by Gerry O'Hara
Paige’s eyebrows shot up when Christie plunked the keys on her desk.
“Please thank Cash for the rental car,” Christie said. “I won’t need it anymore.”
“He’s in, would you like to talk to him?”
“No, I’ve got to catch a cab for an appointment across town. I’ll be late if I don’t get moving.”
The surprise on Paige’s face did not go unnoticed. With a quick good-bye, Christie hurried out of the office, fearful that any delay could result in a face-to-face meeting with Cash. She knew that he would be offended that she had not given him the keys to the Mustang in person, but she did not trust herself to see him. Not until she was stronger in her determination to sever personal ties. Right now she was fragile and her pledge could easily break.
She wrote a check for the fee at the car lot, and was relieved that the dusty old Toyota started right up. Swinging a left turn onto the street, her stomach in knots, she knew it would be useless to try and get any work done today. She headed for 280, with Monterey Bay in mind. Ninety minutes later she was in Rio del Mar, and on the stretch of beach she had known for most of her adult life.
She parked in the Flats. The air was brisk with the salty breeze, and she could taste the ocean. It soothed her. The day was clear and she could see from Monterey to Santa Cruz. A paved walkway stretched from Rio del Mar Beach to the end of Seacliff State Beach. Since it was low tide, she opted to walk the wet, hard-packed sand near the water’s edge. She watched pelicans fly in formation. One broke free and dove in a straight line, like a plane on a suicide mission. The bird hit the water, submerged, and then surfaced, hopefully with a tasty fish in its gullet, and bobbed on the whitecaps.
Christie’s attention turned to the sand as she searched for treasure: sand dollars, shells, sea glass. As a child she had collected sea glass and filled a pickle jar with the pseudo-gemstones. Seashells went into a small, shallow straw basket that she kept on the bathroom counter.
Her scrutiny was rewarded: the edge of a sand dollar peeked from beneath the sand. She bent and picked it up. It was smooth from countless rides on the waves, and she knew that inside of it were two tiny “doves,” as she’d seen as a child when her father had broken open a cracked sand dollar and the tiny pieces slipped out. Christie had held them in her hand and thought she was looking at something magical. How easy childhood could be. Why do we have to grow up and lose the magic? she wondered.
She reached the old cement ship at Seacliff. The huge, broken boat had been constructed during World War I, but had never been commissioned. Instead, it was purchased by a group of entrepreneurs and towed to the beach for use as a seaside gambling casino and dining hall. The boat had its heyday in the late 1920s as a place where wealthy San Franciscans spent their money freely. When that changed the boat fell into disrepair and the sea claimed it. The once regal Palo Alto, as she was named, became a popular fishing pier. A few major storms later, the ocean’s fury swept over the boat and rendered it unsafe. Now the pier ended where the boat began. It was depicted on picture postcards, and although the glory days were long gone, the cement boat was still a landmark beloved by locals.
Christie sat on a picnic bench and regretted not stopping to pick up lunch before leaving San Francisco. Hunger signals were banging against her empty stomach. She watched a large sailboat cutting across the water, its sails billowing. She wondered if it was the Chardonnay. When her father turned sixty, they had celebrated his birthday with a sail on the boat. It had been a very windy day and Christie had found it difficult to keep her balance on the deck. She was terrified until her father grabbed her and anchored her to the rail. She hadn’t sailed again until she met Cash.
There he was again; she was unable to keep him out of her thoughts. A simple thing like seeing a sailboat racing the wind and Cash was back on her mind.
She covered her face with her hands. Don’t cry; don’t make a fool of yourself. She pushed away the tears with her knuckles. She stood up and walked to the pier. Gazing over the railing into the rushing surf, she remembered all the times she and her father had gone crabbing. He had given up trying to teach her how to use a fishing pole—no matter how many times she observed her father swing the rod backward over his head and then quickly flick it over the pier so that the line flew far over the water, she could not repeat what she saw. Dropping a circular crab net into the sea didn’t take finesse. Whenever they caught a crab or starfish, she’d inspect it, and then toss it back. The idea of throwing a live crab into boiling water was beyond her. If her family planned on serving crab for dinner, Christie was assured the crustacean would come from the market, already cooked.
Walking back to Rio del Mar Beach, she was beset with doubts. Was anger clouding her judgment? Sure, Cash had attacked her ability to analyze character through handwriting, but was that such a big deal? Big enough to consider pushing him out of her life? It wasn’t that alone, she reasoned. It was also his bullheadedness, to insist on defending someone who she had warned him could be a threat to others. And his refusal to try and understand why she was disturbed by that action. He had run roughshod over her feelings, and her self-image, too.
She reached the parking lot and got into her car. It was hot and stuffy from being closed up while she went on her beach trek. The Mustang, with its top down, cool breezes wafting through it, would have been much more comfortable.
Later, back at her apartment, she was fixing Tosha a treat when the doorbell rang. After wiping her hands on a dishcloth, she put the cat’s bowl on the floor and hurried to answer the door. It was Cash. His large, hulking figure filled the doorway. She thought he looked like Goliath, and she was the child, David. Without a slingshot.
He did not wait for an invitation to come in. He closed the door and Christie reflexively backed away. His size and the expression on his face were intimidating.
“You brought back the car.” His voice was gruff and the sound of it sent Tosha scampering into the bedroom. “And did not have the courtesy to stop in and tell me.”
“I was in a hurry.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m through with the car. I appreciate having had it, but I don’t want to burden you with the cost…”
“Cut the baloney. You’re put out about something. Be up-front about it.”
“All right. When I gave you advice about the kid, you steamrolled me. Treated me like an uneducated fool.”
“I may have been brusque, but I didn’t appreciate having you butt in.”
“Brusque? You were insulting. It made me realize that we are on different sides of the fence. My perception of right and wrong obviously isn’t the same as yours.”
“That’s the problem: it’s your perception, not necessarily reality. The kid may have rough edges, but in this case he has a solid alibi. I’m going to represent him, and hopefully I’ll get him out of jail on reasonable bail.”
“I know what I read in his handwriting.”
“You read a description of his whereabouts and nothing more.” His voice took on a scathing tone. Christie could feel her face heating up and she hoped it was not obvious. She didn’t want him to know he had the upper hand. She was too sensitive for her own good.
“You’re the best criminal defense lawyer around, Cash, but that doesn’t mean you’re always right.”
“I’m right about one thing: you have not convinced me that this kid is guilty. And there’s no way you can.”
“Sounds like you’ve made your mind up without examining the reason for my concern. You have blinders on; I think you want to be right at all costs.”
“The kid needs an adequate defense and I agreed to take the case. I’m going to give him the best advice possible and if we go to court, yes, I intend to win. I’m going to do all I can to keep this young man out of jail. And your silly handwriting voodoo will not change my mind.” His voice increased in volume, and she could see that he was becoming angry. She was angry, too. Realizing his anger was fueled by self-right
eousness, she decided it would be impossible to win the argument.
“I don’t intend to be insulted in my own home. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to prepare for a job I’m working on. We don’t have anything more to talk about.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Good night.”
Cash strode to the door, fury echoing in each step. He brushed past her without a word.
Like a whirlwind, he had rushed into her life, and then just as quickly had stormed out of it. One minute her spirits had soared, the next they had plummeted. She wished they could smooth things over, but she could not ignore his verbal assault. He had attacked not only her professional ability, but he had gotten personal. He could not take back the words, and she couldn’t forget them. Was the rift in their relationship too wide to bridge? Whatever the answer, the result was written in stone: she might never see Cash again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The call came in midafternoon. Christie could hardly understand Elliot. His voice was filled with exuberance. He was talking so fast his words ran together.
“It’s a girl, Christie. A darling, healthy little granddaughter. Margo came through without any problems, thank God. Hal was going to call you, but he is so wrapped up in holding his daughter, and kissing his wife, he doesn’t have a minute to pick up a phone! I knew you would want to know right away, so I took on announcement duty.”
“Oh, Elliot, I’m so happy for all of you. And congratulations. Have they named the baby?”
Elliot’s words slowed, and Christie could tell that he was struggling with emotion. “Emily Anne. Named her after Margo’s mother. Our own little Emily Anne.” There was awe in his voice. “My wife would have been so proud.” Christie detected a break in his voice.
“Margo and Hal said to tell you the baptism will be two weeks from Sunday. They don’t lose any time, those two. Mark the date on your calendar.”
“Have you told Cash?”
“Just got off the phone with him. He said nothing would get in the way of his being there. It will be a fine celebration, I guarantee that.”
“I’m sure it will, Elliot.”
After jotting down the hospital that Margo was in, Christie replaced the receiver in its cradle and leaned her elbows on the desk. With her hands clasped together, she rested her chin on her knuckles. Should she tell Margo that she and Cash had broken up? Try to back out of being the godmother? Margo would understand that it was an untenable situation. How could she possibly go to Arizona and be with Cash at the christening? Then again, how could she not? She was committed to being Emily Anne’s godmother, and injured feelings would have to be set aside temporarily. She and Cash would only be together for a few hours; it would be awkward and painful, but she would have to endure that.
She called a florist and ordered a basket of golden chrysanthemums to be sent to the hospital. This was a grand occasion, and she could not allow personal sensitivities to get in the way. They had all prayed for a normal delivery, a healthy baby, and their prayers had been answered. Yes, it was time to celebrate, but now that Cash was out of her life, Christie would celebrate alone.
She shook her head. She had to concentrate on her good fortune, not her disappointments. Her career was in its zenith; solving the Farley case had brought a good measure of publicity and new clients. She would no longer have concerns about where her next case and paycheck came from.
She had received calls from a cadre of lawyers. One firm offered a generous retainer if she would exclusively align herself with them. It was tempting, but she liked being independent.
She was riffling through a stack of notes when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and heard her friend’s voice.
“Hey, Christie, we were supposed to meet for lunch. What happened?”
“Darn! I forgot, Kathleen. My thoughts have been a bit scattered lately; I didn’t check my calendar this morning. I’m sorry; I would have enjoyed lunch together.”
“You’re usually on top of things; what’s going on?”
“Cash and I broke up,” she blurted.
“I can’t believe it! Was he cheating on you?”
“Nothing like that. We had an argument, and…well, he behaved badly. Said some things that were hurtful. I told him I didn’t want to see him again.”
“Just like that? Maybe you overreacted.”
“I don’t think so. And besides, he hasn’t attempted an apology—not a word to indicate that he’s sorry. So it’s over.”
“And now you’re miserable?”
“And now I’m miserable.”
“Oh, honey, I wish I could help.”
So do I, Christie thought, but no one could help her get over her feelings or patch up the broken relationship. She had to move on, perhaps take on extra work to get her mind off her heartache. But she was only kidding herself; no amount of work was going to ease the pain that the loss of love evoked. Nothing was going to divert her thoughts from Cash. He intruded every minute that she dropped her guard—and that was most of the time.
And in two weeks, they would be standing side by side. She would have two weeks of anxiety as she ran scenarios of herself and Cash through her mind before actually being with him again. She would only stay overnight, she decided; she’d find a motel near Margo and Hal and leave immediately after the christening party.
A few days later, Margo called. “Thank you for the flowers, Christie, they’re lovely.”
“I’m so happy for you and Hal. Elliot said the baby is beautiful.”
“Not that he isn’t biased, but he’s right, Emily Anne is a darling. I can’t wait to have you see her. Dad gave you the date for the baptism? You can fly down with Cash the Friday before.”
“Margo, has Cash mentioned…? Has he said anything…?”
“Said anything?”
“We aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“Not seeing each other? Oh, Christie, what happened? You and Cash seemed perfect for each other.”
“We didn’t see eye-to-eye on a professional level, and it spilled over into our personal lives.”
“Surely it can be fixed. Cash was so happy.”
“So was I, Margo, so was I.”
“Perhaps when you are both here in Arizona, with your careers put aside, you can renew your relationship.”
“It’s too late, Margo. So please don’t think about trying to play matchmaker.” Christie spoke with a light tone, but she was dead serious.
“I won’t. Well, I can’t really promise that I won’t, but I’ll try not to interfere. And Christie, you’ll stay with us for the weekend? Hal and I haven’t decorated the baby’s room yet—we were too superstitious. Emily Anne is in our room now, anyway, and will be for at least six weeks. So we can easily accommodate you. Please say yes.”
“I…I’d like that, Margo. Thanks. But I won’t fly in with Cash,” she added. “I’ll take a commercial flight.”
“I understand. Hal will pick you up at the airport. Just let us know what time. I can’t wait to see you, Christie, and of course, I’m anxious to show off Emily Anne.”
Christie was happy for Margo and Hal. And Elliot. A loving family. Will I ever have a child of her own? she wondered. Not that she and Cash had known each other long enough to explore that possibility, but with the dissolution of their relationship, her dream of marriage and children had vanished. She would become a workaholic. Perhaps she might eventually save enough money to buy a small vacation place at the beach.
Evenings she would sit on the couch with her cat on her lap and watch TV or knit a sweater. She would stroke Tosha’s soft fur and listen to her purr. And she would convince herself that she was content. If she had lived in another era, she would be called a spinster. Such a harsh word, she thought, but it fully described the plight she imagined herself facing ten years from now.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she ordered. Be grateful for all you have. But all she had did not include the one thing that she wanted most: Cash’s love.
The days went by quickly. Christie’s desk was never empty; she had more cases than she could handle in the confines of an eight-hour workday. She spent many evenings poring over handwriting samples, and she was glad to go to bed exhausted. It pushed out the creeping memories of a happier time. She wasn’t unhappy. It was more like living in a state of limbo—there was no misery, but neither was there joy. She had too much to do to dwell upon her loss; too many people depended upon her skills.
It was on the jet to Arizona that the memories tumbled down upon her. Gone were the desk filled with papers, the briefcase with documents, the laptop with her notes. Nothing stood in the way of her thoughts traveling along the road of sorrow. She did not even have a seatmate to distract her, and the flight was too short to show a movie. She was alone with her thoughts. They spun through her mind like a movie reel. The good, the bad, and the what ifs plagued her all the way to the landing field. When would the pain in her heart ease? Breaking off with Cash was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? she asked herself time after time.
Hefting her carry-on, she left the plane. She walked toward the security barrier and saw Hal waiting on the other side. They waved at each other, and when she reached him he gave her a big hug. He took her bag and they walked out of the terminal and to his car.
Christie was quiet on the drive, but Hal obviously didn’t notice. He commandeered the conversation with glowing descriptions of Emily.
“There go my manners,” he said after a while. “Ever since this baby was born, I can’t stop talking about her.”
“It’s understandable,” Christie said. “I can’t wait to see her.”
“Soon enough,” Hal replied.
It was a pleasant drive to Hal’s home, but a long one. Christie had planned to spend only one night, but Margo had been persuasive. After all, she said, they were friends, and had more to talk about than babies and lost loves. Although, she admitted, talk of one particular baby would undoubtedly highlight the conversation.