Silent Fall

The cynical side of him wanted to say she was just acting, making the whole thing up, but if that were the case, she was a hell of a good actress. And in view of their recent discussion about lying, he doubted she was conning him. So, if she wasn’t pretending, then maybe she did have some sort of odd telepathy going on with Erica. Whatever -- he was in no position to judge or analyze or push her away.
    Not that he wanted to push her away. In fact, for a second he’d been tempted to yank her into his arms. Somehow he’d fought the temptation to touch her, and that was a good thing. Catherine was like a hot wire: If he got too close he would get shocked. But still he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be inside all that passion and turmoil and energy. Would he feel what she felt? Would he see what she saw? He’d never considered sex any kind of mystical experience, but he had a feeling that with Catherine it would be out of this world.
    Clearing his throat, he turned on the radio, needing something to break the silence and the tension rapidly building inside him. He searched for a news station, grateful to hear mundane topics like street closures for Sunday’s open-air market and the latest weather and traffic. Being home made him feel stronger, more confident, almost normal. San Francisco was his town. He was playing on his turf now.
    "This is a beautiful city," Catherine murmured. "I love the hills and the bay."
    "That doesn’t surprise me. You live by the beach. You must have an affinity for the water."
    "I do, especially the ocean. It just keeps coming in, day after day. There’s something comforting about the predictability. You grew up here, right?"
    He nodded. "Yeah. I’ve lived here most of my life, except for the couple of years I spent across the bay with Jake and the three years I was in Sacramento when I first got out of school. For a while I wasn’t sure I would come back. In some ways I felt like San Francisco was my father’s town, but I decided not to let his presence prevent me from accepting a great job."
    "What’s that over there?" Catherine asked, pointing to a nearby pier lined with dozens of shops and restaurants as well as street performers and exhibits.
    "That’s Pier Thirty-Nine. It’s a tourist attraction: cafés, boutiques, a merry-go-round in the middle. Next to the pier is the Blue and Gold ferry that takes people out on the bay and over to Alcatraz. And coming up on your right is Fisherman’s Wharf, one of the city’s most famous landmarks. If we had time we could stop and get some crab. They have some of the best seafood in the world right here."
    "Sounds good. Maybe after we find Erica we can celebrate."
    "I like the way you say when , not if ."
    "I’m trying to be optimistic."
    "But you’re not, are you?"
    "I’ll feel better when we get to that building."
    "It’s not far." He stopped at a red light. "You know, I used to ride my bike down here when I was a kid. I hated being at home, so I’d stay out as late as possible, especially on the weekends, when my father would be around. I even learned how to juggle and walk on stilts so I could make some money."
    Her eyes widened. "You put out your hat and did a little act?"
    "When I was fourteen," he said with a short laugh. "Hey, I was good. The tourists loved me, especially the girls. I made some bucks."
    "I’ll bet you did. What did you do with all the cash?"
    "Saved it for when my dad kicked me out. I knew it would happen. It was inevitable. In fact, it was a relief. Once I got out of his house I felt like a weight had slipped off of me. I was finally free."
    "Did your father ever remarry?"
    "No, but there were various women in his life over the years. He didn’t bring them around the house much. I don’t know if he was afraid we’d embarrass him or if he just wanted to keep us separate. In retrospect, I think that was it. He didn’t want anyone to see the man he was at home, just the man he was at work and out at parties -- the big man. Last year he started seeing a new woman; Rachel Montgomery is her name. I only know that because they’ve been on the society page of the newspaper a few times. And when I went by the house a few months ago, the housekeeper, Mrs. Rogers, told me that Rachel had moved into the house, so maybe she’s the one for him."
    "Would that bother you?"
    "I don’t care one way or the