The Lesson by Virginia Welch

Author:Virginia Welch
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-02-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The Garage, Boston Avenue, San Jose

From her parents’ house on Cornell Drive Gina drove down the elbow to Homestead Road, the chicken soup cure sloshing in the Thermos on the seat each time she braked. As she neared San Tomas Expressway, it occurred to her that she could skip making a right turn there and just continue down Homestead to her apartment. Her mother would never know. But then, with a pang of guilt, she thought how Kevin would go without a meal, not even downing some liquid, which she knew he needed more than anything as he lay lethargic and feverish in that hideous garage.

The light turned red at Homestead and San Tomas. She hit the gas. Slosh, slosh went the soup in the Thermos. She opened the white sack on the seat beside her, pulled out a cookie and took a big bite, savoring the familiar sharp molasses flavor that contrasted so deliciously with the crunchy sweet sugar crystals on top.

“Why does it have to be me?” she complained aloud between mouthfuls. She turned on the radio to KLIV to distract herself. From the dash Tony Orlando and Dawn wailed their big hit, "He Don’t Love You Like I Love You." “Oh sure. That’s what they all say,” she growled. She switched the knob again, this time to KFRC. "Love Will Keep Us Together," was next, the bouncy sing-along number by The Captain and Tennille. “Get a degree! Get a degree already! A diamond’s no insurance! And they can’t take back the degree!” she yelled at the hapless duo. Disgusted, she slapped viciously at the dial to bring in any station at all. Freddy Fender came on singing, "Before the Next Teardrop Falls." “Oh shut up! All these stupid, loved-crazed idiots. Somebody should put them out of their misery. Where’s a good sharp-shooter when you need one?”

She turned off the radio in a righteous huff as her car veered onto San Tomas Expressway. Slosh, slosh. Maybe she could find one of Kevin’s friends from the ship to check on him and bring him something to eat. But no, that wouldn’t work because she couldn’t get the name or phone number of any of his friends without first contacting him. She knew his dad’s name was Grover, but she had no idea where his girlfriend lived or her name. Slosh. Kevin had said he had a younger sister who lived somewhere in San Francisco, but Gina didn’t know the address. The rest of his family was far flung. She didn’t know how to contact them either.

Finally she made the broad arc, a left turn onto Stevens Creek Boulevard after waiting through an irritatingly long red light. Slosh, slosh, slosh. She grabbed another cookie. Almost immediately the boulevard changed its name to West San Carlos, which always seemed fitting, because it was right about there that drivers sensed a subtle shift in the landscape: a gentle descent into the past shaded by the omnipresent influence of Spanish-Indian missions, adobe

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