Over the next few days, we settled back into life in Pleasure Point. I planned on doing everything the practitioners at the Trinity program recommended for my follow-up lifestyle changes, juicing and eating organic, fresh foods. Eugene said that some of the juices tasted a bit suspicious, but others were yummy.
Jax was mostly interested in teasing me with Trinity jokes. “Do I get to learn to give you those coffee enemas?”
I swatted him and said, “That, Mr. Priest, is something I think I’ll do for myself. But, if you want to spice things up …”
“Regular or decaf?” he said.
We smiled at each other.
Toward the end of our first week back in Santa Cruz, Jax and I were lying in bed when he told me he was ready to sell Tyler’s house. “I don’t want to leave you.” He gazed into my eyes. “I can postpone the trip to Twentynine Palms a while, but I need to meet with a realtor soon.” His blue eyes searched mine. “Will you be okay for a couple of days?”
“Of course. I’ve got Eugene. He’s not a baby anymore, you know.”
“My son will protect you.” He beamed, but then seemed to hesitate. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
Jax hadn’t mentioned anything about the twenty grand he needed for repayment of his former employer, and I didn’t ask. “Yes, my bodyguard. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll get a flight out in the next couple days and be back before you know it.” We were home, the three of us, together. When I fell asleep, Leo curled up on the bed, Jax’s athletic body pressed against mine, the ocean breeze gently wafting through my open bedroom window and Eugene sleeping in the next room, I wanted to stop time.
I wanted to live.
I prayed that my body would heal.
Only time would tell.
Jax
A week after we returned from Mexico, I took an early morning flight to Palm Springs, rented a car, and made the forty-eight mile drive through the desert to Tyler’s home in Twentynine Palms.
It was finally time to sell it.
The dry, desert air ruffled my hair through the open window, and I inhaled deeply. The landscape drifted past: spiny Joshua trees, red-rock boulders, tumbleweeds, and the occasional roadrunner that raced in front of my rental car. On the occasions when I’d visited Tyler in Twentynine Palms, I’d enjoyed a deep sense of tranquility. Tyler’s oasis.
I needed every bit of peace I could find for my phone call to Sandy.
I rolled up the window and punched in Sandy’s contact information. Her voice was syrupy sweet when she answered. “Well, hello handsome. Are you calling to tell me you’ve got my money?”
I cleared my throat. “Not exactly, but I’ll have it soon.”
A long pause filled the airwaves. “And when exactly is soon? Did you win your surfing contest? I’ve been checking Facebook and haven’t seen a thing about it.”
“No, I didn’t win the contest, but I’m on my way to list my house in the desert. When I sell it I’ll—”
“The desert? Jax, do you know how long it’s going to take to sell a house in the desert? Nobody wants to live out there. I suppose next you’ll tell me this property’s in one of those barren crack head neighborhoods?”
The fact that the house had been Tyler’s was none of Sandy’s business. I was confident that because the house had belonged to him it would sell quickly. “It’s in an upscale neighborhood. I won’t have trouble selling it.”
“Where exactly is this place?”
“Twentynine Palms.”
“Who the hell wants to live out there? Who’s going to buy it? Somebody on a government stipend?” She exhaled audibly. “I’m giving you exactly one more week to list and sell this thing. I’ve already given you long enough. I want names of prospective buyers and you need to tell me exactly what you’re doing to sell this place. I assume you have a good realtor?”
No way was I going to share that kind of personal information with Sandy. She could take it or leave it. I stared at white knuckles. “Yes, Sandy, I have a great realtor. I think you need to give me credit for doing everything I can to get you the money.”
Her voice practically purred. “You know babe, there’s another way out of this. I can make it real easy for you. Remember how steamy we are together? I know I do. As a matter of fact, I get all hot and bothered thinking about your gorgeous cock and what you could do to make amends.”
I rolled the window down and took a deep breath of desert air. “Sandy, I’m flattered, really. But I can’t. I’m doing everything I can to get your money. I’ll have it soon, I know I will. I know you’re mad at me, but I really want you to know how much I appreciate the loan.”
“Damn it, Jax, you better not be messing with me. I plan on hearing from you within the week.” The line went dead.
I stared at my phone. Gripping the steering wheel, I watched the desert landscape flow past. Would Sandy go to the surf community? Would she call Butch? Would she somehow track me down in Pleasure Point and approach Rosalyn? Or worse, Eugene? I didn’t know. Her venomous attitude surprised me. Did I honestly think we were friends? I was an employee. Nothing more.
My foot pressed down on the accelerator as I drove the long stretch of Twentynine Palms Highway, through Yucca Valley and the town of Joshua Tree, and finally made the right turn at the Denny’s in Twentynine Palms, which marked the final leg before Tyler’s neighborhood.
I shook off all thoughts of Sandy and turned my mind to Tyler.
I trusted that Tyler’s last days had been happy. After my near-death experience or NDE, I had a different outlook on life, and especially on Tyler’s death. I knew I had to open myself to all of my emotions.
I also had to let go of the past.
I’d scheduled an appointment with the area’s top realtor, but arrived early so that I’d have time alone in Tyler’s place. I parked my car in front of the tidy, one-story, ranch-style home surrounded by a split-rail fence and an assortment of fruit trees, flowering cactus, and Joshua trees.
The place was just as I remembered it with the exception of the shrine that had been set up out front. Amazingly, it was still maintained by fans. There were flowers, candles, balloons, homemade signs, cards, photos of Tyler, and even an old acoustic guitar. I smiled at how loved my brother had been by people who’d never even met him.
Inside, the place was just as he’d left it; the cozy stone fireplace, the overstuffed furniture with its sheepskin throws. Framed posters from Love Bone rock concerts hung on the walls. I smiled at Tyler’s image. My brother had always been photographed in the center of the band, his long hair spilling over his shoulders. A management company maintained the home, coming in to clean once in a while, but otherwise, I’d been against even renting it out, though that meant no income to cover the taxes and other expenses. My grief wouldn’t allow the thought of anyone invading my brother’s space.
I strolled through the home, the red tile floor cool on my bare feet, and I soaked in the feeling of my brother. When I entered the kitchen, I stopped and gazed out the window at the vibrant Joshua Trees, their cactus arms raised heavenward in supplication. Before my near-death experience, plants and trees had always seemed like, well, like plants and trees. But, now, I could feel them breathing with life. I opened the window, and a gust of warm dry air filled the kitchen along with the cries of desert cactus wren. The sun slanted through the window, but where I stood, the spot felt cold. I looked down at my feet, and found a black guitar pick touching my toes. I bent over and picked it up. One side bore the Love Bone logo. I turned it over and saw that the reverse side had been engraved with Tyler’s name. That was when I felt heat shoot up my spine and envelop my entire being with a feeling of love. I turned the guitar pick over and over in my hand then tucked it safely into my jeans pocket, wiping a tear from my face.
Selling the house was the right thing to do.
“A hui ho,” I said out loud.
When I entered Tyler’s dining room, an easel was set up with a canvas that Tyle
r had been painting. It was an oil painting of a wave, done in vibrant cerulean blues and stark white. My fingers ran across the canvas, the clumps of oil paint bumpy underneath my fingers, and I marveled at my brother’s creativity. His real talent was in music, but he could never keep himself from anything creative, like painting, gardening or putting together photos. I used to tease him mercilessly about being so sensitive, while I prided myself on being the athlete in the family. Now I wished I hadn’t teased him so much. But that’s what we did because it was our code for I love you. The painting and the pick were the only things in that house that I took with me.
I agreed to list the house at $425,000. Once it sold, that would be a start, but I still needed to get serious about making a living. Rosalyn and Eugene needed me, and if it ended up being just Eugene and me, I would need to support my son. I squeezed my eyes shut to ward off the vision of life without Rosalyn, but I was ready to raise Eugene.
Since my near-death experience, something else had been itching at me. I wanted to meet Rosalyn’s parents. How can I explain it? I wanted to connect with my tribe, and like it or not, Rosalyn’s parents, whom she’d said were pot smoking hippies living on a marijuana farm in Lost Treasure, Oregon, were Eugene’s grandparents and Rosalyn’s folks.
After my meeting with the realtor, I went to the diner in Twentynine Palms, ordered a slice of warm apple pie à la mode, opened my laptop, and searched for Sarah and Martin Richards. Nothing. Tried Facebook. Nothing. Finally, I opened whitepages.com, and after several false starts and more keystrokes, I was a bit alarmed to discover how much could be revealed about a person. If I’d paid a fee, I could’ve gotten a complete background check on Rosalyn’s parents. As it was, I’d found them. With a forkful of apple pie halfway to my mouth, I stared at the names Sarah and Martin Richards with a Lost Treasure, Oregon address. There was even a map, and sure enough, it looked like they lived in a rustic area, just like Rosalyn had mentioned. I felt a bit ridiculous, realizing that had I been more persistent over the years, maybe I could’ve found Rosalyn through her folks. Especially since Rosalyn had told me their names when I was a teenager. I could get a flight out that night and be at their place the following day.
I didn’t want to be separated from Rosalyn but I would be back before she knew it. I called home. She answered on the first ring. “Jax! How’d it go?”
“First I need to know how you’re feeling. Are you okay? Is Eugene waiting on your every whim with fresh kale juice?”
She giggled. “He’s getting pretty good with the juicer. We’re fine. Just missing you. When will you be back?”
I took a sip of water. “There’s something I want to do before I come home. Roz, I want to make a quick side trip to Oregon and meet your folks.”
She was quiet for so long I thought we’d lost our connection. Her voice was low when she said, “Why do you want to do that?”
I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. “Because they’re family.”
Her breathing sounded strained. “They haven’t been much a part of my life. Not since I left home. Why would you want to meet them?”
“Roz, they’re family. Why don’t you want me to go?”
“It’s just that I’m not that close to them. My God, Jax, do you know what they said when I told them I was pregnant?”
My heart dropped into my stomach as I was reminded of the experience I’d been robbed of. “What’d they say?”
She exhaled heavily. “They told me this was my problem. I wanted them to be part of my life. I was so scared back then and thought maybe they’d be a support system. But no, Sarah and Martin are way too caught up in their goddamn pot farm to care about anything other than how much money they make and their stupid healing ceremonies with mushroom juice and …” Rosalyn was practically hyperventilating. “They said that I needed to deal with the baby on my own.”
I realized that Rosalyn and I had rarely discussed her relationship with her folks other than a few casual conversations way back when I was a teenager. They couldn’t be that bad. “They gave birth to you,” I said.
She exhaled heavily. “Oh, Jax, it’s not their fault they are the way they are. They just got involved in a little too much of the sixties lifestyle. They smoke way too much pot.”
I loved Rosalyn, so I chose not to hammer home that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. So what if she’d spent most of her life smoking pot? She was a lovable person, a good mom, and I loved her. “Doesn’t make them bad people.”
A long silence. “You really want to meet them? Why don’t you just come home?”
I didn’t know if I could explain my feeling of needing to connect with family. “I’ll be home before you know it. I promise.”
“Oh, Jax. You’re the sweetest man. Maybe they’ve even changed a little. Just don’t be expecting a warm cozy welcome. They’re pretty wrapped up in themselves.” I read the address I’d obtained, and Rosalyn confirmed that it was correct. Then she said, “But let me call them first. I have to tell them ahead of time.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“They’ve got a pretty tight security system at the farm. You can’t just go waltzing up there.”
I hung up the phone, and about a half hour later Rosalyn called. “Okay,” she said. “They were a little surprised to hear you’d be coming, but they’ll expect you tomorrow morning.” Her words came out in a rush. “There’s a fence with a hot wire, and they have a big heavy gate with a padlock that’s got a combination lock, and they have guard dogs, and … you’ll need to call their phone number when you get there so they can open the gate for you.” She gave me the number, and I wrote it on a napkin.
“Great! I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
“And you have to make sure to go in the morning between nine and noon, because that’s the only time they said they’d be available.” She chuckled. “Guess it gets busy around there at harvest time.”
“Rosalyn, I love you. Are you and Eugene going to be okay ’till I get back?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine. Just hurry back, okay?”
“I will. What did you tell them about me?”
“That you were Eugene’s dad.” Her voice dropped. “I never really told them anything about who his dad was. And,” she added a bit self-righteously, “they didn’t seem to care.” She hesitated, and her voice sounded so forlorn that I wished I was there to hug her. “One last thing. Tell them I say hello.”
I told Rosalyn that I’d get an evening flight out of Palm Springs to Portland, find a motel to spend the night, make the drive to Lost Treasure, and be back by supper time.
Her voice was tender when she said. “I miss you. Our bed’s lonely without you.”
“I will be counting the minutes. Now hang up, I think I hear your coffee enema calling.”
“You, Mr. Priest, are a bad boy. And that’s why I love you. Call me after you see my folks.”
What I couldn’t really explain to anyone, even Rosalyn, was the sense of urgency I felt in connecting with family. I’d spent most of my life running away from relationships, but now I had Rosalyn and Eugene, and I wanted family. And after my near-death experience, well, I didn’t really care whether Rosalyn’s parents were a disappointment; I needed to connect with them.
That night, I flew into Portland, rented a car, got a hotel room, woke up at dawn, and ate breakfast then made the two-hour drive. Once I was out of the city, my car wove through spectacular pine trees towering over quiet country roads. I reached the coastline and was in my element with the angry sea crashing on my left as the car hugged the winding road. I rolled the window down as the vista unfolded: sheer cliffs and rock formations jutted up out of the Pacific Ocean and whitewater churned as a storm brewed on the horizon. I took a deep breath of sea air, feeling pretty darn alive.
The coastal road eventually gave way to desolate country roads, past a church, a school where kids Eugene’s age were elbowing each other out of a school bus, some of them opening umbrellas to w
ard against the rain that had started, and then finally, the perky voice of my GPS announced my arrival. I let out a low whistle. Rosalyn hadn’t been kidding. Sarah and Martin’s farm had enough plants to get a small village high for a lifetime. I drove slowly alongside the heavy enclosure, my tires crunching on the gravel, as I passed acres of healthy marijuana bushes. Sure enough, there was the hot wire attached to the top of the fencing, and finally, a gate with a heavy padlock. I put the car in park, picked up my phone, but was jerked to attention by the sound of dogs barking. Two full-grown rottweilers stood at the fence, jumping, their sharp fangs bared. They snarled, growled, and spat up white foam as they carried on like deranged dogs from hell. A spurt of adrenaline surged through my system. No way would I try sneaking onto the farm. I punched out Martin’s number.
“Top o’ the morning,” he said.
“Martin? Hey, it’s Jax.”
“Oh yeah, my baby girl said you’d be here today.”
“I’m here all right. And your dogs aren’t too happy about it.”
He chuckled. “Tell those crazy mutts to put a lid on it. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Shortly after that Martin trudged down the dirt road. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Pancho! Sancho! Shut your traps,” he yelled. Upon hearing his voice, the dogs pivoted and, stump tails wagging, raced toward Martin. He reached the padlock, entered the combination, and the gate swung open. The dogs circled my car warily.
Martin motioned for me to roll down the partially opened driver’s window. Then he leaned his head inside. “Don’t mind them,” he said. “Don’t get much company out here.” Martin wore a pair of faded jeans, which hung off his skinny frame, and a faded T-shirt. He’d held on to very little of his gray hair, the thin strands hung around his neck. He had a mischievous smile that reminded me of Rosalyn. He stuck his calloused hand out. “Pleased to meet you. Mind if I hop in?”
We shook. “Not at all.” I laughed. “But don’t let your pups in.”
“Pretty exciting day here. The boys don’t get much action.” He scratched his head. “Shoot. Dogs like this need more than the lap of luxury me and Sarah provide ’em with.” He bent to pet the dogs. “Don’t you, boys?”
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 58