Page 1 of A Map to Paradise

Malibu, April 14, 1966

The view from the car window is both calming and startling.

New eucalyptus, queen palms, and jacaranda trees stand on what had been charred earth. Bird-of-paradise and sea lavender hug the footprint where a house once stood. A rose garden at the back of the lot pulls the gaze of the woman inside the vehicle like a magnet. It is much bigger than the one the fire nearly crispened into nothingness. Roses of every shade beckon, and this makes her smile. So does the park bench that offers a wispy glimpse of the cobalt sea a half mile down the hill.

The bench is also new.

She reaches for the garden shears at her feet, freshly purchased from the Nurseryland on Sepulveda Boulevard, and frees them from their packaging.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she says to her husband, sitting in the driver’s seat.

The man nods and kills the engine anyway so that she won’t feel rushed.

She approaches the garden tentatively, as an intruder might, suddenly second-guessing herself. But when she reaches the multihued blooms in all stages of opening, the roses seem to welcome her forward, lifting on the breeze as if to bare their necks to the blades.

Minutes later the woman is walking back to the car with enough flowers for two bouquets, their petals releasing a honey-sweet fragrance. She left the snipped thorns to decompose where they’d fallen.

The woman turns before opening the car door to gaze upon the Eden-like setting, knowing she might not see these rosebushes again. But she also knows she cannot linger here at the top of Paradise Circle. Traffic into Los Angeles is always difficult at this time of day.