“You’re in the hospital?” I shrieked into the phone.
“Don’t yell, Rainbow. Please. My head hurts.”
“Sorry.” I got control of my voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not too okay, or I wouldn’t be in San Francisco General.”
“Sorry. Got it. What’s wrong?”
“Well, there was this guy begging.”
“And?”
“And I went to give him something.”
“And?”
“He turned around and flashed me.”
“So? You always said flashers were no big deal.”
“It wasn’t that. He looked just like every other guy—who cares? But I was in a bad mood, and I said something that made him mad.”
“What, for God’s sake?”
“I said, ‘Hey, that looks just like a dick, only smaller.’”
I groaned, but couldn’t help snorting with laughter at the same time. Not a good combination. When I was done coughing, I said, “That was not smart, Mom.”
“Yeah, I know. He lunged at me.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No, I dodged. He never touched me.”
“So why are you in the hospital?”
“I dodged out into traffic on Mission.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
“They weren’t going fast. I got knocked down, but I only have a broken arm and a slight concussion. And a few scrapes. I’m just in the hospital overnight for observation, but I wanted to let you know.”
“What about work? Can you do your job with a broken arm?”
“The store closed. So I don’t have a job anyway.”
I put my forehead in the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. I wasn’t supposed to take personal calls at work, but I guessed this would pass for an emergency.
“Mom?” I said. “Is there anything else? Did your apartment burn down, have you been bitten by a rabid squirrel, has there been another earthquake?”
“No,” she said. “What do you mean? Of course not.”
“Well, you’re feeding me this disaster in bits and pieces, and I want to know when it’s complete.”
“That’s all. Except that I’ve been looking for another job, and I can’t find anything. And I don’t have money for the rent, or the hospital either.”
“Don’t worry about the hospital. I’ll pay the damned hospital. And forget the rent. I’ll pay for you to move up here.”
“But I don’t want to go there. It rains all the time!”
“It does not. It’s dry in the summer and wet in the winter, just like California.”
“I love the City.”
“You can go back later if you want to. If you want to move back to a place with earthquakes every few years, drunks on every other block, and people who are afraid of their next‑door neighbors, I’ll pay for that, too. But come here for a while, just to recover a little. Once you’ve seen the island, you may even change your mind about going back.”
“All right. It’s not like I have much to lose.” Mom sounded subdued. I guessed her head still hurt.
