The other photo was one I’d seen before in innumerable articles about them, Augustus standing slightly behind her, his arm circling her rib cage, right below her breasts. She leaned back into him, secure, her face serene. Her red hair sprayed across his black shirt, glittering. He looked sensual and commanding. She looked like Demeter, taming the god of the underworld. Hades? Poseidon? I can’t remember.
This was the photo that gave me a girl crush on her. They’re both thirty years younger than now, Meadow in her twenties, Augustus a decade or more older. She was impossibly beautiful in that way that’s hard to pin down, her skin fresh and perfect as milk, her eyes long and blue, her lips full and red. A fairy-tale being, a creature from another world.
So very, very sensual, both of them. It oozed from their pores, the slight upturn of their lips, the placement of his hand, the angle of her arm, reaching up behind her.
I felt it again, the surge of longing. For Augustus, my lost lover, but also for Meadow. Not exactly sexual, but not exactly not sexual, either.
My gut started to rumble with hunger and I caved, packing up my notes and carrying my backpack to the coffee shop I like. I checked the balance on my debit card—$241.32. I had to find a job as fast as possible, and plan to make the rounds at restaurants after 2:00 p.m., the classic dead time.
Damn. Restaurants. I thought I was finally free of them.
Whatever. For today, I had enough for a meal. At the Brewed Bean, I ordered a hefty sandwich and a bottomless cup of coffee with cream to give me more time to sit.
Settled, I pulled out my notebook and leafed through the pages, trying to puzzle out the answers to certain gaps in Meadow’s life. I mean, maybe I should be mad at her over the way she kicked me out, but I get it. If I were her, I wouldn’t like me, either.
Over my generous sandwich of thinly shaved Black Forest ham and chicken and slices of provolone, stacked with sprouts and cucumber and tomatoes, I went through my notes—sketching out the timeline backward. Now, of course, she’s the highly regarded ruler of a small empire of organic farms, author of a famous history and a cookbook, and former wife of Augustus. The story of her life in central California is well documented, especially in conjunction with Peaches and Pork.
But in months of looking, I haven’t been able to find a single shred of anything about her before she arrived in Carpinteria, her very young daughter in tow. No school records, no marriages, nothing. It’s not such an ordinary name that it shouldn’t have connections to something.
I’m starting to think she made it up. Which leads to the question, Why? What did she leave behind?
As I’m assembling a set of clear questions, a woman breezes in through the door, ringing the bell. I know her instantly. Maya Beauvais, Augustus’s daughter. I’m not sure what I was expecting from someone who has such a reputation for drama, but not this calm-looking person who introduces herself to the owner. Her hair is her best feature, thick and curly, just this side of out of control, and she covers it with a yellow paisley scarf to go to work. I like the way she works efficiently, without hurry, someone who knows her way around the food business, because of course she does.
Observing her from the corner of my eye, I wonder what it was like growing up with such big personalities, people who were obviously a bit obsessed with each other. Augustus didn’t talk much to me about his past or his family until Maya crashed and burned three months ago, and then it was his main focus. Getting her into rehab, making sure it was the best available, working on her legal issues, trying to find ways to get back into her good graces. One of the great regrets of his life was that he’d left Maya to her addicted biological mother when he married Meadow. He never told me the whole story, but I could piece some of it together. Upon the breakup of her marriage, the mother succumbed to her addiction to booze and pills. It didn’t even take quite a year before she killed herself, and Maya went to live with Meadow, Augustus, and her stepsister, Rory.
I lean against the window and take a sip of cold coffee. What was that year like for a little girl? When Augustus told me the story, I kind of hated him for leaving her. How could he have done that? Why didn’t he take her with him? I said it aloud: “You abandoned her.”
Augustus only nodded, looking at his hands, as if the answer to why were written on his palms.
My watch dings on my wrist, reminding me that it’s time to go see about finding a job. I gather up my things, and reluctantly leave yet another fascinating Beauvais. At least I have a face now when I hear her moving around upstairs.