Until It's Time To Go

by Connie Bailey

  “Yeah. We moved out here to be safe, you know? Away from the muggings, the drive-by shootings, and the road rage. We were broke for a year after we bought this place, but we never regretted it. When we were at home, it was easy to pretend that LA didn’t exist.”

  “It’s beautiful here. I’ve envied you more than once.”

  Isaac plucked Laith from a low branch and swung him around before setting him down. “I thought we were all set,” he continued as he and Kylie followed the boy to the pebbly banks of the brook. “The house was paid off. Steve was thrilled to be out of the movie biz and excited about taking over as fitness instructor at the youth center. I’ve been making solid bank selling scripts no one will ever shoot, and I was just chosen by Tony Kendall to work on his new project. No big payday, but he’s the hottest thing in indie right now.”

  “I’ve actually heard of him. In fact, I saw Moments Like This with some girlfriends last summer. I have to say that the lead actress left an impression. Her face during the oral sex scene was so perfect that I blushed.”

  “She was Kendall’s lover at the time. The rumor is that he was just below the camera line in that scene. Even though we see the back of the actor’s head, it was Tony’s ‘head’, so to speak, that inspired the young lady to such Thespian heights.”

  “Sometimes you talk just like you write.” Kylie chose a pebble and tried skipping it on the water. “That’s not criticism, just an observation.”

  “You’ve read me?”

  Kylie smiled. “Janelle took me to that play. What was it called?”

  “You’ll have to give me more to go on. I’ve had more than one script performed as a play.”

  “You know that one where only one character is wearing clothes. We saw it at the Lime.”

  “That’s The One-Eyed King.”

  “Do you want to know what I thought of it?”

  “The first thing that popped into my head was, ‘I’m dying to know.’ Never thought about that phrase literally before.”

  “Get used to it. You’re going to be ambushed by things like that on an hourly basis while you’re grieving.” Kylie threw another flat pebble. “It gets better, though. The pain fades. The reminders grow less frequent. Then one day you glance at a calendar and realize it’s her birthday and you’d forgotten. You’ll ache and cry a little, but you’ll have moved, on and the sadness won’t paralyze you like it used to.”

  “Who was she?”

  “My mum. She was your age when she passed on.”

  “I’m sorry,” Isaac said automatically.

  “Thanks, but I was just making a point.” She picked up another rock. “By the way, I thought your play was self-conscious. It tried a bit too hard to be weird and antiestablishment. But the dialogue was brilliant.” Another rock sank to the bottom of the stream. “I hope you don’t stop writing or anything stupid like that.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do.” Isaac watched Laith imitating Kylie, chunking pebbles at the brook. “Maybe after the funeral I can think about that.”

  “Just promise me you won’t let anyone make you feel like a heartless monster because you’re able to deal with Steve’s death and attend to details like funerals and such. You can be just as sad while you go on with your life. Grief doesn’t have to make you helpless.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Isaac spun around as water splashed his pant leg. “Hey!” He scooped Laith up. “That one was a little close, pardner.”

  Laith giggled. “I’m sorry.”

  “You sound so sincere,” Isaac said. “How can I not believe you?”

  “I want down,” Laith said. “I won’t splash anymore.”

  “Could you find me a rock that looks like an egg?” Kylie asked.

  Laith began searching the edges of the streambed as Kylie and Isaac ambled along behind him, headed back to the house.

  “Steve was a decent man,” Kylie said. “And he really loved you. He told me so at your engagement party.”

  Isaac swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “I’m glad you told me that.” He swallowed again. “And just so you know… I realize I’m a selfish, self-involved, superior jerk, but I loved him too, and I wanted to be with him until… until we died. I thought we had so much time.”

  “Yeah, that’s the hell of it.” Kylie raised her voice again. “Don’t start up without us, Laith.”

  “He’s absolutely fearless, isn’t he?” Isaac said.

  “Just like his mum. Looks just like her too.”

  “I’ve always thought Nelle looked like Tinker Bell.”

  “So she does.” Kylie took Laith’s hand, unconcerned by the dirt.

  “Here’s your rock,” the boy said, digging in his pocket.

  “It’s perfect,” Kylie said. “Looks exactly like an egg. Would you mind keeping it for me until we get to the house?”

  They climbed to the deck and found Janelle setting the picnic table. Laith ran to show her the egg rock and was drafted into bringing out napkins. Isaac excused himself to the bathroom, and Kylie followed Janelle into the kitchen.

  “Well?” Janelle said as she took the grapefruit juice out of the fridge.

  “I think he’ll be all right if he gets back to work right away. He’s a brooder, and you can’t let a brooder sit idle.”

  “He’ll need us, and we need to be there for him. I know he’s not your favorite guy in the world, but he’s Laith’s godfather, and he’s family.”

  “I’m not arguing. And Laith could cure cancer with one of his smiles.” Kylie came up behind Janelle and hugged her. “You do pretty work.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Ky.”

  “When I think of how I’d feel if I lost you, it’s easy to be understanding.”

  “Remember that later tonight when I’m three sheets to the wind and waving my bra around my head.”

  “You don’t wear a bra.”

  “Metaphorically speaking, then. I warn you that if Isaac wants to get drunk, I’m going to keep him company.”

  “So you said and… look! It’s Laith! And he has… a kitten!”

  “He was on the picnic table. I told him to get off, but he wouldn’t listen, so I got him off,” Laith said. “He made footprints.”

  “Looks like there’s a litter of kittens somewhere in the area,” Janelle said. “Isaac!”

  “What?” Isaac said as he came down the hall. “Give me a second, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Is that the kind of language you want Laith to pick up?” Janelle asked him.

  “Why did you yell?”

  Janelle held up the ginger-tabby kitten. “Does this belong to you?”

  “Nope. Must be a stray.”

  “Any of your neighbors have cats?” Kylie asked.

  “Probably.” Isaac frowned. “What are we going to do with it?”

  “Him,” Janelle said.

  “He seems to like you. Why don’t you take him home?”

  “I’m allergic,” Kylie said from the other side of the counter.

  “What do I do?” Isaac asked. “Do I call the pound?”

  “You’d send this punkin to the pound?” Janelle said as the kitten purred against her throat.

  “I don’t want a cat. And I wouldn’t know how to take care of one. I’ve never had a pet.”

  “Maybe Punkin could be my cat and just live at your house,” Laith said.

  “Well, there you have it,” Isaac said. “What can I say to that?”

  “Congratulations on your cat,” Kylie said.

  “Not so fast. I still have to call the head of the homeowners’ association and ask him to call everyone and see if they’ve lost a kitten.”

  Janelle held up the kitten so Isaac could see the burrs matting his coat and how thin he was. “He’s been a stray for a while.”

  “Well give the creature some milk or something. Where’s my drink?”

  Janelle and Kylie and Laith ate with Isaac, watched a movie with him, put him to bed, and went home, but Punkin sta
yed. The next morning, faced with a hungry kitten, Isaac went online and found out what he needed to know about the care and feeding of the Creature, as he referred to Punkin. He ordered a ridiculous amount of cat-related products and had them shipped to his house, paying for next-day service. If nothing else, caring for the kitten gave him something to focus on besides his loss. He got through the funeral and the wake, and at end of the day, he was glad to have another living presence in the house.

  FOUR days after Steve died, Isaac turned his phone back on. It rang immediately, and as he answered, he saw that he had almost a hundred messages.

  “Hi, Lewis,” he said to his agent.

  “Sorry to bother you, but the cops called. They want to talk to you about Stephen’s accident. They left a number.”

  “Text it to me.”

  “Oh, right. Should have done that in the first place, huh?”

  “No problem. Go ahead and send the number.”

  “Right. Bye for now, but you better call me. We got things to discuss. Like whether or not you’ll have a career by this time tomorrow.”

  Isaac ended the call and waited for the text. When he put in the number, he was connected directly to a detective.

  “This is Kovac.”

  “I’m Isaac Zevin. You called me about Stephen Michaels’s death.”

  “Yeah. When can you come in and talk to us?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d come to my house.”

  “Nah, that’s the kind of thing you see in movies. Way gas prices are, we don’t go driving around all over the county.”

  “I could come now if that’s convenient and you can give me directions.”

  “Sure. I’m going to turn you over to a sergeant. He’ll tell you exactly how to get here. When you get to the front desk, ask for Kovac and Foster.”

  After listening to the sergeant’s idea of directions, Isaac hung up. Entering the address of the precinct building in the GPS app on his phone, he let it plot a route for him as he shed his sweatpants. He put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, brushed his hair out of his face, and left the house.

  THE desk sergeant gave Isaac directions to a squad room and a tag to pin to his shirt. Isaac rode a tiny elevator up three floors and stepped off into a partitioned room full of office equipment and people who ignored him. He stopped at the first desk and asked for Kovac and Foster.

  “Kovac! Foster!” the detective shouted. “Your guy’s here.”

  “Back here.” A man with a blond crew cut waved Isaac over.

  “I’m Isaac Zevin,” he said as he was offered a seat.

  “I’m Detective Foster,” the blond man said.

  “I’m Detective Kovac,” said the hefty man who didn’t look up from his keyboard.

  “I’m here to talk about Stephen Michaels’s death.”

  “That’s right.” Kovac hit Send and turned away from the screen. “Thanks for coming down.”

  “Not a problem. I’m anxious to see whoever hit Steve brought to justice.” Isaac paused. “I know how that sounds, but this is important to me.”

  “The doc said she gave you some of the vic’s property. Do you have it with you?”

  Isaac recognized the word “vic” as an abbreviation of victim from all the cop shows Steve liked to watch. Isaac liked quirky half-hour comedies. There was another argument they’d never have again. Grief made his voice sharp when he replied. “With me? No. You didn’t ask me to bring anything.”

  “Meant to while I had you on the phone,” Kovac said.

  “That would’ve been a good time.”

  “Sorry,” Kovac said. “I know this must be hard for you.”

  “It’s not easy, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “Well, you weren’t at the scene, were you?” Foster asked.

  “No, but I was hoping this interview might bring up something that would help explain it.”

  “We have a whole team of people that do nothing but measure skid marks and make plaster casts of tire treads. The real investigation will start when they get that stuff to their lab.”

  “When will they be finished with their tests?”

  Kovac shrugged. “They’re pretty backed up. Probably not more than a couple of months, though.”

  Isaac blinked. “Months?”

  “’Fraid so,” Foster said.

  “Look, I’ve been thinking that it might have been a hate crime.”

  “Now why would you think that, Mr. Zevin?” Foster asked.

  “Stephen’s gay… was gay. Everyone we know knows that.”

  “Well, how gay would you say he was?” Foster replied. “For instance, would people driving by be able to tell he was gay?”

  Isaac looked at Kovac. “Is he kidding? Because it’s really inappropriate.”

  Kovac sighed. “He’s like that. I keep putting in requests for a new partner, but I’m still married to his racist ass. All day long it’s dagos and spicks, chinks and micks.”

  “Why am I getting the feeling you aren’t going to lose any sleep over this case?”

  “Are you making some kind of accusation, sir?” Foster said. “Because I have a complaint form right here.”

  “John, you’re out of line,” Kovac said. “Go lose a few pounds of attitude.”

  Foster shot Isaac a resentful glare as he pushed away from his desk. “My pleasure,” he said.

  “Sorry about that,” Kovac said as Foster walked away. “He’s got that, whattayacallit? Homo hysteria? Something like that?”

  Isaac couldn’t tell if Kovac was mocking him or not and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Can we get back to the interview?”

  “Yeah, sure. Can you think of anybody that would do this to your partner?”

  “No, it had to be a stranger.”

  “You’re sure? Sometimes guys play around and they don’t tell the other woman—or whatever—that they’re already taken. Know what I mean? Half the murders we investigate turn out to be jealous lover cases.”

  Isaac reined in his temper. “Steve wasn’t cheating on me. He wasn’t that kind of man.”

  “I have to ask to these questions.”

  “I understand. Do you have to look like you’re enjoying it?”

  “Sir, this is all a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s a hit-and-run,” Isaac said. “A man died.”

  “I know that, sir. I’m going to do everything in my power to find out who did it.”

  “I want to believe you, but I don’t think you give a crap about this case because the victim was gay.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir.”

  “Should I bother to ask about updates?”

  “You can call anytime.”

  “You can bet I will.” Isaac stood and left the squad room. Alone in the elevator, he clenched his fists and jaw to hold in a scream. He knew all cops weren’t like the two jerks he’d just talked to, but they were ones assigned to Steve’s case. It was like hearing Steve was dead all over again. He simply couldn’t believe it was happening. After working in the movie industry for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be hated simply for who he loved.

  He went home and took a bottle of vodka and a shot glass out on the deck, where he watched the night absorb the last grains of daylight.

  “I don’t think I can stand this, man,” Isaac said. “You’re gone and no one’s doing a damned thing about it.” He threw back a shot. “If someone could just tell me why, then maybe—maybe—it would make some sense.” He poured more vodka and drank it down. “If one more idiot tells me that everything happens for a reason, I’m going to rip their tongue out and ask them to tell me the reason I did it. There’s no reason for you to be dead, Stevie. Your death serves no purpose whatsoever.” Isaac took a slug straight from the bottle as he gazed up at the emerging stars. “It’s just bad plotting to kill someone off for no reason,” he yelled at the sky. There was no response to his accusation, unless you counted the crickets, so h
e took the opportunity to guzzle more vodka. “Fucking peaceful silence,” he muttered. “I can hear myself think, goddammit.”

  With the vague idea of offering Steve a shot, Isaac grabbed the neck of the bottle and stood up. His head swam, and he lurched forward, fetching up against the railing. The bottle flew from his hand and shattered on some rocks at the bottom of the steep slope.

  “Fuck!” Isaac clutched at the wooden rail as he peered down into the darkness. “This is my fucking life.”

  The kitten mewed loudly behind Isaac and batted at his calf.

  “What?” Isaac said loudly.

  Punkin stared up at Isaac with moon-sized eyes and did his best to communicate the heinous lack of food in his bowl.

  “You’re hungry, is that it?”

  Punkin turned and minced back into the house, his white-tipped tail standing up like an exclamation point.

  “You should be a little less demanding and have a little more gratitude,” Isaac told the kitten as he fed him. “You’d be walking the streets if it wasn’t for me.”

  The skinny little cat didn’t look up from his bowl.

  “And that’s the name of that tune,” Isaac said. “As soon as I satisfy your needs, you forget I exist. I feel like there’s a lesson in here somewhere.”

  Punkin continued to devour the food like a steam shovel going through gravel.

  Isaac side-stepped as a flying crumb bounced off his foot, and he nearly lost his balance. “Whoa!” he yelped as his flailing hand banged against the counter. His fingers closed on the lip of the bar and gave him enough leverage to remain more or less upright. As he regained his equilibrium, it occurred to him that he was shit-faced and talking to a cat. “What a loser,” he said under his breath.

  DAYS piled up like bricks being stacked and mortared. Punkin went from kitten to cat without any new information surfacing on Steve’s case. According to the forensics lab, there had been no skid marks on the pavement and no tread marks on the shoulder. They had a good idea how high the bumper was, but the sheer number of registered SUVs made a door-to-door search impractical. The days became weeks became months until they formed a wall a year long, and Isaac no longer called the detectives every day. It seemed more and more likely that the car would never be found, the driver never made to account for leaving Steve to die.