This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,57

time.

I dig a metro card out of my pocket and hop on the bus, taking it all the way out to Golden Gate Park. It’s late afternoon, so I’m not expecting much. Still, I want to retrace my steps.

Fog clings to the mountains and dark-green ivy climbs all over everything. It’s cold and foggy all the time. I never liked San Francisco. I only came because my dad was diving deep into supplements as a new source of income.

He claimed this shilajit would put us on the cutting edge of adaptogens. Supposedly the goop gave you more energy, improved sex drive, better memory and focus. It all sounded too good to be true to me. Snake oil.

Still, Clyde Shaw was a top distributor of the resin, which he claimed was sourced directly from small farmers in the Himalayas and thoroughly tested for heavy metals and pollutants. He claimed to be a holistic guru-type. I thought he was a creep. Clearly, I underestimated him.

The bus stops, and I trot down the steps, nearly colliding with a girl with long, pale dreadlocks. She has a bandanna over her face and ratty clothes, and she carries a longboard. I watch as she drops it and skates down the promenade without a word.

This is the weird part of town, where everybody smells like pot and dresses like they’re homeless. I remember wondering what the hell I was doing meeting a supplier here.

Rainbow Falls is right in the middle of the park. Clyde said it was part of his daily meditation ritual. He really sold the whole package.

I left my rental car parked on the street while he told me about the benefits of controlled breathing, the way you could slow your heart rate by breathing in for five seconds then breathing out for six.

Standing in front of the giant stone cross, I can’t believe I didn’t see through that guy. Old anger starts to heat my chest, but as I look up at the cross, an idea forms in my mind…

Clyde Shaw counted on me trusting whatever he said. When I got busted, he vanished like a ghost after Halloween. At the same time, I have no reason to believe he’s not still in the city.

He was well connected. Shit, the day we met, two burnouts buzzed by and bought pot from him. Why would he leave? Or if he did leave, why not come back when the heat wore off?

My heart beats faster as the plan unfolds. I’ve just got to shake the bushes and let the bugs crawl out.

The prospect of finding that asshole and beating a confession out of him makes me smile. Closing my eyes, I know what I’ve got to do. I won’t let my son down. I will be home soon, and once I’m clear, I’ll find my girl.

For a week, I’ve been coming to the stone cross behind Rainbow Falls. I didn’t know much about Golden Gate Park before this, but it’s a lot like Central Park in New York City, long and rectangular, with different attractions scattered throughout.

I usually pack a lunch and read a book or listen to music while I sit under the trees and wait. I don’t know what I expect to find, but I’m holding onto hope.

Hope.

I miss her. I miss her cute little smile. I miss the way her nose wrinkles when she’s teasing or doesn’t like something I said or Scout said. I miss the way she used to sneak glances at me when we were driving, when I was so pissed, I could barely unclench my jaw. I miss her soft skin, and the feel of her body beneath mine. I miss her lips, her scent of flowers and coconut, like the beach in summertime.

I’m kicking myself for not getting her phone number. I was so fucking distracted. How the hell am I going to find her?

I’ve gone to that old beach shack where I picked up the car a few times, but it’s completely deserted. I tried calling Car Heaven, but they wouldn’t give me any information, citing privacy reasons.

She said her dad was in a nursing home, and her friend with the unusual first name is… somewhere. Dammit.

Where are you, Hope?

Frustrated, I lean back against a tree, looking up at the massive falls. Water spills over smooth, gray boulders, and a path with a wooden bridge is about halfway to the top. Hikers and kids walk across it, occasionally stopping to take pictures.

The place smells like damp