Chapter 1

Spring 2005

A few months ago, Sara had been so despondent she took a Muni to Golden Gate Bridge and almost jumped into the deep water below. Images of her daughter Jamie had flashed in front of her just as the Muni screeched to a halt at the bus stop. She shuddered as she remembered standing there while passengers got in the van and it left. Her whole body had trembled as she walked all the way to the Haight Ashbury free clinic.

Now, here she was, three months after that near-fatal day, hopping off the Hyde St. cable car at the turnaround in Fisherman’s Wharf, nodding at flower vendors while gusts snapped the cruise line’s blue and gold flags. The bay’s fishy odor whipped through the air in droplets as she grinned at a shivering tourist in plaid shorts who’d been wrong about San Francisco weather. She’d been wrong a lot herself.

“How about a portrait? Those strawberry blonde curls and green eyes would make a real neat contrast in pastels.” Sara stopped on her stroll to Pier 39 and turned toward the voice. A mustached artist facing an easel smiled.

Sara smirked. Contrasts? Story of my life.

“And I’ll bet your boyfriend would agree with me. I’d want one if you were my lady.” The artist lifted his hand to the pad as if to begin sketching.

“Not today.” She paused. “I don’t have anyone to give it to anyway.” That wasn’t true. There was Jamie. But Sara didn’t know if her daughter’s foster mother would let her have the picture. She shrugged and moved on. Who would understand? And who would care? Determined not to get back into the funk that led to her latest problems, she quickened her pace. After spending thirty days in rehab and the last two months trying to get back on her feet with outpatient group sessions and AA meetings, she knew only too well how close to the edge she’d been. At least now she had some tools, as the counselors called them, to help keep her from tumbling over it.

After her detox, they had encouraged her to try all kinds of hobbies to aid her recovery, and she’d learned she was good at painting watercolors. She’d always sketched, but no one had ever encouraged her before, so she hadn’t done much more than charcoals. Who could she blame for that? She knew who, for all the good it did. They’d tried to pry the painful facts out of her in group, but she was a rock. She left without ever divulging her life’s sordid truths, and so far, she’d resisted the AA confessional, too. Let them speculate. She’d done enough of that her whole goddamn life.

Stopping every now and then at a booth, Sara recalled her counselor’s words: Face the past to fix the future, or something like that. Even though she’d zoned out a lot, some thoughts stuck, and now she wanted to get her life together—get Jamie back, not just once-a-week visits and phone calls only when the foster parents allowed them. She was working on it, but it was hard. Sara pulled out a Marlboro and lit up, ignoring dirty looks from passersby.

At the pier’s entrance, a booth showcasing handcrafted turquoise and silver jewelry caught her eye. The jewelry reminded her of Jon and Leah. She hadn’t thought of them in ages. Why should she? As far as she knew, they hadn’t thought of her. But why would they? She was never really their responsibility. She walked over to the booth, remembering the jewelry they’d made when the three of them lived together. As a young child, she had been fascinated watching them and was thrilled when they let her hold the stones in her small hands, calling her their little helper.

Squinting against the sun, Sara shaded her eyes. No way. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Things like this just didn’t happen. Or did they? The man with the thinning, gray ponytail looked like an older version of Jon. What she could recall anyway. Not possible. Too coincidental. She began to walk past the booth, but when the man looked up and smiled, she froze.  She’d never believed in fate or synchronicity, but maybe she would now because she was pretty sure it was Jon. He was crafting a bracelet similar to one he’d let her help with years ago. Shaking, she stopped at the booth where he bent over the table, twisting an intricate gem tool into the bracelet. The woman beside him looked up at Sara, smiled, and said, “Hi.” The man was now so absorbed in his work that he didn’t glance up.

Sara opened her mouth but air was all that escaped.  Finally, one word popped out. “Jon?”

The man raised his head, looked Sara over, and frowned. “Do I know you?”

“You’re Jon, right?” Now she was sure. She’d remember that gruff voice and those hazel eyes anywhere even surrounded by crow's feet.

He nodded, still frowning but put down his tools and searched Sara’s face for recognition.

“Leah. You used to be with Leah.” The words slid from Sara’s lips as if she were in a trance.

He stood up and leaned on the table. “Yes. Yes. Leah.” His frown softened, making him look more like the younger Jon of Sara’s childhood—what she could remember of it. “But, who . . .”

Sara hesitated. He didn’t know her as Sara, and she wasn’t prepared to speak the name her mother had given her. “I’m your, uh, little helper.” When Jon squinted, cocked his head and scratched it, Sara finally squeezed out the name she hadn’t heard in years. “Orchid.”

“Oh my God, Orchid! Little Orchid.” Jon rushed around the table and embraced her in a bear hug then pulled back and dropped his hands. “Not so little anymore. Almost as tall as me.” He measured with his hand. The top of her head reached nearly to his nose. For a moment, she wanted to pummel him with her fists. After all, she didn’t really know why he’d left but figured if fate had stepped in now, at least she could give him a chance to explain.

He stared at her without blinking. “All grown up. Little Orchid has blossomed into a full-grown, lovely flower.” He finally blinked but didn’t take his eyes off her.

Sara felt tears form and struggled to keep them in check, but a few trickled down her cheeks. “You remember me.” Her quavering words came in a surprised, singsong rhythm. “You remember me . . .”

“Of course I do, Orchid.” Jon’s lips curled into a tentative smile.

Sara could tell he didn’t know what to say or how to act any more than she did. All she knew was that anger seemed to be gurgling up, swallowing the initial elation she felt at seeing him.

“I’m Sara now, Jon.” But maybe I wouldn’t have been if you’d stayed. It took lots of strength not to say the last part out loud.

“Sara?” He raised his eyebrows.

She nodded. “Sara Jenkins,” she declared, emphasizing her last name.

“Well, Sara Jenkins it is then.” He turned to the woman at the booth. “This is Melanie.”

“Hi.” She extended her hand.

Sara hesitated for a second then shook Melanie’s hand.

Jon kept staring, and she knew he was still uncomfortable. She said nothing, but he finally spoke. “You had lunch?” Sara shook her head, but words eluded her. He turned to Melanie. “Can you cover things here for a while?”

“Sure.” She reached into a canvas bag and pulled out a sprout-filled pita sandwich. “Got plenty here, so you two go ahead and catch up.”

The two walked side by side but a foot apart for several booths until Jon broke the silence. “Let’s head down the pier to Sea Lion Cafe. They’ve got the best view.” He grinned but quickly looked away. She knew he was trying to set them both at ease, but it would take a lot more than small talk for that. They walked in silence as they passed the Italian handcrafted carousel. Music floated like a wispy cloud as children circled round and round, rising and dipping on their horses, chariots, tubs, and swings. She sighed when a smiling, dark-haired girl circled around in a rocking chariot. How she’d love to see Jamie smile like that. Would she ever? She looked away, stiffened, and walked on. She didn’t want to see any more happy children.

On the way to their table, a busboy turned and ran right into Sara. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room, and customers stopped eating long enough to look at them. Sara looked at the floor until the tinkling sound of utensils against plates started again. The busboy didn’t seem able to move until a manager appeared with a broom and an apology. Sara nodded it was okay. As they were seated at one of the tables against the panoramic wall of windows, Sara glanced out and saw Coit Tower’s silhouette, which appeared very small from this distance. Out in the water sat an isolated Alcatraz. Before her attitude slid into murky depths, barking sea lions broke her reverie. Following the sound, she saw hordes of them on the rocks below. Just as everything was about to overwhelm her, Jon spoke.

“What’d I tell you about the view?” He pulled out her chair, and she sat down. “Awesome, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Awesome was the right word, but not the one she wanted to hear from Jon. She picked up the menu. What did she want to hear? Even ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t make her feel better now. Some things just come too late to matter.

“Hi, I’m Lois, and I’ll be your server today.” The woman smiled at them. “What can I get you to drink?”

Jon looked at Sara. “Need a minute?”

She turned to Lois. “Diet Coke.”

“That stuff will kill you.”

Sara opened her menu—she wouldn’t allow him to tell her what was best.

He turned to Lois. “Corona for me.”

Sara stared at the menu. The words were all running together. It seemed barely a minute before their drinks arrived and Lois stood with her pad.

Jon waited for Sara. She glanced at him. “Go ahead.”

He shrugged. “I’ll have fish and chips.” He handed Lois his menu.

“I’ll have the same.”

When Lois left, Jon picked up his Corona while Sara sipped her Coke. Why had she said yes to lunch? What could they say to each other? Truth was she didn’t know if she could ever say what she wanted to.

Jon broke the silence. “How have things been for you? What are you doing these days?”

Sara shrugged. Did he really want to know? Wouldn’t she just love to see his expression when she filled him in on her lovely life? Lovely flower? Ha. What a joke. Silence hung over them like a wet sheet.

“So, what are you now, twenty, aah . . .”

She couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t even get her age right. “Thirty-three.” Thirty-three godawful—well mostly anyway—years if you really want to know. But of course, she didn’t add that.

“Wow!” He slapped the table. “Has it been that long?”

“Yes, it has.” Let him think about that. God, this wasn’t getting any easier. Damn, why was she so mad at him? Well, who else was around to be pissed at? Might as well spill some of it. “Not long after you and Leah split, I got shuffled from one foster home to another. No one ever told me what happened back then.” There. You asked. I answered. She folded her arms, slumped back, and wondered what he thought of that.

     “But why?” Jon looked puzzled as he leaned across the table. “Why couldn’t you stay with Leah?”

Sara shook her head. “Not sure, but I started kindergarten the week after I went to live someplace else, so maybe it had to do with school and records.” She picked up a napkin, flipped it over, and smoothed it out. “Just a guess. How could I really be sure? I was too young to figure it out back then.” She looked up at him.

Jon stared into space. “I didn’t know.”

She believed he was trying to find the words to say he was sorry, but what would that change?

He shook his head and grabbed his beer. “Everything went to shit back then.”

“Yeah, for me anyway.”

Jon guzzled the rest of his Corona and signaled for another. She was getting to him. Good. Let him suffer, too. He asked, so here goes. She took a deep breath. “I ended up with no mom and no last name. I don’t even know my real birthday.” She glared as if he were to blame for everything. “So, what do you know?” He’d better tell her now or else. Or else what? What could she really do to him? Or any of them for that matter. There’s no way she could be repaid for what she lost. Stop it. Stop it. Just see what he has to say. She folded her arms.

Lois set their food on the table along with Jon’s Corona, a bottle of ketchup, and a shaker of vinegar, and said, “Anything else?”

Jon and Sara shook their heads.

“Enjoy your meal then.” Lois scooted off.

Jon grabbed a fry and dropped it. “Hot.” He shook his hand then blew on it.

Sara cut a piece of fish and nibbled on it. “Well?” She’d waited a long time for answers, and she was sure he could provide some. He wasn’t going to run off this time, no matter how uncomfortable he was. She could tell him all about uncomfortable if he really wanted to know.

Jon looked at Sara and shrugged. “I don’t know where to begin.” He doused his fish with vinegar. “You know the old saying, ‘If you remember the sixties, you weren’t there’?”

“I wasn’t born in the sixties.”

“No, but the sixties weren’t limited to a decade.” He wolfed down a piece of fish. “The sixties mind-set ran well into the seventies, so that includes when you were born.” He grabbed another piece of fish.

Sara dipped a fry in ketchup. “Are you telling me you don’t remember anything?”

“No. Just that details are fuzzy, so I don’t know if I’ll be much help.”

Sara bit down hard on the fry. Un-freaking-believable. Insult heaped upon insult. That was the story of her life. “You can’t tell me when the two of you met my mother?”

“It’s complicated.” He shoved a few fries in his mouth.

“I think it’s a pretty simple question.” She drummed her fingers.

“You see, I sort of met your mom first, but not really.”

What the hell was he saying?

“I was living on the streets here and there with other hippies. Then I stumbled into a commune where your mom was, and we kind of hooked up.”

Sara’s eyes widened.

He picked up his beer and glugged it down. “We just spent a few weeks together before I split.”

Sara leaned forward. “But you must’ve met up again later?”

“Yeah, down the road, after I was with Leah. We wound up at a commune that your mom was living at. I remember you crawling all over the place and getting into everything, but I don’t remember your mom saying much about when you were born.”

“So, I must’ve been around six months, I guess. When would that have been?”

“Sorry.” He squinted as if trying to pull out the lost memory. “Can’t remember.”

“So what, my mother never celebrated my birthday?” She jabbed a piece of fish and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Man, I really wish I could tell you more.”

Sara shoved her plate aside. “I found out that a birthday was picked for me. My social worker let that slip, but I don’t know the facts.” Her voice cracked, but she was not going to cry, not, not, not.

“I’m sure your mom celebrated your birthday, but Leah and me, we kind of came and went, so we weren’t always around. I just can’t recall being there for a celebration. But Leah was the one who picked your birthday. Later that is. When you were with us.” Jon ate his last bite and pushed away his plate. “We, uh, just kind of guestimated, you know? Leah said you needed a special day, so we chose the first day of spring because it symbolized new beginnings.” He swigged his Corona. “We’d settled in at the commune before your mom had to leave. I think maybe it was a couple of months?”

Sara shook her head. This was too much. “She didn’t really know you but left me with you?”

“Remember, your mom and me had a history.”

“History? Yeah, it’s mine we’re trying to figure out.”

“I’m doing my best.” He flipped his pony tail. “I do remember your mom leaving you with Leah when she went to work.” He looked at Sara. “See, your mom actually worked at a regular job. I think it was some boutique in, uh, North Beach. Or was it the Haight? Anyway, since you and Leah spent a lot of time together, you got real close.”  

“And that was good enough?” She thought about Mrs. Baxter and Jamie. How well had she really known Jamie’s babysitter? Apparently not well enough, as it turned out.

Sara wanted to run and hide someplace where she could sort through all she’d learned. But she hadn’t gotten everything she needed yet. “Is that all you know?”

He frowned. “You said you didn’t know your mom’s last name, right?”

She shook her head and held a steady gaze. “All I know is her first name, Fiona.”

“I thought Leah knew all that stuff?”

She didn’t blink and could barely speak. “Didn’t seem to. At least that’s what I recall when the social worker came for me.” She crumpled a napkin then looked up at him.

Jon shifted in his seat. “What did happen?”

“Really want to know?”