by Cruise, Anna
“Car keys are yours,” she said, when I turned off the engine. “You've earned your freedom.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I'm serious,” she said. “You've done everything I've asked. I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“You're welcome, I guess,” I said.
“So don't screw it up,” she said, getting out of the car.
I took the keys from the ignition and got out. “I'll try not to.”
She hesitated for a moment. “What I said last night. About you wanting to screw up. I didn't mean that. I don't really think that. I was just...I don't know why I said it. But I don't think that at all. I shouldn't have said it and I'm sorry.”
I shrugged. “Like you said. Over and done.”
“Alright.” She walked around the front of the car. “Don't go out tonight. No clubs, no bars. If you need to go get dinner, get takeout. Be a homebody.”
“Good thing I have a car,” I said, leaning against it.
She gave me a tight smile. “At this point, I trust you. But I don't trust other people. I don't trust idiots like Branagan. People see you and they see a challenge. You don't need to put yourself in that position.”
“I don't wanna be a hermit,” I said, frowning.
“You won't have to be,” she answered. “But for right now, let's lay low. I think your tour bosses might be willing to pull back on the thirty days if we keep you out of trouble.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. You've had three good days. Word will filter out. If I tell them that you're on the right path, I think they'll listen.”
When I'd first been told about the suspension, it had seemed like it was going to last forever. Now she was talking about it coming to an end before we hit the full thirty days. I wasn't sure how I felt about any of that. And I wondered if she was pushing for the end of the suspension because she wanted to be rid of me.
“Okay,” I said. “So you're leaving now?”
“Yeah. Unless you need something?”
I shook my head. “No, I don't need anything. I just...I don't know.”
“What?”
“Well, I just wondered if you might want to...I don't know...go surfing or something.” It sounded lamer than I'd intended. But she'd said used to surf. And it was something I kind of wanted to do with her.
She stared at me for a moment. “We need to keep this professional, Kellen. I thought that...”
“It's just surfing,” I said. “I didn't say make out.”
She frowned at me. “You know what I mean.”
I did, but that didn't mean I wanted her to leave. I was still attracted to her and I couldn't shake the notion that she'd kissed me back. She hadn't said a word about that and I didn't want to bring it up because I thought she might go off on me again.
“I just thought you might wanna go out on the water,” I said, lamely. “That's all.”
She shook her head. “I don't surf, Kellen.”
“But you used to.”
She sighed. “Used to, yeah. I haven't in years. I don't even go in the water anymore.”
“You don't go in the water? That's insane. Why?”
She looked away from me, searching in her purse for her car keys. “It's complicated. I just don't. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
She pulled the keys out of her bag. “I just don't, okay? It's just not for me.”
I could tell there was something she wasn't telling me, even if I didn't know what it was. Anytime I got near a subject she wouldn't open up about, her entire body language changed. She fidgeted, unsure of what to do with herself. It was the opposite of how she acted when she was telling me what to do. And her entire face clouded over, like she was sad that I'd even asked her a question. It was baffling to me.
“I'll call you later on, alright?” she said, opening her car door. “Stay out of trouble.”
I watched her drive away. I was going to stay out of trouble. That wouldn't be a problem.
But I was going to figure out what Gina Bellori was hiding from me.
TWENTY ONE
I spent an hour in the water, but the waves were mush, toppled over by too much wind and not enough swell. But it felt good to be in the water after a couple days where I hadn't gotten near it, my muscles a little sore by the time I trudged back up the sand.
I showered and made a sandwich for lunch, then grabbed my laptop and stretched out on the couch. I wished that Gina had stayed. I knew it was unlikely, given what had gone on the night before, but I just couldn't shake the feeling I had when I kissed her. And as much I'd hated the apology to Branagan, I was glad I had to do it, because I'd at least gotten to spend time with her.
I thought back to the questions I'd asked her. Anytime I asked her anything even close to personal, she completely shut down. That was even before I'd kissed her. I wanted to know why. It was pretty clear that she wasn't going to give me the answers, so I thought I'd turn to the one place that always had answers.
The Internet.
Typing her name into the search engine didn't get me much. A locked down Facebook account. A generic profile from her company's website and several quotes she'd made on behalf of former clients. Nothing that really told me anything about her. I tried typing her name in and adding Encinitas, but it was just more of the same.
I was scrolling through the third page of results, mostly things that had nothing to do with her and seemed to just be pulling up random pages, when one entry stopped me.
“Bellori wins at Swami's.”
I clicked on the link. It was a two paragraph summary from a local surf contest, dated six years ago. The winner was a guy named Leo Bellori and he'd apparently beaten out a few locals at the north county San Diego break. Not much more information than that.
But there was a picture.
Bellori was standing on a makeshift podium, hair wet, medal around his neck, a disinterested look on his face. The two guys he'd beaten were standing on blocks on either side of him.
I leaned in closer to the screen.
He looked very much like Gina. He had to be related. Same eyes, same hair, same skin color. She'd told me she'd watched her brothers surf. Had to be her brother.
I thought for a moment, then grabbed my phone and punched in Matty's number.
“I thought you were on lockdown,” he said when he answered. “You getting time off for good behavior?”
“Something like that.”
“How's it going with the publicity chick?”
“Pretty good, actually,” I said. “She's cool and it's been alright so far.”
I wasn't going to tell him about the kiss. I wasn't going to share that with anyone.
“Yeah?” he said. “Or is she sitting right there?”
“She's not here,” I said. “Truth. Been alright.”
“You actually sound sober, so that's a good thing,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, not in the mood for a lecture. “But I have a question for you.”
“You got five minutes before a pizza calls my name for lunch.”
“You ever hear of a guy named Leo Bellori?” I asked.
Matty was a wealth of information when it came to surfing in Southern California. He'd hung around the scene since he was in elementary school and he knew anybody who was anybody. He could find you every secret break along the coast, too, but it was people he knew. Never forgot a name or a face.
“Sure,” he said. “San Diego kid. Think his home break was Moonlight? Maybe Swami's? North County Diego, anyway.”
“He could surf?”
“Pretty good,” he said. “Better than a lot of the locals. Had some local sponsors, but nothing big. Never broke out because he was an asshole.”
“Like how?”
“Like he ran with some small crew,” he answered. “Like he liked to go around and act like he owned whatever break he was at. You know what I mean. Assholes that act like beaches belong to them because thei
r parents had enough cash to buy a house there.”
I did know what he meant. It was that locals only mentality that prevailed at certain beaches up and down the coast. If you weren't known to the guys who surfed there every day, then you weren't welcome. And rather than explain the local rules to a new guy, they'd just chase him away and more often than not, it was with violence. Intimidation. Threats. Punches.
“I saw him surf a couple of times,” Matty continued. “He was pretty decent. Good feel for the water. He had a brother that was actually better than he was, but not sure what happened to him. Hopefully not the same as Leo.”
“Why?” I asked. “What happened to him?”
“Seriously? I thought you were asking because you already knew.”
“I don't know anything about him.”
“Oh, man,” Matty said. “Alright. So think it was maybe three years ago? Not exactly sure. Anyway, he and a couple of his buddies in his little asshole crew have some beef with another guy apparently. Don't even know what it was about, but was probably just Leo being an asshole. So they run into the guy they don't like one night at a party. Everybody starts mouthing off, pushing and shoving, blah blah blah. Bunch of dumbasses swinging their dicks around. So the guy leaves the party, but Leo and his pals aren't done and they go after him. Got ugly.”
I shifted on the couch, stretching out my legs. Three years ago. I'd been in Australia with Jay for the better part of the year, with a stop in South Africa for a couple of tourneys. “How ugly?”
“Ugly as it can get,” he said. “Think it was Leo and two other guys. They apparently jump the other guy in the street. He fends off the two other guys, but not Leo. Leo takes him out with one punch that busted his jaw.”
“So just a street fight,” I said.
“I didn't finish,” Matty said. “Leo knocked the guy out. The guy fell down and cracked his head on the pavement. Guy died.”
“Aw, shit,” I said, wincing.
“Right?” Matty said. “Why you think I get freaked out every time you get drunk and start doing stupid shit? That shit happens. Leo was an asshole, but I doubt he meant to kill the guy. He was drunk and he was being stupid.”
“What happened to him?”
“Other two guys testified against him,” he explained. “Said he was the one who instigated everything, was the one that hit him and took him out. That all of them ran from the scene.” He paused. “He's doing twenty five years down near Otay.”
My stomach sank. “Serious?”
“Yep. Can't remember what they charged him with, but it was like manslaughter or some shit like that,” Matty said. “And he'd had other convictions, too. Small time stuff. So he's down there for awhile.”
I flashed back to my fight with Keith Branagan a few nights earlier. A couple of things go a different way and I could've been in the same spot as Gina's brother. One punch and the rest of your life disappears because you couldn't stop and think straight. I'd put myself in those spots all too often. I was lucky. Her brother wasn't.
“Where'd his name come up?” Matty asked.
“I was just screwing around on the Internet,” I said quickly. “Saw his name as a winner at Swami's. Just curious.”
“Right,” he said. “Alright my pizza's here. Gotta roll. Call you later, kid.”
We hung up and I set my phone on the table next to the couch. I typed Leo Bellori's name into the search engine and several articles from the San Diego paper immediately appeared, detailing the assault, the death and the sentencing. The first one I clicked on featured a photo of Leo, sitting in court in an orange jumpsuit, staring straight ahead, expressionless.
There was no doubt.
Looking at that face, he was Gina's brother.
TWENTY TWO
“He'll be happy to see you,” Anthony said.
I shrugged.
We were standing in line outside Donovan State Prison, a stone's throw from the Mexican border, waiting to be processed for visiting Leo. We'd gotten there first thing in the morning. I'd barely slept and was nearly out of coffee, feeling like I did every year when I went to visit my brother in prison.
Conflicted.
The line shuffled forward in the morning sunlight.
“I came down about a month ago,” he said. “He looked pretty good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He asked about you.”
“Good for him.”
He squinted at me. “Are you gonna go in here and be a bitch to him? Because if you are...”
“Have I ever done that, Anthony?” I asked frowning at him. “Have I ever gone in here and done that?”
“Well, no.”
“Exactly. No. And I'm not going to start today. But don't stand here and tell me it should be the same for me as it is for you. You know damn well it's not. So back off, little brother.”
He nodded and we took a few more steps forward. “What's Handler like?”
When I'd called him the night before to tell him I'd be going with to see Leo, I mentioned the project I was working on. Kellen. I did not tell him that we'd kissed or that I was all screwed up over it. “He's fine.”
“No, I mean is he like an ass or not?”
“Not.”
“What was the shit about him punching some guy out in Huntington Beach last weekend?”
“He was totally baited,” I said. “And trust me. He was. That's not me spinning something. He tried to walk away and couldn't. Wasn't his fault.”
Anthony nodded. “Decent guy, though?”
He was more than decent. He was kind and funny and disarmingly handsome and a great goddamn kisser. He'd apologized for crossing the line with me, even though I wasn't even sure I wanted him to be sorry about it. Even though I wasn't sure I wouldn't let him do it again.
“Yeah, he really is,” I said.
“You tell him about Leo?”
“I try not to tell every person I meet that our brother is in prison for murder.”
He frowned. “Not what I meant. I meant surfing.” He paused, his mouth twisting a little. “And he isn't in for murder, Gina. It wasn't intentional and you know it. No matter what you think, you know he didn't do it on purpose.”
I looked away from him. I suppose I did know that, but it wasn't always easy to remember it that way.
“Yes, I told him my idiot brothers were surfers,” I said. “And that you both sucked.”
He made a fist and punched me lightly in the arm. “Shut up.”
I smiled. It was always like this with him. We had differing opinions and feelings about Leo, but Anthony and I found a way to work it out despite those differences. It could've ripped us apart because he had immediately defended Leo's actions and that had almost destroyed me. But we'd somehow managed to maintain our relationship even as we sat on opposite sides of the fence. Not just maintain. We were probably closer because of it. And I knew that, without Anthony's prodding, I would've let Leo rot in prison. There were still days where I woke up and that was all I wanted, for him to rot and take the memories with him. But I knew it wasn't healthy and there was still a part of me that wanted to forgive Leo.
I just wasn't sure I had it in me.
We checked in at the window, handing over our I.D.'s and signing in on the roster. The woman behind the plexiglass directed us to the waiting room, where we stood with a group of about twenty others, whispering and fidgeting anxiously. No one ever seemed excited to be going to prison to visit anyone. Everyone always seemed on edge, no matter how many times you'd been there.
Two officers came into the room, reminded us of the limited contact rules and ushered us into a room that resembled a cafeteria, with long tables and chairs. Anthony and I took the one we always did, far left side, middle of the room. There was no reason for that location. We'd just always at that one and there was something about always sitting at the same table that gave the visits a tiny sense of normalcy.
We waited while the inmates entered, one at a time, their eyes searc
hing the room until they found a familiar face, relief settling on their faces that someone had showed up for them.
Leo was the seventh one to enter. His orange jumpsuit was tight around his thick neck and shoulders and looked almost too small for him. His black hair was longer than the previous year, combed back off his forehead and down behind his ears. It made him look younger. His golden tan was long gone, his skin paler and smoother then when he'd used to spend all of his waking hours in the sun. He moved slowly, scanning the room, then smiled when he saw us. Anthony held up a hand to greet him.
Anthony stood and they hugged quickly, mindful of the rules prohibiting prolonged contact and the watchful eyes of the prison officials. Anthony whispered something in his ear and Leo smiled again.
I didn't stand.
Leo smiled at me as he sat down on the chair on the other side of the table. “Hey, Gina.”
“Happy birthday, Leo.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate you coming.”
“We always come on your birthday,” Anthony said.
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you forgot the cake, though.”
“Every year, the same joke,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “And it's still not funny.”
Leo chuckled. “Oldie but goodie.”
Anthony kept up the conversation, asking me what he'd been doing, if he was OK. He'd gotten a job in one of the offices, doing some minimal paperwork and photocopying. He was doing OK. He'd been playing a little basketball, lifting, staying in shape.
I stayed silent.
“Guess who sis is working with these days?” Anthony asked.
Leo glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Kellen Handler,” I said.
He raised the other eyebrow. “No shit?”
“None,” I said, shaking my head.
“I read he got in some trouble last weekend,” Leo said. “That why?”
I nodded. “Yeah, more or less.”
Leo nodded, approving. “That boy can ride.”
Anthony nodded. “Yes he can.”
They lapsed into a conversation about surfing and surfers and Anthony detailing a trip he took down to Cabo with some friends. Watching them, it was like they were back in high school, excited by the ocean and all the things they could do in it. It took me back and for a moment, we weren't sitting in the visiting area of the state prison. We were back in the living room of our house without black memories hanging over us.