“I like being my own boss,” he said. “I like the old building and all the pawned stuff that’s been there forever. I like the random way people come in, bringing me strange things they’re sure are worth big bucks.”

“What do you do if you can’t tell them one way or another?”

“Look the item up online. Call another dealer. Check some of my reference books.” There was a laden shelf right by the cash register, and Fiji felt ashamed she’d never asked what the thick volumes were for.

“How about you?” he asked in return. “Do you like selling charms and candles to women? Though,” he added hastily, “I know you make a lot of them happier.”

Fiji smiled, though it made her face hurt a little. “Bobo, that sounds like you believe I’m all bells and chimes and New Age spirituality,” she said.

Apparently that was exactly what Bobo believed. For a long moment, he didn’t say a thing.

Taking pity on him, Fiji said, “I’m showing them that going to church and praying on your knees to a male deity isn’t all there is. There’s another path, one that will put women in tune with their own spirit and truth.”

“And I’m sure that helps a lot of the ladies,” he said quickly. “Hey, look, we’re almost there.” He strode forward.

The edge of the cliff was thick with stubborn growth: yucca, small live oaks, firs, cactus, a huge variety of grasses . . . interspersed with rocks ranging in size from babies’ fists to giants’ feet. A haze of tiny yellow blooms lent the scene an almost fairy-tale effect, though the weed that bore them was about a foot tall. The wind tossed the blooms about cheerfully, and the leaves on the trees shivered, some of them loose enough to fly off and flutter through the air.

Fiji thought, Coming here was a good idea. This is really pretty, and healing. Then she went over to the truck to help Madonna, who’d arrived first and started unloading the truck in an area that wasn’t too rocky. After getting the baby and his infant seat ensconced on the lowered tailgate, Madonna was pulling the coolers down to the ground. Teacher jumped up to push the coolers and the food forward, and Fiji began putting it on the white plastic folding table that Bobo and Manfred had already arranged. Joe set up the wildly assorted stadium chairs after handing Rasta over to Chuy, who took the little dog on a frantic exploration of the cliff’s edge. Rasta found an exciting assortment of new smells, so much to sniff and pee on. After an exhausting five minutes, Rasta drank a bowl of water, ate three treats, and curled up for a nap on his special blanket, laid down under the tailgate so the Peke would be in the shade.