Then I pitched the hell out of my free gas idea. I was so focused on what I was saying that I didn’ t even worry that I was braless. Without the graphs and charts I’ d been working on, I knew I was the main show, so I did my best to make giving away free gas sound like the next step in reality TV. I painted a mental picture of happy motorists screaming with glee as we told them they’ d won free gas-of how they would surely thank their generous sponsors for this honor, perhaps even wipe away tears of gratitude. All on TV. And all for the low, low price of, say, a few thousand?

They loved it-they loved me! Although they couldn’ t commit on the spot-they first had to run it by the powers-that-be-they assured us they’ d do everything they could to make the project happen.

Later, as we walked back to his car, Lou Bigwood gave my shoulder a squeeze and told me I did a great job.

‘ Thank you, Mr. Bigwood.’

‘ Call me Lou.’

That was when it hit me: I was now one of Charlie’ s Angels. Susan was going to keel over laughing.

I suspected that Lizbeth, however, would be less amused-leaving me to fret the entire way back to the office over how much she’ d try to make my job a living hell.

Chapter 6

I woke to the phone ringing. Seven forty-five on a Saturday. Who’ d be calling this early?

I let the machine pick up, but when I heard it was my mom, I grabbed it. ‘ It’ s not even eight o’ clock!’

‘ It isn’ t? Oh, sorry. Go back to sleep.’

‘ No& ‘  I rolled out of bed and ambled to the kitchen to start the coffee. ‘ I needed to get up anyway. What’ s up?’

‘ I wanted to let you know that Vons has those bags of frozen shrimp on sale for $8.99 a pound.’

As if I knew how to cook shrimp? ‘ Okay& thanks& don’ t think I need any.’

‘ I know, but your father wanted me to call you and tell you to pick some up. They have a limit of five bags. He’ s already been to the store twice, and he’ s afraid if he goes back again, they might catch on.’

I smiled-my dad loved to find the bargains. ‘ Okay. No problem.’  After my mom warned me that the sale ended Wednesday, she and I were free to catch up. While I made toast and peanut butter for breakfast, my mom gave me what I’ ve come to refer to as the floral report-that is, the state of various flowers in her garden. ‘ So why did you need to get up early today?’  she asked after sharing her haunting story about how the delphinium were at death’ s door.

‘ I’ m meeting that girl who might be my Little Sister,’  I reminded her. ‘ The one who’ s fourteen?’

‘ That’ s right. You told me that. But I guess I’ m confused. I don’ t remember the list saying you had to get a Little Sister.’

‘ It doesn’ t. This is for the one about how I’ m supposed to change someone’ s life.’

She gave a derisive grunt. ‘ With a teenager? Good luck.’

Exactly what I was worried about. ‘ What did I get myself into?’

‘ I’ m joking. Sweetie, when you were that age, I’ d have loved it if a caring adult took you out to do fun activities. Maybe you would have been open to that. Lord knows I tried to get you to try new things.’

‘ You did? I don’ t remember that. Like what?’

‘ Oh, you know, learning to play an instrument or taking up a sport.’

‘ Bob did enough of that for both of us,’  I grumbled jealously. My brother-eleven months older than me-had so many activities on his college applications that he had to cut a few for space.

‘ He did always prefer to keep busy,’  my mom agreed, as usual turning a deaf ear to the sibling rivalry brewing. ‘ But you know what I always appreciated about you?’

‘ What?’

‘ I loved how you seemed content being who you were. Didn’ t always have to go running around proving things. Of course, you could have watched less TV. But-’

‘ You thought I was content?’

‘ Absolutely. From the day you were born. Your brother cried and fussed so much as a baby. I had to entertain him almost every minute of the day. But you-we hardly ever had to pick you up. You’ d lie there in your crib for hours at a time, gurgling away. Staring at the ceiling& happy as can be.’

THE AFTERNOON HAZE refused to lift. Even at five o’ clock when Rose Morales and I pulled up to Deedee’ s house, the sky continued to cast its gloomy spell. Luckily, the homes in the neighborhood were painted in intense yellows, pinks, and blues, so they practically generated their own light.

Where Deedee lived was almost tiny enough-yard and all-to fit inside my apartment. It sat mere yards from the entrance to the Marina Freeway. Even though cars roared by, a group of boys attempted to play a game of soccer on the street. I felt a twinge of rent-controlled guilt knowing that they probably paid twice what I did.

Rose put her Honda Civic in park and rolled up her window. The plan was to visit with Deedee and her mother for a few minutes. The mother didn’ t speak any English, so Rose would serve as interpreter. Then Rose and I would take Deedee to the Sizzler for dinner.

‘ Anything else I should know?’  I asked before getting out of the car. Frankly, I was nervous about meeting a blind woman who didn’ t speak the same language as me. What were we going to do-feel each other hello? I supposed we could chat about burritos or huevos con queso, my command of Spanish being limited to food words.

Reading my worries, Rose assured me, ‘ It’ ll be fine. Maria is a kind woman, and you and Deedee are going to hit it off. If for any reason you don’ t, you’ ll let me know. We’ ll find you another match. It’ s that simple.’

We walked to the house, and Rose rang the doorbell. After a moment, a boy answered the door. He was about ten years old, with a wide mouth and a haircut that looked as if it might have been self-inflicted. He left us there, shouting in Spanish. A bit later, a girl I assumed was Deedee came to the door and told us to come in.

The house was sparse and neat, and as soon as Deedee’ s mom came bustling up to meet us-short, broad, and dressed in a pink terry sweat-suit-I understood why neatness mattered. I’ d have never known she couldn’ t see if Rose hadn’ t tipped me off. She clearly knew the lay of the land. If my own mom had been relying on Bob and me to pick up our things so she wouldn’ t trip, she’ d have been falling and breaking a hip every other day.

Rose did introductions all around, and we took a seat in the living room. Deedee’ s actual name was Deanna Garcia Alvarez. The boy who’ d met us at the door was her brother, Ricky. And I hadn’ t needed to worry about an uncomfortable silence. Rose chattered away happily in English and Spanish, expertly soliciting answers from the rest of us about a series of benign topics from home decorating to taking the bus to the fact that Deedee has made honor roll every semester so far in high school.

All the talking gave me a chance to steal a look at Deedee. She was about my height of five feet four and had large, almond-shaped eyes-and if I thought I’ d been generous with the eyeliner the day I gave a kiss to the busboy, I was naive about the eye’ s ability to bear the weight of makeup. It suited her, though, in a cat-girl sort of way. She was a fourteen-year-old girl trying to look older. In other words, typical. Her hair was pulled back from a round face, and there was a mole above her right eyebrow that I thought was adorable but that I’ d bet for sure she hated. She wore boys’  big hip-hop-style shorts and an oversize Raiders jersey-her attire at one point being the topic of conversation, I suspected, because I saw Maria gesturing at her in that disapproving way moms do, and it was the only time Deedee appeared to get an attitude. Plus Rose opted not to translate that part.

Reflecting back on the dinner that followed, I can’ t pinpoint the exact moment I decided I’ d agree to be a Big Sister to Deedee.

It might have been when she announced at the Sizzler that she loved salad and then loaded up on potato salad, macaroni salad, Jell-O salad, and ambrosia without a clue of the irony.

Or even before that, when we went to cross the street to get to the restaurant and-out of habit, I’ ll assume-she started to take my arm before dropping it and stepping away in embarrassment.

Who knows? I may have been drawn to a lively and willing disposition that gave promise of a certain& shall we say& malleability?

Plus I felt sorry for the poor kid. Rose whispered to me over the all-you-can-eat taco bar that Deedee had never been to a movie at the theater. Guess when your mom can’ t see, you might as well wait until it comes out on DVD.

Still, if I had all the girls in the world to choose from, I wondered if I’ d pick Deedee. Hard to say. She was definitely a far cry from the dimpled, wide-eyed girl I’ d envisioned. But I consoled myself with the thought that it doesn’ t work that way in life with kids anyway. You get what you get.

LIZBETH CORNERED ME by the reception area first thing Monday morning. ‘ Did you follow up on that call?’

‘ What call?’  I asked, knowing exactly what she was referring to. If she’ s going to keep giving me only the minimum merit increase every year, I want to earn it.

‘ Troy.’

‘ Troy& ?’

‘ Troy Jones.’

My brows furrowed as if I were trying to place the name.

‘ Troy Jones the traffic reporter for K-JAM radio,’  she snipped. ‘ You said you called him and that you were going to follow up because he hadn’ t called you back.’

This was another one of those times that I felt sorry for her. I couldn’ t imagine trying to supervise an employee who was so pathologically passive-aggressive. But that’ s what she gets for getting to me before I had my first Diet Coke of the day. And for being Lizbeth.

‘ As a matter of fact, I did. He said he needed to look into it, and he’ d get back to me.’

Her face lit up. ‘ Did it sound hopeful? Maybe I’ ll call, too. Give him a bit of a-’

‘ He has to check with his boss,’  I said hurriedly. ‘ He likes the idea, but it’ s a sticky situation& office politics and whatnot. I got the definite impression that he would have a problem with it if we applied pressure.’

Lizbeth nodded, told me to keep her posted, and left to do whatever nefarious bidding was next on her agenda.

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed with relief. That’ d teach me to try to be clever. Because fact was, everything I’ d told her was true: I had called him, and he’ d said he needed to check into it and get back to me. Only the ‘ it’  had nothing to do with being a spokesman for L.A. Rideshare. I hadn’ t even brought up the subject.

‘ It’  was trying to find out who Buddy Fitch was& and what he might have done to Marissa.

That alone required supreme finesse. I had called Troy to thank him for sending the yearbooks. Then, while I had him on the line, I asked nonchalantly if he knew of a Buddy Fitch. Of course he asked why. Although I tried to stall him off by alluding vaguely to the list, I could tell the curiosity was eating him alive.

‘ One of the items on the list says, Make Buddy Fitch pay,’  I finally admitted. ‘ But I don’ t know who he was or what he did.’

‘ It says to make him pay?’

‘ Yeah.’

‘ Boy, it’ s weird to think my sister would write something so vengeful. It doesn’ t sound like her at all.’

‘ It doesn’ t?’

‘ Not Marissa. If she was that pissed off, then this guy must really have it coming. He must have-’

‘ Troy, I’ m sure it was nothing bad,’  I interrupted, hoping to shift his train of thought, at least for now. If the idea that Marissa was the victim of any sort of cruelty was going to get planted in his head, it wasn’ t going to be me with a shovel in my hand and dirt under my fingernails. ‘ Maybe he played a friendly practical joke on her and she wanted to do something funny back.’

‘ Yeah& maybe,’  Troy said, his voice skeptical. ‘ So he wasn’ t in any of the yearbooks?’

‘ Nope. That’ s why I was hoping you might be able to ask around for me. I thought he could be a family friend or someone she worked with.’

‘ Okay. I’ ll ask my parents, and I’ ll try calling her old boss. I’ ll let you know as soon as I find anything out.’  Then he added apologetically, ‘ It could take a while, though. I’ m swamped at work right now-the station’ s got some big fair coming up, and I’ ve been roped into helping out. How fast do you need this?’

‘ No hurry. I just need to have everything done before her birthday, so we’ ve got time.’

‘ Not that much time. Just over four months left.’

I understood the warning underlying Troy’ s words. As far as he knew, I’ d been working diligently on completing the list since the accident last July and not merely since I’ d seen him at the cemetery six weeks ago. By his calculations, then, my time was half-over rather than only just beginning.