Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Teddy
“This might be a new low for me,” I tell the seagull, who’s perched on the edge of the balcony railing at Helen’s place. I’ve named him Sam.
Sam the Seagull.
“Which is saying something,” I continue, tearing off another piece of my bagel and tossing it to him. He catches it midair with a snap of his pointy beak. “Because I’ve had some pretty strong contenders.”
Sam tilts his head like he’s invested. That’s more than I can say for most people lately.
“Like when I dropped out of the University of Michigan because I got too homesick. Or the one time I slept with my sister’s friend…the one I’m currently living with.” I pause to let the drama build. “Yeah, I know. What an idiot, huh?”
Sam blinks, unimpressed but attentive. He’s a surprisingly good listener.
I go to give him another piece but stop short. “Nah, you’ve had enough. I’m cutting you off.” I pop the last bite into my mouth. Sam makes a disgruntled squawk and flaps off in a huff, his wings beating hard as he heads for the ocean.
When I first got here a few hours ago, Helen gave me the grand tour.
The building had a gated underground garage and three stories.
A sleek elevator took us to the top floor, where she lives.
We walked through the front entryway, where Helen politely asked me to take off my shoes.
House rule. No shoes. I made a mental note, promising myself not to forget.
Then we went down a short hallway to the living room with its single couch and coffee table.
Helen talked to me over her shoulder, describing each room as she showed me around.
She flicked back long strands of glossy black hair, but one clung briefly to her cheek.
I resisted the urge to brush it back, to reach out and touch her.
Instead, I clomped along, drawing my crutches in so they wouldn’t bang against her unblemished white walls.
That would be just my luck, to dirty everything up.
To the side of the living room, she pointed out a narrow kitchen with white cabinets and a stainless-steel refrigerator. “Help yourself to anything in there. I get groceries delivered every Tuesday.”
Down a short hallway were two bedrooms with a small bathroom between them.
Helen’s was on the right, a large bed with a lavender-colored duvet.
Twin white nightstands and simple shaded lamps.
A pile of books and a glass of water sat on one side.
My eyebrows rose when I saw the books were all romance novels, the spicy kind judging by the half-naked man on the cover.
Huh. Didn’t expect that.
Helen Chu, secret romance junkie?
Interesting…
Wouldn’t have guessed that would be her reading style. Then again, I didn’t expect her to hook up with me at Gwen’s wedding either. Maybe she has a thing for bad decisions.
My bedroom was on the left and had a desk, a queen bed, and a single nightstand. The intriguing thing about that room was the wall of mirrors on one side with a horizontal wooden bar attached to the wall at waist height.
“What’s that?” I asked Helen when she showed me where I would be sleeping for the next couple of months.
She’d flushed prettily, a rare sight. Helen is usually composed.
“I did a lot of ballet as a kid.” She waved her hand at the wall, and her mirror image waved back.
“I recently picked it back up, taking classes every Thursday. I’ve been practicing in here, but don’t worry about being in the way.
It’s not something I have to do. It’s not like I’m going to be using those skills anytime soon.
” She’d laughed, a self-deprecating sound I didn’t like.
It sat wrong in my chest, like I should say something, but what?
Tell her she’s too good to talk like that?
I barely know her, so I let it go.
“Follow me.” She’d quickly changed the subject. “I have something to show you.”
I dropped my bag onto the floor, the sound way too loud in the neat little space, then I followed her.
At the end of the hallway, she flung open a door, letting sunlight blare in.
I threw my arm up to protect my eyes. Blinking away sunspots, I stepped out onto a wide balcony, big enough to hold a rectangular outdoor dining table with four matching chairs.
A red umbrella cast a pool of shade. Over to the side sat a small barbeque.
Smoke stains on its silver hood suggested it got lots of use.
The best part was the plants and flowers in brightly colored enamel pots tucked into the corners.
Red hibiscus bobbed in the breeze beside gently swaying ferns.
Blue and pink blooms tangled together, winding through purple cabbage, while tiny daisies pushed up between the leaf-filled branches.
“I like your garden,” I told her.
Helen laughed, the sound light and cheerful. “It’s funny that’s what you noticed. Most people focus on this.” She swept her hands out to the horizon. I froze when I lifted my eyes, following the motion. Before us was the beach and the ocean.
In Venice I lived on the beach, but down at ground level.
This elevated view from Helen’s place was something else entirely.
White sand stretched for miles, and the sun glittered off the waves, twinkling like fairy dust. Farther down, the world-famous Santa Monica Pier jutted into the ocean, its twisting yellow roller coaster and graceful Ferris wheel rising high above the waterline.
I could hear the distant sound of laughter and screams drifting from the amusement park.
It looked like something on a postcard with the inscription, Wish you were here, stamped across the bottom in faded letters.
“Wow,” was all I could manage.
Helen laughed again, the sound rich to my ears.
“That’s what I said the first time I saw it too.
This is what sold me on this condo. As soon as I saw the view, I said I’d buy it, even though the price was a stretch.
” She points past my shoulder. “Look! They’re already stringing Christmas lights on the palm trees. ”
“Already? It’s not even November yet.” I leaned over the railing to see she was right.
A white work truck idled at the curb with a long movable ladder and a basket on the end, large enough to hold a man.
The metal arm extended upward as I watched, the bucket swaying as a worker in a neon vest leaned out with a coil of twinkling lights looped around his shoulder.
One by one, he strung the bulbs up the trunk of the palm, fastening them neatly before moving on to the next stretch.
Already a few trees were finished, their trunks wrapped in colorful spirals that climbed toward the fronds, glowing against the slowly darkening sky.
The whole line of palms would shine soon, turning the boardwalk into a glittering, festive runway.
That was two hours ago. Shortly after she got me settled in, Helen had left for an overnight shift in the ER.
I called Jamie and asked him to bring me more of my stuff.
When I’d apologized for bailing on living with him, Jamie had said in his easygoing way not to worry.
He said he’d keep my room in the house without charging me for it, until I came back in two months.
I’d almost stopped him, told him I was never coming back, that I don’t belong there anymore, but I’d hesitated, because what if I don’t belong here either? Where does that leave me?
It's doesn’t matter. The reality is that living here in Helen’s condo is a nice interlude, but one with a big ticking clock.
I can’t stay here forever, and maybe that’s for the best.
Because Helen? She’s the kind of woman who builds things.
Me? I wreck them.