I stare down at my lap and knit my fingers together. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Cam says. He sighs and stares out the window.
The bus stops. We get off near Coit Tower and begin strolling around the neighborhood. As we turn onto Sansome Street, Cam peers up ahead, using his palm as a visor.
“Hey. What’s that?”
He’s looking at a mosaic square at the intersection on Greenwich. We walk up to it until the tiny white stones come together, forming a single word, along with an arrow: “Steps.”
“Mysterious.” Cam looks at me. “Have you ever been up this way?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
We turn into a quiet cul-de-sac and weave between several large trees to find an open staircase that seems to ascend into the branches.
“This is cool,” I say.
We walk up together, sardined side by side instead of single file. We both want to see what’s in front of us too much to cede the front spot to the other. The stairs wind up and up. Yellow flowers dangle from the foliage overhead like strings of heavy lights. Flower beds with blooms in every color spring up around us. A life-sized tiger made with mosaic pieces watches from a high ledge.
“This is magical,” Cam says.
The word instantly reminds me of Julia standing at the edge of the mirrored pond inside Golden Gate Park.
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
We walk through the garden, past more mosaic sculptures. The path leads us to a labyrinth-like wall, which only at the last moment reveals a hidden archway to the left. Cam turns for the arch, but I pause in front of a small copper fountain. It’s mounted to the false wall and framed in the same style of mosaic tiles. The shape of the fountain is strange. Familiar. And those four blue stars and white moon hovering over the tile frame…
“What is it?” Cam asks.
I point at the fountain.
“Remind you of anything?” I ask.
Cam peers at the fountain for a moment, until his eyes go wide. He looks over at me and I nod. I pull my bag around to the front, unzipping the main pocket and taking out the wooden box. We pull out the scroll and open it between us.
We don’t even have to confirm with each other—our focus goes immediately to the drawing of a grandfather clock in the top center, with four stars and a full moon arched over the clockface.
“It’s the clock,” Cam says. “You found another piece!”
He tilts his head into mine, as if we were clinking cheers to the thought.
The map is coming together.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We emerge through the brick archway and out of the secret garden.
“Come on,” Cam says, turning for downtown.
“Wait.” I motion to the next flight of stairs. “We’re not going all the way to Coit Tower?”
“We don’t need to. The fountain marks a point on the map—just like the Golden Gate Bridge. If we’re going to figure out the rest of it, we have to move to a different part of town.”
The bus back down to Market Street passes us by twice, but neither Cam nor I suggest hopping on. Walking downhill feels almost too easy, too floaty and weightless, to go ruining it by catching a ride.
Something delicious explodes inside me—the first sip of sparkling cider, when it’s all crisp and fizz and hasn’t yet turned into a stomachache. I sneak a look at Cam and am equal parts embarrassed and thrilled to see he’s already looking at me.
“What?” he asks.
