After we sat there, silently, drinking our tea, Jo suggested that Mia take me on a tour of the property, just the two of us.
By the time I readied to leave, I sensed Mia growing a little more relaxed in my company. We agreed that I would come visit once every four weeks for the next few months and Bridget would come with me only when Mia was ready to see her.
“And Bobby?” Mia asked, tears welling. “Whatever will Mom do without him?”
I assured her that I was back in the picture. “I won’t let your mother do this alone,” I said.
After a difficult goodbye with Mia at the door, Kate walked me to my truck. A light wind brushed our faces.
“Where the hell do we go from here, Kate?” I asked. “I feel so powerless, so clueless, what do I know?”
“The details are for Mia to tell in her own time,” Kate explained. “Suffice to say, your niece is a tough cookie. She’s survived a harrowing time.”
“I don’t fully understand. Are we not to talk about what happened with her?”
“I’m not suggesting we turn a blind eye to Mia’s experiences,” Kate replied as I opened the door to the truck. She reached for my arm. “It’s important for all of us to be on the same page in order to help her as she heals,” she said. “I’ve been constant in my counseling of Mia,” Kate assured. “I’m thankful that she’s beginning to understand that she’s in no way deserving of any of the bad things that have happened to her or anyone in your family.”
When we’d first talked by phone, she’d told me how it is all too common for women who’ve been victims of kidnapping and sexual assault to blame themselves. Kate and Jo’s goal in working with Mia and the other women is to help them learn how to fully forgive themselves and to recognize the wrongdoings done to them in order to start the healing process.
The focus at Grace Place is on fully transitioning Mia back into the world. It can’t have been an easy option for these two women, choosing this life. Their underground operation is a labor of love. It was all the more humbling to find out they’re not publicly funded in any way.
I know how it takes time and trust to peel back the layers of hurt and distrust. Bringing in each new girl is a daunting task for these women, emotionally intense for all involved and as far as Kate and Jo see it, there’s sadly no end to it.
“And if she decides to leave the baby with you, when the time comes, what then?” I asked as I started the engine. I was struggling with this idea, seemingly more so than the pregnancy itself and all of its many implications for my niece. Most girls her age, any age, given the circumstances, would not have hesitated to get rid of it. To carry it to term was something else.
One more question, I asked. “I need to know. Tell me this is not some pro-life situation where Mia has been forced into going through with it?”
“No. This is entirely her decision and hers alone,” Kate replied. “Besides, she was already considerably far along when she wound up here. We’ll have lots of time to talk this through over the next few months.”
My mind returned to Marcus. Hadn’t he just seen the worst of me? I hoped he’d forgiven me for being such a lush the previous evening and for all that I’d said. I rolled down the window and extended my hand.
Kate said: “Go back to the ranch, Maggie, spend time with your sister, break this news as gently as possible. I can’t emphasize enough how important your role will be in you being there for them as a steadying influence on Mia and her mother, considering the extent of suffering they’ve been through.”
I let my guard down. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, releasing my arm and taking the steering wheel, “I hope you’re right about me.”
“Oh, I believe so,” she said. “You’re strong, Maggie, you’re a good role model for Mia. Trust me, I’m a great judge of character.”
Chapter 30
Mia and Jazmin’s Telephone Call
“Hello.”
“Mia?”
“Jaz? Is that really you?”
“For real. Oh my God, I can’t believe it. I’m sorry . . . hold on a sec, I can’t get my words out, I’m trying not to lose it . . . wait.”
“Jesus . . . we did it, we made it, Jaz, like we said we would, we got the fuck out, alive, you and me, babe, the both of us . . . it’s OK, let it out, I’m here.” “I can’t breathe, I’m bawling so hard . . . ”
“Same . . . take it easy, breathe deep, wipe your tears, we’ve got all the time in the world to catch up, to talk about what happened, after.” “I wanna see you like crazy, Mia . . . they won’t let me leave ‘til things are figured out.”
“What things?”
“Oh, like getting me out of serving time in juvenile hall . . . or worse, they could try to deport me.”
“Juvie? For what?” “Long story. I did what I had to do. There’s this kid, a guy they had running weed. I screwed him over in order for me to get the hell outa there . . . to find you.”
“Do not be feeling sorry for one second for any of those fuckers after what they did.” “Ha! Don’t worry, I’m not sorry . . . there’s talk of a plea bargain or something since I’m gonna be of some use to the law. I’ve boatload of information they’re interested in.”
“Hell no, that’s way too risky . . . what if any of the others come after you, me, us?” “I don’t see as I have much choice.”
“Where are you Jaz? Are you OK?”
“I’m someplace safe, yeah — there’s a ton of good food at least, yummy fresh fruit, hot water, clean clothes, heck, even a pair of skate shoes, Vans, my size they brought in today, shampoo and conditioner, body wash, frickin’ organic deodorant from Sephora for God’s sake. There’s a bunch of nice caseworkers
milling around, a therapist woman and some crime witness chick who keeps on coming in to talk. So far they’re low-keying it, don’t wanna freak me out, I guess. And you, where the hell are you, babe?”
“Same. Sorta, but with work boots instead of Vans!” “What sorta work? You sleeping?”
“Planting, pulling weeds, mostly in the garden. Hey, I learned to do an oil change. Yes and no to the sleeping part. You?” “Not much. The flashbacks, they come at night.” “It’s the feeling like I’m still fenced in that freaks me out.” “What happened? After they took me away?”
“Oh, you don’t wanna know . . .”
“Shit, Mia, I do and I wanna see you so so bad.”
“We’ve gotta stay strong and see it through, Jaz, you and me . . . I feel so damn guilty. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for all I’ve put you through . . . ” “It’s not your fault.”
“It is my fault. I dragged you into it.”
“I’m a big girl, I agreed. Anyway I’m OK, for real.” “How can you be OK?”
“Dunno, somehow. All I know was I was sure as hell getting out of that shit show if it killed me. Getting you out safe was all I could think of. And see, you got yourself out.”
“How long, Jaz, ‘til they let me see you?”
“Who knows? I’ll make it happen, whatever it takes. Believe me.”
“There’s one thing I have to tell you but don’t ever tell a single soul. Promise? He’s finished — the fucker, Jefe Hombre.” “What do you mean finished?”
“Just that.”
“Okay. Sure but not sure.”
“Don’t ask.”
“I never heard nothing.”
“Far as you know I stole his truck, wrecked it crashing into the river.” “Is that true?”
“Look, Jaz, we’re gonna have to stick to that part of my story is all.” “What else are you not telling me?”
“I think you know.”
“About the baby?”
“Yes. July.”
“Jesus . . . ”
“Well, he’s a boy, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what I’ll be naming him!” “You sure never lost your sense of humor, girl.” “I don’t wanna go into it now, J, it’s complicated. We’ll talk about it later.” “If you say so . .
. but I’m gonna be there for you, babe, both of you.” “Hey, you gotta stay strong, Jaz, for all of us.”
“Try to stop me.”
“Will they let us talk again soon?”
“I think so. My caseworker is making faces through the glass window in the door, I think she wants me to hang up.”
“I love you. What a total fucking badass, Jazmin, I always knew it.” “It’s gonna be alright, Mia, soon. I promise. I love you too . . . look out for the two of you.”
Chapter 31
Marcus
Little Honey delivered her pups the day Maggie drove my truck over the border and up into Mendocino County. She never did tell me the whereabouts, being sworn to secrecy on the location where Mia is being taken care of.
I walked back to Walter’s place with a big ol’ bag of groceries, directly tipping a portion of dry kibble into Little Honey’s bowl and expecting her to scarf it down. She was having none of it, scurrying off behind an overstuffed armchair, pulling a blanket between her teeth. I watched her as she dragged it into the corner.
Walter strode in and took one look at her. “She’s ready,” he declared, as plumes of smoke from a freshly lit joint filled the air. “See, she’s nesting. Time to make her up a birthing box and best leave her to it for a few hours.”
He at least appeared to know what the hell he was talking about. I found an empty cardboard box in the surplus from Maggie’s big cleanup. It was about the right size for little Honey to stretch out in. I lined it with towels and slid the box behind the armchair where the dog had settled in the corner of the room. She’d been restless for a good hour before her contractions became noticeable. Walter brought in a laundry basket with a second folded towel inside. A lingering smell of weed infused with the rich aroma of a robust brand of coffee that sat, stewing in the pot I’d brewed earlier.
“Take the pups from her as they come out, one at a time,” Walter instructed. “Place them in the laundry basket, so she can see them.” He chuckled, looking at my face. “You’ve never done this before?”
“My first time,” I said.
“I figured,” he replied.
“How the hell did I get here, sitting in your front room with you, Walter, the two of
us waiting on a dog to birth?”
Who was this? I barely recognized myself as the willing caretaker.
“It takes a whole load of wrong turns to make the right one,” Walter answered. “I try
not to over question the universe, buddy, fate, life whatever it is that pushes open doors we’re meant to walk through.”
Little Honey Momma groaned. “Don’t touch her,” Walter said.
I sat there, keeping a watch on Little Honey Momma in her time of need thinking how, through so many years of denying myself the simple truth of it, I was fairly aching for some kind of a normal life. Your normal is not necessarily my normal. For me it’s the ordinary, regular, everyday pleasures of companionship I am coming around to as much as the mad attraction that I feel for Maggie. I’d lived without it for too long, a good, honest, solid relationship of any kind, except for what I had with Bobby. Ever since I lost my brother, I guess, I’d been dead afraid of any form of attachment for fear of unbearable loss. I’ve put my heart back on the line for this one. She says I’m mad to take her on, but I’m not so sure it is not the reverse, that she’s more than a little crazy to be falling for me. All I know is I will not let her down.
Four pups. Little Honey crouched down in a squatting position and out they slithered, one by one. The whole birthing episode stretched out over an hour and a half.
I watched the whole process, fascinated, in awe. She knew just what to do. Each of the pups was born back end first, which Walter duly informed me was breech. It did not appear to trouble their momma none. Nor did the delivery of a slippery placenta apiece.
Once they were all out and we were sure there was no more of ‘em coming, I did what Walter said and placed these slick little space creatures back into the birthing box alongside Little Honey. I recounted the litter to make sure I had the same number as those I’d placed in the laundry basket.
After they’d each taken their first breath, Little Honey licked her babies good and clean, washing off the membranes that coated them in their delivery. I took a closer look at them, all so sleek and lean and alive. The pups had arrived into the world with their eyes closed. Walter said: “It’s best not to handle them for too long, or we’ll make their momma anxious.”
It was nothing short of astonishing, uplifting, plain beautiful to witness a multiple birthing with, thank God, not a darn thing going wrong. I’ve seen way too much death. Walter warned there might yet be complications. I thought of my brother, of Nick, my womb mate. The tears came fast and free. I wiped them away with the cuff of my shirt.
“What kind of dog do you reckon the father was?” Walter deflected, a diversion tactic to save my pride. I sniffed a couple times, before answering: “I’m not really sure, they’re so small.”
“My money’s on Chihuahua,” he said, flashing his big ol’ grin.
Three of the pups looked to share the same coloring as their momma, the fourth was as black as night.
Walter said the pups would take a good six weeks to wean. “Lori and me will gladly take care of this little family while you and Maggie sort things out back at the ranch,” he said.
Though I was grateful for the offer, it was hard to fathom leaving behind what I had taken to so surprisingly well in my and Maggie’s responsibility, our new “found” family.
Walter read my mind. “Timing’s right for you to take your Maggie home,” he said. “Settle things with her sister. Talk about the gal. When all’s said and done, the two of you head back up here for Little Honey and her pups, though if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep one of these cuties myself.”
I offered him the pick of the litter. “Except for the black one,” I said. “He’s mine.”
As soon as she set her eyes on him, Maggie was all for keeping the exact same pup I’d picked out. “We’ll get supermom fixed after the weaning is done,” she said, bending down to look over a tired but content Little Honey Momma.
Maggie barely said another word all evening, other than cooing over the puppies as she sat cross-legged on the floor. I figured she was working out which parts of Mia’s story to tell to Bridget and which parts to hold back.
A sense of peace descended on Walter’s house, humans and animals all. Once Maggie crashed out for the count, sober as a judge, I’ll add, I took a notion to have a wander around Walter’s winter garden in the moonlight. He joined me, outdoors, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Keeps me busy in the warmer months,” he said, breathing in the night scent of damp redwood and earth. “Gives me a good enough reason for sticking around, I guess.” Walter explained how the money from his produce sales comes in handy in supplementing his fixed retirement income. “The weed I grow myself I sell to a local collective,” he said, pinching off a sprig of winter mint and rolling it between finger and thumb. “Whatever I don’t save and cure for my own personal use, that is.”
Walter has gotten to know all sorts through his garden. Aside from the many multigenerational townsfolk he has befriended over the years, a whole bunch of colorful characters populate his neighborhood — folk, who, like me, and Maggie, I guess, have for the most part, sought to escape the ass-busting financial grind of a more conventional way of life.
“I’m on friendly terms with everyone — the law, for all its worth, out on the rounds, all the old hippies such as myself, many of them musicians who’ve hung up their hats from a life on the road,” he explained.
All sorts, Walter said. One day it might be a German tourist, backpacking off the beaten path and the next a noisy, new wave family with a gaggle of dirty-faced kids attempting to live off the grid. “I’ve had the occasional run-in with thieving travelers, snarling mutts in tow,” Walter said, as we listened to the rustling sound of a nocturnal creature somewhere i
n the shadows. “There are plenty of shady characters who don’t feel the need to pay for a bag of tomatoes.”
It was a rash of violent break-ins by drifters in the neighborhood that led to Walter acquiring his first full-size, service pistol, the one he’d revealed to Maggie and me on our eventful drive north together. “I took up regular rounds of tin can target practice in the forest in order to perfect my shot,” he explained.
I crept real quiet into bed beside a deep sleeping Maggie, drifting off to the call of a great horned owl. We awoke together at the same time the following morning to the welcome sight of a blue sky and an orchestra of birds outside of the bedroom window.
~ Lori stopped by with news a half hour after Maggie and me were up and about. Her face was ashen. “What is it, Sugar?” Walter asked, padding around the kitchen barefoot, making a pot of his extra strong coffee to see us off.
“I just heard, two bodies have been found in a shallow grave on ranchland way up on the Humboldt/Trinity border,” Lori announced.
“Word is that they were teenagers — girls — most likely Latino given their clothing, hair color and other distinctive evidence,” she said. The only additional information the authorities had released was that their bodies had been in the ground for two to three months.
“Thank God it’s not our girls, Maggie,” Lori said, giving each of us a bear hug, in turn. She smelled of patchouli. “Though Lord knows, it breaks my heart to think that they were some poor mother’s precious daughters.”
She never said so, there was no need, yet I couldn’t help but think that after two or three months, their young bodies would have been reduced to mere skeletal remains. Creepy crawlies and creatures of the forest work take their job seriously in returning the dead to the sanctity of the earth. It’s nature’s way and their remains would be hard to identify, though I kept these tragic thoughts of justice un-served to myself.
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