"No. That was meant to be tongue in cheek," I said. "I take it you don't have friends here in town."
"Just Onni, the woman I used to work with. I talked to her earlier, hoping I could see her this afternoon, but she was tied up."
"Isn't she the one who took your old job?"
"Right. She feels guilty about that, but I said don't be dumb. She used to do front desk, but this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Why would I begrudge her the chance? She said she'd have driven me around today if she didn't have to work."
I turned into the parking lot of the Department of Motor Vehicles. "If you want, you can run in and pick up a booklet and study in the car before you take the test."
"Nah. I've been driving for years so how hard can it be?'
"Well, it's your choice. I prefer to bone up myself. Cuts the flop sweat."
''I like anxiety. It keeps me awake."
I waited in the car while Reba went in. She was gone forty minutes, some portion of which I spent hanging over the seat, trying to tidy all the crap that I keep back there. I generally motor around town with an overnight case stocked with toiletries and clean underpants. This, in the event I'm presented with a pressing reason to hop on a plane. In addition, I have assorted articles of clothing that I sometimes wear while pretending to be a public servant. I can do a pretty good imitation of a postal employee or meter reader from the gas-and-electric company. It pays to look like I'm doing official business when I'm standing on a front porch, idly scanning someone's mail. I also keep several reference books in the backseat – one on crime scene investigation, Deering's California Penal Code, a Spanish-language dictionary left over from a class I took years ago – an empty soda can, a bottle opener, an old pair of running shoes, a pair of badly snagged panty hose, and a lightweight jacket. While my apartment is tidy, I'm a slob when it comes to my car.
I glanced up in time to catch Reba's emergence from the DMV office. She half-skipped across the lot, waving a piece of paper that turned out to be her temporary license. "Aced it," she said, as she got into the car.
"Good for you," I said. I turned the key in the ignition, shifted into reverse, and backed out of the space. "Where now?"
"I know it's only ten forty-five, but I wouldn't object to another QP with Cheese."
We ordered from the drive-through window, found a space in the parking lot, and ate in the car. We'd opted for two large Cokes, two Quarter Pounders apiece, and a large order of fries, which we doused in ketchup and ate as fast as we could. I said, "I had a friend regained his health eating shit like this."
"I'm not surprised. I like how flat the pickles are, all mooshed in there. Pop's got a personal chef who's really great, but she's never been able to duplicate this. I can't figure it out, how they do it. Doesn't matter where you are, a QP with Cheese tastes exactly the same and so does everything else. Big Macs, fries."
"Nice to have something you can count on," I said.
After lunch we drove out to the La Cuesta shopping mall, where Reba worked her way from store to store, flashing her father's credit card and trying on clothes. Like other women I've known, she seemed to have an inborn sense of what would look good on her. In most stores, I made a point of finding the nearest chair from which I watched her like a good mom while she moved from rack to rack. Sometimes she'd take out a garment, study it critically, and put it back. Other times, she'd lay the item on top of those she'd draped over her arm. At intervals, she'd head off to the dressing room and then appear twenty minutes later with her choices made. Some pieces she'd leave behind and the rest she'd pile on the counter while she looked for something else. In the course of two hours, she bought pants, skirts, jackets, underwear, knit tops, two dresses, and six pairs of shoes.
Once in the car again, she put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. "I used to take so many things for granted, but never again. Where next?"
"Up to you. Where do you want to go?"
"The beach. Let's take our shoes off and walk in the sand."
We ended up at Ludlow Beach, not far from my house. Santa Teresa City College was perched on the bluffs above us. The sky was gray as far as the eye could see, and wind was whipping the waves, blowing spray toward the beach. We left our shoes locked in the car, along with my shoulder bag and Reba's purchases. The picnic tables in the grassy area had been abandoned except for a foursome of gulls squabbling over a bread bag that had been tied shut and left on the edge of a trash bin. Reba picked up the bag, tore through the cellophane, and tossed the crumbs across the grass. Gulls began to wheel in, shrieking, from all directions.
We trudged through a hundred yards of soft sand between the parking lot and the surf. At the water line, icy waves tumbled perilously close to our bare feet, but the sand was damp and packed hard, easier to walk on. I said, "So what's the deal with Beck?"
She flashed me a smile. "That blew me away, running into him like that."
"Really. That's odd. I was under the impression you'd arranged it in advance."
She laughed. "No, not at all. Why would I do that?"
"Reba." I got the big brown eyes turned on me.
"Honest. He's the last person in the world I expected to see."
I shook my head. "Nope. Not honest. Lying through your teeth. That's why you sat on the far side of the booth so you could watch for him."
"That's not true. I had no idea he'd be there. I was totally surprised."'
"Wait, wait, wait. Just hold on a second and I'll bring you up to speed. I've been telling lies for years and believe me, I know when someone's maneuvering the truth. I got a bullshit meter working 'round the clock. I watched the two of you last night and it was ding ding ding! I was strictly window dressing, the person, in the olden days, they referred to as a 'beard.' You called him from the parole office and told him where you'd be."
She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. But I wasn't sure he'd come."
"Oh, he came all right, if his behavior in the car was any indication."
Her head whipped around and she looked at me in disbelief. "You were spying on us?"
"That's what I'm paid for. You don't want to be seen, you shouldn't do it in public."
"What a bitch!"
"Reba, your father cares about your welfare. He doesn't want you to end up in the shit again."
She clutched my arm, looking at me earnestly. "Don't tell Pop. Please. What purpose would it serve?"
"I haven't decided what I'm going to do. It might help if you told me what's going on."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, give it a whirl. You want me to keep quiet, you better fill me in." I could see how tempted she was. Who can resist talking about a guy that you're so smitten with?
"I'm not sure how to explain. I worked for him for years and he's always been supportive…"
"Not the long version, dearie, just the salient points. You're having an affair, right?"
"It's much more than that. I'm crazy about him and he's crazy about me, too."
"The crazy part I'll buy. Since when?"
"Two years. Well, four if you count the two I was gone. We've been writing back and forth and talking on the phone. We planned to get together tonight, but there's an AA meeting I'm supposed to attend. I thought I better show up in case Holloway checks. Beck called me at Pop's and said he couldn't stand the wait. I thought of Rosie's because her place is so out of the way I couldn't imagine running into anyone we know. I guess I should have told you up front, but I wasn't sure you'd approve so I just went ahead and did it."
"What'd you need me for? You're big boys and girls. Why not go to a motel and get it over with?"
"I was scared. We haven't been together for so long, I was afraid the chemistry might be gone."