by Don Prichard
“Judge Eh-reek-son!” The hotel concierge’s voice popped with excitement. “President Marcos—his secretary call for you!”
Every nerve snapped to attention. “President Marcos?”
“She give message you come for visit this afternoon, two o’clock.”
“Did she say why?”
“Customs Office always tell President when U.S. officials come to Philippines. Warden at Salonga Prison also report you come two days to see new prison. President Marcos make few minutes today to welcome you. He extends great privilege.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you.” She hung up, her mind spinning like a dog chasing its tail.
“Who was that?” Crystal sat up and tossed aside her bed covers.
“Can you believe President Marcos’s secretary called? I’ve been invited for a visit at 2:00.”
“But that’s when we’ll be with Jake.”
Oh. “I said goodbye to him yesterday, sweetie. A second goodbye would be awkward.” Understatement of the year. Relief washed over her that she had an excuse to not see him again.
Yesterday, leaving Jake had been a reality check. Face it: She had permanent retrograde amnesia, and she wasn’t getting her memory back. As much as she hated her inability to help Jake, his future was out of her hands. For three years she had struggled with her identity because of her lost past. It was time now to settle down and proceed with her new identity—mom and magistrate.
She’d been a good mom, hadn’t she? Had opened the door and stepped through it to fulfill Crystal’s wish to see Jake. And now, President Marcos’s invitation to her as Judge Eriksson was as good a sign from heaven as any that the judgeship was her destiny.
Not Jake.
Pushing aside the sadness that swamped her, she rang the concierge. “I have a suit that needs pressing. Can you see to that? And a taxi for the visit with President Marcos.”
***
She sat for half an hour in the President’s office waiting room. A good reminder that she was a humble servant of the law, not a big shot. Did Marcos know the difference between a mere magistrate and a full federal judge? Surely he didn’t know she was the newly conferred Drug Czar of Chicago? Her throat tightened. If that had gotten out, then the Romeros knew too.
Finally she was escorted into the office. Marcos greeted her with a handshake. And a perceptible jump of the eyebrows. “What good fortune to have a beautiful and charming visitor to share tea with.”
She bet that wasn’t a scripted part of his welcome. “The honor is mine, Mr. President.”
They sat in comfortable chairs across from each other, a highly polished mahogany coffee table with a magnificent bouquet of flowers between them. Before a word could be spoken, the secretary appeared with tea and poured it into china cups with saucers. Eve accepted cream and a lump of sugar. She was a coffee person herself, but tea could be made palatable enough, especially when shared with the President of the Republic of the Philippines.
“You have visited our new federal prison, Salonga?”
“I have, Mr. President, and I am impressed. It rivals anything we have in the United States.” She could kick herself for skipping the prison tour. Hopefully Marcos wouldn’t ask too many questions about it, and Jake’s letters and the kids’ comments would supply her with enough information to get by.
“Warden Mendoza will receive an award for its design. Salonga is a model for new prisons on my agenda. He will be promoted to oversee their construction.”
“He is an excellent man, very appropriate for the job.” She managed not to wince at her recall of his eye patch and blackened visible eye. No mention was made of Jake, whom the warden had acknowledged to her as the actual designer and builder.
All too soon, fifteen minutes by her calculation, the visit was over and President Marcos was walking her to the door of his office. The door shut behind her, and she collapsed against the wall to capture her wobbly breath and strengthen her shaking knees. She had been bold with President Marcos. She was a lowly magistrate, not a federal judge, and she may have presumed upon Marcos’s ignorance. Hopefully, there would be no backlash against Jake.
***
She returned to her hotel room and found everyone still gone. The room felt hollow, barren—like her heart felt about Jake. She sat on the edge of her bed, chin suddenly crumpling, lower lip quivering. Snuffs of air vibrated in bumps to her lungs, set off tremors in her chest. Regret, soot-black, thorny, scratched up her throat. Rasped against her vocal cords. Shuffled out her nose in keening moans. She opened her mouth and gave in to cavernous sobs.
At length, face hot and puffy, eyes swollen half-shut, she rose and splashed cold water over her face, toweled it dry. Okay. She crunched her lips between her teeth until her breath calmed, raised her chin and addressed her splotchy reflection in the bathroom mirror. Time to close this chapter of her life. A chapter whose pages were years of misguided emotions and erroneous conclusions about Jake. A chapter not well-ended. Nevertheless, one that needed to end—had ended in the visitor’s room at Salonga Prison.
It was too late to change things for Jake, but there was someone whose life she could affect for the better. She’d told Brad she needed to find a way to be who she was now, instead of chasing ghosts of the past for her identity. The new her—the now her—could be different. Whatever she remembered … or didn’t remember … didn’t need to define her. God’s mercies were new every morning. She’d let Him be the one to create her anew.
Confidence perked every cell in her body as she picked up the hotel phone and arranged a long-distance call. Still, her hands trembled, and desert heat wilted her tongue into rawhide.
“Hello?” The voice was edged with sleep, colored with thinly-veiled irritation. She hadn’t thought about what time it was in New York. Early morning—very early. She almost hung up.
“Dad?” she croaked.
His lungs wheezed a sharp inhale. “Eve?” Her name was a half-gasp, half-cry. “Are … are you all right?”
“I am, Dad. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can call back.” Would she? Her nerve endings were frayed rope. She wrapped the coils of telephone cord around and around her pointer finger.
“No, no. Now is perfect.” An awkward pause, then, “How are you?”
She had to jump in feet-first or end up turning tail. “I forgive you, Dad. You and Dax.”
“Eve—” Her father’s voice jerked.
“I’m not going to just say the words, Dad. To help me truly get past this, I’m going to share the venom of my hurt. For your sake as well as for mine.” Her heart pattered against her chest as if a Loving Hand was patting her back. A deep calm infused her words, removed the bile from her tongue.
“What Dax did wasn’t just a matter of being drunk and a stupid teenager. And what you did wasn’t just misplaced ambition. What you did, what you both did, was betrayal. Betrayal of my love, of my faith in you, of Mom’s faith in you as family who would take care of me.”
A sob hobbled from her father’s chest. “I’m sorry, so sorry …” Grief, raw with pain, crusted with remorse, scraped from his throat. “God forgive me, I’m so, so sorry.”
Tears coursed from Eve’s eyes as the poison of twenty-five years oozed from her heart, misted into a fog, evaporated into the heavens. Hugging the phone to her ear, she wept with her father.
When their emotions lay spent, he thanked her. “I love you, Evie.”
But she couldn’t reciprocate. That would take time. She’d get together with him—him and Dax. Brick by brick, they’d remove the wall between them. Perhaps slowly, perhaps quickly. The foundation of forgiveness would help them.
***
Jake milked the five hours with his kids, Crystal, and Bentley for all they were worth. The visitor’s room was theirs for the day. Two actually decent meals were served for lunch and dinner, and the warden stopped in for a brief visit. The rest of the time was spent sharing stories from the graduates’ four years at West Point, and from Jake and Crystal�
��s year on the island.
Eve’s absence was not referred to.
When, with hugs and tears goodbye, they parted, Jake jogged to the exercise yard. He walked the perimeter, over and over, waving away Puno and other prison mates. He held up his heart to God. Placed its broken pieces at the feet of Jesus.
Piece by piece by piece. So many pieces.
Hear me, O Lord God of mercy and compassion. I give you my thanks, but also my complaints.
My children have departed. Second Lieutenants now. Who knows when they’ll be free to visit again?
Crystal is gone. Next-to-last year in high school coming up. Fat chance Eve will ever bring her back to the Philippines.
Lee’s job of managing prison construction is over. No more weekly visits with him.
The prison is completed. Functioning well. My job is done.
Same with the prison trades, prospering under Puno.
Emilio’s trial is coming up. Water-tight case against him, Lee says.
It took several hard swallows to bring up the next broken piece: Eve’s memory loss is permanent. So is her departure.
And then he had to work on breathing. Breathing so his lungs would expand and contract. So they’d empty out carbon dioxide and draw in oxygen. So his legs could walk and his brain could talk and his soul could continue praying.
Still waiting on you, Lord. Still holding out for you as the Just Judge. Still trusting.
Gotta tell you, though. I’m giving up on the earthly judge.
And then he gathered the pieces and placed them one-by-one at the feet of Jesus again.
And again.
And again.
Chapter 70
Two weeks later, the warden summoned Jake. Jake huffed. Even Mendoza had set him aside after Jake’s family left. Hadn’t even toured the furniture workshop, where Jake was burying his sorrows in work. Not that Jake cared about the warden’s lack of attention. Anymore, Jake didn’t care much about anything.
At least he was worth tea and cookies in the warden’s office. Mendoza said nothing as they munched their apportioned cookies and sipped tea, and Jake sure had nothing to say. He felt the warden’s eye on him, though. Yep, something was on Mendoza’s mind.
“I have been promoted,” Mendoza finally said. “Departmental head over new prison construction in the Philippines. I will leave Salonga tomorrow.”
“Congratulations!” Jake’s smile was genuine. Someone was no longer forgotten anyway.
“You will leave too.”
Jake stared at him. What—as Mendoza’s employee? Some kind of exchange deal—ten years of Jake’s labor for his eventual freedom?
“You do not wonder how or why?”
“I do.” Jake flashed a grin. May as well give the man some satisfaction. “I’m afraid to ask what you have in mind.”
“Your freedom.”
Jake’s cheek twitched. At what price?
“Tomorrow you walk out. Detective Lee will drive you to airport.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. If Mendoza laughed, said it was a joke, Jake would land a fist in that one good eye.
But Mendoza only nodded his head toward the door. “You may go.” Face as sober as ever.
“You aren’t kidding? You mean it?” Jake stood up on wobbly knees.
“Yes. You are free to return to your country.”
“How—?” Jake swallowed back an onslaught of tears. “What—?” He inhaled what had to be all the oxygen in the room. “Good grief, Warden, tell me about it!”
This time Mendoza smiled. The rat had been waiting for the satisfaction of Jake’s reaction. “When I was told of my promotion, I was also told your case has been dismissed. No more accusation of murder. No more court trial to wait for.”
“Who told you?” The words came out gruff. “How do I know it’s official, that it won’t come chasing after me?”
Mendoza held up a piece of paper. “Special delivery this morning.” He handed it to Jake. “From the office of the President of the Republic of the Philippines.”
“Marcos?” Jake dropped back onto the chair. His eyes could hardly focus, but, yes, the letterhead was there. The signature. Everything in between he needed. “I’d say that’s mighty official.” He wanted to hug the one-eyed ogre, but settled for a handshake across the expanse of mahogany between them. “Thank you.”
“Thank your Judge Eriksson. My source tells me she initiated the request to bring you home immediately.”
“Judge Eriksson?”
“The day before President Marcos left on a trip two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago?”
Mendoza outright laughed. “You sound like lovesick parrot. Go. You leave tomorrow.”
***
What did he have to pack? Nothing here he wanted. Except his lost pocket Bible. And letters from home. Home! The Just Judge was sending him home! His kids, sisters, Crystal—he could imagine their screams over the telephone. He chuckled in anticipation. He’d call them at the airport. Using Mendoza’s phone required a bribe.
And Eve? What had happened after she left him? Judge or not, she couldn’t just show up at Marcos’s door, pleading for Jake’s freedom. And she wouldn’t have held back the possibility of Jake’s release from him if she’d been working on it all along. He knew her too well for that. No way she’d snatch away that hope and leave him as she had, with his heart facing a firing squad.
Would it make a difference in how she received him now? Her heart was empty, she’d said. She didn’t love him. Would she turn away if he tried to win her back?
He sighed and selected tomorrow’s outfit: parachute pants—at least a bit more dignified than shorts for the long trip home—and a reasonably clean shirt. Everything else he’d give away. Didn’t have a suitcase anyway. Lee would have his plane ticket, and, no doubt, cash. That’s all he needed. All he wanted. Almost …
His group had a party for him. Snacks, treats, candy, and soda pop came from hoarded stores. In the fine American tradition, they “roasted” him with funny stories—safe to tell now that he was leaving—but at the end they thanked him, man after man, for the kindness and compassion he had bestowed on them with the new prison.
When the men trailed away to their bunks for the night, Puno hung back until last. “I am glad for you, sad for me.” Unashamedly, they clung in a long hug.
***
He skipped breakfast the next morning. Didn’t want to face goodbyes again. These men were seeds sown into his heart, much as his buddies in Nam had been. Parting was like ripping them out by their roots to make room for new plants.
The pod emptied quickly after breakfast. Echoes of the prisoners’ footsteps and voices faded to silence as they left to work in their various trades. The odor of multiple males confined in a small area dissipated to the canopy. Inside his wire cage, the guard nodded off. Jake felt as if he’d been sealed inside a coffin with a somnolent mouse.
He was dressed and ready to go. Nerves jumpy, restless to move on. To get out of here. He stared out his cell window at the empty road. Lee’s normal routine was to come late in the morning, well before the sun reached its peak, but he might come early today. If only Eve and Crystal, or the twins and Bentley, had known of his release, they could have journeyed home together.
His vacant house in Indy was the last place he wanted to go. But what choice did he have? Chicago wasn’t an option. He couldn’t—and didn’t want to—take Crystal away from Eve. And Eve had made it clear there was no future for the two of them: “My memory is empty … and my heart,” she’d said.
His memory was full. His heart brimming.
Did the two have to be irreconcilable?
“Chalmers.”
At Emilio’s voice, Jake whipped around. His archenemy stood in the doorway to Jake’s cell, two of his thugs on either side of him.
Chapter 71
“Get out of my cell,” Jake growled. It had taken less than a day in the new Salonga Prison for the inmates to establish the rule that
every man’s cell was his domain, and no man could enter without permission. A lot of good that did Jake now, with the pod empty and the guard asleep. Or bribed.
His last day in prison, and he might exit it with three shivs in his gut. Jake’s sightline to the guard was blocked. While a shout would alert the sentry to Jake’s danger, the show of helplessness would acknowledge Emilio’s ascendancy. No way Jake was going to give him that.
“I want to talk,” Emilio said.
“I don’t. Get out.”
“At that table.” Emilio sauntered to the nearest table and sat. His two men settled into a table farther away.
So, this was to be a private conversation …
Behind them, the guard had his eyes on the intruders, his hand on his rifle. Remaining in the cell would label Jake a coward. He strode to Emilio’s table but didn’t sit. “So talk.”
“You’re outta here.” Emilio’s voice expressed no emotion. “I’m not.”
Jake flashed a wicked smile. “It’s called justice.”
“It’s called you win, I lose. Simple as that.”
“This is what you wanted to talk about?”
Emilio took a photograph out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the table. Jake gave it a cursory glance. A toddler with curly dark hair and nut-brown eyes, smiling. “My son, three years ago,” Emilio said.
Jake’s nostrils flared. “You met my kids three weeks ago. With a bomb.”
Emilio slapped a second photograph onto the first. “Same boy, a week ago.” Flames lashed from the anger in his voice.
In spite of his reluctance, Jake cast a quick eye over the photo. The same curly-haired boy, about five, crouched in a corner, naked except for briefs, covered in bruises from his chest down. Terror, not smiles, defined his face. Jake quashed the sick feeling seeking entry to his heart.
“My three half-brothers did this.”