Chapter Six Clover

Chapter Six Clover

Monday afternoon, December 11, 2023

“So, just hold on tight, okay, especially when we hit a bump or two along the way,” the man with the mustache said as Clover

held on to the pole of the cable car for dear life.

Although he was short, with slicked-back black hair and a heavy Mexican accent, the man felt just like her dad, reminding

her with the cautiousness of a father to be safe, and to pay attention to any cars or trucks that passed, and not to sway

too much with the movement of the cable car lest she fall off.

“Okay, so you’re good, then?” he asked again as the car began to move.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” she said, smiling at him warmly.

“Okay, very good.” He waved at her and moved back toward the spot next to his wife, who looked like she was more than used

to her husband playing dad to every young tourist who looked like she had a death wish.

As the car moved, Clover leaned into the wind that rushed against her face and the clash of city noises that surrounded her, testing her senses—snippets of conversation, the sharp honk of passing vehicles, the shouts of pedestrians rudely cut off in the intersections. The cable car shot down a steep hill and then slowly climbed another.

Knox would love this, Clover thought. For the briefest moment, she considered sending him a text and describing the streetcar to him, and the apartment

she was staying in, and the hills all over the city. She wanted to tell him everything, and hear his absurd commentary and

silly jokes, and laugh about how expensive everything seemed.

But he wouldn’t want to hear from her. And even though he didn’t know about Hailey, and Clover had no intentions of trying

to contact her anyway, she felt guilty about being in her city. Like a betrayal by osmosis or something.

The fact that it was just as bright and full of holiday cheer as it would have been in Salem made it worse somehow. Her world had changed completely during this time last year, and yet the holidays had the audacity to come back around and follow her across the country. Only this time, she wouldn’t have her mother or her fiancé or even her father. There’d be no Motown Christmas music playing throughout the house as her mother set about planning the guest list for the holiday party, and as her father and Knox competed to see who could make the grandest holiday display on the farm. She wouldn’t get to taste test the famous mac ’n’ cheese or hand deliver the invitations she’d been tasked with carefully crafting every year since she was old enough to navigate the streets on her own, first with a rusty old bike and then with the family car. She and Knox wouldn’t spend hours in the breakfast nook, planning what they’d add to the community tree at the annual holiday tree lighting.

This year, she was alone. And yet, there were still Christmas trees being decorated, lights being strung, and festive music

being played throughout the streets. Her only solace was hearing one of Kelly Clarkson’s sad Christmas breakup songs blasted

through the speakers of a young woman’s red Mini Cooper as she made her slow and steady trek up Taylor Street. Merry Christmas, to the one I used to know, Kelly sang with all the anguish Clover felt in her soul. It was the perfect soundtrack to the one and only Christmas-related

location Clover would allow herself this trip.

She lifted one leg and then the other, wiping beads of sweat off her brow. Just when she thought the street might rise straight

into the sky, she finally began to see the hint of a plateau, gleaming gray stones beckoning her onto a flat plain and sweet,

sweet relief.

Grace Cathedral loomed far above her, its spire reaching into the sky and its steps leading to large oak doors, its presence grand and intimidating as she supposed any historical site should be. The path to its door, up another few rows of stairs, was lined with bright yellow holiday lights that glinted against the darkness like fireflies. Bee had listed it as a holiday must-see, and even Clover couldn’t resist the visit. She hated to admit it, but the walk was worth even this—this grand plane of gentle Christmas warmth beckoning her into the hallowed halls of the savior.

When her mother had died, Clover had gone to church every day for a month. Then it faded into a few times a week. Then just

Sundays. And then...

She wasn’t protesting. She didn’t blame God or anything like that. It’s just that—well, the people . The pitying looks, the unwelcome pats on the back. At first, she’d felt cradled by her community’s love and support; they

loved her mother as much as she did, after all. Many of them had even known her longer. But then news of her breakup with

Knox spread, and the hugs got tighter, and their words of support got preachier, and Clover began to feel claustrophobic.

They thought her breakup with Knox was a symptom of her heartbreak, a misguided attempt to control her life in the face of

something as shocking and uncontrollable as a terminal illness. They didn’t know that she’d been thinking about it for a long

time, that she’d wondered if her love for this man hadn’t always been a powerful kind of platonic.

She took each step slowly, amazed still by the sound of the city that surrounded her, here at this historic place of worship,

holding court among a kingdom of cars and monuments and steep vistas. At the doors to the cathedral, she paused, breathing

in the peace and the chaos, and breathing out the anxiety she felt. Then she opened the door.

What greeted her was more gorgeous than she could have imagined. The ceiling must have been at least thirty feet high, with stained-glass windows that brought in hints of color amid the pale white stone, with gold sconces of light that led down to the pulpit. In the entrance hall, a large white tree glowed with shimmering white lights, and just beyond it, she could hear the church choir rehearsing.

They sounded much better—and bigger—than the carolers in her neighborhood.

Careful not to disturb them, Clover stepped around the Christmas tree and took a seat in one of the pews. A few people were

scattered throughout the hall, some with eyes closed and bodies hunched forward. Others were scrolling on their phones, as

nonchalant as if they were merely waiting for the credits of a film to finish rolling. In the far corner, near the front,

a man was weeping. She could tell by the way his shoulders shook.

She supposed she wasn’t the only one for whom a cold December night could bring painful memories, no matter what state she

was in. She settled into her seat and closed her eyes. Listened to the man’s sniffles, the choir’s hymns, the steps of people

coming and going. She thought of how happy her dad would feel when she told him that yes, finally, she’d seen the inside of

a church. She thought of how sad her mom would be if she knew she hadn’t been going at all, how disappointed she’d be if she

learned that the holiday traditions she’d worked so hard to build were thrown away for something as superfluous as a solo

trip across the country.

She thought about her cousins and her aunt and uncle, whom she wouldn’t see for the holidays for the first time ever. Her

friends back at home, whom she’d pushed away months ago.

She thought about Knox.

And she wondered, though she tried not to, what they all would think if they had known about Hailey, or heard about her new

neighbors Dee and Leilani, or found out that she’d started off her first morning in San Francisco tongue-tied at the sight

of a rude but gorgeous woman.

The thought jolted her eyes open. She looked around again, as if caught, and only then realized that her phone was buzzing.

She checked the caller ID. Knox was calling her.

Flustered, she grabbed her belongings and stood, hurrying just outside the doors of the church. Then she flipped open her

phone. “Hi,” she said. “Everything all right?”

“You paid me extra this month,” he said without preamble.

She frowned, stumbling awkwardly away from the entrance as an elderly couple tried to squeeze around her. “I’m sorry?”

“You paid me extra this month,” he repeated. “I’m just letting you know. There might’ve been a clerical error.”

“Oh. No.” Clover relaxed. So, the farm wasn’t on fire and her dad hadn’t collapsed in a field somewhere. “I figured, since

we have a guest in the Big House and you offered to look out for her for me, that the least I could do was give you a little

bonus.”

He didn’t respond for a long while. “It’s not really a big deal,” he said finally. “You didn’t... I don’t know how I feel

about that.”

“I was just trying to do something nice,” she said, “since it’s the holidays and all.” And I broke your heart right before Christmas last year, she didn’t say. “Plus, it is an extra duty, technically. Like workin’ overtime or something.”

His laugh sounded a lot like disbelief. “Overtime?” he said. “Clover, if I got paid for all the ‘overtime’ I’ve done on this

farm over the years, I could buy my own house.”

Clover bristled. “If you want more money for the work you’re doing—”

“That’s not what I meant—you know what? Never mind. I appreciate you being thoughtful, Clover. I hope you’re enjoying your

trip.”

She’d barely responded with “Thanks” before the call ended.

“What the hell?” she muttered. A woman passing by her with a small baby wrapped in her arms shot her a frown, and Clover put

her hands up. “Sorry,” she said, although she was finding that she was starting to get mighty sick of apologizing. It was

like everything she did required an explanation to somebody.

She looked back at the church and then shook her head. Even when she was doing something right, she was doing something wrong.

Why couldn’t people, just for once, accept what she did, no questions asked?

Irritated, she left the steps of the church, feeling more and more like leaving Salem was the best Christmas gift she could’ve

given herself.