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The trembling started on the drive home. Somewhere on the Santiago Canyon Road, Andie had to pull over and take deep breaths. Shock, her mind said. It was just a few minutes in an elevator, Andie told herself, but the shivering didn’t stop. She gripped the steering wheel, closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.
A few cars sped past, but Andie didn’t look up. Since the toll road went in, the canyon had little traffic other than the weekend motorcycle gangs. She opened her eyes to look at the surrounding green rolling hills, and a feeling of calm stole over her.
Trabuco Canyon didn’t belong in Orange County...and neither did she. She had nearly twenty thousand dollars in her bank account. When she had twenty-five, she would leave. She took another deep breath and another. Sitting up, she put her hands back on the steering wheel and started for home.
A moment later, she pulled her ancient Honda down the dirt road that led to Grammy Dean’s rambler. Grandpa Duke had built the house back in the forties after the World War. Their neighbors consisted mostly of coyotes, deer, and rabbits, but from the view from the top of the orchard, she could see the lights of the planned communities with their groomed parks, and sparkling swimming pools. A few mansions dotted the hills in the canyons. In the evening, an ever-present smell of campfires came from O’Neal Park.
She slipped out of the car and slammed the door. A large Collie-German shepherd mix came to welcome her. “Hey, Mickey,” Andie said, returning the greeting. She ruffled the dog’s ears without having to bend over. A gray, weathered rocking chair on the wooden porch beckoned her, but Andie ignored the temptation and banged through the front door.
She found her mom and grandmother inside the dimly lit room. Grammy Dean sat in a recliner with knitting needles idle in her lap. Her mom sat in a kitchen chair that she had pulled into the tiny room. Both women were crying. Andie raised her eyebrows, curious, but not overly concerned. She was from a family of criers.
“Oh, Andie, you have to listen to this!” her mother gasped. “Your cousin Bradly was in that horrible storm.”
“It’s a wonder he made it out alive!” Grammy Dean wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
“I want to hear,” Andie said, as she made her way across the living room’s worn carpet to the kitchen’s speckled linoleum. She opened the fridge and pulled out a Fresca—her grandmother’s favorite. She didn’t usually drink soda, but today she needed one.
She went out to the sofa, sat down, and let her mom’s voice carry her away to the Philippines and slashing rain, wind whipped palm trees, and a rising sea.
“The house quickly filled with black, murky water,” Carol read Bradly’s account. “We knew the current could pull us out into the ocean, but if we stayed where we were, we would drown in a box of cement walls.”
Which made Andie think of the elevator. Her behavior now embarrassed her. Her little cousin, barely nineteen years old, faced a storm of a century with calm, while she, Andie, had come apart in a stuck elevator.
Her mom continued, “Some started to cry. I was scared, too, but I couldn’t let it show. I had to stay calm.” Carol put down the letter. “He’s so brave! His mom must be so proud!”
At least she hadn’t cried. Sure, she had kicked and screamed. And yes, she had broken a man’s glasses, but at least she hadn’t dissolved into tears. Although right now, she wanted to. She didn’t want to be the sort of woman who fell apart in trapped elevators. No. She needed to be strong, brave, and capable of out-swimming typhoons and staying calm in small spaces.
Carol picked up the letter again. “When we tried to open the door it wouldn’t budge. The water pressing from the outside and inside had sealed it shut.”
Andie didn’t know how much more she could listen to. She wanted to applaud Bradly, but when she compared her own behavior to his...valor...she felt small, insipid, and weak.
“We sang hymns and quoted scripture to stay sane.”
At this point, Andie walked out of the room. Maybe she would never know the choking smell of exhaust on the clogged streets, cold showers from a bucket, or the sweet smell of mangos. Maybe she belonged in Orange County with soft sheets, lavender soap, and quiet neighborhoods.
She wanted to be brave. She promised herself that someday she would travel to places like the Philippines. Her pictures would go viral as she exposed the excessive inequality of the world’s wealth. Through her photography, she would shine a bright light on the world’s poverty and injustices, she would...
Wait.
Where was her camera?
All at once, Andie’s racing heart returned.
WHIT
“I’m telling you, it’s the perfect plan!” Whit said.
Grayson laughed. “And I’m telling you it’s stupid. Why don’t you just man up and tell Mom and Vanessa to lay off?”
“Like that will work.” Whit pulled off his tie and threw it on the sofa. It still smelled of Vanessa’s perfume. How did she do that? How did she leave her scent clinging to everything? She was pervasive.
Grayson grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled down on the leather sofa. He frowned at Whit’s shoes lying on the carpet, but didn’t say anything about them. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. It takes some of the heat off of me.”
“The heat off of you?” Whit’s voice climbed an octave. “How could you have any heat? You are doing everything exactly the way Mom wants everything done. You’re manning the business. You’re marrying the girl.”
“But not the right sort of girl.”
“Kayla’s gorgeous, and she’s smart. So maybe she’s not Newport Old Money—”
“No connections,” Grayson muttered.
“But Mom didn’t have any either when she married Dad. Kayla is like a carbon copy of Mom.” Whit pointed his Heineken bottle at Grayson. “This girl from the elevator reminds me of Kayla. They share a look.”
“The photographer?” Grayson sat up suddenly. “Wait.” He laughed. “Let me see that camera.”
“It doesn’t have her name on it, I checked.”
Grayson motioned for the camera. Whit shrugged and handed it over.
“So it’s a perfect plan,” Grayson said, flicking it on. “Except that you don’t know how to find this girl.”
Whit nodded.
“I think I can find her for you.” A slow smile spread over Grayson’s face as he scrolled through the photos on the camera.
Whit knew that smile better than he knew his own. He had grown up being wary of it. Nothing good ever happened when Grayson smiled like that. It was the smile that prefaced words like, “Let’s break into the neighbor’s pool,” and “I know where the keys to the liquor cabinet are,” and “Dad won’t mind if we borrow the Bentley.”
“If I find you this girl and go along with your plan,” Grayson asked, setting the camera aside, “will you do something for me?”
“Like what?”
Grayson took a long drink from his beer. “Take over the Neilson account.”
Whit blew out a sigh.
“Old man Neilson loves you. He thinks you’re the modern day Hemmingway—minus the booze and depression.”
“And the beer belly.”
“Well, not yet, but maybe.”
“Hardly Hemmingway. I write for sports magazines. Do you even read my articles?”
“No! But Neilson does—and that’s all that matters.”
“Really? That’s all that matters? You’re getting married in a week, and Neilson is what matters?”
Grayson shook his head. “My wedding is exactly why I want to turn over the account.”
Whit sat up and put his beer on the table. “You really think you can find me this girl?”
The Grayson smile returned. “I know I can. She’s Kayla’s cousin. But, why this girl? What’s so special about her? She’s not even your type.”
“Exactly. That’s why this is so beautiful. She’s Mom’s type.”
Grayson smirked. “How is that? She’s not rich. She doesn’t have any connections. I doubt her family’s real estate holdings add up to more than a Rancho Santa Margarita stucco-throw-up.”
“She’s strong.” Whit smiled, remembering the feel of the girl in his arms. “She’s the sort that breaks men’s glasses and leaves.”
“Ah.” Grayson nodded. “She breaks ‘em and leaves ‘em.”
Whit pointed his thumb at his chest. “I can’t be broken.”
Grayson lifted an eyebrow. “And you want to be left.”
“Exactly.” Sometimes it was nice having a twin.