Lost in LA Page 26

  The woman sank to the couch and cradled her cheeks. “Oh my God. Do you have cancer?”

  Wylie winced and met Nolan’s gaze. He smiled and focused on his work, leaving her to fend for herself. “Nope. Just asthma.”

  Neil and Rikard climbed the stairs from the ground floor and paused to take in the scene. Neil mumbled a few words about chores and the men disappeared to the top floor without further comment or concern for her well-being. Well, at least they’re getting back to normal.

  When they returned, they carried Jack’s belongings back to the ground floor. The creaking garage door and the sound of steady footsteps told Wylie the techie’s brooding threats would soon be gone for good, but she could not ignore the pang of empathy she felt for him. Where will he go? I can’t let Nolan solve one problem and leave two in its wake. She considered Antonia’s hovering presence. “Antonia, would you mind giving Nolan and me a few minutes to talk alone?”

  “I could draw you a bath.”

  “Just some quiet time would be good.”

  Her face fell.

  Wylie reached for her hand. “Thanks so much for looking after me these last few days.”

  “Any time! You deserve it. The way you spoke about Penny Lane and the things she’s been through? It was just so humanizing. I mean, I’m never going to look at a homeless person the same way again.”

  But do I deserve it? Wylie wondered, hoping she had found a way to do good. Reservations for her next yoga session had gone through the roof. She knew people would come to satisfy their curiosity but wondered if they would stay to develop their practice. “Penny Lane deserves the credit,” she said. “Dougie is her friend. The only thing I did was legitimize her story, and that worries me more than anything else. Why does my testimony mean more than hers?”

  “Because you’re putting yourself out there. You’ve got something to lose.”

  She nodded, remembering Penny Lane’s admonishment on the windswept beach. ‘You’re so young. Don’t you see how many options you have left?’

  When Antonia left to give them a reprieve, Wylie dropped her pretenses and looked at Nolan with blatant curiosity, wondering what effects the last two days of distance had wrought on the bones of their relationship. When the contrivances were stripped away, was there anything left but lust?

  Every time she had descended from her room, she had found him hovering at the perimeter of the common space, laptop and cell phone in hand while he kept her in sight. His constant presence had allowed him to plan Modesto’s expansion and given her the reassurance she needed that he would be there when she felt ready to discuss their next steps. “I’m fine,” she said to break the tension when he remained quiet and returned to his work.

  “I know you’re fine,” he said without looking up.

  “How do you know that?”

  Their gazes met. “Your color’s back.”

  Wylie touched her cheek. He’s seen so much of my color. Am I willing to throw away that type of intimacy to maintain my independence? She stood and wrapped Antonia’s blanket around her body like a shield. “Metro Movement asked Penny Lane and me to be ambassadors for its program, Steps to End Homelessness.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What does that entail?”

  She thought of the ubiquitous social organization guiding community charities throughout her childhood. Every holiday seemed to come with a tie-in to the city’s humble defender. Metro Movement collected funds for local charities, coordinated relief services, counseled and referred clients to cooperating agencies, and stepped up to the plate with emergency assistance grants when they ran out of partner resources. “Pro bono work.”

  “You’re going to teach yoga?”

  She thought of the homeless camp and wondered how many residents would humor her efforts to refine their mind, body and spirit. “Not quite. I’m leaning on my new notoriety to keep spreading the word about their efforts. Their 5k is coming up soon.”

  “Mini Mako strikes again.”

  She pulled out a chair and tried not to look at the contract language and columns of numbers spread before him. His camaraderie with Cynthia had seemed so approachable, even from the vaulted height of the food truck. She wondered if she would have bantered with him if she’d understood the scope of his ambitions.

  “They’ve partnered with businesses, philanthropists and government services to end homelessness by providing long-term housing and supportive care to those who need it.”

  He nodded and kept typing, answering messages she had no right to see. She sighed and propped her head on her hand, wondering if his question had been rhetorical or an easy way to keep the conversation flowing between them.

  “They’ve already got a bunch of social media ambassadors, but Penny Lane made it clear she wants to do more and I feel like I’m in a position to help her with the transition. She reached out to me when I needed a friend. I want to do the same for her and help her navigate this.”

  Nolan’s hands stilled. “Her life has changed a lot in forty-eight hours.”

  Wylie bit her lip, knowing he spoke the truth. Her friend no longer needed Wylie’s offer of a couch or a place to rest her head. If the woman maintained her current momentum, she would be the person offering roofs and warm beds to those who needed them.

  After the interview, an organization focused on limited equity cooperatives had tapped Penny Lane to be their social services liaison. The organization created and preserved affordable housing for very low-income individuals and families, but needed someone who understood the needs of the residents they served. Penny Lane’s televised testimony about the needs of their community members had struck a chord with their leadership. While they assembled sites and funding to expand the supply of affordable housing, she would collect a paycheck by earning the trust of the people who needed their help the most.

  “You were right about something, Nolan. So many people are trying to solve the homeless problem with grassroots campaigns. They’re attempting to make an impact through events tailored to their specific communities. But what if they’re only tackling the things they see? The things they feel they can bite off?”

  His hands stilled and she kept talking, seizing his attention. “The week before Thanksgiving is National Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week. It started at Villanova in 1975. That’s, like, forty-five years ago.”

  He smiled. “I’m pretty good at math.”

  “Well, I’m not.” She adjusted the blanket cradling her chest. “I would have just rounded it and said two decades.”

  “Two decades ago was the year 2000.”

  She bit her lip and enjoyed the glimpse of humor that had first drawn her to him. This man needs to do more than sit behind a boardroom table. “The Greater Los Angeles Steps to End Homelessness 5K run-walk has mobilized close to a hundred thousand participants and raised close to nine million dollars. It’s happening in May and I want Modesto to be there.”

  “Wylie, I’m glad you read your talking points, but”—he held up his hand when she tried to cut him off—“Modesto’s not ready for that kind of launch. I’m not ready for that kind of launch.”

  She loosened her grip on the blanket and let it pool around her. “How long are you going to fine-tune your menu?”

  He turned the laptop screen and revealed rows of menu items and neat columns describing cost, preparation time and caloric content. “The menu’s done.”

  “So bring the food truck to the event. Sponsor one of the stages and tell people how they can help you accomplish your goals—low prices, no guilt, no empty stomachs.”

  “Why does it have to be me sponsoring their event? Why can’t they help us deliver our message? You can just slip it into your speech if you get a chance.”

  His quiet resistance stirred the embers of her heart. She had listened to him move through the house and recognized the stillness when he paused at the top of the stairs. He had so many resources, but years of second-guessing motives had taught him to hold on to his dr
eams until they were perfect and defendable. Is that why he opened his heart and his home to me? Because I asked nothing in return?

  She had lain in bed, weak from the asthma attack, wishing she could roll over and take comfort in his arms. For a while, she had simply wanted to open her door and tell him they could go back to being friends with benefits, no questions asked. She imagined them spending their days sitting on the beach like anonymous tourists, on vacation from pursuing their dreams. Experience told her that wouldn’t be possible. She had learned enough about Nolan’s fierce loyalty to refrain from distracting Nolan with that path. She had done nothing to deserve his interest or jeopardize what he could accomplish. The best thing she could do would be to move out of the house.

  “It won’t pack the same punch,” she said. “I’ve already got my marching orders. Beachside yoga and social ambassador. You’re the one with the dream to transform a community. You’re the one who needs to articulate it.”

  Nolan closed his laptop screen. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’ll think about it?” She cocked her head. “Are you afraid to launch?”

  “No, but I’m as stubborn as you are, Wylie. I’ll do it on my terms. That’s the thing about finally putting your heart on the line. You have to be willing to accept the consequences if you fail.”

  “You’re not going to fail,” she whispered.

  “Then join me. Think about what you’re going to do when Penny Lane picks up the tab for your next coffee. Think about how many people you could help by building something big. I’m not asking you to give up your yoga practice, I’m asking you to give me the time you would have spent at a corporate gig. Drop the accreditation schemes and come to work for Modesto.”

  “I need health insurance,” she said.

  “Great, you’ll have it. What else do you need to feel secure?”

  She noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes and wondered if she had been the only one wide awake in the middle of the night. “We just met, Nolan. How can you ask me to jeopardize my independence to support your dream?”

  He came around the table and leaned toward her until she closed her eyes, memorizing the hint of citrus, mint and spice that lingered in her dreams, knowing she could soon lose it.

  “Wylie, I’d ask you to marry me if I thought you’d say ‘yes’.”

  “What?” she asked, eyes wide open now.

  He pulled back and met the surprise in her gaze. “Do you understand how serious I am? I’m asking you for the chance to build something greater than the two of us. Our fake relationship is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time, but I don’t have the luxury of looking over my shoulder and wondering if you’re all in. I need to know you’re there, by my side, happy with the decisions we’re making together.”

  “I just needed a place to stay,” she said.

  “Well, you’ve got a hell of a lot more, if you want it.” Her mouth opened, but he left her feeble protest lingering between them as he climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  Wylie closed her mouth. Twenty-six felt a long way from the romance of sixteen and the practicality of thirty-six. Who mentions marriage in Los Angeles unless they mean it? Her lease said she had as much right to be in the house as Nolan did, but the man had changed the stakes. She stayed seated at the table, staring at her reflection in the picture window.

  Now which one of us is afraid to launch?

  Chapter Eighteen

  A night spent tossing and turning had left Wylie feeling restless. I live in a mansion, but money can’t buy peace of mind. She swung her legs over the side of the single bed and stretched. Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

  “Good. I feel a little bit stronger every time I eat something. My strength is coming back too. The attack was just so hard on my body.”

  “I put some muffins in the mail. It’s a new recipe. I want you to eat some and share some with your roommate, Nolan.”

  Wylie closed her eyes. “He’s a little bit more than a roommate.”

  Silence dominated the line. “Well, I assumed that must be the case. Nobody pauses their life to take charge of a stranger’s care.”

  Some people do.

  “I could still come down there,” her mother said. “Play nurse. Make sure you have what you need.”

  “No, I’m okay.” She cleared her throat and thought about Patty’s education and the social and cultural experiences conveyed by her Jewish mother. “You already gave me what I need to keep going. You got up every day and finished your list of tasks because you wanted to have it all, nineties style. I’m not sure that combination will work out for me, but I appreciate what you and Dad did to have it all. Your work ethic is good and I’m starting to think it’s the most valuable asset I have.”

  “Your dad and I are proud of you, sweetheart, but you don’t have to do this all on your own. We could help.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I couldn’t have raised you on my own. Your dad loves you dearly, but he’s also a lifesaver when it comes to getting things done.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

  “So, it’s okay to lean on someone. Sometimes having a partner is the greatest risk and the greatest reward.”

  “My yoga practice is kind of a one-woman show,” Wylie said, unwilling to elevate Nolan’s presence in her life when she had no idea how she wanted the script to play out. “I guess I could find another instructor and offer more classes. I like what I do, but I need a path toward benefits.”

  “A studio job might also give you a pension.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Her mom sighed. “We should have brought you along when we refinanced our mortgage and reviewed our annual retirement contributions. It might have helped you choose another route.”

  Wylie could imagine the angst of shifting in a pleather chair while a suit droned on about tax brackets and refunds. “Please, no.” Give me the people.

  Her mom sighed. “I mean, we did the best with what we had. You know that?”

  “You did well,” Wylie said, sensing her mom’s uncertainties and hurrying to alleviate them. “Your lessons on money management didn’t turn me into a corporate lawyer, but you taught me to keep fighting and planning. I appreciate those traits and they’ve made me a better person. There’s no way I would let down my clients like Cynthia did.”

  Her mom tsk-tsked. “What was that woman thinking?”

  Wylie decided to save that conversation for another day. “The point is, being a pampered princess might have been fun, but understanding the ins and outs of life was, like, good, you know—good in the long run. So, thanks.”

  “Sweetheart, what kind of drugs did they give you at the hospital?”

  Wylie laughed. “You know, I’m glad the sellers accepted your offer for the contemporary home you showed me. You and Dad deserve it after decades of working hard, and one day I’ll have room to come visit.”

  Her mother laughed. “We could have worked a lot less, but we wanted you to have the best. Maybe we should have tried harder to hide the daily stress, but you always wanted to help. You always wanted to understand the tradeoffs behind the benefits.”

  “I wanted to be the blasé princess,” she admitted, “but I think it helped me understand your moods when life got hard. It wasn’t me stressing you out.”

  “No. It wasn’t you. It was everything we wanted versus everything we had—month after month of trying to make it all work out. Looking back, the work paid off.”

  “You’re not disappointed in me?” She closed her eyes, expecting her mother to soften her response. “You’re not disappointed I bailed on college and decided to do this whole yoga thing?”

  “We could never be disappointed in you, Wylie. You were worth every moment of stress.”

  She walked toward the window, giving herself time to digest the comment. Well, there was that time in high school I stole
a pack of cigarettes from the corner store.

  Her mother cleared her throat. “You’ve always been very observant and sensitive to other people’s needs. Instead of nursing or psychotherapy, you found a way to guide people toward inner peace that makes you happy. It’s very new age, but we’re proud of you for making it work.”

  “But?” Wylie asked, hearing the note of hesitation in her mother’s response.

  “Just make sure it’s still the right decision. There’s nothing wrong with spending a few years on one venture before trying another one. You’re only twenty-six.”

  Twenty-six feels like an eternity when you’re in high school and a blink of the eye when you’re looking back. She smiled. “It’s hard to keep track of what that means. Sometimes I feel like I’m clueless and sometimes I feel like I’ve made decisions that will impact the rest of my life.”

  Her mother laughed. “Well, you just get out of bed each morning and keep going as long as you can. Your father and I never saw it coming, but we’re enjoying our new life in Oregon. You never know what’s waiting just down the river.”

  I’m not even going to think of Nolan, asleep in that big bed just down the hall. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “I have to go. It’s my first class back on the beach.”

  “It’s so soon. Couldn’t you take a longer break?”

  “Maybe, but I’m already out of bed. I might as well keep going.”

  “Eat the muffins,” her mother said. “They’re full of protein.”

  “Maybe you could send me the recipe?”

  “You’ve started cooking?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, “but I think Nolan’s always on the lookout for new items.”

  “Interesting.”

  Wylie shook her head. “Just the recipe, Mom.”

  “I’ll email it tonight.”

  That’s so cute and old school. She pressed the home button on her phone and navigated to the app she used to monitor class reservations. It had been two in the morning the last time she’d checked her class count. Now she had twenty-three registered participants. That’s a good class, but a fraction of what I need to chart a new course. I’ll just keep going until I get it done.