by Jack Kinsley
While Travis finished the disgusting trunk-bottled water, looking out over the horizon, he heard slow, heavy-gaited footsteps come crunching up behind him on the dirt path. It was accompanied by laborious huffing and puffing, emanating from what sounded like a large, wounded horse.
Travis turned to see Jordan drag himself the last few feet. He looked comical. His t-shirt was off, slung over his right shoulder, and his skinny legs shot out his shorts like two baseball bats mere moments from splintering under the massive weight of his sunburned belly. When he stopped, he tried to speak, immediately gave up, and then leaned over with locked arms and palms supported at his knees. He heaved some more.
"We should be the poster men for success," Travis told him and laughed at the sight of his friend. Instantly, he held his breath and clutched at the heel that twisted in his side.
Jordan sucked in a deep breath and spat at the ground. "They're not all as dumb as us." He stood and stretched his arms wide, as if to let the sun hold him. With his eyes closed he said, "Tell me and I'll forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I'll understand."
"Still hobbling along on those Chinese crutches are you?" Travis asked with a knowing grin. He prepared himself mentally for a game that had somehow come from nowhere and developed naturally between the two of them.
Jordan had purchased a book of Chinese proverbs a couple weeks back and they had been sharing it, leaving it around Crystal Heights and memorizing the short pieces of advice. Just about everyone had read through it and had the occasional laugh at the more amusing ones.
Jordan said, "Do not remove a fly from your friend's forehead with a hatchet."
Travis nodded and said, "Friendship is like wine — the older the better." He slapped Jordan's bare potbelly and motioned that they should head back down.
Jordan was nowhere near ready and replied, "Man who run behind car get exhausted."
"Be not afraid of going slowly; be only afraid of standing still." Travis headed gingerly down the trail, surveying each step. One slip and he'd be in a world of hurt.
Jordan stood watching him with his hands on his hips and raised his voice. "Man who jump off cliff jump to conclusion!"
Travis walked for a bit, running through his list of proverbs committed to memory, and then stopped at a safe, leveled clearing in the trail. He turned back to see that his friend hadn't moved a foot. He yelled up at him, "If we don't change our direction we're likely to end up where we're headed."
He continued down the trail, cautiously passing a hollow, dangerous portion, and then started making quick work of it. He heard Jordan's voice fading behind him, "A thousand cups of wine do not suffice when true friends meet, but half a sentence is too much when there is no meeting of minds."
Travis turned a last time and cupped his hand around his mouth, "Unless there is opposing wind, a kite cannot rise." And then added, "Talk doesn't cook rice! Now let's roll, Fu Man Chu!" His ribs were starting to flare from all the yelling. He stood still for a moment and waited for the sirens to weaken. Once he had his breath, he looked up and saw Jordan had tied his t-shirt around his thick neck and was making progress toward him.
Travis continued downward, thinking to himself... Habits are cobwebs at first; cables at last. And then, Even the tallest tower started from the ground.
— — —
Before leaving Point Dume, Jordan hung his t-shirt off the front of the passenger seat and decided to remain shirtless for the drive back. On the way back, Travis watched in amusement as his gargantuan belly jiggled from the bumps and vibrations of the car.
"If I'm not mistaken, you've got a birthday coming up soon, right?" Travis asked him.
"I don't need any reminding, thank you."
"I know what I'm getting you."
"I don't need anything, and don't go telling everyone either." He caught Travis eyeballing his pot belly. "What? What are you getting me?" he asked, distrustfully.
"A girdle." Travis smiled. "You know, they're making them for men these days."
"You mind your own goddamn health if you know what's good for you."
They sat in silence for a while, but Travis couldn't help but look over a last time at him jiggling.
"Eyes on the road," Jordan told him, without looking at him. Then he followed a thread of conversation they'd had earlier, "So, do you really think Ana will come back?" he asked.
Travis turned right onto the long road leading back to Crystal Heights. "Ana told me next spring, she's supposedly bringing the grandmother back to live with them. We'll see."
But he'd already sworn to himself there would be no chance in hell he would start formulating any desperate plans if they didn't. They needed time apart, anyway. The poisonous dust between him and Ana needed to settle, and there were the blood-spattered walls that needed repainting and the red-soaked hardwood floors to be replaced and refinished. It was best she and Bella left, leaving the invisible hands of time to help them recover and hopefully achieve some sense of normalcy, if the future permitted.
"Holy shit." Jordan sat up in his seat, looking down the driveway of Crystal Heights. "I completely forgot the son of a bitch was coming back."
Standing in the drive, surrounded by a shitload of suitcases, was Devon Cunningham. He looked up to see them pulling in, but cowered and looked back to Helen — who was outside ready to help.
The men exited the vehicle and Jordan said, "We can take it from here, ladies," he teased Devon with the remark and put his t-shirt back on.
"Always a gentleman," Helen replied.
Travis walked up to Devon. "You know this is the last chance you're getting, right?" he said. Unlike him, still nursing his injuries, Devon had healed completely. He looked thin, pale, a little beaten, but generally healthy.
"It's the last chance I need," Devon said. He wouldn't look Travis in the eye, but it wasn't arrogance that Travis sensed there anymore. The man was defeated, but appeared determined to finally make a change.
"Jesus. You pack more shit than a woman," Jordan said, but he was good natured about it. He took one of Devon's bags. "Where we taking these things, boss?" he asked Travis. "We setting Devon up in the new Betsy wing or what?"
"Betsy wing?" Devon asked. He looked at Jordan blankly, appearing curious for the first time.
"The old bird finally passed," Jordan said. "Didn't leave Travis a penny, but she gave a pretty generous postmortem tip to the staff here. Everybody's feeling mighty generous these days."
Travis didn't correct him, though that wasn't necessarily the whole truth. Betsy had actually left the half-million she'd promised on her death bed. It had taken Travis a full five minutes of staring at the numbers before he'd followed through on the promise he'd made her, donating every penny to the Southern California Foster Family & Adoption Agency. He never told anyone about the money, but he did take funds from his personal savings to give his staff a little bonus — exactly the kind of thing Betsy would have wanted, naturally saying that the money had come from their dear friend.
"That was nice of her," Devon said, the words so low they could barely be heard. Travis believed he was secretly reeling at the news of her passing. He'd probably never forgotten the motherly attention she'd given him — Betsy had touched his life, too.
As the men carried the bags, Jordan tripped over a stone on the brick path and nearly went flying with his share of the luggage.
Sarah came out of the gate and scolded them. "Just what the hell are you guys doing? The only one of you who should be carrying anything is Devon." She turned to the youngest of the three men. "You can handle it," she told Devon patiently, but there was still a dangerous edge in her tone. Travis knew Devon would have to prove himself to her, despite being in the clear about Little Jack's death. Then she said, "You two old men go get ready for lunch."
"Old? Did you hear that?" Jordan said. "Your girlfriend just called us old."
"Girlfriend? Hardly," Sarah said, blushed a little, and then put the spotlight back on Jordan.
"Until you lose the weight the doctor ordered, it's nothing but dirt trails and treadmills for you. Now go get showered."
Jordan let go of the luggage and gave her an aye-aye salute.
At the gesture, Travis couldn't help but remember the beast that had almost killed him. He pushed the memory back, and told Jordan, "Wisdom is attained by learning when to hold one's tongue."
Jordan shot back immediately, "Honest advice is unpleasant to the ear."
Suddenly, to their surprise, Helen added, "Remember to dig the well long before you get thirsty."
"Oh God, not you, too," said Sarah.
Everyone laughed except Devon, who only stood there, looking more confused than ever.
"You go home and get cleaned up," Sarah told Travis. "I'll be there with your lunch soon."
Travis nodded and headed back to his car. Helen took him by the arm and walked with him. She whispered, "Still clear. I'm very proud of you." She patted his arm.
He knew his last piss test would be, but he was still satisfied to hear it, nonetheless. Helen had only returned a couple of weeks ago and under two nonnegotiable demands: she could drug test him randomly at her discretion (and she would leave at the slightest hint of any opposition), and they would resume their sessions together. Travis readily agreed. It was extra insurance he would stay the course and the backbone of his business was back in place.
At his car, she told him, "Bringing Devon back will also be part of your process."
Travis had reluctantly agreed to his return. He figured that if it had been possible for Dani to make such tremendous progress and gradually grow beyond her father's shadow, then who knew what Devon could accomplish with a new program and an entirely new set of expectations.
Travis gave a final wave to Sarah before leaving.
— — —
It had been Sarah's suggestion that Travis move in with her. She'd been there for him in the hospital, manned the ship at Crystal Heights in his absence, and without hesitation offered to help him with his extended care. It was a humbling experience for Travis to be so dependent on someone, but he could sense it was also beneficial for Sarah — as if helping him was also helping her. He could only hope it would also help them reunite as a couple.
Although he was living and being cared for under her roof, his back hadn't touched her mattress since he'd been whipped by a tire iron at the hand of Dallas Grove. He'd been welcomed through her front door, but from there was led directly to the guest room, where she had wheeled in and firmly parked his two suitcases. It was in his new room, with the single bed, where she had made it crystal clear that his heart would remain out on the porch to weather the storm until she could trust its beat again — if that was even possible. And then there was the very real threat given to him with narrow, dead-serious eyes that his mouse be kept out of sight, and that if it were to ever slip accidentally from his shorts again, it would be met at once by the sharpened blade of her meat cleaver. She even went as far as to walk him into the kitchen and point at the menacing rectangle of steel held by a magnetic knife strip on the tiled wall; below it was, coincidentally, a hand of ripening bananas.
But he still considered himself a lucky man — in many respects. He'd had no choice other than to roll some serious dice and confess everything to Sarah. He knew he had better odds keeping her in his world by telling her the heinous truth and exactly what kind of deranged animal he'd been. Otherwise, she would have smelled the lies, and would have been gone for good anyway. When he did come clean, he felt as if he had been talking about someone other than himself; as if some evil twin had done the hatching and scheming. It was a blessing that Sarah understood that the addict isn't the person, and that under the influence, their decisions aren't rooted in personality or in reality. It's what tipped the scales of percentages in his favor and gave him the slight house edge.
Overall, life was pretty good living at Sarah's, even though he missed the intimacy; but he could wait. And sometimes that was also a blessing. In his condition he didn't believe he could physically survive a horizontal dance with Sarah. She'd pound him to dust before he could even raise a flag of surrender.
This late morning, Travis welcomed the wide and luxurious sheet of water from her rain shower as it enveloped his entire body. He'd joked to Sarah that it had been the deciding factor for him moving in with her. He often remained standing beneath its hypnotic rhythm, feeling the touch of divinity under it, until the guilt of being there so long finally drove him out. But he had recently returned to Crystal Heights on a part-time basis — very part-time — and today he felt he deserved the extra time under the cascade.
Sarah was putting in a full work week at the rehab, and then some, but she came home to have lunch with him almost every day, bringing back gourmet dishes courtesy of Chef Tom. His recovery was slow and often lonely (a man could only read so many books and watch so much crap on TV), but in the afternoons Sarah magically reappeared to inject meaning back into his life. She'd become his muse, truly, but it was something he kept hidden so as not to scare her off — giving her the space, and, more importantly, the peace and quiet she needed to hopefully hear the beating of his heart out on her porch.
He didn't know if it was God, Karma, or just dumb luck that had saved him — actually it had been Ana — but he wasn't taking anything for granted. His family had barely survived the blaze he'd set singlehandedly, and he was fortunate to have any remaining contact with them at all.
The last time he'd seen Bella was in his hospital room. Ana brought her to see him hours before they left for Bucharest; she had waited outside. It was a short visit, which he'd preferred, believing it wasn't good for Bella to see him lying there broken and vulnerable — her crying quietly, on the tips of her toes, peering at him over the side rail of his bed. After all, he was the man who could take on the world while she sat on his hip.
When it was time to say goodbye, she had nearly crushed him with her little arms, and although he cried out internally every expletive, he'd pulled her back in for a second hug before watching her run to the exit and slip out the door. He wondered how much she would change in the next three months.
Travis was now pushing his own record for standing under the rain shower, and Sarah would be home any minute with lunch. When he finally did cut the water, he heard the front door slam and Sarah call out, "Home honey, I'm high!"
He took it as a good sign that she was now teasing him about his addiction. He'd rather be the butt of jokes than the beast of burden.
"I'm shaking a tower." He yelled back and began drying himself at a snail's pace, trying to avoid the debilitating shocks of lightning that rode through him.
There was already the scent of wasabi vinaigrette coming in from the seared ahi tuna salad Chef Tom had prepared for them. He was giving a last, slow pass over his family jewels with the towel when Sarah swung the bathroom door wide open. Her eyes found him below the belt and she quickly shut the door between them.
"Damn it, Travis!" she screamed.
"Well, what the hell? What do you think I'm doing in here?" But then he quickly changed his tune for fear of the cleaver. "Sorry, didn't know you were coming in." He wrapped the towel tight around himself. "I'm ready for you now."
She opened the door wide again, but immediately disappeared down the short hall and into the kitchen. It was a relief for him to hear the clang of condiments inside the refrigerator door rather than the deft swipe of the large blade from the magnet. They continued their conversation at a safe distance in their respective locations.
"I just had an interesting call on my drive back," she said. Her voice slightly echoed off the tile. "This Ahi looks amazing!"
Travis wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror with his hand. "The new client?"
"Yep. The prince will be admitted around six today. I already have the staff on alert." And then there was the hasty sound of plastic bags being corralled and balled up.
"So, his story pans out? He really is a prince?" He could
see himself emerge from the clearing mirror now and started running a comb over his head.
"It appears so. It would be quite the story if it's all true. One for the great annals of Crystal Heights! That's for sure!"
He could hear her starting to crack with laughter in the kitchen; he was in danger of catching the laughing bug himself. It took all his concentration to fight it off.
The new client definitely had a unique history. He was a prince from a small Indonesian island; only twenty-two, openly gay, and if his father (the King), had his wish, his son would have been crated and shipped to Crystal Heights like an animal.
"And the drugs of choice?" Travis asked.
"Same as before," she called back.
Apparently, the prince had become a sort of sex slave for two other young male lovers who had been keeping him willingly sedated with Ketamine and Ecstasy while they had their way with him for the past six months. Rumors of his son's lifestyle were beginning to tarnish the Royal crown and, in the words of his father, he needed 'to be fixed.'
"He's not bringing any pets in...is he?" Travis asked.
"No, don't be silly. What do you want to drink?"
Her question barely registered. "Juice, whatever..." Distracted, he inspected the large wound on his shoulder.
The mirror had completely cleared and the scar where Ana had shot him came into sharp focus. Her single shot had ripped through the outside, fatty part of his upper arm, tearing through the muscle of his lower deltoid and nicking the bone before it exited. The in-and-out trajectory of the bullet had left only an inch of skin between the pair of almond-shaped holes; the two deep purple cut-outs of cauterized skin looked like the eyes of a ski mask in reverse.