The Touch of a Woman (3 page)

If history was an indicator, that actually was good news. Summer tentatively approached the passenger side of the Jeep and confirmed that Rita had passed out.

* * *

Eighteen-year-old Allison, now a freshman at UC-Davis, crammed the kitchen drawer full of tea towels, potholders and linen napkins with no regard for how they wrinkled. Not surprising, since she handled her clothes the same way. Her long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and looped through the back of a denim ball cap that matched her ragged jeans. Every time she raised her arms, her T-shirt rose to reveal a dark green vine crawling diagonally from her hip, its edges still red from the trauma. The tattoo she’d always wanted.

“You should sleep under your mattress, Mom. That would give you an extra layer of protection from flying bullets.”

Her brother Jeremy snorted before covering his face.

“Stop it, both of you,” Ellis snapped. Ever since the police car had pulled up out front, they’d been teasing her about her new crime-ridden neighborhood. For all she knew, they were right. “It’s probably some kind of domestic issue. Those are just as dangerous as drug deals.”

“I didn’t see anyone get arrested. The cop let that woman go.”

It didn’t matter to Ellis. Civilized people controlled their behavior. They certainly didn’t drag their dirty laundry out for everyone to see.

Jeremy swung his colorful arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. At least your neighbor had the courtesy to come over and apologize.”

They’d actually only met in passing. The woman had looked embarrassed.

Bruno Peretti, Jeremy’s boyfriend of two years, joined them from the master bedroom, where he’d been hooking up her second TV. “Just be glad she was nice about it. Some people don’t care about their neighbors at all.” Though he worked as a legislative aide at the capitol, in his free time he always wore shorts—regardless of the weather—and an open shirt with a T-shirt underneath. He was clean shaven and buff from working out.

Ellis liked Bruno, as he was a calming influence on her son, who’d asserted his wild side in high school as a way of grappling with challenges to his masculinity. Since moving in with Bruno after dropping out of college two years ago, Jeremy had stopped adding tattoos and given up his motorcycle.

They made an attractive couple. Jeremy took after her side of the family. He had her father’s receding hairline and kept his hair short so no one would notice when he started to go bald. Blue eyes like hers, and he even had the same brown spot in the iris of one. Though he’d been raised in San Francisco, he loved Sacramento and had every intention of making his life here.

Ellis was resigned to her move from the City, where she’d lived since graduating from Berkeley twenty-six years ago. With her finances in utter disarray after Bruce’s death—and two kids still in college—she’d jumped at Gil’s offer to be assistant editor of
Sacramento Vista
, an offshoot of his San Francisco franchise. She’d desperately needed the steady income. Plus it was cheaper to live in the capital, and she was closer to Jeremy and Allison. However, it was farther from Jonathan, who was now a senior at Stanford.

She peered out the window and was relieved to find the parking lot clear of trouble.
“River Woods might turn out to be a little dicey, but I guess it’s better than the Tenderloin.”

“Or the Financial District,” Allison muttered.

“Not funny,” Jeremy said sharply.

“That was irony, dipshit. Look it up.”

“Three months in college and now you know everything.”

“Yeah, so I can drop out now, just like you did.”

“Enough, you two,” Ellis said. She was used to playing referee between Jeremy and his brother, but Allison rarely pushed anyone’s buttons.

The shooting had changed all of them, but it had been especially hard on her daughter in her final year of high school. Spurts of anger, extended bouts of self-pity. Even with a fresh start in college, she was still struggling to escape the nightmare.

Jeremy too had suffered with depression, but Bruno steered him into a community counseling program and stood by his side with comfort and support. Only Jonathan had managed to hold it together, losing himself in his studies.

“I think we’ve done enough damage for one day,” Ellis said. “That’s everything off the truck. Let’s call it a night.”

Boxes of clothes, dishes and miscellaneous household items remained stacked in the small living room, but she didn’t want anyone else putting those things away—she might never find them again. Besides, she had plenty of time on her hands after work and no extra cash to go out, even if she had somewhere to go. Tomorrow was the first official day of her grind toward retirement.

Allison immediately slung her backpack over her shoulder, as if she’d been waiting hours for permission to quit. “Can you take me back to campus, Mom? And I could use a few extra bucks if you have it.”

Before she could answer, Bruno spoke up. “We can take you, but we need to swing by and drop off the truck.”

After something between a whine and a groan, Allison slogged toward the door like a child being marched to the principal’s office.

“Hold on, honey. I’ll get you some spending money. Jeremy? Bruno?”

“None for us, Mom. We’re good.”

She’d figure out another way to thank the boys for their help. A home-cooked dinner, or maybe Jeremy’s all-time favorite oatmeal raisin cookies. Allison had gone vegan and was too picky to feed. She wanted cold hard cash.

Ellis walked back to her bedroom for her purse and immediately noted her next task was getting sheets on the bed so she’d have a place to sleep. Though it was only nine thirty, she needed to be fresh for her first day at her new job.

“You ought to make time to come see Mom on the weekends,” Jeremy said, his voice carrying clearly all the way down the hall. “I know you’re busy at school, but she needs us right now.”

“I see her all the time. Jon’s the one who can’t be bothered.”

“I’ll talk to him too. We all have to step up. I’m worried about her. This is a big change. She’s done everything for us but nobody’s been there for her.”

She felt guilty for listening but the conversation was mesmerizing. A woman of forty-eight had no business expecting her grown children to take responsibility for her.

Allison sniffed loudly, a sign she was ready to burst into tears, something she’d done often since the shooting.

“I know, Allie. It’s been harder on you than anybody. But you’re going to love college. Put those dweebs from Balboa High in the rearview mirror.”

“It’s already easier…just being away from there.” Normally she pushed back against the boys when they tried to give her advice, but there was nothing in her voice this time that gave off defiance.

“And I’ll try to slip you some money. It won’t be much, but you can’t keep going back to Mom, not till they figure out the settlement.”

That was enough. She couldn’t let Jeremy take over her obligations, no matter how strapped she was for funds. It wasn’t his fault the lawyers were taking their sweet time with the negotiations.

“Here you go, sweetie. Eighty bucks.”

“I don’t need that much. Just twenty.” She gave her brother a sidelong glance. “Or forty.”

“Take it all. And now I want both of you to do me a big favor. I need some space. I know I’m closer now and you’re going to be tempted to drop in. But how about giving me a couple of weeks to get myself sorted out here? Make some friends, learn my way around, get a new routine. Can you do that for me?”

Jeremy looked surprised. “Are you sure, Mom?”

“Absolutely. I’ll call if I need help with anything. But I want all of you here for Christmas dinner. No excuses.” She shooed the three of them out and walked with them to the truck, rubbing her arms against the night chill as they drove away.

At the building next door, a car pulled up where the police car had been earlier. Two women got out, and one of them left immediately in another car. Ellis recognized the other as the woman who’d apologized.

She’d turned to go back inside when the woman called out.

The sound of her approaching footsteps was firm, but uneven. Boots with heels, and she was limping.

Ellis paid closer attention this time. The woman had on jeans with a white shirt, its starched collar standing up and out of a dark pea coat. A nice look for someone her height, which she guessed at barely five feet. Light curly hair with wispy bangs she pushed from her eyes, and wire-rimmed glasses. It was only when she was a few feet away that Ellis noticed her age—late forties, she guessed. Not the scruffy sort she might have expected to be involved with the police.

“Hi, I’m Summer Winslow.”

Ellis nodded. She didn’t need friends who attracted trouble.

“Was it you who called the cops?”

“It was not.”

“I guess that’s good…except now I have to go find whoever it was so I can apologize to them too.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry I made such a rotten first impression. That’s not a normal thing, I swear. It’s never happened before…and I hope to hell it never happens again.”

What could she say? That it was all right? It wasn’t. That it didn’t bother her? It did.

“Anyway…I just wanted to tell you again that I was sorry. I think you’ll like River Woods. Just hit the reset button tomorrow and start over.”

It was rude to stand there in silence. The least she could do was acknowledge the woman’s obvious embarrassment and pretend not to be judging her. This was her neighbor, someone she’d likely see again. “Thank you. I’ll give that a try.”

Sacramento Vista
occupied the third floor of the Crawford Building, one of the oldest business complexes in the city. Situated only two blocks from the capitol, it was, at five stories, dwarfed by the office towers on K Street.

Ellis waited nervously in a hard vinyl chair for the official start of her workday. A close examination of her nails revealed chips in the pink polish from handling the cardboard boxes as she unpacked. In the old days, she’d have dashed out to her manicurist for a quick touch-up, but her budget didn’t cover such frivolities anymore.

Her first full-time job since she left the San Francisco magazine on maternity leave twenty-four years ago. Assistant editor, though she had no clear idea what duties that entailed. Her anxiety had more to do with meeting her coworkers and bosses than tackling a new job.

Gil had offered the position when it became obvious she’d never support herself on a staff writer’s salary in San Francisco, one of the most expensive housing markets in the country. A two-bedroom apartment like the one she’d rented in River Woods would have cost four times as much in the City, five times if it included parking.

She’d always considered Sacramento a cow town. Now it was home. To be fair, most places were sleepy when held up to a world class city like San Francisco. But she was committed to the move. She’d get to know the capital in short order once she immersed herself in the magazine. It would be fine. She’d
make
it fine.

“Ellis Keene?” A curvaceous Hispanic woman, her long hair dyed burgundy, appeared in the hallway behind the receptionist. Her face was blank, and she made no effort at eye contact. “I’m Angie Alvarez. I’ll be your supervisor. Follow me.”

It was odd to hear her maiden name spoken aloud after all these years. Though she’d used it professionally for her
Vista
articles, it was only in preparation for her move to Sacramento that she’d made the legal change, right down to her social security card. All to avoid having to talk with strangers about the shooting. How long would it take for the world to forget?

The hallway led to a large room of cubicles with windowed offices lining the outer walls. Many of the nameplates on the office doors included their job titles.
Advertising Manager
,
Creative Director
,
Finance Officer
. Around the corner, the offices got bigger, but Alvarez steered her into a labyrinth to a cubicle, naked but for the dust on the gray laminate desk and a 49ers mug with a lipstick ring.

“This is you.” She yanked open a drawer containing pens, pencils and paper clips. “Supplies are here.”

No computer, no phone. Not even a file organizer.

“And whom do I see for my assignments?”

“Nobody. They’ll come to you.” Alvarez scurried across the hall to a larger cubicle bearing her name and returned with two document baskets. “I’ll put the copy in your in-basket. Once you verify everything in it, you put it in the other and I’ll pick it up.”

So assistant editor was another name for fact checker. Fine, she’d be the best fact checker
Sacramento Vista
ever had. “I suppose I’ll need some reference materials. A style manual. A computer, of course, with Internet access. And a phone.”

Alvarez shook her head. “There’s a computer you can use in the conference room. That’ll have to do until we get another one in the budget.”

Left alone in the tiny space, Ellis took a seat in the armless office chair, immediately noticing that it wobbled. Ignoring the fact that she was wearing nylons and a skirt, she knelt on the carpeted floor and flipped the chair upside down to find the loose connection. Using a dime, she tightened the bolts that attached the seat to its stem.

The din of conversations in the surrounding cubicles didn’t concern her. She’d managed to work in a house with three teenagers amidst their video games, music and friends, so she could work anywhere.

She tested her seat again. Workable.

Alvarez reappeared with a cardboard box of miscellaneous desk implements. “Take whatever you want from here and leave the box in the break room. But first, Marcie wants to see you.”

She was shown to a corner office, where a woman sat with her back to the door as she talked on the phone. The expansive windows beyond afforded an enviable view of the tree-lined street below with its pedestrian walk and light rail. Had Ellis stayed at
San Francisco Vista
all these years, she might even be editor by now, and looking out on the Bay from a corner office on Telegraph Hill.