The Quiet Orchards

A "novel virus", frightened neighbors... and what lies beneath.

This story originally appeared in “Beyond Stories II”, published in July, 2025.

Matt couldn't remember when the new neighbors had moved in. Looking back, it must have been sometime in early March, but of course that was when it had all started. He didn't remember seeing a moving van, but why would he? With everything going on, it was no small victory that he'd remembered to shave or brush his teeth each day.

It was September now. They had said it would be two weeks. Two weeks and then everything would be back to normal.

Bean There, the little coffee shop he owned with his brother, would be able to serve customers indoors again. Megan and Jorge, in the kitchen, and Kalika, Danny and Jin, his servers, wouldn't have to cover their faces in masks all day long while they worked. People wouldn't be afraid anymore. And thinking about his mortgage wouldn't send his heart racing.

But it hadn't happened that way. And now, here he was, filling out an application for an "Economic Injury Disaster Loan". He was rapidly running through the last of the $70,000 PPP loan he'd been given back in April, and now he was hearing that the other programs were turning away applicants because they had run out of funds. He was kicking himself for not having applied for this one earlier — but the payout wasn't as generous as the PPP had been, and back then, he'd really believed $70,000 would be enough to keep things going until everything was back to normal. Now, he was grasping at whatever he could just to keep his business stumbling along for a little longer. How much longer?

"Maybe two weeks," he laughed drily to himself.

Friends described Matt as a "fireplug." He was on the short side, and very muscular, with a round face and sparkling blue eyes. His short blond hair stood up in spikes above his face, giving him the appearance of an alarmed cartoon character.

Earlier that day, he'd gone in to the coffee shop, just to check on things. It was cool inside, and quiet. Somehow, the little space seemed less colorful than before. Matt frowned at the thought. Nothing had changed in the decor, or the lighting. It didn't make sense. Yet he felt that the cafe no longer emitted the cheery orange, gold, brown and teal of its furnishings, but dulled versions of these, almost grey.

Jorge was finishing up in the kitchen, placing the paltry selection of muffins and cookies in the glass display. They had long since stopped making the more elaborate cakes and pastries. What was the point? Even most of the coffee they made ended up getting thrown out. And gallon Ziploc bags full of banana-nut muffins filled up the chest freezer in his garage.

"Whatever hasn't sold by closing, you just take home Jorge," he had called out to his cook, as he did every time he came in.

"Sure thing!" Jorge called back, his voice muffled by the blue paper mask that covered his mouth and nose.

The cafe was spotless, as he knew it would be. As it always was. It gave him some comfort to know that he could count on Jorge and the others to do their jobs well. There were times when he told himself it was one of the reasons he kept the place open at all. Of course, it wasn't enough of a reason, so he had others. Mostly, he didn't want the customers who had been coming for years now to forget about the place; he wanted to be sure they'd still be there once everything got back to normal.

It sure wasn't the money.

It had taken Matt a while to learn the discipline of running a business. He'd never done very well in school. But over time, operating Bean There had become fun for him. He had learned that he could do math after all, when there was a reason for it, and had come to appreciate the results of his, and his brother's, hard work.

The two had opened the coffee shop after his brother Art had finished his MBA, and Matt had just gotten married. His marriage had only lasted six years, but nearly three decades later, Bean There was still going strong. Or, it had been, until last spring.

Now, he had come to dread looking at the accounts. Whenever he did, he found himself offering up the same list of reasons why it made sense to stay open. But mostly, the decision boiled down to the thought pounding at the doors of his mind —the thought that it would mean giving up. That if he closed the coffee shop "for now", he would never open it again.

So he kept going.

He sighed and turned back to the application. It almost seemed pointless, when he thought about it. Even if he qualified — and he was sure he would — he'd still only have enough cash to keep going for a few more months. And then what?

But what else could he do? He sighed again as he put pen to paper.

The phone rang.

"Hey, just thought I'd check in!"

Matt had known Dan Nyborn since ninth grade, when they'd met in Mr. Burgh's shop class. Back then, Matt had had a reputation for getting into fights. He'd insisted that he didn't start the fights. But if two kids were sent up to the principal's office for fighting, odds were good that one of them was Matt.

Dan was new to the school though, and didn't know anything about Matt's history. So one day, he struck up a conversation with him, and they quickly became friends. They started hanging out together, and Dan even introduced him to some of his friends from his old school. It wasn't long before Matt found that he wasn't getting into fights anymore.

These days, they didn't see much of each other. Dan was in an upper management position at one of the studios, and Matt had Bean There. But they still kept in touch, and saw each other a few times a year.

"So how you doing?"

"Oh, I'm hanging in there!"

"Yeah, aren't we all! Listen," said Dan, "I've been starting to get out again, going for hikes and stuff, and I was just wondering if you might want to come along sometime."

Matt was silent for a moment. At first, the idea sounded nonsensical to him. An impossibility not worth thinking about. But something in him, the part of him that had connected to Dan all those years ago, that remained connected to him, remembered that Dan saw things differently than he did. That where he saw a playground full of menacing teens who wanted to beat him to a pulp, Dan had seen potential friends.

"Sure," said Matt after a moment. "Why not."

Then, quickly: "Are you sure it's OK?"

"Dude! It's Griffith Park! Come on! Live a little!"

He could sense Matt's hesitation. "We'll wear masks," he assured him. "It'll be fine!"

* * *

Up on the first crest, the air felt strangely still, and everything seemed unnaturally quiet. Dan was huffing just ahead of him, his cheeks pink above his mask line. Matt looked nervously about, still wondering if they could get in trouble for being here.

The skies were just barely overcast, creating the feeling that they were enclosed in some kind of great jar. Even what few sounds there were sounded different, birdsong seemed to echo unnaturally. Matt laughed nervously. He had never imagined that he could feel claustrophobic in the outdoors, but that is what he felt now.

Up ahead, Dan stopped and turned back.

"Hanging in there?" He called down to Matt.

Matt gave him the thumbs up, and made his way up the hill.

"I think I needed this," he huffed as he spoke, climbing up to meet his friend. "I'm not used to having so much time on my hands. I just don't know what to do with myself."

"Oh yeah?" Dan looked bemused. "Why don't you come over to our place, we'll put you to work! Doreen and I are going nuts trying to get our work done while the kids are home!"

Matt snorted.

They continued in silence for a while, Matt puffing along as they navigated the dusty trail up the hillside.

"You know I really miss it," he said finally. Dan turned his head and looked at him.

"It was kind of my whole life," said Matt, a little sheepishly. "I mean, yeah, it was my work. It still is, I guess. But I spent so much time there. I knew the people who came in, and the staff. It was like… my little community."

"And you still can't have indoor dining, right?" Asked Dan.

"Right," said Matt. "And most of our clientele, they come to hang out. They bring their laptops, they do work, they talk with each other…" he drifted off as he struggled up a particularly steep turn.

Huffing, he continued. "It was a nice little space," he said. "And people came for that, you know? They didn't just come for the food, or the coffee."

Dan nodded.

"The restaurants can do takeout," Matt said, "you know, they can still make some money off of that. But for us…" he huffed some more. "Our people weren't coming for the food, you know? They were coming for the atmosphere, the space, the other people…"

"And that's gone now," said Dan, frowning.

"Yeah," said Matt. "It's gone."

"So…" his friend asked, "what do you do?"

Matt shrugged. "I ask myself that every day!" He said. "We still have a few people who come in and grab a coffee, or a muffin…" he laughed a little. "There's this one girl, I think she's a PA or something, with the studios. She comes in every morning for her banana-nut muffin. She must be working from home now, but she still comes in every morning for her muffin!"

They climbed in silence for a few moments.

"So we're open in the mornings now," said Matt. "It's not enough to pay the bills," he paused, to huff vigorously, "but it's something, and I just… I worry that if I close down completely…" he was still huffing, but that wasn't why it was hard for him to get the words out. "…people would just forget about us. It'll be like Bean There just vanishes."

"Matt, buddy," Dan had stopped smiling. "I'm really sorry, man. That must suck."

"Yeah," said Matt. "It really does." And then, feeling a little ashamed, "I mean, I know there are bigger things going on in the world. I get that there's a pandemic, and thousands of people are dying every day. So, yeah, maybe I shouldn't be complaining."

"No," said Dan, "it's alright. This whole thing is hard on everyone. Don't worry, it's not going to be like this forever. Things will get back to normal."

Up ahead, Matt noticed a couple walking towards them. He immediately tensed. As they got nearer, his tension grew, and he felt a rage swirling in his chest. He shook his head to himself.

"Unbelievable!" He muttered under his breath, as the couple approached and, averting their eyes, walked past the two men.

Dan looked at his friend quizzically.

"What the hell is wrong with people?!" Demanded Matt loudly. "Why is it so damned hard to put on a mask?!?!?!?"

Dan gave a little laugh. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said lightly, "they'll probably be dead from Covid in a few weeks!"

But Matt wasn't laughing.

"No, man," he said with tension in his voice, "it's to protect us! It's to protect everyone else! It's not about them!"

Dan nodded. "Yeah, of course!"

Matt shook his head. "I just don't get it. It's not that hard to do the right thing!"

They continued walking.

Matt looked back and waved towards where the couple had walked off. "It's because of people like that that this still isn't over!"

"You got that right!" Said Dan, nodding.

Matt was still smoldering when he got home.

There had been a time, not all that long ago, when home had been a refuge for him. A place of comfort, where he could let out a deep breath as he walked in the door, shake off the worries and stress of the day, take off the "face" he had to wear out in public. It was the place he came to at the end of the day, to relax and recharge himself.

It was all different now. Now it felt more like a cell, or a trap. A place he wanted to escape from, not to. But escape to where?

He sighed as he stepped inside. He knew there was nothing inside the refrigerator that he wanted, but he went and stood in front of it anyway.

* * *

They were friendly enough, the neighbors. They pretty much kept to themselves – but then everyone was keeping to themselves now. They were Asian. Or, "Asian-American", he corrected himself. Maybe Chinese, or Thai. There were a few Thai restaurants in town, pretty decent ones, Matt thought, and all those nail parlors.

The mom always seemed to be at home though, so that couldn't be it. And she was always busy at work on something: Taking care of all of the potted plants in front of their house, or the trees and flowers in back; washing dishes; doing laundry; or standing over her son as he struggled with his homework at the kitchen table.

The poor kid, Matt thought to himself. He always seemed to be huddled over that kitchen table. Never playing outside, never on his computer or watching TV. Did they even have a TV? If they did, he never heard it, and he couldn't see one from his kitchen window.

The father would come home at the same time every evening. And the mom and little boy always seemed happy to see him. They'd all have dinner together, but then, as soon as the table was cleared, the kid would be sitting there again, hunched over his books and papers.

Maybe that was just how it was with Asian families, he thought. He'd always heard about how hard working they were, how important education was to them. He guessed it must be true. Still… that poor kid.

* * *

There was a chill now, inside the Trader Joe's he'd frequented for decades, and it seemed quieter. He rolled his shopping cart slowly towards the produce section. There were arrows on the floor, showing you which way you could go down the aisles. He was careful to stay six feet away back from the person ahead of him.

He stopped at the apple display and reached for a plastic bag. The woman ahead of him turned and looked back at him. He did not know if it was a friendly look, a fearful look, an inquisitive look… He looked back for what felt like a long moment and then gave a nod. Turning back to the apples, he did not himself know what that nod was intended to convey. But he'd felt that it was needed. That some kind of acknowledgement of the other person, and of their shared situation, was required. But he found himself at a loss to know what form that acknowledgement ought to take.

He put the bag of apples in his cart and pushed on.

In the old days — not even a year ago, he reminded himself — shoppers would be bouncing along to the music, smiling at each other, talking with each other about the frozen dumplings, and the chocolate-covered espresso beans. Asking questions of other shoppers when there was no-one in a Hawaiian shirt to be found.

Today though… he looked around. Like everyone else, he was nervous about catching the deadly virus, and inwardly thankful to the grocery store for implementing these protective measures that would help to keep him, and everyone else, a little safer. But… as nervous as he was about the virus, he was just as nervous about the people around him. Everyone was silent, and moved slowly. There were no smiles — or if there were, nobody could see them. Above all, above even his fear of getting sick, in this moment, he did not want anyone to think that he was a threat to them, that he didn't take the rules seriously. Or, God forbid, that he himself was sick!

He turned down the farthest aisle, and rolled his cart towards the cheese display. Someone was already standing there, a young woman in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, wearing not one but two masks, and blue plastic gloves on her hands. Matt made a mental note to order surgical gloves, and then stood with his cart a good eight feet behind the cheese display. The woman looked back at him and nodded. He nodded back.

Just then, another shopper, an older man, came up behind Matt, turned before getting close to him, and pushed his cart alongside him to pass both Matt and the young woman at the cheese display. Matt felt his body tighten with rage. The arrows were big and clear on the floor. There was no way the man could have missed them.

If it was possible to shake one's head loudly, that's what Matt did. He shook his head slowly and loudly, looking around just a little to make sure some of the other shoppers had seen him. The middle-aged woman six feet behind him did see, and she shook her head too.

The scofflaw was at the front of the store by now. Nevertheless, Matt said, just loudly enough for the two shoppers on either side of him to hear through his mask: "Like you can't see the arrows?" He shook his head again, and both of the other shoppers did too.

He always felt a burst of relief when he stepped out of the store. Into the sunshine, the fresh air, the sense – for a moment anyway – that things were normal again. Today, the sensation was even more short-lived than the last time he had come. The October sun beat down on his head and he gave a little snort and pushed his cart down the sidewalk toward where his car was parked.

Just ahead of him, alongside the sidewalk, a big Greyhound bus stood stopped in traffic. He glanced up at it. For a moment, he was puzzled. He hadn't seen one of those in years. Then, he saw, seated towards the back, a familiar face. It was the little boy from next door. He was sitting with both his mother and father, and they were all looking straight ahead and hadn't seen him. But as he approached the bus, the boy, seated right by the window, turned and looked down at him. He smiled, and lifted his hand in a little wave.

Matt waved back, and continued on to his car. It was only after he had started driving that he realized he could tell the neighbor child was smiling because he wasn't wearing a mask.

* * *

"We begin the hour with a horrifying statistic," the grim-faced man on the television intoned. "The United States has now registered two hundred thousand — two hundred thousand — Coronavirus deaths."

Matt felt his insides tense up.

"Dr. Anthony Fauci this morning, in an interview with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, calls that milestone 'sobering' and 'stunning'. Dr. Fauci also has big concerns about the current case level"

He was sitting alone on his sofa, eating from a bowl of TJ's sesame sticks, after what had seemed like a very long and trying day. But as he thought back over it, he was having a hard time identifying what it was he had actually accomplished.

"…his advice: Follow the data. Do what we know works."

Matt stared at the screen blankly. Where had the day gone? Where had the past few weeks gone?

"Two hundred thousand," said the grim man again. "Two hundred thousand American lives lost is hard to measure."

Matt swallowed.

* * *

"You know this used to be an internment camp, right?"

Matt just looked at Dan. He had no idea what his friend was talking about.

"Yeah — remember in World War Two, when they put all the Japanese Americans in camps? Well there was one here. Right where we're walking."

"Wow," said Matt, looking around at the trees and brush that surrounded them.

They continued their climb.

"So… how's it going?" Dan ventured.

It was the end of January, and Matt was starting to face the reality that Bean There would not be able to stay afloat for much longer.

Matt took in a deep breath. "Well," he began, "I didn't want to do this, but I've taken my brother up on his loan offer."

Dan nodded.

"He'd offered a while ago," said Matt, "but I didn't want to take advantage. You know? And I thought I could make it work."

"Man," said Dan, "you've got to do what you've got to do."

"Yeah," said Matt. "It just doesn't feel good."

They continued their climb.

"I've done everything I can though," he continued. "Most of my staff are home collecting stimulus checks. We're barely even open anymore, and we hardly serve anything besides coffee and muffins." He sighed. "I don't know what else I can do."

Dan put an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You'll get through this," he said. "We all will."

* * *

"The CDC now says," the cheery newscaster in a bright blue blouse was nearly breathless, "that some of us should be wearing masks even in our own homes!"

The boyishly handsome newscaster who sat next to her gave an exclamation of surprise. "Wow Dina, are you sure you read that right?"

"That's right Jonas," Dina chirped, "the CDC is saying that there are some situations in which you ought to be wearing a mask in your own home!"

"And what are those situations?"

"Well," continued Dina, "here's what the CDC is telling us: If someone in the household has been infected with, or potentially exposed to, Covid-19, caregivers for that person, or those sharing a living space with that person should be wearing masks."

"And what about the infected person themself?" Asked Jonas.

"Well," said Dina, almost laughing, "that goes without saying!"

Later that day, Matt saw the neighbor lady in her front yard. She was on her knees, pulling up little weeds from the patch of flowers in front of their patio. The little patch was impressive: Lavender and rosemary and bright orange poppies, the combination giving a sense of well-tended wildness. At the end nearest the driveway, a small, gnarled pine tree sat atop a little mound, stretching its branches out horizontally.

The porch itself was filled with pots — some hanging, some on the ground — filled with an impressive assortment of herbs and flowers. The hum of bees filled the air.

As usual, the neighbor woman was not wearing a mask. Matt was now certain that he had never seen any of the family wearing a mask. He hesitated a moment, and then decided to do it. He stepped forward.

"Hi there!" He called out.

The neighbor woman turned and smiled at him.

"Did you see on the news where they're saying you need to wear your mask indoors at home, too?"

She smiled again, nodded, and turned back to her plants.

Matt just stood there. He didn't want to be rude. And the truth was, she wasn't anywhere close to him. But he wasn't worried for himself, he thought. It was the principle of the thing!

Still… he didn't want to be rude. If he called out again, it would be rude. So instead, he just said "have a nice day!" and turned back to go inside.

In fact, he told himself once he was inside, he wasn't sure she even spoke English. The boy must, since he was obviously in school. He was always at work on his homework, either at the small kitchen table, or up in his bedroom upstairs. Matt often saw a soft light coming from his room until well after midnight. And the husband appeared to have a job of some kind, so he must be able to communicate. But that didn't mean that the wife spoke English. Still… he mused some more as he sat down on his sofa …who moves to a country without being able to speak at least some of the language? He shook his head and turned on the TV.

* * *

Matt woke in the middle of the night. His heart was pounding. Had something woken him? He sat up quickly, listening for any unusual sounds. But all was quiet. He gave a long sigh, stood up, and walked into the kitchen.

He flipped on the light, and something leaped out of the sink. Matt jumped, his heart pounding again, as the little fruit rat scurried along the floor back to whatever crack under the cupboards had admitted it.

Matt leaned against the counter for a moment, catching his breath. He'd lived in this house for more than eighteen years. He had never had a rat — or any wild animal — get inside.

Something had changed in the outdoors. It felt "wilder" somehow. There was a new smell: Something musky and sour, like the scent of some animal's urine, used to mark its territory. But it seemed to be everywhere. And he saw birds of prey all the time now, in his own back yard. They would sit up on the power lines, looking down. Waiting.

He opened the fridge door and pulled out a bottle of water. Turning to go back to bed, he noticed that the light was on in the neighbors' kitchen, which he could see through his own kitchen window. He looked over, and saw the young boy sitting at the kitchen table, hard at work on something. He was writing, his head down, his forehead scrunched into a frown.

Matt looked at the clock on the stove: 2:17 in the morning. He shook his head, and flipped off his own kitchen light.

"Man, that kid," he said to himself, and went back to bed.

* * *

It was spring now. Matt was grateful for the hikes with Dan. And he didn't need a calendar to keep track of them. Every Saturday morning – Saturdays, because Dan still had a job, with a schedule, and meetings with other people. Even if they were on the computer and Dan attended them from his living room, in his pajamas.

Something about being outdoors, about feeling the fresh air on his face, and seeing the morning sunlight glowing behind the leaves of the trees, something about all that made everything a little better. It made everything else seem smaller, if only for a little while.

This morning, they had finished their hike, and were walking back to where they had left their cars.

"So," Matt huffed as they approached Travel Town, "you've heard about Tinhorn Flats, right?"

"Oh yeah," said Dan, "that restaurant that defied the in-person dining orders, right? I thought the city shut them down?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, they did, but they kept on operating, so they cut off their water and power!

"Wow!" Said Dan. "That's pretty harsh!"

Matt shrugged. "Serves 'em right," he said, with an edge to his voice, "everyone else has to follow the rules, why shouldn't they?"

Dan nodded.

"I mean," Matt went on, gesturing with one hand, "If it weren't for idiots like that, this would all be over by now!"

"Yep," Dan nodded again.

"It's hard on everyone!" Matt exclaimed. "Why do they think they're special?!?"

"Well," Dan huffed, as they continued their climb, "I know it's been hard on you."

Matt nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Even with indoor dining open again, we're just not getting…" He did a double take. Up ahead of them, he could see the big train engines on display at Travel Town. For just a split second, it looked like a woman with dark hair was leading a little boy up the steps into an enormous grey train.

"What?" Huffed Dan.

Matt shook his head. "Oh, nothing," he said. "I just thought I saw some people over there."

Dan lifted his head up and craned his neck to look around. "Where?"

"There," Matt pointed. "That train car. There was a woman and a child, climbing up into the train."

Dan frowned. "Travel Town's closed. There shouldn't be anyone there." He shook his head. "I don't see anyone."

Matt shrugged. "Well, it's their problem if someone catches them." He started walking again.

* * *

Dan called a few days later.

"Hey man!" He sounded awful. Like he was drunk and underwater.

"What's up?"

"Oh, man," said Dan, "I'm really sick! I was up all night… I just feel like crap!"

"Oh no!" Said Matt, "is it… Covid?"

"No, no," Dan bleated. "No, it's the shot. I got the shot yesterday, and last night I started feeling like death!"

"Oh wow!" Said Matt. "I'm sorry to hear that!"

"Thanks, man," Dan continued to struggle to speak, "listen, I don't think I'll be able to make it this Saturday…"

"Yeah, of course…"

"…and I also wanted to ask you a big favor."

"Sure," said Matt, "anything!"

* * *

Later that afternoon, carrying a heavy bag of groceries, Matt knocked on the door of a house about eight minutes away from his own, on the other side of Chandler. There weren't as many trees on this street, and the little house seemed small and bare, exposed to the elements.

After several minutes, the door opened. An ancient, weathered, face peered out.

"You must be Matt," said the face.

"Yes," said Matt, "are you Joe?"

"That's me!" Said the old man, pulling the door all the way open. "Come on in!"

Joe shuffled ahead of Matt, leading him through the front living room and into the kitchen, in the back of the house.

Matt set the bag of groceries down on the formica counter.

"You didn't need to do this, you know," said Joe, as he began lifting items out of the bag and placing them on the counter. "I'm perfectly capable of going out and doing my own grocery shopping!"

Having expected something more along the lines of "thank you!", Matt wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm sure that's true," he said finally, "but Dan was worried. He just doesn't want you getting sick, I think."

"Ha!" The explosion that erupted from the old man startled Matt. "He's the one who's sick!"

"Yes," admitted Matt, "he is."

"Yeah… because he went and got one of those jabs!"

Matt, who was scheduled to get "one of those jabs" the next week, decided to say nothing. But the old man continued.

"I told him not to," he said, "I warned him about it. But you know young people," he said with a little laugh, "they always know it all, right?"

Matt laughed a little.

"I said to him," said Joe, "let someone else be the guinea pig! You don't know what that stuff's gonna do to you!"

Matt nodded noncommittally.

Joe moved groceries from the counter into the refrigerator with some vigor. "'I'm old enough', I told him, 'I"m old enough to remember the whole Swine Flu fiasco!'"

He turned back to Matt. "You know about that, do you? The Swine Flu hoo-hah, back in the seventies?"

Matt was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Um, no," he said, desperate for a way not to have to learn about it. He looked frantically around the room, searching for anything that might provide a means for changing the subject.

"Well!" Said Joe, getting his wind up, "back in the nineteen seventy six, the government, and the media, were whipping up a scare campaign about this 'Swine Flu'. And then they came up with a vaccine for it. Well, wouldn't you know…"

And then Matt spotted it. Hanging on the wall in the hallway just outside of the kitchen, were some old black-and-white pictures. There were a few photos of men in military uniforms, and some other, larger ones, that were confusing to him: One was a black-and-white photo of an airplane, on the ground, under what looked like a curtain of fabric; Another showed people standing beneath a similar massive curtain; and another showed two images side by side: One looked like some kind of industrial plant, seen from above, the other, a neat, tidy neighborhood seen from the same angle. The words "before" and "after" were printed above the first and second images.

"What's that?" Matt blurted out, pointing at the odd photographs. It worked. Joe turned to follow his hand.

"Ah!" Said Joe, brightly, "that!" He walked over to where the photos hung.

"That, my boy," said Joe, pointing at the image of the airplane, "was one of the most creative acts of camouflage in this country, during the Great War!" He pulled all three photos down from the wall, and motioned for Matt to follow him into the front room, where he sat in an overstuffed armchair. Matt followed his lead and sat on the sofa next to the chair.

"This was the Lockheed plant," said Joe, holding up the picture with the dual images. "You know I worked for Lockheed for many years, yes?" Matt did not know this.

"Well," continued Joe, "as you know, Lockheed was in the business of manufacturing aircraft during the war. So it was important that the Japs didn't know about their plant here. So what they did… I was just a boy at the time… what they did was, they got the film studios to come up with some, special effects, you might say. Here…"

He passed the photo over to Matt.

"This is the Lockheed plant, before they camouflaged it," he pointed to the aerial view of the plant, "and this is after," he pointed to what appeared to be a residential neighborhood seen from above. "And here," he pointed to the photo of the people standing under the canopy of fabric, "is how they did it. They hung canvas all over the whole thing, and then they made fake trees, fake houses, farms, cars… everything you see here, it's all fake. All to make it look like it was just a neighborhood!"

Matt was genuinely interested now. He looked closely at the pictures.

"You know," he said to Joe, "I've lived here all my life and I never knew about this."

Joe nodded. "Lots of folks don't," he said. "Like I said, I was a kid at the time. I remember when all this happened!"

Something occurred to Matt.

"Mr. Nyborn," he began.

"Oh, call me Joe," said Joe.

"Joe… did you ever hear about internment camps for Japanese Americans, near here, in Griffith Park?"

Joe nodded his head.

"Oh yes," he said, "I do remember about that. There used to be Japanese farmers living around here. Yes, this used to be farmland. Orchards, strawberries, all kinds of things. Anyway, when the war started, they took 'em away. Put 'em in the camps until the end of the war."

Matt was in disbelief.

"What? Right here?"

Dan's father nods. "Right where we're sitting."

"What…" Dan was trying to reconcile this account of a pastoral landscape with the small but bustling city in which he had lived his entire life. "What happened to all the farms?"

"Oh," said Joe, "they were sold off." He gave a laugh. "Pennies on the dollar! My dad knew some folks who bought one of 'em. 'Pennies on the dollar', he always said!"

"That's awful!" Said Matt.

Joe made a snorting sound.

"They were the enemy! It was 'Japs this' and 'Japs that'! Remember, they attacked us!"

"Yeah, but… that wasn't the farmers' fault!"

Joe shrugged. "It was all the same." He paused for a moment, then said, "two of my cousins died in that war. Those Japs can go to Hell!"

* * *

It was October again now. Matt sat in the cool, quiet coffee shop with his laptop. No-one had come in in the hour and a half that he'd been there. He quietly calculated how much money he'd thrown away just by keeping the wifi on.

Back in the kitchen, he could hear Jorge banging trays around, cleaning up after the morning bake. Matt sighed and closed his laptop.

"I'll see you later!" He called out to Jorge. "See you boss!" Jorge called back. Matt gathered his things and walked out the back door.

The cars ahead of him seemed to be moving unnecessarily slowly. Matt gave a big sigh. If asked, he would have admitted that he had nothing pressing he had to get home to. But he didn't like being held up in traffic, in principle.

Up ahead, the light turned yellow.

"Come on, come on!" Matt urged the driver in front of him to move forward before yellow turned to red. But the SUV came to a stop in front of the crosswalk.

"Gaaaaah!" Matt exclaimed, bringing his hand down on his steering wheel.

On the other side of the street, a man was walking his golden Labradoodle down the sidewalk. He was not wearing a mask.

Fuming, Matt rolled down his window.

"Hey!" He called out. The man stopped, and turned.

"Yeah, you!" Matt yelled. "Do you know there's a pandemic??? Do you know people are dying???"

The man turned away and continued walking.

"Put a fucking mask on!!!" Matt yelled. The light changed, and the SUV ahead of him moved forward. "The rest of us follow the rules! Why can't you?!?!?!?"

The car behind him gave a loud honk.

"Oh fuck you!" Matt shouted before rolling his window back up.

* * *

"Do you ever notice the lemon trees around here?" Joe asked, the next time Matt delivered him a bag of groceries.

"What about them?"

"Heh! Of course you didn't! You young folk — too busy with your tee-vees and all your electronic jee-jaws to notice anything!" He gestured around his own front yard. "I don't have any of 'em myself, but you look around. See if you notice anything!"

Matt promised that he would.

Driving back home, he had to cross the Chandler Bike Path. As he approached, he saw a couple walking down the path, just about to walk across the crosswalk in front of him. They were talking and laughing, and — Matt noticed with a surge of adrenaline — they were not wearing masks. He shook his head and glared at the couple as they crossed in front of him. But they were looking at each other, still laughing, and did not see him. He felt his throat tighten.

He turned on to his street, just as a long silver bus was pulling away down at the other end. As his car approached his house, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the neighbor boy running toward him. Running toward his own home.

He had no mask on.

Something clicked inside of Matt, as if a gear had shifted. He felt blood pounding in his head, and he wanted to scream. He wanted to jump out of his car and start banging on things, throwing things… He didn't know what he wanted to do. But in an instant, he found himself outside of his car, striding purposefully toward the young boy who was now only a few feet from his home.

The boy was smiling as he ran towards his home, towards Matt. For some reason, that only fueled his rage more. He felt his temples were about to burst, as he strode right up to the boy. He was only a few feet away from him. He reached out — still not clear what it was he intended to do — in an instant, the boy had swept past him, and Matt stumbled forward. Matt collected himself and turned around. The boy had moved so quickly, he hadn't even seen it happen. And now he was running up the three steps to his front door. Matt stood and stared at him. To follow him up to his door would be too much. It would cross a line he wasn't willing to cross. So he just stood there. The boy put his key into the lock, then turned back and grinned once more at Matt.

Once he was inside his house, and his pulse had stopped racing, Matt began to worry. What if the boy's mother had seen him? What if he told her what had happened? He imagined how the scene might have looked to an observer. And then wondered if anyone else had seen. It would be hard to defend his actions, he told himself, feeling his pulse rising again. What would he say to the boy's parents, if they came to his door and confronted him about it?

Then, he remembered why he had reached out for the boy, why he had been so enraged to begin with. No, he told himself, I'm going to stand my ground. If they come, I'll tell them straight up that they need to be wearing masks. That they're putting everyone else at risk and it isn't right. But he didn't say it with the conviction he would have liked to have felt. He knew he would have a hard time justifying lunging at a child, no matter how righteous the motivation. And what if they called the police? His pulse was racing again now.

But they never did come to his door.

* * *

That evening, as the sun's glow was beginning to touch the tops of the Verdugo Hills, Matt poured himself a glass of whiskey and went out to sit on the little wooden deck on the back of his house.

He could hear the parrots off in the distance, and he felt something relax in his chest. He smiled. There had been times, in the 54 years of his life, that he had found their noise irritating, infuriating even. Particularly on the days when they had, by whatever decision-making process feral parrots employ for this purpose, decided to congregate on one of the trees directly in front of his house. But today the sound provided him with a strange comfort. And it occurred to him that he would miss their nightly migrations.

He took a sip of whiskey.

He gazed at the gnarled old lemon tree in his backyard. Sagging with lemons, even though it was October. He would miss that too.

Across the back fence were two more lemon trees of about the same height. One more in the yard to the left of the neighbor behind him, and another in the yard to his left. Holding his glass of whiskey, Matt stood up and gazed out over the yards.

If he softened his gaze just a little, he could imagine a line between his tree and the nearest one in the yard behind his. Another line between those two and the tree next door to them. Pulling back, he could picture a grid, covering his whole block — maybe more — rows and rows of lemon trees, some still standing, some long since gone.

What was it Joe had been saying about the lemon trees?

He took another sip of whiskey, and gazed out over the neighboring back yards. In between the lemon trees, squat, dark houses sat in more recently cultivated rows, seeming to blink at each other as lights were turned on and off in living rooms, kitchens, porches…

Something sank inside his chest. And a thought that had been swimming around in his insides, circling around his heart, rose up and became solid.

He put his glass of whiskey down on the little glass tabletop and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed a number and sat down, still looking out over the rows of silent houses.

"Yes?" Joe answered.

"Joe," Matt's tongue felt a little thick as he spoke. "Joe, it's Matt. I've got a question for you."

"Oh hello Matt," said the old man. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," said Matt, "everything's fine. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Well," Matt began, "those people you were telling me about, the ones they took away…"

There was silence on the other end. Matt could hear the slight slurring of his own speech. He didn't care.

"…to the camps," said Matt. "In Griffith Park."

"Oh," said Joe, "yes. What about them?"

"Didn't they have neighbors?" Matt asked. There was no response.

"I mean," he went on, "wasn't there anyone who tried to stop them? Anyone who tried to stop them from being taken? What about their neighbors?"

"Oh," said Joe, slowly, comprehending. "I see. Well, as you know, quite a lot of them were farmers. So their nearest neighbors might not have been that close by. But for the rest of them, I don't know. I suppose they had neighbors…"

"…and they didn't do anything? They just let them take them away?"

"Well, what could they have done?"

"I don't know," Matt faltered. "Just… I don't know…"

"You alright Matt?" Joe asked him.

"Yeah," said Matt, "yeah, I'm fine. Thanks Joe." And he hung up.

About an hour after hanging up with Joe, the phone rang.

"Hey man," Dan sounded concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"Sure," Matt said, "why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just," his friend seemed a little uncomfortable. "My dad called me. He was just kinda worried. Thought you seemed upset or something."

Matt sighed.

"Yeah," he said, "it's just, I got thinking about what your dad told me about the folks in the internment camps. You know, in the park, that you were telling me about?"

"Oh yeah," said Dan.

"He was saying that they just came and took them away. Put them on busses and just rolled them out to the camps."

"Mm-hmmm…"

"It just made me wonder… you know, didn't they have neighbors? Didn't they have friends? Didn't anyone try to stop them from being taken away? You know?"

"Well," said Dan, "it was a long time ago. Hopefully we've learned from all that."

"Yeah," said Matt, "I dunno. I dunno."

There was a pause, and Matt could hear insects chirping outside his window.

"There's something else I was going to tell you," he said slowly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," suddenly Matt found that he didn't have the words for the simple thing he needed to say. "The coffee shop," he said. "I've found a buyer."

"Oh!" Said Dan.

"Yeah," said Matt. "I'm doing it. I'm going to go stay with my brother in Austin for a while and figure out what's next."

"Oh man," said Dan, genuinely shaken, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Only a week later, Matt sat at his kitchen table, stacks of documents before him. He had gone over it all with the lawyer earlier in the day. Now he just needed to sign everything.

He didn't understand why it was taking him so long.

He looked up from the paper in front of him and gave a start. Through his kitchen window, he saw his neighbors – all three of them—standing behind their kitchen table. They were looking at him through the window, standing together, almost as if for a family portrait, looking right at him.

Matt was shaken by the unexpected intrusion. It was out of character for the quiet unassuming family. He sat there, frozen, wondering if they wanted something from him. Maybe they were angry about his interaction with the boy? But they didn't look angry.

Matt frowned, looking back at them. Then, as if there had been nothing unusual at all, the wife turned to the sink and began washing dishes. Her husband walked past her, out of the room. And the boy pulled out a chair, put his enormous backpack on the kitchen table, pulled out a book and a notepad, and hunched over his schoolwork.

* * *

Three days later, Matt stood at the old man's doorstep, a Trader Joe's double bag bulging with lemons in his arms. He pressed the bell with his elbow and waited. The street was quiet. He could hear a leaf blower somewhere in the distance, and wondered vaguely when those had started up again. Inside, he could hear Dan's father shuffling across the house to the front door. Had it been anyone else, he mused, he might feel bad about having him make the trek.

"Oh, it's you again!" Joe snarled in mock annoyance.

Matt held up the bag of lemons.

"A going-away present."

Joe's face dropped a little.

"Yeah, Dan told me about that," he said kindly, shaking his head. "Is there no way around it? No way to stay and make it work?"

Matt sighed. "Not really," he said. "If we'd had more in the bank, maybe we could have waited things out. But I've burned through enough of my brother's money already."

Joe nodded. "Well," he said, "I guess you know your business."

Matt nodded. "Here you go," he said, "I thought you might appreciate these!"

The old man took the bag of lemons from him with a smile "sure will!"

They said their goodbyes, and Joe turned to go back into the house with the bag of lemons. Then he turned back.

"You know, it's a shame," he said to Matt, looking him in the eyes. "It's a real shame."

Matt felt his eyes starting to sting, and mumbled "thank you," before turning and walking quickly back to his car.

* * *

"Man, I'm so sorry!" Dan wrapped his arms around his friend in a big bear hug. After a moment, he pulled away and looked his friend in the face.

"You'll stay in touch, right?"

"Of course!"

"And who knows," said Dan with a strained cheeriness, "you might come back some day. I mean, this is home, right?"

The words hit Matt like a lead weight. This place had been "home" for his whole life. The only home he had ever known. Deciding to leave had taken more than his friend could ever appreciate, more than he probably yet appreciated himself. And that was all the more reason he was certain he could never come back.

Still, he nodded and tried to smile. "Anything's possible," he said.

Dan's wife, Doreen, stepped up to the door.

"We're sorry to see you go," she said, reaching past her husband to give Matt a hug. "I mean it," she said, pulling away. "Your walks, with Dan, it's meant a lot to him during this time." She looked up at Dan, who nodded emphatically.

A gust of air escaped Matt's windpipe. He shook his head. "It's meant a lot to me too," he said, his eyes meeting Dan's. He gave a little laugh. "I think it may be what's preserved my sanity…"

Dan pulled him in for another hug.

"…such as it is," said Matt, and both men laughed.

"Seriously, man," said Dan, "I hope you can come back."

"Anything's possible," repeated Matt weakly.

* * *

It was the night before he was leaving. Earlier that afternoon, he'd stopped by his neighbor Benjamin's to say goodbye.

Benjamin was a retired school teacher who had lived next door to Matt for more than ten years. He and Matt weren't close, but they were friendly, and the two had often picked up groceries and other supplies for each other over the past year and a half.

From far up in his doorway, Benjamin shook his head.

"I'm sorry to hear it," he said through his mask.

"Yeah," Matt said through his, making sure to keep a polite eight-foot distance. "I wish it hadn't turned out this way, but… here we are!"

"Well," said Benjamin, "I'll be very sad to see you go."

"Thank you," said Matt.

"Are you flying out?"

"Driving," said Matt. "I leave in the morning."

"Well, you drive safely," said Benjamin.

"I will," said Matt. "Oh, if you happen to see the Asian family, could you tell them goodbye for me? I tried knocking on their door earlier, but there was no answer."

Benjamin frowned. "Asian family?"

"Yeah," said Matt, pointing, "on the other side of me. I wanted to say goodbye, but they weren't in."

Benjamin was still frowning. He looked at Matt for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Sure, of course. I'll do that."

"Thanks!" Said Matt, smiling. "Well," he said, "thanks for everything!"

"You too!"

Matt turned and walked back to his house.

It was his last night. The last night inside these walls. The last night he would smell the hint of orange blossoms drifting in on the air when he opened the back door. The last night he would hear the distant wailing of the train from his bedroom, delivering passengers up and down the coast.

He had never felt anything like this before.

It was as if something had pierced through his heart – childishly, he pictured a great whaler's harpoon – and everything he had ever held in there was now pouring out. The simple things. The things he'd never even thought about. All of the moments he had spent in this place, all of the walks along the neighborhood streets, the colors of the leaves, the shaft of golden light that stretched across his living-room wall in the late afternoon.

It all came sweeping back up: Every time he'd walked to school, every fight, every Halloween, every Christmas. Every argument he'd ever had with his parents as a kid, every conversation he'd had with them as an adult, while they'd still been alive. His Saturday-morning hikes with Dan, the very particular way the air smelled in the mornings, that smelled like no other place in the world: A light mix of forsythia, newly mown lawns, and a hint of salty sea breeze.

Those mornings, when the seagulls would come and stand in patrol lines on the junior high school's asphalt playground before any humans were there. The parrots that flocked to the trees on his street in the evenings, their screeches deafening. The particular golden apricot light on the Verdugo hills at a particular time in the late afternoon…

He fell to his knees. He was a little embarrassed, and looked up quickly at the window to make sure the neighbors weren't looking in. But their house was dark, and nobody was looking at him.

He stayed there on his knees, reaching out as if he could pull back into him all of the memories that had come tumbling out, all of the sensations of what he was leaving behind. But he could not. They had spilled out and were being pulled away from him. By morning, they would all be far off in the distance somewhere.

And he wept.

* * *

The sun had not quite risen when he loaded up the U-Haul in the morning. There wasn't much to load: he had sold most of his furniture, and any big belongings he'd decided to keep, he'd loaded up the day before.

The sky was silver, with just a thin line of watery pink at the bottom. He could hear those seagulls calling to each other somewhere in the distance. Too far off to see.

He pulled the front door closed for the last time, and slid the key through the mail slot, as he had promised the realtor he would. He gave a long sigh that only the early morning birds would hear. And he turned again to his neighbors to the south. He'd give it one more try, and then he would be on his way.

He started to walk up the driveway to their house. After only a few steps, he stopped, frowning. This wasn't right. He had walked up to the front door only yesterday, and the front lawn had been neatly mown. Now, it was overgrown and dried out in patches.

He looked around, imagining that he must have stepped onto the wrong driveway, at the wrong house. It made no sense, but his mind could come up with no other explanation. He craned his neck, looking all around him, as if somehow his neighbor's house would appear somewhere else on the street. But of course it did not.

He suddenly felt light headed. He looked up ahead of him, to the little space before the front porch. The space the wife had tended so carefully every day. He had seen her. Now it stood barren, weeds poked up between the flat stones, and the desiccated form of a low, squat pine tree lay on its side, shriveled roots dangling in the air.

Numb, Matt turned his eyes to the porch. Where only yesterday a tidy arrangement of well-tended flowers, herbs, and succulents of varying colors and sizes had decorated the space, now there were only a few shards of broken pottery. The house itself looked as if it had aged a century. Yellowed paint was peeling off of the wood paneling on the front, and on the doorframe. The windows were bare, and from where he stood a few yards away, he could see that the front room was empty.

There was no-one else on the street. The only sound was the distant cawing of the seagulls. Matt's heart began to race. Slowly, as if he was afraid he might upset the inexplicable scene before him, he stepped backwards, out of the driveway.

He walked quickly to the U-Haul, not looking back. He opened the door, slid inside, and locked the doors. He turned on the radio and started to drive. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

He was nearly at the end of his street, when on an impulse, he decided to drive by his old high school one last time. He turned right instead of left and drove the few blocks down to the school. He parked alongside the parking lot across from the main entrance, and just sat there. His heart was still pounding, but his mind had already started to serve up plausible rationalizations for what he had just seen. Most prominent among these having to do with the stress he'd endured over the past year and a half.

He tried to breathe deeply.

"Stress," he thought to himself. "Yeah." And then, out loud, shaking his head, "I'm not crazy. I'm not."

Aware that a random passerby might not share in his assessment, he sat up straight and looked around. There was nobody nearby. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I'm not."

He gazed at the front of the school. The front had been rebuilt since he had been there, and there was a huge digital sign informing anyone driving by that we were all in this together, and urging them to stay safe!

A hundred random memories came flooding out at him: Guess Jeans and Wham and dances in the gym; Sitting in the bleachers the one time he ever attended a football game, feeling so awkward just being there, all by himself; The smell of grass on his knees in PE; The time he almost kissed Angela Woodford in the hallway when they were both late for class; The quiet stillness of art class in the afternoon…

It was time to go.

He shook his head, started his car, and made a u-turn in the street, heading back the way he had come, towards the freeway.

He was leaving home at last.

Images flew towards him on the way out, calling out to him, begging him to stay? Or just reminding him of how important they had always been, telling him that maybe he should have recognized that at the time:

Martino's Bakery, on the corner, the big Nickelodeon building with its giant orange lettering, the shops and restaurants on San Fernando road, the In N Out Burger.

With each familiar sight, came another small but real tug of the harpoon.

His heart was no longer pounding. Traffic was flowing smoothly on the Five, and Matt felt himself relax just a little. His future was uncertain, he did not have a solid plan, and he knew he couldn't stay with his brother forever. But a burden had been lifted. If nothing else, he no longer had to fear his mortgage payments, or having to tell his employees they no longer had jobs. All of that was gone now. He had a little money in the bank now, and would have more once his house sold. He was going to be alright.

"All the leaves are brown…"

The harpoon gave a powerful yank, and he felt something spill out from his chest and spring from the corners of his eyes.

"All the leaves are brown…"

A flash of silver in his rearview mirror.

"And the sky is gray…"

Matt's limbs went cold. His eyes carefully avoided the silver patch that moved slowly with the traffic a few cars behind him.

"And the sky is gray…"

He'd known it would be there.

"If I was in LA…"

He could not have explained how he'd known, but he understood now that he had known it would be coming with him. That there were some things he would not be able to leave behind.

"If I was in LA…"

He gripped the wheel a little more tightly, focused his eyes more firmly ahead of him. It would be alright.

"California dreamin'…"

Traffic was moving smoothly, he told himself. In two days, he would be in Austin. It would all be alright.

"On such a winter's day…"

He breathed deeply, found a spot as far up ahead as he could see to focus on, and turned up the volume.

"California dreamin'…"

Behind him, the Greyhound bus moved forward. It was just behind him now, and edging up alongside his U-Haul. His eyes stayed fixed ahead of him. He would not turn and look at it. He wouldn't. He might see its silver sides from the corner of his eye, but he could not see any of its passengers. He would not.

"On such a winter's day…"

Soon, he would be in Texas.