San- Francisco, California
Two days before she would arrive in London, Gemma was on foot, trudging up a San Francisco hill with a heavy statue of a lion in her backpack.
She adored San Francisco. It looked like Will had said it would, hilly and quaint, yet expansive and elegant. Today Gemma had been to see the Asian Art Museum's ceramics exhibit. Her apartment's owner had recommended it.
Maddie Chung, the owner, was spare, fiftyish, and gay. She wore jeans and smoked on the porch and owned a small bookstore. Gemma paid in cash by the week for the apartment, which was the top floor of a Victorian house. Maddie and her wife lived in the bottom two stories. She was always talking to Gemma about art history and gallery exhibits. She was very kind and seemed to view Gemma as in need of goodwill.
Today, when Gemma got home, Brooke Lannon was sitting on the steps. Will's friend from Vassar. "I got here early," said Brooke. "Whatever."
Brooke's convertible had been parked in front of the building overnight. She needed to come pick it up, but Gemma had texted her to please stay and talk.
Brooke had thick thighs, a square jaw, and sleek blond hair that always looked the same. White skin and nude lipstick. A jock style. She'd grown up in La Jolla. She drank too much, played field hockey in high school, and had had a series of boyfriends and one girlfriend, but never love. These were all things Gemma knew about her from Martha's Vineyard.
Now Brooke stood up and nearly lost her balance.
"You okay?" Gemma asked.
"Not really."
"Have you been drinking?"
"Yes," said Brooke. "What of it?"
Night was falling.
"Let's go for a drive," said Gemma. "We can talk."
"A drive?"
"It'll be nice. You have such a cute car. Let me have the keys." The car was the type of thing older men buy to convince themselves they're still sexy. The two seats were camel-colored, the body curved and bright green. Gemma wondered if it belonged to Brooke's dad. "I can't have you drive if you've been drinking."
"What are you, the police?"
"Hardly." Gemma replied
"A spy?"
"Brooke." Gemma laughed
"Seriously, are you?"
"I can't answer that."
"Ha. That's what a spy would say."
It didn't matter what Gemma said or did not say to Brooke anymore. "Let's go on a hike," said Gemma. "I know a place in the state park. We can drive across the Golden Gate Bridge and it'll be mad scenic."
Brooke jangled her car keys in her pocket. "It's kinda late."
"Look," Gemma said, "we've had a misunderstanding about Will, and I'm glad you came over. Let's just go somewhere neutral and talk it out. My apartment is not the best place."
"I don't know if I want to talk to you."
"You showed up early," said Gemma. "You want to talk to me."
"Okay, we'll talk it out, hug it out, all that," said Brooke. "It'll make Will happy." She handed over the keys.
People were stupid when they drank.