by Chloe Plume
I looked up at Jonathan. His green eyes sparkled, full of intense and eager purpose.
I wondered what it was like to be like him. To have things figured out. To be constantly reaffirmed every day in your life mission. Just to be that certain.
“But damn!” Jonathan switched gears. “I want to take a moment and say you look gorgeous.” He put his hands on either side of my waist, leaned back, and scrutinized me with a look of over-the-top intensity and comical, narrow-eyed focus plastered across his face. “Something about you…like a halo…or a glow…” He looked like a fashion designer scrutinizing his work.
“How are Mike and you doing, by the way?” I asked, switching the subject before he started asking too many questions.
Jonathan stepped back and hung his head. “Oh, well… As you know, things were difficult with the trips I have planned in the fall and winter. He’s not into the whole ocean conservation thing and doesn’t want to go with me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Jonathan…”
“Yeah, I had no reason to believe it would work out between us.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Things will get better. Just keep going. You’re a great guy.”
Jonathan smiled. “Thanks Saylor.” He swung the pack he was carrying onto the road. “So, you waiting for a ride?”
I nodded. “Yeah, should be here any second.”
“Alright. I can wait if you want.” He withdrew the keys to his beat-up truck from the pack.
“No. You should get going. I know you’ve been working all the way through the night.”
I watched Jonathan climb into his battered, dark green Ford. It finally sputtered to life after a minute of ignition attempts and crawled out of the parking lot. I watched the tires, worn and beaten by salt and sand, roll slowly past me and out towards the complex of highways and great, wide eight-lane interstates.
Sitting down on the curb, I waited. Every couple minutes, people passed by one way or the other as the aquarium shows let-in and let-out. I kept waiting. I looked at my phone—still nothing from Dean. So, I sat there for half-an-hour.
And then I realized, he probably wasn’t coming.
I’m just not that important to him.
Despite everything that happened last night. Despite what seemed like the point of no return, things had done just that. Everything was back to normal. The tension was broken and Dean was back to being Dean. I should probably have seen that coming.
I wasn’t even angry or upset. A bit hurt was all. All I wanted from the beginning was for him to open up to me. And when he did, when I finally got past that closed-off bearing and gruff buffer he put up against the world, I thought for a minute that we could actually have a life together.
The force of what we shared last night was overwhelming. It eclipsed the danger of what was coming. It gave us a chance against the world that I never though I could escape. The world that now threatened to destroy us both.
I needed Dean Hunter. He was damaged and self-destructive, but beautifully complicated and enigmatic. So, I had no choice. I couldn’t just throw him out of my head. I couldn’t just forget and move-on. I had to keep trying.
The aquarium was about ten miles away from Oak Island. I knew Dean kept the window at the top of the patio—out of sight from ground level—open during the day to keep the beach house aired.
So, I’ll walk.
It was a beautiful day anyway. Sometimes you had to concentrate on the silver lining. There was always something to be thankful for, something to hang on to through the twisted maze of life.
Chapter 19
Two Years Ago…
It was cold and rainy at the cemetery as we laid him to rest. The old man had finally done his liver in. Long nights of drinking, incessant smoking, and a life of yelling in front of the television were a good way to pack it in early. Forty-five years old, cold, dead, and lifeless.
I’d just finished my bad-conduct discharge hearing. I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Somewhere, somehow, someone did me a favor. But when they finally stripped me of my medals from the last tour, when I finally got to go home, I got a call from Mr. Garson, Ryan’s dad. He told me the nurse found him, they rushed him to the hospital, and he was pronounced dead. This all happened while I was on my way home.
So there I was, standing out in front of the very few people gathered to see him buried. The man I always hated as much as he hated me. The father who beat his wife and blamed her death on his son. The son who wished in his younger days that he was strong enough to kill his father.
Now what?
Was I supposed to stand here, tempered and honed by the wisdom of my experiences, and give some stirring speech about how my father was misunderstood or about how deep-down he was really a great guy? It was an awkward situation. But people were waiting, in the cold, clutching their umbrellas and wondering how much longer this would take. And I wouldn’t give the old bastard the satisfaction of making them wait any longer.
“I won’t insult my father’s memory by saying he was a good person,” I began. “He was an asshole.”
The few people gathered murmured in agreement. I knew he’d done all of them wrong at some point in his life. But the fact was, they were here. There had to be some reason.
“But the thing is, he was still my father. He was still your co-worker, your neighbor, or maybe at one point—before you knew any better—you called him a friend. Point is he touched our lives, one way or another. And I think that’s why we’re here. To try and work that out.”
I saw Mr. Garson in the crowd. Just last night, we’d been talking about his son. Without a body to bury, he’d put the empty casket to rest just a few weeks earlier. He was shedding a few tears, and I didn’t know if it had something to do with my father or that this moment made him remember something about his son.
“You know, I remember at school one of my teachers told me you can lead by positive and by negative example. I think my father’s legacy was the latter. He worked a job, settled in a community, and raised a family. I don’t think he did any of those things particularly well. But he touched on all our lives, taught me important lessons even if he didn’t intend to, and, well, for what it’s worth: he told a great dirty joke.”
I heard a few laughs and was relieved to have some indication that I didn’t horribly fuck this up.
“I’m going to keep this short, because if my dad was here he would have told me to shut-up and get going already. My dad might not have been a great father, husband, or member of the community, but he played an important role. He had his part in many people’s lives, and he had a huge part in mine. So let’s lay him to rest and remember what he taught us, one way or another… Goodbye dad.”
I watched the casket descend slowly down to the bottom. A comforting hand fell on my shoulder. Mr. Garson.
“I’m sorry Dean, for what it’s worth.”
“I’d say you’re the one who has more to be sorry for. Ryan was a hero.”
“That’s not how it works, Dean,” Mr. Garson cautioned. “You know that.”
I walked back down the rainy street with him. That was the thing about Fayetteville. No one escaped, even in death. Your damn house was down the street from the school, down the street from the church, down the street from the cemetery. Most people stayed on that street, cradle to grave.
“I appreciate what you did for Ryan,” Mr. Garson said, cutting into the silence.
I hung my head. “I wouldn’t say that. I fucked up.”
“You know what would have happened if you hadn’t tried. It would have been a week or more before anything was authorized. By then…” Mr. Garson’s voice trailed off.
“I’m just sorry I didn’t see it coming. I have to live with that every day.”
“So what’s the plan?” he asked, diverting the conversation.
“Well,” I began, hesitating. “I’d like to get out of here, maybe look at some private security firms. Though it’ll be difficult with my record,�
� I acknowledged.
“You mean eight years of active duty, two dozen medals, and the fastest promotion record in Marine Corp history since the fall of Saigon?”
“And a bad conduct discharge,” I added.
“You’ll find your place in this world Dean,” Mr. Garson encouraged. “I remember you walking back and forth on these roads, books in hand, making your way to the gym every evening. You were the hardest working kid I’d ever seen.”
“Thank you.” I turned to shake his hand as we approached the wire gate around my dad’s house. “And I’m sorry, for your son, for the loss of the best damn guy to come out of this place. He was my idol.”
Mr. Garson paused and looked out over the small house in which my dad had lived out the rest of his miserable life. “It was nice of you, what you did with getting him that nurse and everything,” he said, referring to the arrangements I made as it became obvious my dad was on his way out.
“It didn’t cost that much.” I shrugged. “What else was I going to spend my money on?” I opened the gate and stepped inside the small yard. “You want to come in, have a drink or something?”
He shook his head. “I have to get back. Martha’s still grieving.” He pointed to the annexed garage. “You going to take the car out for a spin? He would have wanted you to.”
I smiled. “I’m not so sure about that.”
We said out goodbyes and I walked back to the house, unlocked the door, and almost stepped inside. But then, for some damn reason, I made my way to that dusty piece-of-shit garage.
It was still there, probably untouched since that day I left for Fort Braggs. I pulled off the grimy tarp and walked around the limited edition Pontiac, examining the car I lusted to drive every single day of my childhood.
What the hell is that?
Affixed to the back bumper with excessive strips of duct tape was a little folded piece of paper.
No fucking way.
I looked around, expecting to see some snickering prankster come out from around the corner. Obviously, there was no one there. So with trembling hands, I ripped the note off the car and opened it:
Dean,
I’m probably dead or else I wouldn’t let you get near my car. But let’s not get sentimental and pretend we didn’t hate each other. My ass is in the ground, my liver finally gave out—mission accomplished—and it’s time for everyone to move on.
Point is, you’re still my son, and what’s fair is fair. The car’s yours. Don’t worry—everything’s paid for, it’s not collateral in one of my many gambling debts, and I didn’t promise it to someone else.
You’re one of those lucky Smart Asses who actually has a chance of getting out of here. So stop reading this and drive.
Chapter 20
Two Years Ago…
I didn’t remember anything before the Sunshine Fellowship. I was born somewhere to my mother and some guy who took off pretty quickly. My mother refused to talk about it, but I was named Saylor, so that had to be some sort of clue or something. Or maybe I was just reading too much into it.
We bounced around, so I had only hazy memories of different places throughout the country and all the diners my mother worked at while I waited in the corner and read my books.
Finally we made our way to Northern California and Brother Phoenix discovered my mother working at a truck stop during one of his ventures into the outer world. He said later that he’d sensed her energy. He knew she was destined to be an integral part of the new agrarian world order. He could see her destiny in his dreams.
So I’d spent most of my life here in this small commune. I got up early at dawn, milked the cows, worked in the garden, sat through the mandatory education hours, and eagerly awaited my 17th birthday. Tomorrow, I’d be considered a woman according to the traditions of the Sunshine Fellowship. I’d finally be able to read whatever books I wanted, travel to the outside world with Brother Phoenix and the other Beacons, and do what I wanted with my time as long as I completed my duties for the day.
“Sister Larson.”
I turned to face one of the Junior Beacons, Brother Thomas. He taught our History of the World class. Although opposite genders weren’t allowed to spend unsupervised time together outside of Union, I’d been around him during Instruction, Discussion, and worked on his team during Harvest. Lately, I’d begun to feel something when I was around him. I didn’t understand it. But, the last couple months I was aware of the way he smiled, the way he easily lifted the bales of hay into the cart, and the way he led the horses to feed while the wind tousled his hair into careless perfection.
So I blushed when he addressed me. “Yes, Brother Thomas?”
His head dropped and his shoulders sagged. He wasn’t his usual brisk and lively self. “Brother Phoenix requests your presence.” He stretched out his arm in the direction of the Beacon Hall. “Your mother is already there.”
My mother pledged Union with Brother Phoenix a couple weeks after we moved into the commune. I hardly saw her outside of community events, since I lived together with the other Junior Sisters in the lodge. I was eager to discuss my upcoming Majority with her and the plans for my birthday tomorrow.
She met me at the gate in front of Beacon Hall. A look of worry ran across her sharp, delicate features. “I’ll be coming by the lodge tonight, Saylor, be ready,” she said hurriedly and hushed as Brother Phoenix approached.
“Congratulations!” he declared with unbridled enthusiasm, extending his arms to either side and embracing me in his typical, ostentatious way. “I look forward to celebrating your Majority and taking part in your birthday celebrations on tomorrow’s eve!”
“Thank you Brother Phoenix,” I said, head bowed as was customary when addressing the Prophet.
“No need!” he proclaimed, a bright smile stretched across his taut face. “Saylor, no need…”
My mother and I followed him into his office. He walked with a well-trained posture and deliberate, methodical gait. His bearing was a product of years of meticulous research into the physical signs of convincing leadership, and his rehearsed manner of speech was equally staged, performed as it were to maximize feelings of rapport and affinity.
Of course, I didn’t know that then. All I knew was his perpetual smile, the glaring whiteness of his teeth, and the way his gaunt, avuncular demeanor put everyone at ease. He wasn’t in the least bit threatening, he talked fast and smooth, and he had a way of making you feel like you were at the center of an exciting and fantastic destiny. He was, in short, the perfect Prophet for the Sunshine Fellowship.
“Saylor,” he began, once my mother and I had taken a seat in front of his ornately carved wood desk. “As you know, it is the solemn duty of the Prophet to consider how to serve the community greater.”
I nodded. Glancing to my mother, I noticed her head was bowed and eyes fixed firmly on the inlaid wood floor.
“After careful and thoughtful deliberation, I’ve reached the conclusion that I can better spread my light by pledging Union to the both of you, reaching across generations and recognizing the strong essence I can feel in your bond as mother and daughter.”
I looked again at my mother and waited until she raised her head. I searched for answers in her eyes. “I don’t understand…”
Brother Phoenix smiled wide, beaming. “Saylor, I’m inviting you to join me and Astrid in solemn Union, with all the commitments, engagements, and privileges that entails.”
I contemplated exactly what he was saying. I still couldn’t understand.
“It’s a great honor!” Brother Phoenix affirmed. “Astrid, speak with your daughter. Help her see the light.”
My mother took my hand and walked with me in silence to the gate. As Brother Phoenix approached, following us out to the courtyard, she raised her voice: “Consider the dignity and devotion this brings to our lives!” And then, in a hushed whisper, she reminded me, “I’ll be there tonight. Pack what you can.”
Chapter 21
Jab. Block. Bloc
k. Swipe. Kick. This guy’s playing around. Nothing with any force. So he’s looking for an angle. Checking my reach, my reaction time, looking for a weakness.
I was back in the ring where I belonged. The bustle of the crowd, the dingy sweaty air, and the force of bones and muscles crashing together—it was electrifying. I hoped my dive back into the familiar would get the last few days off my mind. So far, it seemed like it was working.
His left hand’s slow to the center.
Looks like his whole plan had backfired. He’d given me more time to find his weakness. I waited until he threw a long cross and sidestepped, ducked and threw a punch right to his abdomen. Like I thought, he was slow. And I punched hard.
The guy pulled back, a look of sharp agony and regret on his face. If I could do that a couple more times, this was all over. Unfortunately, he was a fast and took it easy, saving every bit of energy for the long haul. So, I’d be biding my time.
He threw another combo. Light, swift jabs, a decent cross, and I waited for the kick.
Saylor?
I saw a flash of light hair in the crowd and could have sworn she was right there, to the right, between those two shady looking guys near the exit.
Block the kick!
I instinctively closed my hips and pulled my shins into position to try and catch the arc of the kick. It never came. Instead, I was greeted by an uppercut to the face. A move I should have seen.
Shit! Fuck!
Searing pain invaded my mind. I struggled to remain conscious as my head felt like it would explode. I caught most of it under the cheekbone, so my nose remained where it should be. But there was blood.
I should have fallen down and it should have been a knockout. But for some reason I didn’t. The other guy had every reason to believe I would. He had every reason to drop his guard. But he shouldn’t have.
My mind was screaming, my body was shutting down. But, I held myself together long enough to throw my own decent uppercut while he was still hanging over me waiting for me to fall down. Mine connected under the jaw, snapped his head back a little more, and maximized the impact and shock. He fell, unconscious.