam the key into the slot to open the trunk. I could tell she was frustrated, and with one impatient heft of the groceries onto her hip, the bag tore. Tomatoes splatted at her feet. Soup cans rolled across the parking lot, and apples tucked under the car. The dozen eggs were lost on impact with the rear bumper.

She swore, throwing her keys onto the ground in a fit, and buried her face in her hands.

I ran to offer my help and collected what was salvageable. I could feel her watching me as I repacked the torn bag and gave her the keys.

Her sea-green eyes glistened when they met mine, and I wondered what had made her cry. It couldn’t be just the damaged food. She accepted the keys with a glimmer of a smile and thanked me. As I put the groceries in the trunk, she said she knew I was the girl begging for cash at the storefront and that I probably wanted money in exchange for my assistance.

I needed cash for rent and a car. I couldn’t live out of Sam’s van forever. But I hadn’t helped her expecting to be paid. I was only being kind. Although at her mention of money, my stupid eyes dropped right to her purse.

She muttered, “Figures as much,” and her hand dived for her wallet. Right away I told her no. It didn’t feel right taking money from her.

I scooped up the rose bouquet wilting at her feet. The plastic wrap crinkled as I inspected the dozen blooms. The petal edges had started to brown, and the stems were soft from too much water. They’d seenbetter days, but with a short trim at the base and a citric acid, sugar, and bleach blend in their water, the roses would perk right up.

I explained this to her, and she tilted her head, peering at me with fresh fascination. She asked if I was a gardener.

In a way, I told her. I was mostly self-taught from tending to the flower gardens at the commune. We’d grown an abundance of blooms that we bartered for rice and oats and other necessities. I was surprised she was even interested. I imagined from her perspective, and those of most of the people shopping here, I looked like nothing more than a hippie living off the land and freeloading off others, which wouldn’t be an inaccurate assessment. But she listened to me as if I’d just revealed the secret to world peace.

Then out of the blue, she asked, “Would you join me for coffee?”

My rambling sputtered to a stop. I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.

“Coffee. You drink it?” she asked. TheLscript gold charm on her necklace shimmered in the sunlight.

I told her I drank coffee. But why the invite? She didn’t know me. I also wasn’t suitable company. My hair was greasy and clothes filthy. I hadn’t washed my cutoffs and blouse in over a week, and I hadn’t properly bathed since I’d left Colorado three days ago.

“I know you’re hungry. I can hear your stomach.” She tossed the flowers in with the groceries and slammed the trunk. “I also have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to become a great friend.”

That took me aback, and I warily asked what made her think so.

“I have a feeling about you. Call it women’s intuition. A nose for smarts.” She tapped her nostril. “Mine is very keen.”

She got all that from looking at me and exchanging just a few words? I was doubtful. I also wasn’t going to judge her. She was offering me coffee. There was a good chance food would be served along with it. She was right. I was hungry, and my stomach rumbled loudly.

I told her it would be a pleasure to join her for coffee.

“Wonderful.” She thrust a hand at me. She had slender fingers, her nude nails filed into perfect half ovals. “I’m Elizabeth Holloway. Call me Liza. All my good friends do.”

Her name resonated. I had the feeling I should know who she was, but I couldn’t place her. I was also too intrigued by our exchange, too curious to find out exactly what she wanted of me. It had to be for more than a coffee date. People like her didn’t pick up homeless strangers like me off the streets.

My rough palm clasped her delicate, smooth one. “Magnolia. But you can call me Mags. Everyone else does.” Sam had.Sure, Mags, whatever you want. Just kiss me, Mags. Suck me off, Mags. Now suck him off, Mags. Take a drag, Mags. Don’t be a fucking drag, Mags. Wash my jeans, Mags. Get the fuck out of my van, Mags.

She told me that I was too stunning to go by anything but Magnolia. “So that’s what I’ll call you.”

I was shocked that she could see more potential in me than my parents ever could, despite all the grime, and felt something warm and delicious unfurled inside me. I felt a connection, to her and to this place, and was bangin’ on my decision to move to California. It had been the right one.

“Come.” Liza swung open the driver’s door. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What about coffee?” My stomach was growling. I hoped to bum a pastry off her or talk her into buying me a sandwich.

She told me that there was coffee where we were going and to trust her. Then she got into the car and revved the engine.

“You coming?” she tossed over her shoulder.

After the impulsive mistake I’d made running off with Sam, I was hesitant to ride off with another stranger. But Liza wasn’t Sam, and my curiosity was greater than my hunger and my fear that I’d never find myself, or my place in life.

I spared Sam’s van loaded with my meager belongings a fleeting look and left with Liza.

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