Page 7 of Find Me in California

“And you lived there how long?” Dave gives back the tape roll.

“Eight years.” He left on his eighteenth birthday. The only good thing that came out of his time in California was his love for cars and photography. Elizabeth lived in an exclusive neighborhood in Beverly Hills, so he washed and waxed some very expensive vehicles after school, and the neighbors tipped well. One gifted him his first Nikon camera, which Matt took with him everywhere.

Dave whistles. “That’s brutal.”

Matt seals a box. “Now she’s apparently broke and her power of attorney is AWOL. Some woman at the assisted living facility convinced Elizabeth to ship her things here thinking I’d come deal with her before they kicked her out.”

“Some bedtime story,” Dave scoffs.

“Mm-hmm.”

Clouds split open, dumping rain. In seconds, the garage feels like a sauna. Dave picks up his helmet.

“Don’t ride in that mess,” Matt says.

“Not going far. Meeting my sis for dinner down the street.” He zips his leather bike jacket.

“Did you have a chance to pick up my orders?”

Dave reaches into his backpack and tosses him a crumpled paper bag. Matt upends the contents on a box top. Two metal tins of gummies roll out.

“Chill your nerves and kill your migraines. They’re both there.” Dave points them out and slides one from his pocket, waves it in Matt’sface. “These cubs, I had Doc toss in for me, but I’m giving them to you. They’re homemade and they’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Straight down psychedelic lane to funky town if you so choose.”

Given that his day has gone sideways, Matt grabs for them. Dave moves his arm back, wags a finger. “Nuh-uh. Doc said this is some good shit but it’s potent. No clue what’s in them, but consider yourself warned. Watch the dosage.”

Doc isn’t a real doc. It’s the nickname of the guy who owns the dispensary Matt frequents. Knowing Dave and his relationship with Doc, Matt wouldn’t be surprised if the edibles are homemade.

Dave gives Matt the tin, and Matt returns everything to the paper bag after popping a gummy for his headache.

Dave holds up a fist for a bump and starts to leave. “Oh.” He snaps his fingers and turns back. “How was New York?”

“Great. Took almost three thousand shots. They’re due Wednesday?”

“R&Twants theirs Monday. Ford’s aren’t due till Wednesday. Speaking of which, you all set for Le Mans?”

“Waiting on a new lens and a couple filters. But yeah, good to go.” Shooting the twenty-four-hour auto race in France has been a dream since he first fell in love with auto photography in his teens.

“Excellent. We leave Thursday. Plenty of time for you to deal with Grams.”

“Hell no.”

Dave grips his shoulder and gets in his face. “I wasn’t asking. We worked our asses off to get Ford’s invite. You need to be on and fired up to shoot for seventy-two hours straight. You miss a shot, you screw us for next year. We can’t have you getting rando calls from California because the old folks’ home gave your grandmother the boot and she’s wandering the streets in a bathrobe and rollers. I need you in the right frame of mind.”

“She won’t be a problem.”

Dave pokes his chest. “You’re right, because you’re going to call that woman who packed all this and tell her you’ll pay for your grandmother to stay until you return and can sort everything out.”

Like hell he is. The last thing he wants is Elizabeth to be dependent on him.

He shoves Dave aside and moves toward the door into the house.

“Matt.”

“I’ll deal with it,” he snaps over his shoulder to shut Dave up.

“Now you’re talking.” Dave’s grin disappears under the helmet he slaps on his head. He throws a leg over the seat and revs the bike he parked in the garage when he arrived. With a two-fingered salute, he’s off.

Matt scowls at his grandmother’s boxes and considers popping another gummy.Chill your nervesshould do the trick.

---