Page 23 of Find Me in California

What is his problem?

The logical side of him tells him she’s an illusion. She’s not real.

But his curious side? The photographer who wants to lay bare his subjects? That guy opens the window.

She folds her arms on the door and offers a ravishing smile, revealing a small gap between her two front teeth. Through the opening of her shirt, he sees the sharp peaks of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach.

“Hey, stranger.” Her voice is buttery soft.

“Hey.” He frowns. “Do I know you?” He feels like he does.

Skin puckers between her brows. “You don’t remember me?”

He wants to say yes. He has a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s seen her. He knows this woman. But the origins of his feelings are elusive when he attempts to grasp them.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. Then her smile turns full wattage.

“Baby, it’s Magnolia Blu.”

CHAPTER 11

MAGNOLIABLU

June 18, 1972 (continued)

Elizabeth Holloway drove fast. She peppered me with questions, yelling over the roar of the wind as we shot through traffic. She wanted to know my story and knew without asking that I had run away. She just didn’t know if I ran away from home or the law. Her finger was on my family. She didn’t think I’d be busking with a flute if I were hiding from the authorities. I’d just steal what I needed and continue to run.

Her high ponytail whipped in circles, and my eyes watered as I clung on. I’d never been in a convertible, and certainly never ridden in one while driving that fast within city limits. My father obeyed every traffic law because it was the law. Sam stuck to the speed limits because he didn’t have a license and didn’t want to risk getting pulled over.

I gasped when she cut off a Buick and took a sharp right. “Do you always drive like this?”

We flew up into the hills, winding through neighborhoods with grand homes and towering security gates. She pushed again for me to answer her question, refusing to answer mine. Then she laughed, telling me she got me. “You’re here because of a man. Fucking men, they all suck.”

I asked if that included her husband. It was impossible not to notice the enormous diamond on her left ring finger.

With a dry laugh, she said her husband was definitely included. “Ask me again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you all’s forgiven and I’m head over heels again.” That was the thing about Matty, she explained. You couldn’t help but love him. She warned me not to believe a word of what I’d read about him in the tabloids.

I told her I didn’t read tabloids. They’re trash. Nothing in them is true.

“There’s always a little truth in everything.” The smile that touched her pink-stained lips when she said that didn’t reach her eyes. Unwittingly, I felt sorry for her. The feeling sort of crept up on me. I found myself wanting to know more. What was her story? I decided to volunteer a little of mine. I told her I’d run away for three reasons—family, men, and the law. I was driving a stolen vehicle. But I doubted Sam had reported it missing given his aversion to authority.

Liza told me I was radical and swerved into a circular drive. The sleek convertible came to an abrupt stop in front of a sprawling two-story split-level house.

“Where are we?” It was not a coffee shop.

“Home.” With the grace of a ballerina, she swung her legs from the car and slammed the door. I asked about coffee, to which she replied that there was coffee inside. “Trust me, darling. You’ll want to see this.” Adam would take care of the groceries if I would just come along with her, she told me.

She led me across polished marble floors and plush cream carpeting, past walls covered in soft blue damask, and under crystal chandeliers that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. We reached a wall of sliding glass that opened to the backyard and the most luscious private garden I’d ever seen. It burst with flora and fauna.

Compared to the abundant greenery in this yard, the commune’s gardens were haphazard plots of weeds and wildflowers. Liza’s covered at least an acre. Numerous rose varietals, pruned hedges, and vines edged alawn that plunged down a slope, where I barely made out a small white structure hidden under a blanket of pink climbing roses. The yard was overgrown, and parts appeared neglected, but that didn’t detract from its stunning beauty.

“This is yours?”

“Down to every last petal.” The garden had belonged to her mother. She’d passed when Liza was young, and her father didn’t have a green thumb. Liza had taken it upon herself when she was a teenager to bring the garden back to its former glory, even expanding upon it until she had to hire a full-time gardener. “Reuben, unfortunately, has retired.”

“Your husband? I thought his name was Matty.”

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