He drove too fast, weaving in and out of traffic, taking chances, which was uncharacteristic of him. between the greenbelts and the neighborhoods of lushly landscaped properties, the vegetation on undeveloped fields and hills was parched and brown, waiting for the kiss of a match in the trembling hand of one of the pyromaniacs contributing to the annual, devastating wildfire season. Gardeners were planting low-maintenance cactus and ice plant in front of a new southwestern-style apartment building. Along the way he saw subtle reminders at southern California had been a desert before the importation of water through aqueducts. The drive to John Wayne Airport, on the southeastern edge of Santa Anta, took less than half an hour. Voices in the dirt? Holly thought, and almost laughed. Then it swung to the west and turned north over the ocean, and he could see the sun only as a reflection in the sea below where its blazing image seemed to transform the water into a vast churning mass of magma erupting from beneath the planet's crust.
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The plane took off to the south, with the merciless glare of the sun at the windows on Jim's side.
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"Is it full up?" The clerk checked the computer. "The flight to Portland leaving in twenty minutes," Jim said. He wasn't wearing earrings on the job but the holes in his lobes were visible enough to indicate that he wore then regularly when he was off duty and that he preferred heavy jewelry. While the clerk processed the credit card and issued the ticket, Jim noticed the guy had pierced ears. "You can sure tell we're on the edge of five thousand acres of parkland, huh? So little in of humanity in the air." "Smell the air!" Louise took a deep button-popping breath. The day was pleasantly warm, and a breeze stirred an agreeable fragrance from some nearby Douglas firs. A jungle gym was to their left, a swing set to their right. They sat at a redwood picnic table on the playground, after Holly checked the bench to be sure there was no dirt on it that might stain her white cotton dress. But these trips were dangerous each could be his last, in which case it didn't matter whether he packed too much or too little. He hesitated, worried that he had not packed enough. These jobs-adventures missions, whatever in God's name they were-usually didn't require him to be away more than two or three days. He didn't know his destination or how long he would be gone, but he included two changes of clothes. He gathered up his shaving gear and toiletries first. He didn't know he was going to pack for travel until he found himself taking a suitcase from his closet. Rapidly the feeling became a strong hunch, the hunch became a conviction, and the conviction became a compulsion. Then he had a vague feeling that he should return home. Initially he did not know where he was going.
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On his way to the bank of TV monitors that displayed a list of arriving and departing flights, Jim heard four languages besides English. The multi-racial crowd belied the lingering myth that Orange County was culturally bland and populated solely by white AngloSaxon Protestants. In the main terminal at the airport, travelers streamed to and from their boarding gates.
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