Flicking the lights on, Fredrick glanced up and smiled. “You should learn to appreciate the darkness.”

This was our routine every morning. I replied with my standard response. “Nothing good comes out darkness.”

“From darkness comes…”

“Light,” I said. “I know.”

Fredrick wiped the crumbs off the table into his wrinkled palm. Nearing eighty years old, he looked decades younger. I hadn’t seen him in anything other than a three-piece pinstriped suit and a silk necktie since I’d started working at Cafe Solo.

Fredrick had become a surrogate grandfather. He took me underneath his wing, providing a place for me to live and work. The tiny apartment above his garage would ordinarily rent for fifteen hundred a month but he’d cut me a deal, saying I reminded him of his granddaughter. She lived back home in Cuba with Fredrick’s daughter and he only saw them twice a year. Fredrick’s and my lack of family bonded us together in the first place. A regular at the diner I frequented, we got to know each other and forged a bond. Grabbing a rag, I cleaned Fredrick’s table of his dirty dishes. He waved the Los Angeles Times in the air.

“I read your article,” he bellowed. “Pure genius.”

I blushed. “I wouldn’t call it an article. It’s a blurb about my friend’s band.”

“Still, not everybody can say they wrote for the Los Angeles Times.”

“Guess that’s true.”

In my spare time, I also worked as a freelance journalist, something I fell into by chance. Los Angeles was a city of connections. Everybody knew everybody and had at least one valuable friend or family member in their back pocket. My co-worker Morgan’s father owned an independent art magazine. By accident, I’d left my journal lying open and she’d read my short story about the stolen sun. Morgan encouraged me to submit it to her father’s magazine. I did and it was accepted. The past couple of months, assignments had been steady, which was extra income to send to Andrew. I stuffed the checks in an envelope without a return address. Although, he hasn’t cashed a single one, it’s the principle of the matter.

“Why are you frowning?” Fredrick asked. “Thinking about the boy again?”

“Nope,” I lied.

There wasn’t a day that had gone by when Andrew didn’t enter my thoughts. For the past three months, he had called once a week and left a voicemail. Camilla wasn’t mentioned but her voice was once heard in the background. It was like having a scab ripped off. I didn’t understand why Andrew kept calling if they were together. Emotional cheating was still cheating. Nonetheless, I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss those phone calls if they stopped.

Dumping the dishes in the sink, I wiped my hands on my apron. Fredrick opened the cash register and began to stock the drawer.

“When my wife died, I thought I would never love again. She was my soul mate, my companion and best friend. What I came to find out though is that each love is unique,” Fredrick said.

“How did you get so incredibly wise?”

“That what happens when you turn seventy. A lifetime of experience catches up to you.”

“Seventy is the new twenty,” I joked.

Fredrick grinned while he counted the stack of bills he was holding. Dating and or loving someone else was a far ways off. It wouldn’t be fair to get in a relationship when your heart was reserved.

My hands twisted the dishrag into a knot. “Hey, are you sure it’s still ok if I leave for three days? I know Morgan wanted to go to that concert.”

“Of course. Your best friend’s wedding is more important than a concert. Go, enjoy, and breathe in some clean air.”

“Thank you. I’m leaving tonight and we will back in time for my shift on Tuesday.”

Fredrick slid a glance my way that said I was being crazy. “No you won’t. I’m forcing you to take a vacation. Four days without work won’t kill you.”

“I like work,” I pouted.

“No you like being distracted. You have gone five hundred miles per hour since you arrived in Los Angeles. Pump the brakes.”

Fredrick spoke the truth. I hadn’t had a moment to breathe or think, which was the point. Soon after I’d gotten the apartment, Sumiko moved in with me and then promptly moved out. She said I was cramping her style. Whatever that meant. She found a three bedroom sober living house in Detroit to share with a couple of other girls. We started a weekly phone call on Sundays to catch up. So far, she hasn’t touched a drop of heroin or alcohol.

“Fine, I’ll pump the brakes,” I conceded.

“Good. Can you make the sure espresso machine is cleaned before you leave today though? Morgan always forgets.”

I saluted Fredrick and turned the closed sign to open. The craziness began soon after.

Mallory and Clint decided to elope in Santa Cruz with the reception held in their parents’ friend’s backyard. On the way up there, I swung by the airport and picked up Monica who had become one of Mallory’s close friends as well. My absence had forced them together.

Although it would have been faster to drive the 405, I wanted to see the splendor that was the 101. The highway butted up against the white sand beaches, totally worth the extra two-hour drive.

Monica rolled down the window. “I love you, California!” Breathing deeply, she turned her face toward the sun and smiled.

Laughing, I forgot how brutal the winters were in Detroit. This must be heaven for Monica. The salty ocean air whipped her hair around her face but she didn’t seem to notice. Surfers shed their wetsuits behind towels and propped their boards against VW bugs and trucks alike. Eye candy at its finest.

Monica repositioned herself in her seat. “I’m jealous you live here.”

“Then move down and become my roommate. There are plenty of clubs you can work at here.”

“Yeah, but Detroit is my home. I grew up there and frankly, I can’t imagine leaving.”

“It’s easier to leave then you think.”

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “You didn’t leave. You ran.”

“True, I ran faster than you could count to three. There are too many bad memories in Detroit. My mother and Andrew have tainted it.”

“I think you’re giving your memories too much weight.” Anticipating an argument, she held up her hands. “Don’t yell at me. I’m simply stating my opinion.” She yanked her chair backwards and shut her eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”

“You are going to miss out on the beautiful views.”

“Fine. Wake me up in an hour.”

It didn’t take long before her breathing regulated. Monica had the unique ability to fall asleep anywhere. When we’d lived together, we had to do our laundry at the mat across the street. Monica would drift off in one of those hard plastic chairs while I twiddled my thumbs in boredom.

In the silence, Andrew’s face drifted in front of my gaze. My heart constricted in my chest and I punched the radio on. Right now wasn’t the time to get weepy. I had to concentrate on the twisty highway that was a sheer drop off the side. Rock’n Jill, the radio host, did nothing though. Nor did the eighties power ballads. Andrew’s and my relationship played like a romantic comedy montage with a fiery ending. Damn it! Monica shouldn’t have planted this seed in my mind. Now its gonna bug me on top of the thousand other thoughts that already do. Looking over at her, drool puddled in the corner of her lips. I smacked my hand against her headrest.

She jerked awake, startled, which turned into anger when she saw the car was still in one piece. “What the fuck?! I thought we got into a fender bender or something.”

My eyes narrowed. “You have no right to say what you said.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you had my memories, they would hold a certain amount of influence over you too.”