Read Online Hungry Ghosts by Susan Dunlap - Free Book Online Page A

I insisted that it didn’t have any consequences?”
    He nodded.
    â€œWell, I didn’t intend this, not in any way. I mean, I never even considered the possibility. But still, well, the thing is, after I did it one of my classmates—well, uh, Tia, from last night—I think she tried it. A couple of years afterwards. I never knew. I was gone by then. She tried to jump the cars. That’s how she was injured. The cable car, Leo, it ran into her.” I swallowed harder. I thought for a moment that he’d interrupt, give advice, give solace, but he waited so quietly he was almost not there. “She tried it because I made it look easy.”
    He said, “You don’t know that.”
    â€œLeo, don’t comfort me!”
    He inhaled and waited till he caught my eye. “I’m not. You don’t know; you only think you know. Maybe your guess is correct, but maybe not. Don’t assume.”
    â€œI’m going to lunch with her, today. How can she look at me and not see that cable car?”
    â€œDon’t assume.” He put his hands together, bowed to me, and left.
    Don’t assume was small comfort. But then, Leo hadn’t meant it to be.
    I found a gym and worked every machine. Then I downed the strongest coffee I could find. At noon I was outside Tia Dru’s flat, still nervous and guilty and trying not to assume. How do you apologize for creating an illusion that ruins a life? Don’t assume . Still . . . like the header from the turret, I’d push off and deal.
    Tia’s flat perched on the peak of Pacific Heights, the second-story front of a vintage fourplex that must have cost a fortune. Location alone would have done it, but the heavy-on-the-charm couldn’t have hurt. The day was warm for February; the sun was just shoving back the fog that had been tucked around the city. By four this afternoon it would be rolling back across Pacific Heights, heading toward the Barbary Coast to the east. But now, sunlight sparkled off the miniature red roses and the glossy leaves of succulents on the wide tiled steps to Tia’s door. All these steps to pull herself up!
    Don’t assume.
    The door was open. “Tia!”
    â€œI’m in the kitchen. Come on in!”
    Inside, it was all yellows, and padding: over-wide cushioned armchairs in sunflower prints, thick honey carpet, lemony upholstered ladder-backs at the glass dining table. A foot-square ottoman stood between the armchairs where a person more interested in food and drink than comfort would have stationed a coffee table. Vases of bright red and violet freesias were here and there as if left carelessly by someone with armfuls of flowers, and their deep sweet smell came in whiffs. The whole room was a cheery cocoon created to support Tia the way her cane had outside.
    Don’t assume!
    She walked steadily to one of the armchairs. Had I not seen her last night, I would have thought only that she walked with more awareness than other people. Nothing, not the set of her slim hips in the long brown cotton jersey skirt that was a twin of the black one she’d worn last night, nor the swing of her feet in her narrow-strapped sandals, nor her wide smile suggested she’d had to focus on every step. Had I not studied the out-takes of failed stunts to spot the misplaced foot, the bad angle, the ill-timed acceleration, I wouldn’t have picked up on her deliberate foot placement. I held my breath, waiting till she was seated to say what I had to.
    She swung like a dancer into one of the welcoming armchairs, her chin-length brown hair giving a final sway into place, and before I could broach anything, said, “You must have just about dropped your teeth when you first spotted Eamon Lafferty. I sure did.”
    Smiling, she had jerked the rug out from under my plans. I’d forgotten that habit of hers, infuriating but so intuitive that you ended up thinking she was just saving you trouble. But