by Robbi McCoy
The last time she’d seen Roberto Molina was at his sentencing. Before that, she’d seen him around now and then. He and his brother Joe hadn’t hung out together much, not since Joe became a police officer, but they kept in touch. Whenever Roberto was in trouble, any kind of trouble, he always turned up at his older brother’s door, knowing that was one place he’d be welcome.
Stef had always been struck by the way they looked alike but seemed so different. It was all in the attitude. Sometimes she had even thought of Joe as the good one and Roberto as the bad one, which she knew was a huge oversimplification. It was just that given similar circumstances, Joe had somehow crawled out of the muck and Roberto had sunk lower. It had always been Joe Molina’s greatest regret and sorrow that he hadn’t been able to help his brother out of the downward spiral of gang activity and crime. He had helped Roberto with money, set him up with jobs, even let him stay at his apartment for weeks at a time. The money had disappeared with nothing to show for it. The jobs had lasted a pitifully short time. And when Roberto stayed at his place, Joe’s valuables tended to disappear.
In trying to save his brother, Molina had always felt he was fighting against a swift and relentless current. Ultimately, he believed he had failed when Roberto killed a rival gang member and was found guilty of murder. But even then, Joe hadn’t given up on him. He just went into a different phase, waiting for his brother to serve his time and come back to the world. Meanwhile, Joe had encouraged him to learn job skills like fixing computers and to stay out of trouble.
Molina had visited Roberto regularly. Inevitably, after those visits, he came back sad and disheartened. He kept going, hoping to see a glimmer of his little brother, that quiet little kid who used to grab his hand for comfort in the middle of the night. But that was a long time ago. If that little kid was in there, he was buried deep. But Molina apparently saw something he recognized once in a while, because he kept going.
Stef had never visited Roberto before. She had called him once, after the shooting, to say how sorry she was, how much she would miss his brother and what a great guy he had been. Roberto had said very little during that call. He had still been in shock. So had she.
“You look pretty good yourself, Roberto,” Stef said. “Healthy and strong.”
“Been working out,” he said proudly.
His demeanor was marked by indifference, but the way he kept glancing around, at the surveillance cameras, the correctional officers and the other prisoners, suggested he was nervous.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Stef offered, noticing the vending machine. “Or a soda?”
He shook his head.
“Did you get the package I sent?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Stef too was uncomfortable, in a way she’d never been in a prison before. “I thought you might like to have a few things of your brother’s.”
“Yeah. Cool.” His expression was blank, as if he didn’t care that she was here or about anything she had to say. Not quite hostile, just uninterested.
His attitude diffused her urge to apologize again, to pour out the grief and regret she felt for what she had done. At least during that painful phone call, he had seemed to be listening and to be feeling something. She hoped he would relax and let her in.
“Are you still taking those computer classes?” she asked.
“Naw. That shit’s really boring. I signed up for cooking. I thought it might be fun. Not that they’re gonna teach you how to make anything decent in here. Nothing like Oysters Rockefeller or whatever.”
“What have you learned to make?”
“I’m not in yet. There’s a waiting list. Everybody wants that one. Gives you a chance to poison your enemies, you know?” He stared soberly for a second before laughing. “That’s a joke, in case you didn’t know.”
“I knew.”
A moment of silence passed between them as Stef considered what else they could talk about.
“So what are you doing here, Officer Byers?” Roberto said her name sneeringly, especially the “officer” part. It was most likely a habit, how he pronounced every law officer’s title, and not a tone reserved for her. In the past, he had been grudgingly polite to her, she assumed for his brother’s sake, as he was typically on his best behavior when she saw him because he was asking for help from Joe. But she had always known Roberto was full of contempt for cops, his enemy, he believed. As long as he was a criminal, that was true. That attitude had created a complicated relationship for the Molina brothers.
“I was hoping you could give me some information,” she said, deciding to dispense with small talk.
“About what?”
“Do you remember Mrs. Avila, the landlady at the apartment house where you lived when you were in grade school?”
“That bitch?” He wrinkled up his face in disgust. “What about her?”
“Can you tell me her first name?”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Avila, that’s all I know. Crazy old bitch. Stuck her nose in everything. Never gave anybody a break. She was a selfish old—” He glanced around to locate the officer walking the floor of the visiting room.
“Your brother didn’t think so,” Stef said. “He actually wanted to thank her for looking out for you two boys. For making sure you went to school regularly, among other things.”
“Joe never saw anything bad in nobody. He couldn’t see people how they really are. Hell, he even thought I was good. And look at you. That dude thought you were something! You arrest him and he wants to kiss your ass for it like he’s your personal bitch or something. He wanted to be a cop just to prove to you he wasn’t scum. What a dope, falling for a lesbo.”
“That was just a kid’s crush,” Stef said uncomfortably. “He got over it years ago.”
“Whatever you say, Stef.” He rolled his eyes. “You still into girls?”
“What about Mrs. Avila?” she asked, ignoring the question. “Was she married?”
He laughed sarcastically. “Who would have her? Old man on the third floor used to screw her to get a few bucks off his rent. First of the month, she’d take a bottle of gin and go upstairs. I guess he had to get drunk to do it.”
“But you called her Mrs. Avila, not Miss.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was married before.”
“Did she have kids?”
“None that I ever saw. Why are you looking for her anyway?”
“Like I said, your brother wanted to thank her. He never got around to it.”
“So now it’s your job?”
“It’s not a job. It’s just something I want to do for him, if she’s still alive.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” His lips curled into a sarcastic snarl. “You want to do everything you can for him, don’t you? Like taking care of his dog. How about getting his brother out of this place? Got any strings you can pull, Officer Byers? Old Ace would probably really appreciate that. Don’t you think?”
Stef observed him silently. He probably thought using his brother’s old gang nickname would annoy her. She’d known this wouldn’t be the most pleasant visit she’d ever had with a convict, but she’d thought Roberto might like having a visitor, someone he knew who maybe wasn’t a friend, but clearly wasn’t an enemy, and someone who he might reasonably believe had his interests at heart, since she had been so close to his brother. If he would show any indication he was glad she’d come to see him, she was ready to respond warmly to it. For his brother’s sake, if nothing else, but also because of her deep sorrow over the part she had played in his loss.
This is what Molina had meant when he said he kept searching for his brother in there. Stef was doing the same thing, but it was Joe Molina she was searching for, not a younger Roberto. The family resemblance made it seem possible, even probable, that there were other similar traits she might glimpse. Like a familiar smile or expression or speech pattern. His voice actually did remind her of her friend, but it was distorted by the words and delivery.
&
nbsp; If he was glad to have a visitor, he disguised it well.
“Any chance you remember the address of that apartment house?” she asked.
“Sure. Two thirty-six Lincoln Avenue.” A scant smile appeared on his lips, not the usual sarcastic one, but a real smile. “When I was five and first went to kindergarten, Mrs. Avila made me memorize the address. She’d quiz me on it. If she saw me sitting on the stairs, she’d say, ‘What’s your address, Roberto Molina?’ And I’d say, ‘Two thirty-six Lincoln Avenue!’ like a damn soldier to his drill sergeant. She’d laugh and rub my head. That’s one address I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” His smile, which had widened during the story, faded. “Bitch!”
Stef wrote the address in her notebook. “Thanks. I should be able to track her down with that.”
“When you find her, what’re you going to tell her?”
“I think Joe would want me to tell her how things turned out.”
“You mean that he’s dead?”
“No. Well, yes, but—” Stef averted her eyes from his hard gaze. “I meant that he became something. That he was a good guy.”
“You gonna tell her about me too?” He laughed derisively.
“I will, if she asks, but I mainly want to tell her what Joe told me, that he was grateful to her.”
Roberto shook his head. “What a sap! You too. Like she cares. Like she’s even gonna remember us, two sorry-ass kids who lived in her stinking building for a few years. So she made me memorize my address and stuck us on a school bus.” He lowered his voice so the patrolling officer wouldn’t hear. “Big fucking deal. It’s not like it cost her anything. It’s not like she was our grandma or something. It’s not like she loved us, for Christ’s sake.” He looked like he wanted to spit. “Nobody ever loved me. Not even my own mother.”
From what she’d heard, Stef thought it was possible that was true. “Your brother loved you.”
Roberto looked her in the eye. “Yeah, he did. A sap, like I said. He was stupid. He thought he could fix me. After all the shit I put him through—” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping in response, and went silent, staring down at the table.
“Is there anything you need?” Stef asked. “Anything I can send you?”
He looked at her as if he were trying to figure something out. “Like what?”
“Whatever you want. I know your brother used to send you packages. So maybe there’s something he sent you that—”
Roberto laughed shortly, his expression full of contempt. “What is all this? You want to take Joe’s place? Is that it? You’re not my relative. You were never even my friend.”
“I was your brother’s friend. I know he worried about you. And I know you don’t have anybody else now.”
“Damn straight,” Roberto said, sitting up and glaring at her defiantly. “I got nobody because you murdered my brother.”
Stef stiffened. “It was an accident. You know that.”
“Whatever.” He fell back against the back of his chair. “My lawyer said I could sue you,” he announced. “For killing Joe. How about that?”
“Are you going to?” she asked calmly, suppressing all the churning emotion that this situation was causing.
“I might. Why should I be stuck in here for snuffing some motherfucking gangbanger while you’re walking around free after killing a fine, upstanding citizen like my brother?”
Stef was determined not to lose her composure. “I don’t think your brother would want you to do that.”
“Don’t tell me what my brother’d want!” Roberto was truly angry now, his dark eyes flashing. His voice remained quiet, but it was emphatic. “You don’t know anything about it. You think you knew him, but you didn’t. I knew him! We were the same, Joe and I. You think he was better. I know what you think of me. I can see it in your eyes.” With his increasing rage, he let his voice rise to normal levels. “You don’t give a fuck about me. You think I’m piss in the gutter, but he didn’t think that. He knew me. He cared about me. He’s the only person in the world who cared about me!” Roberto’s eyes watered with gathering tears. It was the first time Stef had ever seen any hint of honest emotion from him. “And you murdered him!”
Stef noticed one of the officers start toward them, attracted by Roberto’s raised voice.
“You know how sorry I am for what happened,” she said quietly. “I would give anything to undo it. I loved him too! If there’s anything I can do for you…”
“I don’t want anything from you! You can go to hell!” He sprung up from his chair and the officer arrived to take hold of his arm.
“You’re no better than me,” Roberto spat. “You’re a murderer!”
Stef stood. “Take care of yourself, Roberto,” she said, then addressed the officer. “We’re done.”
She strode to the door and didn’t look back as Roberto got in his last dig. “And don’t come back, you fucking murderer!”
After processing out, she left the building, emerging into brilliant sunshine. It always felt like a narrow escape to Stef, leaving a prison. She didn’t like going to them. A small, irrational part of her always feared something would go wrong, some mistake would be made and they wouldn’t let her out. This time especially she had felt uneasy on the way in.
When she got to her bike and pulled her keys out, she saw her hand was shaking. She swallowed the urge to cry, then sat on the seat vaguely watching a line of men in orange jumpsuits running single-file in the yard nearby.
This had been a mistake, she realized. She hadn’t expected Roberto to be so angry. Why had she been so naïve? Of course he was angry. How could he be anything but angry? The only person he’d had in the world was gone. And she was responsible. Why had she expected him to commiserate with her, to unite in shared grief? He could rarely legitimately blame someone else for his troubles. At last he had somebody to blame for something. He wanted revenge. He wanted her to be punished. He resented that she was “walking around free.”
As if, she thought bitterly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The setting sun, surrounded by wispy pink and orange clouds, dipped into the golden surface of Disappointment Slough. The water lapped gently against the sand at Stef’s feet. There was a breeze bending the slender tule stalks toward the water. Deuce walked along the shore, his nose down, preoccupied with empty clam shells discarded by fishermen.
She sat on a rock, her arms folded over her knees, staring absentmindedly at the water. She wasn’t sure why she’d come here. Back when she was a kid, on a night like this, she’d have run over to Grandma Mattie’s house and banged on the back door, confident of a comforting welcome, a therapeutic piece of cake and a funny story. But back then her problems—an argument with a friend, a bad grade on a report card—were so much smaller. They could be conquered with a slice of cake. What would Grandma Mattie do now? she wondered. What weapons would she have against so great a sorrow?
She picked up a stick and drew lines in the wet sand, arbitrary lines, until she found herself forming initials: S.B. + J.T. She traced the shape of a heart around them, inwardly chiding herself for being silly and sentimental.
She wondered for a moment at the name of this place: Disappointment Slough. She should have asked Jackie about that.
It was beautiful here. So peaceful. Nobody in sight. Not a sound to suggest there were other people in the world. Across the slough on the other shore, three ducks bobbed silently on the surface. Stef’s mood was in direct contrast with her surroundings—dark and troubled.
Since yesterday’s visit to the prison, she’d been nearly paralyzed with regret and despair. During the last couple of weeks, she had mistakenly thought that things were getting better, that she was on the road to recovery. She’d been enjoying herself, getting to know new people, even allowing herself the possibility of a new romance. She’d been beginning to tuck her nightmare into the background. She had even been considering staying here, surprising herself with so many new possibilities. Sh
e’d never expected to meet anyone like Jackie, here or anywhere.
But all of that optimism was just a fragile membrane of foolish hope, because it had taken Roberto Molina just fifteen minutes to shatter it completely. It wasn’t his fault. He was just a hurt and angry young man lashing out at the only person he could. His accusations were harsh, but no more than she had often made against herself. The incident had reminded her that it would take a lot of time to put this tragedy behind her, that there were still months of heartache to work through until she could feel anything good about herself again. A few days of fun couldn’t change that.
She noticed the moon on the eastern horizon, poking through the bluish branches of an oak tree. It was a half moon. No spring tide tonight. She was reminded of her conversation with Jackie that other night, the last time she was here. To catch fish, it had to be both the right time and the right place. Like most things, timing was everything. Like S.B. + J.T. Maybe it was the right place, but it wasn’t the right time. Not for Stef. A broken heart isn’t much to offer someone, especially not someone so full of love as Jackie.
She reached down with the stick and rubbed across her design until it was completely gone.
***
It was Deuce barking that alerted Stef to the vehicle coming up the driveway. She looked out the window and recognized Jackie’s pickup. She was both happy and sad to see her.
As she opened the sliding glass door, Jackie got out of her truck, carrying something under her arm, and walked rapidly over to the bottom of the stairs where Stef greeted her with a hug.
“Hi,” Jackie said, smiling with her usual unabashed cheerfulness. “What are you up to?”
“Just cleaning up the dinner dishes,” Stef replied. “I didn’t know you were coming out.”
“No, it wasn’t planned, but I have something for you and this weekend will be totally taken over by the crawdad festival, so I wanted to drop it by tonight.”