My Year of Casual Acquaintances (South Bay #1)

9.

As we sip coffee on the club’s pool deck and munch on the fresh croissants I picked up at the Village Shops bakery, Sunny reveals the whole sad story. “It’s true I’m living in my car. I didn’t mean to tell Michael, but I’m not a good liar, and when he pressed me for specifics, the truth spilled out.”

I sigh. “You don’t need to apologize for the truth, Sunny. But why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I almost did yesterday morning, but the time wasn’t right. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“How—how does that work, exactly? Living in your car, I mean.” My privileged life has given me little first-hand experience with homelessness. In my na?ve imagination, a homeless woman is the grimy figure who mumbles incoherently, her uncombed hair hanging down in oily strands as she pushes a shopping cart along back alleyways, her few grungy belongings stuffed into the basket of the cart. A homeless woman is not supposed to look well-groomed, hygienic, and normal like Sunny.

“The way it works is that Seaside Fitness has become my primary residence. The club is open from six a.m. till eleven at night, so it’s a place where I can shelter indoors, exercise, watch TV, read on the sundeck, and drink the free coffee.”

“But doesn’t it arouse suspicion for you to be hanging out here all day long?”

“It would, so I don’t. There are other safe places where I like to spend time . . . the library, the mall, the beach on nice days.”

“So the club is more of a home base.”

“Right. I can shower as often as I like and use all those nice-smelling amenities in the locker room . . . shampoo, lotion, all that. Rosie in the housekeeping department has taken me under her wing, and she sneaks a load or two of my clothes into the club laundry every week.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“The parking lot around the back of the club is for employees, and a section of that lot is off the beaten path. I can park my car there overnight and nobody will hassle me.”

I lick buttery croissant crumbs off my fingers. My brain is exploding with questions I’m reluctant to ask. As if reading my mind, Sunny says, “You must be wondering how I came to this sad state of affairs.”

“Yes, I am. But you don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

“I do want to. It’ll be a relief to clear the air. And even though we haven’t known each other long, I think of you as a friend I can trust.”

“Thanks. Same here.” I reach over and take her hand. “I never would have left you in charge of Benny otherwise. Learning about your circumstances doesn’t change that for me.”

She smiles for the first time today. “I figured you’d drop me like hot coals when you found out. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Anyway, it’s been about four months since I had to give up my apartment.”

“What happened?”

“My mom had Alzheimer’s for the last few years of her life. While she could still make decisions, she asked to stay in her own home. It was a costly choice, but I went along with her wishes.”

“You were a good daughter. So you were close to your mother?” I shudder, thinking of how Mum and I would fare in that situation. At least money wouldn’t be an issue.

An unreadable look crosses Sunny’s face. “Mother was—both my parents were in their forties when they had me. It caused problems for them. We had a complicated relationship.”

“My mum was in her twenties when I was born, but my dad was forty-two and never had the energy to keep up with me.” I smile at the memory of him. “He was a dear though.”

Now Sunny is the one to shudder. “Dear isn’t a term I’d apply to my father.” Her green eyes darken as though a storm cloud has settled over her. Despite her name, I suspect my kind-hearted friend has not had such a sunny life after all.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“My father? Not really.” She sighs. “Anyway, for the first year or so after the Alzheimer’s diagnosis, Mother managed okay on her own—well, with me helping out with shopping, appointments, that sort of thing. But as time went on, I had to hire a caregiver. Eventually, her money went. Then my money went. Then my boyfriend didn’t like the way I was handling the situation, and he went.” She utters a mirthless laugh.

“Lovely of him.”

“Oh, there were extenuating circumstances; he had a job opportunity out of town. Anyway, I can’t put it all on Todd. I made some bad decisions. When I saw the money running out, I panicked and cut back with the caregiver. Then I had to keep missing work to stay with Mother myself. Eventually, I got fired.”

“Sounds like a no-win situation,” I say. “I take it she’s gone now?”

“Yes, she died about six months ago.”

“Weren’t you able to make money from the sale of her house or live in it yourself?” I think of my own windfall when I opted to leave our marital home and put it on the market.

She shakes her head. “Mother lived in a rental property. I never imagined something like this happening to me, not having a roof over my head. But it’s not as awful as you might think. Sometimes I make it into a kind of game, like a survival challenge on reality television.” Then she smiles. “Sounds too dramatic, doesn’t it?” Sunny gestures at the sparkling Olympic pool near our lounge seats, the boats bobbing in the harbor, the water lapping against the jetty with a lulling rhythm. “This place isn’t what you’d call a hellhole. The club has been a godsend, no question about it. Except . . .” She frowns.

“What?”

“My annual membership runs out at the end of the month. I can renew on a month-to-month basis, but even that will be unaffordable for me at this point.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

I pause, mulling over how to tell her what I’m about to say. “Listen, Sunny. I stopped at the ATM this morning. I’ve got cash in my glove compartment. How much are the monthly dues?”

“One hundred and ten dollars. But Mar, I can’t accept money from you.”

“Why not? For one thing, I owe you for babysitting.”

“Maybe so, but not a hundred bucks. Anyway, I don’t—”

I thrust out one arm, my hand flexed back with fingers splayed in a gesture that says stop. “I’m giving you two hundred dollars. That will take care of next month’s membership and maybe help a little with your other expenses. Do you need more?”

“No. I’m getting unemployment benefits, but it’s not enough to live on. This would be a huge help, but I’m concerned it might be a financial strain for you. You’ve never told me your story either, but you’re a single woman living in a small apartment. A small but nice apartment.”

“I assure you it will not be a strain. I’m fortunate I don’t have to worry about money.” I’ve said this before, but until now they were empty words. It took Sunny to help me appreciate how blessed I am by comparison. Though I don’t get into the details with her, the truth is Henry has been generous in the divorce settlement, I am gainfully employed doing work that I love, and it’s never a struggle to put food – or expensive wine, for that matter – on the table.

“You are fortunate, and I’m glad for you. But I’ll only take the money if we agree it’s a loan to be repaid, not a gift.”

“Yes, a loan. There’s no timetable for paying me back, and if things haven’t improved by this time in April, we’ll revisit the situation.”

Sunny nods. “Perfect. I’m pursuing a couple of things, and depending on what happens, I might have to leave the area. For now, I’m taking it month to month.”

“Okay, fine. One other thing. I have a futon where you could crash—”

“Absolutely not. Your place is small, you work from home – it would be a huge imposition. In a few days, you’d resent my being there, and I’d resent your resenting it. Besides, with me around, Michael will never let you have Benny over.”

My mouth curls into a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think he’ll let me have Benny over for a long time, anyway. And that’s on me. All the lying to Michael, making dumb choices to cover up my actions . . . now I’m paying the price. You were right about life not being a series of random acts. What was the word we used?”

“Consequences.”

“Ah, yes. Consequences. Let me run to the car and get you that money.”

“You’re a generous friend.” She reaches out for a hug. As we hold each other in a warm embrace, I think about the consequences of Sunny’s bad decisions – decisions rooted in filial duty and respect for her mother’s wishes. Unlike mine, her character is selfless, honest, and pure. But she is the one who ended up broke and living out of a car.

. . .

Sunny leaves ten days later. Her cousin Eleanor has opened a day spa in Northern California and reports the place is “printing money,” according to Sunny. It’s proving difficult to find reliable employees, and Eleanor thinks Sunny will make a perfect hostess. Before departing, she asks me to meet her at the club for a farewell coffee. “My job is to man the front desk and greet customers, answer phone calls, book appointments, that sort of thing,” Sunny says. “I’ve done similar work, so I have no anxiety about whether I can handle it. The real question is whether I can handle that insipid canned harp music they play all day long in spas.”

“Are you worried you’ll get too relaxed?”

“I’m worried I’ll get sick to my stomach.” We laugh in unison.

“That’s great news. Well, except for the nauseating music. But isn’t it expensive to live up north? Rents are supposed to be even worse than here.”

“Eleanor has a little guesthouse above her garage where I can live. I don’t even have to pay rent as long as I take care of the cats whenever she and her husband travel. They became empty nesters this year and it’s pretty lonely, so she says she’ll be excited to have me around.”

“It sounds ideal. You can keep each other company, but you’ll have your own private space.”

Sunny pulls a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and hands it to me. “Here. I held off on paying next month’s club membership fee because I wanted to wait and see if the job offer would materialize. I can’t repay you the full amount I owe you, but I should be able to send you the rest in a couple of months.”

“I appreciate that, but why don’t we forget it? I owed you for babysitting, and the difference isn’t worth worrying about. You can buy me a glass of wine next time you’re back in town.”

“Fair enough.” She stands and says, “I’d better hit the road. I want to make it up north before I get stuck in the evening rush at the other end.” I nod in agreement. In California, our comings and goings are governed by an often fruitless quest for traffic avoidance.

When Sunny and I hug each other, her soft cheek against mine, hot tears prick my eyes.

I marvel at how quickly I’ve become involved in Sunny’s life. In one sense it’s a good thing she’s going.

If I’m to hold on to my newfound independence, it’s wiser not to grow too close. Still, her departure leaves a void that will be difficult to fill.

Sorrow wells up in my chest as I think once again about the hardships in Sunny’s past. I try to be hopeful about my friend’s future. And my own.