The Portal Project: Daganu Ombibus 1

By Kat Folland

Now in one volume, The Sunshine Line, The Mirror's Image, The Animal Place and The Unchanging Heavens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Folland
• Release date: Jun 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311987181

Kat Folland

Kat Folland was born in 1970 and adopted six weeks later by some really excellent people who, for some reason, opted to keep her. She grew up comfortably middle class – you could be comfortable in the middle class in those days – getting a fairly useless degree in History and an even more useless minor in Anthropology. Dabbling in writing all her life, she finally got around to finishing a novel in her forties, and is now publishing with some regularity.

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The Sunshine Line

The Sunshine Line

Copyright: Kat Folland 2012

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Dana Cruz de Leon

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

There is no point in using the word impossible to describe something that has clearly happened.

-Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

Tuesday March 17, 1992

I hate St. Patrick, Kristy muttered, casting dark glances around the pub.

I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. Although it was only four in the afternoon, the pub was already somewhat noisy, filling up with the would-be Irish. "St. Patrick's Day is a little weird, I said, hazarding a guess at her meaning and eyeing an attractive Pakistani woman wearing a Kiss me, I'm Irish" t-shirt.

Kristy followed my gaze and I hastily snapped my eyes back to meet hers. She said, Well, yes, Joe, it is, she said impatiently. But what I said was 'I hate St. Patrick'.

I'm sure I looked as puzzled as I felt. The man had been dead for something like 1,500 years. It struck me as a long time to hold a grudge. Also, Kristy herself would have to be remarkably well-preserved to have been personally insulted by the saint. I didn't really know much about him myself.

St. Patrick. Converted the Irish to Christianity, something about being a slave there once and some sort of nonsense about driving out snakes that were never there to begin with? Not too difficult, that last one, I've always thought. That pretty well summed up my knowledge. Is this the Saint Patrick you're objecting to?

Kristy looked grumpy again. "No snakes. Oh there were snakes all right. Druids. All those saints revered for crushing out the native religions-- or for being killed for failing to do so. It makes me sick." She really looked as if it did make her feel sick.

I glanced around the room again, taking in an eye-stinging amount of green, from clothing to decorations to the green beer and suspicious-looking green concoctions in martini glasses being served at the bar. Suddenly I was very glad that I had ordered us a couple of Sierra Nevadas still in the bottle and hadn't worn anything green that day. I wondered if I should worry about the green on the beer bottle labels. It was always there, not a holiday thing, but ...

The place was getting noisier and looking more like the greenhouse of a rogue botanist every moment. Let's get out of here, go someplace quieter.

Kristy looked thoughtful for a minute. Well... we're not too far from my place.

I blinked a couple of times. She hadn't asked me back to her place yet. We'd been dating for five weeks, and she'd spent the night at my place a few times, but hadn't asked me to hers. She hadn't even told me if she had roommates. I hoped my surprise didn't show on my face, that my hesitation wasn't obvious. Yeah, sure, if you like, was my witty reply.

We can walk there from here, she said. It's down hill, even. Her smile was an absolutely charming combination of wicked, shy, and old-fashioned humor.

I'd paid cash for our beers, so we were free to vacate our little booth immediately. It was snatched up just as quickly by rowdy St. Patrick's Day revelers. I shrugged into my jacket, but Kristy hadn't removed her sweater. She looked so harmless and feminine in what appeared to be a long skirt and a simple cream top, but I knew the top was one of those odd female things that snapped below the happy bits and the skirt was actually really loose pants that only looked like a skirt. I don't know what those things are called, but Kristy wore them a lot. She had told me they were very comfortable and allowed for a great deal of freedom of movement without being obvious about it. They were that shade of navy blue that looked like it had seen a little too much sun. Kristy had a third level brown belt in Karate and had let me watch her teach a class one evening; despite her delicate appearance, she was anything but harmless. She slung her purse - a sort of small tote-bag affair that carried far fewer items than most women do - over her shoulder and led the way out of the Haight Street pub into the cold sunny air.

Like myself, Kristy lived on the right side of the Sunshine Line. Most days the City was divided between what was covered by fog and overcast and what was bathed by perfectly bright sunlight. The overall difference was slight. Neighborhoods on the right side of the Sunshine Line were usually cold and windy, too. Like most people, however, I preferred the sunshine anyway.

I took her hand as we walked east and downhill on Haight and then hung a right on Scott, then a left at Duboce Park. About a half a block down we stopped at a Victorian style house converted to apartments, and Kristy got her keys out to let us through the security gate. Cool location, I said. It must be nice to have the park right here.

I like a little break from the city streets. It's a pretty dinky park, but it's better than nothing. But really, it's my apartment itself that is my haven.

By the time she had finished her sentence we were at the top of the stairs, in front of her apartment door. Knowing Kristy, I tried to prepare myself for anything. The problem was that I just didn't know her that well yet. She didn't talk about herself or her past very much. She'd answer questions, but you'd have to think of exactly the right question. It certainly hadn't occurred to me to ask her to describe her apartment.

When she got the door open and we stepped inside I was indeed surprised, even awed. I could see why she called it her haven, even if it would seem a bit - maybe a lot - foreign to many people. I could feel her watching me as I took it in.

Stashed in the upper eaves of the transformed Victorian, her apartment was a large studio unlike any I'd seen in all my years in the City. I felt as though I had stepped through a matter transporter and ended up in an old-fashioned Japanese house. When Kristy turned the lights on, a fountain in the corner opposite the door started its musical play, trickling water from a bamboo spout into a small pool made from rounded river rocks. Her rectangular dining table had legs about fourteen inches high and instead of chairs it was surrounded by elaborately embroidered cushions that seated up to six. It had, oddly, a planter box sunk into the middle of it.

A beautiful tall screen, painted with landscapes done in an oriental style, stood by the far wall. I assumed her bed lay out of sight behind it. The whole floor was covered in a thick, deep blue plush carpet that felt soft and comforting even through the shoes that I dimly heard Kristy ask me to remove. I shook off my absorption of her living quarters and saw that she had already removed hers and placed them on a neat rack by the door, so I did the same. She met my eyes with a slightly nervous look, an unspoken question. It's incredible, Kristy! I love it!

The tiniest hint of a blush competed for a moment with the dusting of freckles on her cheeks. I'm glad you like it.

At the door end of the apartment were the bathroom and what served as a kitchen. The kitchen was quite small, and there was a half wall between it and the rest of the apartment. Someone who wasn't Kristy might have put some bar-stools there, but one of the things I did know about Kristy was how she hated to have her feet dangling like a child's. At sixty-two inches this was a constant issue for her, and I could see she'd be damned if she was going to deal with it in her own home.

Would you like some dinner? I didn't plan this out ahead, but I have stuff for a chicken Caesar salad or I could reheat the better part of a lasagna.

It was 5:30. A little early to eat, but not by the time dinner was ready, even if I picked the salad. The lasagna … well it's difficult to make lasagna badly, but it can be done. I decided to risk it. The lasagna sounds wonderful. What do you put in yours? I had committed myself, this question was just to prepare myself for whatever was coming.

I use four kinds of cheese and a mix of sausage and ground beef, she answered. I started salivating.

I can't wait, I said. Then added, but I guess I'll have to. That'll take a while to heat up. I smiled. I don't suppose you have one of those communal Japanese baths on the premises?

Kristy laughed. Wouldn't that be great? No, only this apartment is done up this way. It's all me.

I thought about her choice of words as we moved to the table to wait for the lasagna to warm up. Most people would have said mine, but Kristy's apartment was more a part of her than something that belonged to her.

Kristy, having decided that I really did like her choice of decor, chattered on about where she had gotten her hands on the various beautiful pieces in her home and confirmed my guess that the bed was behind the screen. It's not a traditional Japanese bed, comfortable beds aren't one of the things Japan is known for, she said, But I did skip the Hollywood frame; the box springs sit on the floor.

I asked her about the planter box in the table. It fills the hole, she said. I must have given her a first-rate blank stare, because she went on to explain in more detail.

It's an antique. Traditionally there would be a metal-lined box of hot coals in that space so the cooking could be done right at the table. I don't have the box, but I do have a piece of wood made to fit in the hole, so I can put an electric wok on and make tempura ready to eat as soon as it's cool enough. It spoiled me from ever ordering it in a restaurant. Her smile was complex; somehow impish, self-deprecating and proud.

It sounds wonderful, I said truthfully. San Francisco is not meant for the type of person who only wants to eat at chain restaurants and never try anything new. If my girlfriend could cook up tempura and lasagna with equal ease, she belonged here.

I didn't ask to see behind the screen. Either that was her intent in inviting me over here or it wasn't. I was having a fine time and learning so much about Kristy that it was more than worth it even if I was I was to be kissed goodnight at 8:00 pm and have to go home unloved. Oh well, that was later, this was now. And now was when the lasagna was coming out of the oven to rest for a few minutes before it was cool enough to eat. It smelled heavenly.

It tasted heavenly too. After we'd consumed what we both agreed was more than necessary, I pitched in to help her clean up. Reheated lasagna doesn't involve a lot of clean up, but Kristy - like so many San Franciscans - didn't have a dishwasher. I convinced her it made more sense for me to wash and her to dry since I didn't know where to put things away. I paid close attention, though, so maybe next time I could do the whole thing myself. If there was a next time.

Oof. I'm stuffed. You don't appear to have a TV, or I'd suggest a bit of postprandial video vegetation.

Actually, she said, sounding almost embarrassed, I do have one. Behind the screen, with my bed. And a VCR, if you'd like to watch a movie. She looked shy again. She'd been naked all over my apartment, and yet seemed to be shy about showing me her TV. I guess there are all kinds of intimacy.

I tried to sound respectful and yet enthusiastic - and I have no idea how it really came off - when I said, Sure! Have anything in mind, or shall we browse your library?

She led me behind that screen that I had been trying very hard to not obsess about. Her bed was neatly made and had a beautiful comforter done in blue and purple dyes. As Kristy had said, it sat flush on the floor. A mere two feet from the end of it was a TV cabinet, which Kristy opened to reveal tidy rows of video tapes. I was actually a little relieved to find them to be in no particular order.

Why don't I pick a few and then you can decide from there; something you're in the mood for or haven't seen in a while, I suggested.

Sounds reasonable, she said.

I browsed through the selection. I picked out Star Wars, The Princess Bride, Die Hard and When Harry Met Sally and handed the bulky stack to her. She looked at me, instead.

I'd like you to have dinner with my aunt and uncle, she said out of the blue. They're really great people. They raised me from when I was a baby. My father ran out on my mother when she was pregnant and my mother ran out on me when I was about three weeks old. My aunt and uncle are the only parents I've ever known.

Um, I replied intelligently. Then, I'd be honored. When can I meet them? I knew this was a big deal. This was Meet the Parents, albeit with surrogate parents. This must mean that Kristy was considering bumping me up a notch on the feelings level, or possibly the commitment level. Or that she had already done so and was looking for approval from the parents. Or it could be some sort of test. Women do that sort of thing, I've noticed. Then again, men do too.

As if reading my slight panic and racing thoughts, Kristy said It's not for almost a month.

Well that explained... nothing. That seemed even more of a mixed message.

They would like to have us over on April sixteenth. I guess that's the first time it will be convenient for them. She shrugged.

She lowered her eyes finally to the stack of videos I'd handed her. "I'm in the mood for something a little... quieter than 'Die Hard', I think, she said, and went back to her contemplation. Finally she handed me When Harry Met Sally."

I put the tape in the player and the rest of the movies back in the cabinet. Kristy scooted towards the pillowed end of the bed and lay back against one big stack of pillows and patted the stack next to her. She picked up a couple of bulky remote controls and got the TV on and the movie started.

We both said "Someday!" when Meg Ryan did, complete with laughter and snuggled closer together. When it came time for the New Year's Eve kiss, Kristy and I started kissing and missed the end of the movie entirely. There really wasn't much left and we'd clearly both seen it often before.

When the tape automatically rewound itself and the TV went dark, we paid it no mind. Kristy was soft and warm in my arms, and there was something magical about her screen-hidden bed and her secret getaway hidden in plain sight. It was profoundly satisfying for me, and I think for her too. Don't all men like to think their women never fake? But it felt real, the passion and the emotion.

I held Kristy for a long time; almost too long. I caught a glance of her bedside clock. I groaned in my mind, but not out loud. I didn't want to move. But the fact of the matter was that it was after ten and I had a complicated system of bus routes to navigate to get home; and I did have to go home: I was teaching in the morning.

A groan escaped me despite my intentions. Kristy, I really hate to say this. But I have to go home and I have to leave as soon as I can. Buses. School. All that jazz. I had my sincere face on. I have no idea how it looks; if I try it in the mirror it looks goofy. "I would much rather hold you in my arms all night, but I really have to get going as soon as possible."

Kristy looked a little disappointed, but she had lived in San Francisco all her life and also knew where I lived. She knew there was no way around the truth of what I'd said. She slipped out of bed and pulled on a very not-Japanese thick cozy robe and excused herself to the bathroom while I dressed. She wasn't in there long, but I was moving fast and when she came out I was already in the foyer, putting on my shoes, I put my jacket on as well and then reached for her.

We had a wonderful kiss, maybe the best one yet, lasting long enough that I had to remind myself that I had to leave. I had a wonderful time. Everything was fantastic. I heard my words and blushed a little, hoping she couldn't see it. Kristy was very pleased by the compliment, however.

A much quicker kiss and I said goodbye.

Goodbye, Joe, she said, giving me a look I could tell was just fraught. That's right, I said just fraught. Fraught with what, I couldn't say, but it was one fraught look. It had me thinking all the way down the street.

She had revealed more of herself tonight than in all the rest of the time we'd been together. I wondered if I had passed some test to be brought to this level, or if this level itself was a test. Then I considered that I might be paranoid about tests.

And that look! What did it mean? It seemed to tug at my belly button. Or maybe it was my heart. Maybe this girl really is special. Maybe she really thinks I'm special.

My mind was full of fresh memory and speculation while my body navigated me through the bus routes home. I got ready for bed in the same sort of absent daze, knowing I would be tired the next day. In my dreams St. Patrick was arguing with Kristy over steaming hot tempura.

Thursday April 16, 1992

Spring sprung in its usual soggy way that year and it was a month later before I knew it. I was done with my teaching job by four and when I got home I saw that the Sunshine Line was well out to sea. What a special night this would be, with a full moon and clear skies. I wished I could conjure up some sort of massive power outage to cut out the light pollution so I could enjoy it all the more.

I opened my door and was greeted with a hiss and the disappearing tail of my cat Fluffy. He probably thought I was an intruder. Everybody seems to be afraid of the big lug, even Kristy who was, she said, raised with cats. I told her Fluffy had just been giving her a love bite. He didn't mean to scratch her, he just got enthusiastic; but she never went near him again for some reason. People can be funny about animals sometimes.

I wasn't due at Kristy's aunt and uncle's - I wished she'd told me their names - until six, so I decided I had time for a shower.

After showering I looked through my wardrobe with consternation. It wasn't really varied. Jeans and button down shirts. Just different colors and fabrics for the shirts. I tried to remember what shirt I wore out to dinner on Saturday with Kristy. The green one, I thought. We'll go with red, then; a nice dark, sedate red.

I chose the jeans in the tidiest condition and, daunting decisions made and primping done, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided I looked pretty much like I did when I got home. Maybe I should have saved myself the angst and not showered. But at least I knew I smelled inoffensive. It was a start.

Now to decide if I wanted to take MUNI or drive. It was just one transfer to get to Quintara and 47th, but usually parking wasn't as bad in the outer Sunset as in most areas of the City. On the other hand, 47th was darn close to the beach. I looked for a third hand to represent that it would be evening, so not that there was not likely to be a lot of people on the beach. I found I needed a fourth hand when I remembered that the clear day might have brought folks out despite the chilly wind. A fifth hand told me that at least this was a week-day and therefore less likely to be a bonfire night. At that point I realized that I might have more hands than Ganesha and needed to just make up my damn mind. I decided to risk the car rather than stand out in the biting wind waiting for buses and street cars.

It was at this point that I realized I was nervous. Also that I had dithered so long that public transportation was no longer an option in any case. I walked out the door, locked it, went down the stairs and through the security gate. Using my remote, I opened the door to the garage that was the first level of so many San Francisco buildings. I prayed my Accord would start; I hadn't used it for a few weeks. To my relief, it faithfully chugged to life.

In the name of keeping frustration to a minimum I went slightly out of my way to use Lincoln to go west instead of Kirkham, my own street. For the same reason, I used Sunset to go South. I had a moment of disoriented panic when I saw that I couldn't turn right on Quintara from Sunset due to a school being there instead of the road, but realized I could just turn on Rivera and double back in a street or two. Soon enough I was there. Despite my worries about parking, there was perfectly good space directly across the street.

I wondered about this couple that had raised my girlfriend. They had a real actual house all to themselves with a yard and everything. Right there in San Francisco! I wondered what kind of work they had done to be able to afford it, what kind of people they might be to have achieved this envied place. Granted it wasn't prime real estate. They were almost always shrouded in fog. But still, a house is a house.

Instead of a security gate and an interior stairwell, it had exterior stairs topped by a very strong screen and a solid front door, each with its own deadbolt. Like at my own place, the ground level was a garage. I climbed the stairs and found the doorbell. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button.

To my great relief, Kristy was the one to answer the door. I was also relieved to see her dressed in her usual fashion, although I hadn't seen the top before. It was a lovely shade of light green that flowed in a harmonious way into her blue, green and lavender pants. The sleeves belled out below the elbow almost as fully as her pant legs. With her hair uncharacteristically unbound and curling gently around her shoulders, it almost gave her the look of an upside down flower, if flowers had strawberry-blond roots. She looked lovely. I wasn't sure how the hammered brass bracelet she always wore around her left wrist fit into my little flower fantasy, but she only took it off to shower.

I took all this in, trying to put admiration in my gaze so I could draw it out as long as possible, but really it was mere moments before she said Joe! Come in and meet my aunt and uncle!

First impressions came fast and furious then.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, they were there. Joe, this is my aunt Molly. Molly gave a charming little curtsy. And my uncle-

Thomas, but you can call me Tom, her uncle interrupted. It sounded like he didn't want Kristy to say uncle Tom even though there seemed little chance I'd mistake him for the Uncle Tom of legend - or infamy if you prefer.

I try not to let it go to my head, but I've been praised for my observational abilities. It somehow always reminded me in a backwards way of Gus in Lonesome Dove saying Woodrow ain't much of a mentioner. I guess I am something of a noticer. I'm just not sure the things I notice are as relevant as they could be.

When I first laid eyes on Kristy's aunt and uncle, for instance, the first thing I noticed was that for a woman hitting her golden years, Molly didn't have that pooch of a tummy that women her age usually do. Oh, she was a little bit plump, but in an all-over way that seemed more comfortable than anything else. It was probably due to not having borne children herself.

Tom, on the other hand, was a slender man that somehow gave the impression of being big and little at the same time. Actually he was about my height. He had the wiry kind of strength you could see - even through his casual clothes - that made him seem bigger, while his age and lack of bulk could fool one into maybe thinking he was smaller. I made a mental note to go with the bigger impression.

Tom had extended his hand to me at his own interruption of his introduction, and his handshake was firm and warm. Kristy said, in an almost shy voice Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Joe.

Joe, eh? Tom said. What's your full name, young man?

I blinked at the intensity of his gaze that belied the casual tone of the question. Then I answered as promptly as I could to cover for my momentary surprise.

Joseph Robert Kane, I answered.

Tom smiled. Good strong Irish name, that, he said with approval.

My noticer must have been on the fritz for me to not notice the Irish characteristics in both Tom and Molly. I forgave it, though. Among other things, Tom's hair was completely white and Molly's was a sort of sandy ginger, though I could now guess it might have been a dramatic fiery red in her youth.

Still, it was an odd sort of way to win approval from the parents. In the moment of awkward confusion all I could think to say was Thank you, sir.

Tom laughed from his belly, and Molly joined him merrily, then poked Tom in the belly and told him to be polite.

Please come in and make yourself comfortable, Joe, Molly said. Would you like a beer, or some water or something?

I took a quick glance around and saw two open beers, so I told her I would be happy to accept one. As we passed the kitchen, I saw that Molly was drinking a golden hued white wine. The other beers turned out to be Kristy's and Tom's.

Allow me to give you the nickle tour, Tom said.

Molly slipped me a beer as Tom started showing me around. We were standing in a foyer that seemed to be the hub of the house. The front hall met the long hall that bisected the house, with the doorways to the kitchen, the living room and the den - all of which lacked doors - clustered together opposite. Decorative woodwork protected the sharp edges where the corners of one room met another.

The appliances in the kitchen were a little outdated, but of good quality. There was a large table in the room, with a bowl of fruit as a centerpiece. Large windows let in the sunshine on rare days like today. The kitchen and the living room were open to each other by a half-wall topped by a bar. There weren't any bar stools on either side, however. The living room also had generous windows; the clear evening allowed me to see the beach by standing right up next to them and craning my head just the right way. Tom caught me doing just that and laughed his jolly laugh again. You can see it much better from the roof. At least when the whole district isn't drowned in fog! The room was comfortably furnished with three large couches and a few chairs which were oriented more or less towards the television but not exclusively; alternately the seating could exclude it just by shifting a chair or two slightly. In addition to the comfortable furniture, there was also a cabinet full of crystal animals ranging from the mundane to the fantastic. Here a bunny sniffed the air into which a pegasus was about to take flight, and there a manticore slept beside a kitten. There must have been dozens of them, and they were all perfectly dusted. Tom saw me looking at them and said, Molly's little collection, with a wink.

Sharing a wall with the living room was the den. I was almost awestruck at the idea of having a living room and a den in a San Francisco dwelling. It was so decadent. The den seemed more old-fashioned than the rest of the house. It had nothing electronic; only furniture, bookshelves and a large landscape painting of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was done in the impressionist style and left out any other man-made structures that might otherwise have cluttered up the picture. I noticed a black screw poking down from the bottom of the painting's frame, primarily because it stood out from the general tidiness of the house. Of course I didn't mention it; that would have been terribly rude. I guess I'm not much of a mentioner either.

After that Tom showed me where the restroom was, a full bath with modern if modest fixtures. Other than that there were three bedrooms - he mentioned that the master bedroom had its own bathroom - which he didn't show me inside. The hall ended abruptly in a door which led to stairs down to the backyard. It was lovely, with places to sit and enjoy the sun the few days a year it shined there. Hardy flowers grew in curved beds, along with a nice crop of herbs. There was a potted mint plant.

It's a wonderful house, I said when the tour was concluded. I wanted to ask how the heck they afforded it, but that would have been highly inappropriate. Or at least that was how I was raised.

Tom, Kristy and I settled down in the living room with our beers and Tom opened his mouth to say something to me when I heard a crash from the kitchen behind me. I thought I heard Molly softly but urgently say, Can you get that for me? but the rest of us were all in the living room and neither Tom nor Kristy moved. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder and saw Molly innocently peeling potatoes into the sink. I wondered what had made the crashing noise and if she had been talking to herself. I put it out of my mind and focused my attention back on Tom, catching him with a fleetingly tense look on his face. But then he opened his mouth and spoke.

Where do you live, son? he asked.

Kirkham at Funston, sir.

"Aha! The superstitious person's 13th Avenue. I guess that doesn't bother you, eh?"

Nossir. Actually I find it a bit amusing.

Good lad! Tom's merry eyes twinkled as he added, You really don't have to call me 'sir', my boy, the name's 'Tom'.

Yessir I answered. Then I actually felt myself beginning to blush, which made me blush even more and I felt like an idiot. Tom laughed even harder, but somehow I felt that he wasn't laughing at me, but only out of the sheer joy of life.

Thank you, Tom. I'll try. I guess my Mama did too good a job on me.

That's all right Joe, he answered. Better by far than the opposite, he said, giving Kristy an approving glance. Kristy almost beamed with pleasure. She had been keeping silent, which I thought a bit unhelpful.

Molly came into the living room just then, announcing that dinner could be left to its own supervision for a little while.

So, she said in the general direction of both Kristy and me, How did you two meet?

Trying very hard to maintain an air of innocence and not smirk, I said Why don't you tell it sweetie? For one thing, it was a good bet that she'd told at least some version of the story to them already, and for another, I wanted to hear how she would put it. Also, the story was a little embarrassing on her part.

Kristy gave me a disgruntled look, but consented.

Well, she began, I was meditating at the Sokoji temple in Japan Town. Usually it's a very peaceful place. She shot me a slightly reproachful look. "But on this day a class on a field trip came in. It happens sometimes and I did my best to ignore it. They are usually very quiet and respectful, and soon enough I was back deep in my meditations.

"Then some sort of clamor disturbed my peace again. I finally turned my head to look behind me and saw a man clamp his hand over a child's mouth and drag him outside. I thought I was witnessing a kidnapping! I bounced to my feet and rushed out the door after them. When I got outside I saw a man holding a child by the shoulders and talking to him in what seemed a very menacing way. I had one arm behind his back and a choke-hold on him before he knew what hit him.

Then, to my chagrin, the child shrieked 'what are you doing to my teacher?!' Kristy paused there, her cheeks burning. "I said 'your teacher?' and the kid said that Joe was his substitute teacher, but yes.

I hastily let go of Joe and apologized about a billion times. Then, I remembered to introduce myself.

Kristy didn't seem to be planning to say more, so I told the next part of the story.

Getting attacked from behind is almost the equivalent of a formal introduction, but I gave Kristy my name in return and explained that the boy she thought I was kidnapping had only been making trouble inside and I hadn't wished her to be disturbed. I gave Kristy an ironic grin and went on.

It was past time that I went back to my class and Kristy came back inside as well. She asked if I minded her tagging along for the rest of the field trip and when it was done, I asked for her number and to my pleasure she actually gave it to me. I looked into my sweetie's eyes and smiled.

Well! Molly exclaimed. That beats a blind date any day! and Tom laughed his jolly laugh again.

At that point two cats entered in tandem, practically marching step for step, tails held high with identical curls at the ends. They walked straight to Molly, and each one stood on its hind legs, putting its front paws on a knee and looking intently into her face. Hm, Molly said, I'd better go check on dinner.

As Molly got up and went to the kitchen, I blinked rapidly several times and glanced wildly at Tom and Kristy. Kristy looked as if she were trying not to appear nervous, but Tom was acting as if nothing unusual had been said or done. After a little bit of clanking and other kitchen-type noises, Molly called to us to join her at the kitchen table. She served us roast chicken, potatoes au gratin, and steamed asparagus. I don't do a lot of cooking, but it seemed to me that she should have had to spend a lot more time in the kitchen to have made that all come out right and at the right time.

The chicken is so delicious, mom, said Kristy. Am... she stopped and glanced at me for a moment Am I right that you injected some melted butter under the skin?

I got the distinct feeling that wasn't what she had been about to say, but Molly said Yes dear, it does a lovely job of keeping the chicken moist, doesn't it?

So I just said The asparagus is cooked perfectly. Not that I really care how you cook asparagus, I think it's great even if it's undercooked or overcooked. I realized I was babbling and shut up.

Tom said, Molly's really handy in the kitchen. Quite the devil with a frying pan. That last was said with a mischievous grin.

Oh, Tom, Molly said, rolling her eyes.

Tom looked at me and said, Now this was some time ago, maybe twenty years, but I don't doubt she still has it in her. He winked at Molly, who had an exasperated expression on her face competing with a blush.

We had a couple over for dinner, he continued, and the scoundrel - for I won't sully the word 'gentleman' - of the two made a grab for Molly in the kitchen. My gal is no fainting daisy. She grabbed an iron skillet off the shelf above the stove and let him have it, right in the noggin. He chortled. It was apparently a fond memory. "Knocked that bastard out. At first his lady companion - and I'll leave her the dignity of the term despite her subsequent use of language and actions - was quite distressed by Molly's actions, having not known the cause. When it was explained to her, it was her kicking him that brought her ex swain back to consciousness. Tom shook his head in a show of mock regret. I guess it just wasn't his night. And they call women the weaker sex. Don't you believe it!"

My girlfriend has a brown belt in karate. Trust me, I understand. I answered fervently.

The rest of the meal ended in more conventional small talk, and lacked any weirdness as far as I could tell. Which was fortunate, because I already had enough to think about as it was.

When it came time to say good night they all gathered at the door. Kristy didn't have any morning classes or appointments, so she was spending the night there. The two cats walked over - in tandem again - and they split as they walked past me to brush against both my legs at once. Then they looped back and walked out of the room still in tandem. Okay, I thought, that was more weirdness. I thought we were done with that. Tom and Molly paid it no attention, and wished me a safe drive home, then left me alone with Kristy. We shared a sweet kiss, but I felt a little watched, even though I was almost certain I'd seen Tom and Molly go to a part of the house where they couldn't possibly spy on us, nor could I imagine them doing so. I tried to ignore it, and focus on making my kiss halfway decent.

Kristy pulled back from me, but slid her hands down my arms to hold mine. Thank you for coming tonight.

Of course, I said.

She gave my hands a sharp little tug that brought my face back to hers and kissed me quickly. Goodnight, Joe.

I said goodnight back and headed down the stairs, into the night, into my car, eventually back into my own place; all the while thinking of the odd things I had seen and heard at Tom and Molly's house. I've always been a practical kind of person, although I like to think I'm fairly open-minded. Still, I've never seen a ghost, or a UFO or anything like that. Yet somehow tonight I'd really felt like there was something there at that house that I was missing... a presence of some kind. Even stranger to me was that I felt sure it wasn't a malignant presence. Since when was I an expert on presences, whatever that meant anyway? It was very confusing to even think about. And what the hell was up with those cats? That's just not natural, no matter how casually everybody there acted about it. But aside from the cats - and I think of myself as a cat person; I even have a quirky cat myself - there wasn't anything spooky about the place. Weird, though. Definitely out of the ordinary. Beyond eccentric into the strange, in fact.

I realized I had become stuck in a groove. I wasn't getting any further with my musing. Best for now to put it aside so I could get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow was junior high school drama class. Why oh why did I agree to that? Jenna sure owed me a favor now. I could have been subbing for senior year creative writing. I sighed and put that out of my mind too. Soon enough I was asleep. I dreamed of talking cats.

Sunday May 17, 1992

We skirted the base of Buena Vista hill as we made our way to the Panhandle to picnic and watch the Bay to Breakers. This year they were actually going to be judging the costumes! And the centipedes were always amusing, even if some of them took themselves quite seriously.

San Francisco generally could be relied on to provide good weather for the Bay to Breakers race. Not just because May was late Spring, as might be the case in other parts of the country; it was merely a whim on the part of the City. Our picnic location was on the right side of the Sunshine Line's usual range in any case.

I'd driven my identical picnic baskets over to Kristy's that morning, already mostly laden; she only added a few items. We had to leave the car behind at her place; traffic would be horrendous as we approached the blocked off streets and parking would be nonexistent.

So we walked. I carried the heavier of the baskets, the one with the food and wine. Kristy carried the other, with the blanket, plates and random other conveniences. We were going to be picnicking in style.

It took us about ten minutes to get to the Panhandle, and maybe another ten to find a good spot to spread the blanket and watch the race.

The last of the runners who were seriously trying to get their best time were just passing by as we were setting up.

This is only half-way, Kristy said. For all we know some of these people might end up being the winners.

I suppose, I said, I don't mind missing them, though, really. It's the slower people that are more interesting.

True! she said with a merry smile.

We were setting up camp as we spoke. A true San Francisco Picnic. I brought crackers with brie and goat cheese and Kristy had added more crackers and two kinds of cheese without labels that I was too ignorant to identify. Tasty though. We also made tiny little danish open faced sandwiches, although we ignored tradition and used salmon for the fish. We played with the order of the ingredients, trying to outdo one another in silliness without causing catastrophic failure to the tiny sandwiches.

And of course, it wouldn't be a proper picnic without wine, would it? Plastic wine glasses, but a genuinely good wine appropriately paired for the cheeses. Okay, I'll grant that most of America probably doesn't picnic or tailgate the way San Francisco does. We're probably compensating for our crappy weather.

It was as the mobile tiki bar came rolling into view down the cordoned off race route that Kristy turned to me suddenly. I really don't think I want to know what, if any, connection the float had, in her mind, with what she said next.

It's Molly's birthday next month and she'd like you to come for dinner that night, she said. June twenty-fourth. It's a Wednesday. She blinked and then shook her head. I'm sorry, I don't suppose you carry your calendar in your head that far in advance.

I looked her steadily in the eyes and said Most of my calendar these days is you.

She smiled and gave me another of those fraught looks. I felt like I was beginning to be able to read those looks. They were assessing me and searching me for something; not finding me wanting, but not done searching. Maybe an inward searching as well. A very full fraught look.

While allowing her to search my eyes - for whatever it was that she was looking for - I allowed myself to dwell on the beauty of her eyes. A startling dark blue, they really were striking with her pale coloring. From a distance you expected them to be brown, and then were surprised. Kristy wasn't gorgeous, just pretty... but her eyes were enchanting.

I realized that I hadn't actually answered her question at all. I'm pretty sure I'm free, I said.

We watched the Cat in the Hat amble by and Tigger bounce from one side of the street to the other. I said I noticed those little crystal animals. Does Molly still collect them?

Kristy looked impressed. Yes! You're very observant.

I added, And the apple themed stuff in the kitchen.

Well done! Kristy said, But you did get it right the first time; she's considering going another way in the kitchen. Of course, she's been considering that for a decade, I think. She giggled.

Can you help me with the shopping? I wouldn't want to get her something she already has.

Great idea. Besides, how many men want to go crystal animal shopping by themselves? She had a merry teasing grin on her face.

Sunday May 31, 1992

Kristy and I had planned to go shopping the next weekend, but my parents decided to recruit me for some slave labor down in the South Bay. They had decided to put a redwood deck in their back yard and thought that I was cheaper and more convenient than a professional. I wasn't sure about that, but we managed to get the job done. Kristy and I rescheduled for the following Sunday.

Well, Saturday, to be precise, but we didn't go shopping until Sunday. That morning I made us a simply sinful breakfast of faux eggs benedict, using salmon instead of ham. We ate naked and drank mimosas just to be decadent.

"This is lovely, Joe," Kristy said, stretching luxuriously.

Nothing's too good for my baby, I said. Or me, I guess.

Kristy poked me in my full belly. I groaned theatrically. Then I got to my feet and said, Come on, kid, let me show you how it's done.

What, decorative crystal animal shopping? Kristy said laughing.

Exactly! To the car!

Hadn't we better get dressed first?

Party pooper.

Eventually around noon we were dressed and heading south. It was considerably easier to get to Highway 280 South from my apartment than it was from Kristy's studio. There really are places in San Francisco where you think you simply can't get out of the city at all, or at least not in the direction you want to go.

We were going to the Serramonte Mall, south of the City. There was really only one real mall in the city - Stonestown Galleria - and it was generally a madhouse. Neither of us was a big shopper. Also, Kristy knew that there was a store in the Serramonte Mall that sold the kinds of trinkets Molly collected.

The mall wasn't crowded that Sunday afternoon. By some corollary of Murphy's law, we parked at the furthest end of the mall from our destination. But that seemed an unavoidable rule of nature and didn't fret us.

The store itself was full of sparkle and spicy scents. It sold everything from picture frames to scented candles; stone and bronze statuettes ranging from Buddha to Ganesha; from useless little heart-shaped pillows to our quarry: crystal critters.

Kristy distracted herself with scented candles - out of the corner of my eye I could see her lifting different sized and colored candles to her nose and breathing in their scents - while I looked over the selection of crystal creations.

They sat on tier after tier of mirrored shelves, their craftsmanship ranging from simple to awe-inspiring. I swept my eyes up and down shelves of them. Kittens, bunnies, unicorns, pegasuses, dolphins, whales, horses, fairies, dragons, lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

My eye fell on one fairy in particular. She stood about four inches tall and had the basic Tinkerbell outfit and coloring in the glass; green raggedy looking short tunic, yellow hair in a high short pony tail, red mouth. She had four wings of the thinnest glass, veined like a dragonfly's and tinted almost imperceptibly a faint insect green. She stood on her toes in a way that suggested she was just landing or just about to flutter off; a very ephemeral moment captured forever. But it was her face that captivated me. Rather than a look of angelic innocence - oh yeah, there were angels on the shelves too - she had an almost arrogant pride; a look you'd sooner expect to see on a creature much bigger in size. Her craftsmanship was exquisite.

Does Molly have one like this? I asked Kristy, pointing the pixie out to her. I found that I really hoped she didn't. I wanted to be the one to bring this to Molly.

Kristy froze and it almost seemed to me that she paled for a second. The she grinned and said, No! That's perfect, Joe, she'll love it!

Is there something wrong? You looked... a bit... odd there for a moment.

No, no, I don't know what came over me. I'm fine. Must have been all those candles. Really, Joe, that piece is wonderful. But she must be expensive, you really don't have to get something that nice for mom, you know. She's not expecting it.

Will it be okay? I don't want to make Molly uncomfortable, but somehow this feels right, I said.

I'm sure she'll get over it, Kristy said with a wry smile.

Good, then. Let's wrap this baby up and get back to the City where we belong, I said with a wink.

The cashier rang me up and carefully wrapped the little fairy. I watched her like a hawk; I wanted that thing in perfect condition when I gave it to Molly. She even gift wrapped it for me for no charge, but only tried once to refuse the tip I gave her more for putting up with my anxiety than for the wrapping.

On the drive back, I thought about Kristy's reaction to the fairy, and her explanation that it might have been due to sniffing all those candles. I thought I might get lightheaded smelling all those scents myself, but it didn't ring true to me. She had paled after she saw the fairy. Yet she seemed absolutely genuine that her aunt would love it. What could have shocked or disturbed her so much? And why didn't she want to admit whatever it was?

I was getting those intuitions again. I felt this had something to do with the weirdness I had witnessed and sensed at Tom and Molly's house. That had felt like a benign thing, and I was not getting any creepy feelings now. Weird, yes, but weird and creepy don't always go hand in hand. Well maybe things would make more sense - or at least I'd get another clue - when I gave Molly the present.

Wednesday June 24, 1992

Molly's birthday started badly for me. Actually, the whole day was a bit frazzling when I think about it.

I had been planning to take the day off, in fact. I don't do it often, because the best way to maintain your place at the top of the heap is to always be available. But I just felt like taking a mid-week break, just for the hell of it. It seemed a good way to prepare myself for a birthday celebration for someone I barely knew at a house of benign weirdness.

It was not to be. I got a frantic call at six-thirty in the morning, from Anita, the gal who connects demand and supply for us substitutes. A kindergarten sub had called in sick and they couldn't find anyone to take the job. She begged me. I honestly thought she was going to cry if I said no. I said yes and wanted to cry. She told me where and when and we disconnected.

So I spent my day riding herd on wild five year-olds, for which I have no particular training. The scheduled sub was the sick one. The teacher herself had an emergency of some sort, but she'd had time to leave a lesson plan, thank goodness. That meant the chaos had at least a semblance of order. It was like being inside the head of someone with both bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. Some of them loved me beyond reason, some of them hated me just for not being their teacher, some of them were afraid of me because I was a stranger and most of them couldn't tell anyone why they did anything beyond the likes of because I wanted to or she hit me first!

It was grueling.

So instead of a nice relaxing day, I arrived back home at half past four with only ninety minutes to convert myself to calm and collected... and clean. I was literally chasing those children at times; I really needed a shower.

I did that first. I wanted to just stand there with the shower head on its hardest setting and let it beat the tension out of me while the steam dulled my senses. But I didn't really have time. I afforded myself maybe two minutes of it and then got to the business of getting clean and presentable.

After toweling, I stood in front of my closet and squinched my eyes shut until I remembered the dark red shirt I'd worn the last time I'd been to Tom and Molly's. I chose a moss green shirt this time. Not everyone can get away with that color, but it brings out the particular shade of green in the mixture of colors of my hazel eyes. It also goes mighty fine, if I do say so myself, with the complex highlights of my dark brown hair. I particularly love this shirt because it brings out all those features so subtly. I had gotten a lot of first dates with it. It did not guarantee second dates.

I was trying to do Kristy proud. If I didn't have the wardrobe to dress up, I could at least put on something that put me in my best light.

I was feeling a bit less frazzled at that point. I had about a half hour to get to Tom and Molly's, so to be safe it was time to go. I very deliberately picked up her present - not so much that I have a tendency to forget things as that I was particularly paranoid about it this time - and headed out.

It seemed like things were finally evening out when I rang the doorbell just a few minutes before six and Kristy answered it.

Come in, sweetie, she said, stealing a kiss as I moved past her. Tom is in the kitchen. He won't let Molly cook on her birthday. She started moving in the direction of the kitchen.

Is he a good cook?

Sometimes. The food will be good tonight, though. It's mom's birthday! She was serenely happy.

She hadn't struck me before as being one to make an illogical leap like that and then just take it at face value. But at that point we were in the kitchen with Tom, so I dropped it.

Joe! Welcome son, glad you could make it. Would you like a beer? Glass of wine? Mead? Some of that washing fluid?

I blinked. These people had such a way of making my ready replies useless, stopping me dead in my tracks, leaving me groping for a replacement. Washing fluid, sir? Tom? I laughed at myself for forgetting the sir thing.

Water, he said, with a gesture of distaste. I thought that was funny, but he wasn't laughing, so I didn't.

Did you say you had mead? I asked

Yes indeed, my boy! Right proper Irish drink. Must be on hand for the missus' birthday.

If there's enough to share, I'd like to try some, I said hopefully. I'd had it before, but only once. I didn't mention my knowledge that mead was hardly the sole property of the Irish; he might be touchy about it. I had no idea what variety Tom and Molly might prefer. I hoped it was one of the mildly sweet ones. Perhaps even fruity. I wasn't in the mood to experiment with the ones they make bitter. Of course, I reflected, I was going to at least have to pretend I liked it in any case. I started to second guess not choosing beer.

Tom handed me a wine glass filled with golden liquid. I wondered if that was what Molly was drinking the night I was here before. I raised my glass and Tom and Kristy hastily raised their own. To Molly, I said and we all clinked glasses. I'd done it to put off tasting the mead for a few more seconds, to nerve myself for it. Now there was no more time at all, so I put it to my mouth and tasted it.

It's wonderful! It was, too. It was sweet, but not too sweet. While the mead was in my mouth I tasted honey, but watered down enough to swallow it; once swallowed, the heaviness dissipated immediately. The feeling it left in my mouth was very light, with just a hint of fruit. Somehow it tasted of happy.

Kristy and Tom were smiling at me. I realized I must have a big grin on my face.

Now shoo on out of here, kids, I'm working! Tom said.

I followed Kristy into the living room where Molly was working on some embroidery in a small hoop. There was