California Street

By Mary Anzur

When life had all seemed routine, a tragic cable car accident upends Lara Barton's life. Equipped with a wallet, an angry set of in-laws and a tenacious 6 year-old son, Lara sets on a quest to unearth the cause of her overturned life. Her journey takes her through the streets of San Francisco, in search of answers to a question she never thought to ask.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257184293

Book preview

died.

One

Weeks before the accident, with warm summer sun leaking through open windows, Lara rolled out scones in her sister’s kitchen.

Ugh. Anders and I have been fighting non-stop for, like, the last two months. I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. Tabitha, her hair swept loosely over one shoulder, tapped her fingers against the kitchen table.

Lara leaned into a ball of dough at the counter, her hands pressing it into a flat disk. What are you fighting about? Orange peel and dried cranberries poked between her fingers.

Tabitha sighed and tipped her head against the back of the chair. Everything. Anything. She paused, rubbing her hands over her eyes. He’s never around anymore, always at the office, or playing golf, or schmoozing prospective clients at some stupid party. Kylan hardly ever sees him anymore; asks about him all the time. Joy cooks every night ‘cause I’m too effing tired. And shit’s falling apart! He has a list of things I need him to do, and he says he’ll get to it ‘next weekend’ every weekend! Her face burned pink.

Lara glanced sympathetically at her sister, her eyebrows high. He’s a busy guy, Tabi. I’m sure the last thing he wants to do after working a 70 hour week is replace toilet flappers. She wiggled a biscuit cutter into the red and orange speckled dough, cutting 2-inch circles.

Well, I’m effing tired, too, but I still have to take care of the kids and clean up their messes while he golfs or watches sports or does whatever he does in that man cave of his. Tabitha’s gaze drifted out the window; her eyebrows were knit tightly over her eyes. I swear to God, Lara, she murmured distantly, if he tells me ‘not this weekend’ one more time, I might just take the kids and move into your basement. Eff my commute. I’ll work from home.

Lara stopped and looked up from the dough she was dropping on to baking sheets. Oh, yeah? Well, though I’d like to say my door’s open in your time of need, I’m not sure if it will be. I’m not cool with squatters. She winked at her sister’s scowl. All right, now, look, you guys have been two ships passing for years now. When was the last time you all went out as a family or even just the two of you? That can make such a difference, you know, reconnecting.

Tabitha stood from the table and moved to the fridge where she looked at neatly framed magnetic photos of Lara’s family. We’re not like you and Jon, Lara. We weren’t meant to be from the moment we saw each other. And we don’t have jobs that can stand still when we say so. She tapped a finger to a photo of Lara leaning over the edge of a bridge on the Thames. You don’t realize how lucky you are.

Lara dusted the tops of her scones with flour and scoffed, Do you really think it’s that easy? That we just lucked out with everything? We work really hard. And fuck if Jeremiah doesn’t throw a pickle in the egg salad. But it’s worth it when you love someone. And, Tabitha, you love Anders. You’d be as lost without Anders as I would be without Jon. You just gotta push through this. Get both of you some counseling and time off before it’s too late. You never know it’s too late until it is. Be careful. She sidled up behind her sister and squeezed her into a hug. Floury handprints cupped Tabitha’s shirt sleeves.

What do you know, little sister? Tabitha smirked. She looked away from Lara, the corners of her eyes wet and shiny.

Two

Hold on, Jon, Lara said into the phone pinched between her shoulder and cheek. Twisting her mouth away from the receiver, she turned to her son. Barring some sort of miracle, Jeremiah Jacob, you won’t be doing anything until you clean up this mess. Lara flexed her knuckles in a ball of dough as she looked at her son. Jeremiah sat cross-legged in a sea of Froot Loops on the floor of the kitchen. He wrestled a toy from a plastic bag speckled in rainbow colored sugar.

But, Mom, he wailed, stretching out his syllables, I neeeeeed to play! He kept his back turned to his mother and spun the rotor blade of his new B.I. Sam Rotochopper XXL2000. He glanced over his shoulder, stirring a cloud of sugar dust with the breath of his nose.

Lara stared at him; his eyes peeked around the side of his head impishly. She rested the backs of her hands in the cool dough. J.J., you’ve been playing in that mess all morning. You neeeeeeeeed to clean it all up. Pushing air through her pursed lips, she wiped her arm against her forehead and returned to the phone. Sorry, Jon, this kid’s been on something today.

She recounted the last 45 minutes witnessing Jeremiah’s morning theatrics. In a whirl of magnificent grace and terror, Jeremiah had run screaming into the kitchen in his pilled flannel pajamas with clouds and propeller planes zooming along the seams. From what Lara could gather from the screeching and hollering, the Froot Loops were too high in the pantry and Jeremiah was born too short to be of any good to anyone. A series of Moms! and Mothers! had preceded her entrance to the kitchen; she had finally decided to desert her crossword puzzle when she heard a loud thump and a number of small thuds. When she arrived, J.J. lay motionless on the floor, an overturned sack of Yukon Gold potatoes scattered around him.

I could have died, Mother, he said gravely. Rejecting her offer to help him off the ground, Jeremiah clambered to his feet and resumed his tirade about his stumpy limbs and tall closets. At that point Lara decided it was never too early in the morning to make a pie.

So how long do you think you’ll be out today? she asked.

Her husband replied, Probably into the evening. Five, six o’clock.

All right. Try coming back before the fog moves in. I hate thinking of you driving over the bridge in that fog.

I’ll do what I can. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to you later.

Okay. Love you.

Love you, too. Bye.

Lara hung up the phone and tossed it onto an open recipe book. As she resumed rolling out the pie dough, the rolling pin rattled its familiar language: thud, whoosh, click. Thud, whoosh, click. Jeremiah, too, spoke a familiar language to accompany his newest toy: gun rat-a-tat-tats and whistling missiles. Each Froot Loop that had been strewn about the kitchen in his fury to get to the bottom of the box fell victim to his bare feet as he crunched his way to B.I. Sam victory. Lara slid her fingers beneath the flattened pie dough and dropped it into a scalloped yellow pie dish.

Seriously, Jeremiah. Clean up. Now. She stood behind him, waiting for him to reach into the air with his helicopter, and she snatched the toy from his fingers. Clean up or I’m giving this to Penny.

Nooooo! Jeremiah’s voice pitched in an arc. He eyed Penny lying happily in a patch of sunshine at the base of the tall windows in the sitting room. Penny seemed to know she was being watched; she opened her eyes slowly, stretched her mouth in a smiling yawn, and gently laid her head on a paw. Fine, Mother! Jeremiah stomped around the kitchen, Froot Loops crumbling and sticking to the arches of his feet. He dropped to his knees and pushed the cereal into a big pile, whirring like a bulldozer and beeping as he backed up.

After carefully tucking the pie dough into the base of the dish and pressing it to the sides, Lara stepped away from the counter toward the refrigerator. Her foot landed in a grainy pile of sugared cereal. She looked down over her arm: Jeremiah grinned up at her, his eyebrows pulled close to his hairline in glee. She lifted her foot. Penny! The dog trotted obediently from her make-shift tanning bed to Lara’s side. Lara lowered Jeremiah’s new toy. Be nice, she said. Penny gently took the toy from Lara’s hand.

Jeremiah wailed. He clamored to the hall closet between the kitchen and sitting room, sifting through various cleaning supplies until he found a broom and dustpan. Throwing the dustpan aside, he grasped the broom with both fists at its middle, an extra foot of broom extending beyond his grip. He awkwardly batted the broom at Lara’s raised foot, knocking the powdery cereal to the ground. Lara then proceeded to put her pie dough in the fridge. Jeremiah ran to the edge of the kitchen floor, broom still in hand, and looked from left to right in search of the small dog. Without luck, he moaned and returned to cleaning the kitchen, kicking the dustpan to the pile of cereal. On his knees, he wrapped his right arm around the base of the broom and with his left held the dustpan steady. With a few of Jeremiah’s heaves and grunts, the dustpan overflowed with ashes of Froot Loops. Standing patiently at the refrigerator, Lara watched her son scramble as he tried to figure out how to rid himself of the mess. Mom!

Right behind you.

He whipped his head around and looked at her imploringly. Help. Please?

Lara retrieved the garbage can from beneath the sink. The two quietly swept up the cereal and bagged the potatoes lolling about the pantry. After Lara returned the garbage can to the sink, Jeremiah confronted her.

Where is Penny?

Lara shrugged. Better go find her before she loses your toy under a dresser.

Jeremiah threw his arms in the air. It’s not just a toy, Mother! He huffed into the sitting room adjacent to the kitchen, returned, wrapped his arms around Lara’s leg and squeezed her. He looked to his mother’s face and batted his eyes.

Lara patted his hair. I bet she’s in my room.

Jeremiah disappeared down the stairs.

Shaking her head, Lara laughed. That kid. She turned on the television in the sitting room, hoping to catch her favorite weekend cooking show. In the kitchen, she pulled a basket of apples out of the pantry and set it by the sink.

Penny! Jeremiah shrieked. The dog pranced into the kitchen, her claws lightly clicking against the hardwood floor. She looked at Lara, wagged her tail, and trotted away. Lara could hear her softly padding down the stairs. A few moments later Jeremiah wheeled into the kitchen. Where’d she go? Where is she? Without waiting for an answer, he peeled back down the stairs.

Lara pulled open a drawer at her waist, reached in for a remote control and turned up the volume on the TV set. Setting the remote on the far edge of the counter, she settled in front of the sink, cleaning each apple carefully.

The murmur of time-friendly cooks carried over the water splashing on apples. We love pairing fresh pumpkin with red onion and bacon. We roast the pumpkin and onion to bring out the sweetness and add in the salty, savory bacon. Lara set each clean apple at the far side of the sink on a striped dishtowel. For pies, she loved pairing Fuji apples with Granny Smith. The juicy flavor of the Fuji balanced out the sour tang of the Granny Smith. And any amount of sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon balanced out the rest.

Lara had been baking pies, cookies, cakes, and pastries for the bulk of her life. She opened her own bakery 10 years ago, after working tirelessly in someone else’s kitchen for six years. The bakery, The Biscuit Tin, was a boutique bakery and café near Golden Gate Park specializing in fresh pies every day. Though she was owner and had hired a well-trained and talented staff, Lara made sure to bake at least five pies throughout the week for the bakery, and often baked more for home.

Finished washing the apples, she folded the corners of the dishtowel into the center and carried the bundle to another counter facing the TV. Layer your pizza crust with fontina cheese, the roasted vegetables, bacon and sage. The smell will drive you crazy. Lara bent beneath the counter to retrieve a large cutting board. She smiled thinking about the smell of fresh roasted vegetables and melting cheese. She sliced around the core of each apple, leaving a small rectangular remnant speckled with seeds. With an ear on the TV, she cut quarter-inch wedges and dropped them into a deep metal bowl with a clang. The cores remained piled, waiting for their short trip to the compost bin.

As Lara measured sugar into the bowl of apples, a stern-voiced man interrupted the soothing talk of the cooking show. We’re sorry to interrupt our regularly scheduled programming. An accident has been reported near the end of the California Street Cable Car line. Three cable cars collided unexpectedly at the base of California Street. Officials are not sure what caused the malfunction. Lara glanced up from a teaspoon of cinnamon. Two of the cars were overturned from the track and it is not known yet how many people were injured or if they were all passengers. We have a crew on the way and will report any new information as soon as we can. Stay tuned.

Lara plunged a long-handled spoon into the bowl of apples, mixing the sugar and spice with the lemon and apple juices. Folding the apples over each other, she tilted her head. Always tourists. No one ever rides those things other than tourists. How sad.

A door thudded downstairs.

Mom! Jeremiah screeched.

Lara walked across the kitchen to the refrigerator and retrieved her pie shell and a stick of butter. Setting the pie dish on the counter, she heaped the sweetened apple slices atop the dough. She cubed two tablespoons of butter and tucked them among the apple slices with her fingertips.

Mom! Jeremiah’s footsteps pounded on the stairs. Mom! He stopped halfway up the stairs and sat down.

What, Jeremiah? She laid a circle of pie dough over