Lost and Found Read Online Free Page B

park."
    "That is many more miles."
    "Yes. Do you mind?"
    I see the smile in his eyes as he glances back at me in the rearview mirror. "No, Mrs. Bouvier, as long as you do not mind."
    I put the doctor's appointment out of my mind and focus on Ahsan. "How is your family? Any news on when they might join you?" Ahsan's father, wife, and children are still in Kolkata, India.
    "I save and save. Someday soon, I hope, I will have enough for them to come."
    "I read the Urbanity article about the mayor and some of the transportation officials trying to alter Proposition K, which would abolish the medallion list. How will that affect you?"
    "It is very bad for the drivers. So many have waited ten, fifteen years, or more, to purchase available permits. Now their wait may have been in vain. And I, and others like me, will have no chance of ever owning a medallion. So much of our earnings go to leasing our medallions." He shakes his head. "It is very bad."
    Ahsan and I discuss the implications of the Transit Reform bill and other city politics as he darts in and out of traffic—all the while I fight to keep my mind from drifting back to Dr. Kim's office. But as soon as we enter Golden Gate Park, a swath of over a thousand acres that cuts through the urban bustle of San Francisco, I quiet, as does my mind. Ahsan seems to sense my shift in mood and quiets as well. I drink in the beauty of the park and ponder the impossible odds against which it exists—brought to life in an environment others touted as a wasteland of vast sand dunes exposed to sweeping winds. The skeptics assailed the innovators with cries of cynicism: "Nothing will thrive there!"
    They were wrong.
    Instead, the barren environment, coupled with the sheer will of the visionaries, yielded . . . life.
    Growing, thriving, life.
    I cling to this reality.
    Ahsan pulls up in front of the Japanese Tea Garden and I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the cab door. "Thank you, Ahsan. I'll be just thirty minutes or so."
    I exit the cab and stop at Ahsan's window. I tap. He rolls the window down and I reach inside the cab and place my hand on the arm he leans out the window. "Keep the meter running this time. I've asked you to wait, which means I expect to pay for your time." I pat his arm. "We need to get your family here."
    The last time I asked him to wait for me, he did so, but turned the meter off.
    He nods and smiles. "Enjoy the garden, Mrs. Bouvier."
    "Thank you. And Ahsan, it's Jenna." I tell him this each time I see him. But he is not accustomed to equality and although I long to level the ground between us, I recognize I can't transform his thinking, which developed in a country where class systems reigned for centuries.
    Of course, we have our own class systems here.
    I turn, take a few steps away from the curb, then stop in front of the entrance to the garden. I close my eyes and listen. The lilting melody from the strings of a dulcimer invite me to tranquility. I breathe in peace and exhale tension. I open my eyes, reach for my wallet, and pull a large bill out. I cross a patch of grass to where Skye sits under one of the giant Cyprus trees with her dulcimer on her lap, her nimble fingers strumming the strings. She tilts her head and smiles her welcome as she plays. Soon, the authorities will ask her to leave. But Skye always returns to the park. As do I. I bend and drop the bill in the tip jar at her feet and smile my thanks for the gift she offers as she plays.
    "We'll catch up later."
    Skye winks at me as I turn to go—her blonde curls bouncing in the breeze. A small crowd has gathered. Perhaps today Skye will earn enough to buy herself a decent meal. This is the sacrifice she makes to pursue what she sees as her purpose—a sacrifice most would scoff at. But for her, using the gift God's given her is more important than food or a place to live. Skye lives in the moment. She's shared her passion with me many times.
    She's made an admirable choice.
    And a