Martin got into the car, and Pancho and Sancho happily trotted alongside. “You sure made it here in a hurry,” he said.
“Some farm you got here.”
He slapped his thigh. “Only the best in Oregon. You caught us at the right time, seeing as we’re in harvesting season.” His gaze scanned the property. “It’s so pretty here this time of year. Not much to look at after harvesting. Cycle of life and all.” We reached the top of the winding road, and there stood a ramshackle red wooden farmhouse. “Home sweet home,” Martin said.
“What about them?” I asked, pointing to the dogs.
“Those two softies? You kidding me? You’re with me now.” He swung open the car door, pulled a couple of dog biscuits out of his pocket, and handed them to me. “You’ll be their hero.” I got out of the car, and Pancho and Sancho were instantly at my side, sniffing crazily at the treats. “Make ’em sit first,” Martin said.
I stood up straight. The dogs’ dark brown eyes focused on me. “Sit!” I said with an authoritative voice. The dogs instantly sat at attention. I gave them each a biscuit, which they greedily accepted. “Hold on a sec,” I told Martin as I reached into the back seat for the flowers I’d brought.
A light rain fell as Martin and I walked to the house. I inhaled the cool, loamy air and felt glad I’d made the trip. My family. My tribe. Martin clattered up the steps, opened the screen door, and yelled, “Sarah! Jax is here.”
A gray-haired woman appeared. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a thin tank top. Her long hair was woven in two braids that fell over sagging breasts. She wiped her hands on her jeans and said brightly, “Come on in, sugar.” Her face beaming, she held the door open, and I handed her the bouquet of flowers I’d brought. “For me? Why thank you, dear.” She blushed a little then herded us into the cramped kitchen. An aging black Labrador retriever made its way through a narrow hallway, thumping its tail loudly against the wall as it walked arthritically. The dog leaned against my legs so hard I nearly fell over. “That’s Buster,” she said. I reached down and pet the mutt. “Have a seat.”
Martin and I sat at the kitchen table while Sarah cleared away bowls of what looked like mostly eaten chocolate ice cream.
“Well, this is a nice surprise. What can I get you, Jax?” Sarah said. “We got tea and coke and orange juice and, hey,” she said, her eyes shining, “you want some brownies? Just baked ’em yesterday with the latest crop. Our herb’s guaranteed to make whatever bad you’re feeling fade away.”
I smiled. “Orange juice is fine.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I’m having a brownie.”
“Don’t know what to say.” Martin patted me on the arm, his unfocused eyes meeting mine. “Other than great to see you. So you’re our grandson’s dad? Have to admit, we were a bit taken aback hearing from Rosalyn yesterday.” He stared at me. “Look at you! Strong as an ox.” He reached for an extra large freezer storage bag that was tightly crammed with bright green marijuana. “You don’t mind if I smoke a little of the sacred herb, do you?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said with a smile.
The three of us settled down at the table, and I sipped my orange juice while Martin rolled a joint. I debated where to start. According to what I knew, Sarah and Martin were unfamiliar with Rosalyn’s circumstances. May as well hit them with the bomb. I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know if you knew that Rosalyn has cancer.”
Sarah’s hand flew to her chest. “No! The poor dear.” Like a vacuum cleaner, Martin sucked deeply off his joint and looked at me through narrowed eyes. He held the smoke then exhaled with a cough.
“Yep, breast cancer. Doctors tell her she’s got six months, but she’s trying an alternative treatment, so we’re hopeful.”
Martin piped up and said, “She didn’t go to those quack doctors who tried to cut her up and fill her with all kinds of crazy poison those big drug companies are pushing, did she? Damn big pharma. Those corporations ruin lives.”
“Well,” I said, “She did some of those treatments, but they didn’t work.”
“Damn right they didn’t work!” he said, slamming his fist on the table. “Big conspiracy to squeeze every last red cent outta decent folk like you and me is all it is.”
“Sugar,” Sarah said, covering my hand with her parchment-paper hand, “has she tried some of the sacred herb? Or maybe a ritual with a hallucinogenic substance and a Shaman?”
I almost laughed. “Yes, she has tried the sacred herb,” I said, thinking of all the times I’d lit Rosalyn’s bong for her.
“And it didn’t work? Oh, my.”
I considered how much to tell them, as it seemed Rosalyn hadn’t. “We just got back from Mexico where Rosalyn was part of a treatment program. No drugs. It’s a complete detoxification program using fresh juice from vegetables, fruits and vegetarian foods.”
Martin nodded. “Medicine from the earth. Like God intended.”
Didn’t they care that their daughter was fighting for her life? I was getting nowhere with Sarah and Martin. I wanted to know what was in their pot-infused brains. So I asked, “If you knew Rosalyn had a child, how come you’ve never been part of his life?”
They looked at each other. “That ain’t our fault,” Martin said. “Rosalyn likes to keep to herself just as much as we do.”
“Martin’s right,” Sarah said. “That girl of ours always did have a mind of her own.”
I said, “But she told me she really wanted to connect with you when she was pregnant. Why didn’t you want that?”
“It’s just because …” Sarah looked out the window. “She needs to fend for herself. That’s the way of nature.”
All I’d ever wanted was family, and Martin and Sarah had a daughter and a grandson they never communicated with. I cleared my throat. “I need to know something.” They both stared at me, wide-eyed. “Did Rosalyn ever tell you who the father of her child was?”
Sarah answered. “Why, she did contact us when she moved to Santa Cruz, but all she said was the father was some guy she met at the beach.” I almost laughed. That was partially true.
I had to keep my rising disappointment at bay. These two were pretty much the way Rosalyn had described them. Zoned out and in their own world. “Sarah, Martin,” I said, looking each one of them in the eye. “Why don’t you keep in touch with Rosalyn?”
They both started talking at once.
“Kids need to grow up,” Martin said then took a toke off his joint.
“Martin’s right, sugar,” Sarah said. “We did the best we could raising that girl, but just like in nature …” She gestured to the window and the grand outdoors. “Just like birds that push their babes out of the nest, little ones have to grow up. And she was a handful, let me tell you, boy. ’Bout ended our marriage with all her carousing and sleeping around and … Well, that was a long time ago.” She hugged herself as though there was a chill in the room. “I’m just glad that’s past and she’s all grown up. You want to take some of our sacred herb to her, sugar? We grow the best.”
I collapsed back into my chair, my hands clasped over my stomach. “That’d be nice. Thanks.” I took in the modest country home, the sun streaming through the kitchen window on to its peeling linoleum floor, the scratched white refrigerator. I noticed that a small school photo of Eugene, which looked to be a few years old, had been affixed to the fridge. Rosalyn must’ve sent them a photo at some point. Maybe they weren’t all bad. At least they hadn’t thrown the photo out. I smiled. “There’s Eugene.”
Sarah and Martin’s eyes strayed to the photo almost guiltily. “Good looking kid, that one,” Martin said.
This visit hadn’t yielded much. I sighed heavily. “You mind if I use the facilities before I leave?” Sarah directed me through the living room. When I was on my way back to the kitchen, I saw yet another school photo of Eugene, this one in a cheap frame, sitting on an end table. I picked it up and smiled at the boy who reminded me so much of my brother.
We wrapped
up our visit, Sarah handing me a snack sized bag full of the sacred herb. Martin rode with me and opened the gate. He clapped me on the back. “Nice meeting you, son. You take care of that daughter of ours.” His bloodshot eyes regarded me. “Sarah and me, we’ll do a special ceremony for her health. Sounds like you two are on the right track now that you’re following natures way.”
Before I drove, I sat with the windows down, taking deep breaths of the cool, damp, Oregon air, watching Martin make his way jerkily up the road, the dogs trailing at his side.
Sarah and Martin were so far out in the stratosphere that, much as I wanted to connect with them, it was like trying to reach someone tethered to a helium balloon rising into the blue sky; way out of reach and ready to float away. So much for my tribe.
Rosalyn
Jax’s truck pulled into the driveway. He was back from Oregon. Full of enthusiasm, he sprinted into the house, scooped me up into his arms, and swung me around the small kitchen.
“I missed you,” he said. His mouth was on mine, and I was lost in the passion of our kiss when Eugene emerged from the bedroom where he’d been practicing guitar.
“Um, mom?” Eugene said. Eugene’s face turned red, his eyes downcast. He glanced shyly at Jax and me.
Jax set me down, and I ran my fingers through my hair. “Eugene, honey, set the table.”
Jax ruffled Eugene’s hair. “I’ll help you.”
We dug into our vegetarian feast, and Jax told us all about his trip to Twentynine Palms. “I made another quick trip,” he said. “I saw your grandparents today.”
“Grandparents?”
I touched Eugene’s hand and looked into his eyes. “Jax thought it would be a good idea to meet them, seeing as we’re all together now. Thing of it is, sweetie, my parents have never been much a part of my life.”
“Why not?” Eugene said.
“They just like to keep to themselves.”
Eugene toyed with his spoon, finally setting it down. “They live in Oregon? That’s so close. Do I get to meet them?”
I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect. “Maybe.”
Eugene asked Jax, “Why’d you go out there?”
Jax wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Because they’re family.”
I fiddled with the stem of a wineglass that held my vegetable juice. I reached for Eugene’s hand. “Thing of it is, we’re not that close.”
Eugene picked up his spoon. “What are they like?”
Jax said, “They’re fun. They’ve got these really cool rottweilers. And they live on a …”
Fun? I kicked Jax under the table. Oh, what the hell, may as well tell him. “They run a medicinal marijuana farm,” I said.
Eugene’s eyes were wide. “Can I see it?”
Damn it, why had Jax insisted on going out there? All these years it had been just Eugene and me, and we’d been fine. I smiled at Eugene. “Maybe.”
Then Jax made an announcement. “I’ve been thinking. I think we deserve a getaway. I know of a great bed and breakfast out in Half Moon Bay. What do you say we treat ourselves?”
I touched Jax’s arm. “Really? Can we afford this?”
“It’s just for the weekend. Sure we can.”
Eugene and I weren’t used to doing anything other than hanging around Santa Cruz. Again, I was struck by how hard Jax was trying to create a family life for the three of us. I said, “That sounds like a terrific idea.”
“Can Nelson come with us?” Eugene asked.
“If his mom says it’s okay,” I said.
What we weren’t counting on was that the trip would turn out to be a two-fold vacation.
Jax
“Linda Mar? Why do you want to surf there?” I asked Butch.
“Because I’m driving to San Francisco to see Summer, and it’s right there,” he said.
Linda Mar was a picturesque surf spot right on the Pacific Coast Highway in Pacific State Beach, just north of Half Moon Bay, and indeed, it was only thirty minutes from San Francisco.
“But it’s kind of a beginner’s spot,” I said.
“Who cares? They’ve got the best Taco Bell.”
That they did. The place was sometimes called Taco Bell Beach because of the wooden Taco Bell that was built right in the parking lot overlooking the surfing beach. It was the only Taco Bell I knew of that had an ocean view on one side and a mountain view on the other.
“Since when did you get frequent flier miles at Taco Bell?” I said.
“Since … just meet me there will you?” he said.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.
“Almost good as new.”
I missed my friend. “When do you want to meet?”
“I’m heading out at dawn tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’m almost there.”
It was almost an eight-hour drive without traffic.
“Is Summer putting you up?”
“Staying at a hotel, but you never know. She may not be able to resist my jokes and my body. She may not let me up for air.”
I laughed. “In your vivid imagination.”
We met at Linda Mar midafternoon the next day. When I saw Butch, something about him looked different. I scratched my head. “What’ve you been doing? Spa treatments?”
His smile was broad. “Is it that obvious? Mr. Priest, I am happy to announce that I am in love!”
He danced a little jig and grabbed his board out of the back of his truck.
“Did you bring it?” I asked.
“Here it is.” He reached in the backseat and removed the painting that Rosalyn and I had stolen from the abandoned house in Sunset Cliffs all those years ago. “Enjoy.”
We waxed our boards while checking out the surf. It was small that day, not too crowded since it was a weekday, and there were lulls in between the sets. We walked past the Taco Bell, and a flock of seagulls who’d been begging for handouts from the diners scattered.
We paddled out to the lineup, the cool air filling our nostrils, the salt water hitting our faces, as we moved over small waves. Sitting on our boards, we scanned the horizon for the next set.
“Pretty mellow out here today,” I said.
Butch glanced at me. “Okay by me.”
“Looks like Mavs might be breaking in the next few days. You interested? Or are you all wrapped up in that cute doctor?”
Butch scooped up some ocean water in his hands and threw it my way while I shielded my face. “Don’t be making fun of that cute doctor.”
“What’s up, buddy?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie.”
Butch turned his face away, his hair blowing in the breeze. “Can’t believe what happened to you at Todos.”
“You would know.”
“Yeah, I do know. And it changed my life,” he said.
A set of waves came our way, and I let Butch have the first one. I caught the next. They were small, no more than three- to four-foot waves, but I didn’t care. Being in the ocean was the only thing that mattered. I paddled back to Butch, and we sat in the lineup again, the kelp swaying under our feet.
“Since what happened at Mavs, I’ve had time to think,” Butch said.
“About what?”
“That was such a gnarly day.”
I could still feel the adrenaline surging through my system from seeing Butch throwing up foamy blood, still picture his wetsuit dangling at the knee from where his prosthetic had been ripped free by the powerful force of the wave.
Butch said, “When we paddled out that day, I was just charging. I thought, man this is the only life for me. I’m going to charge big waves until the day I die. But then after what happened and after meeting Summer …”
“What are you trying to say?”
Butch focused his gaze on me. “What if we don’t survive one of these wipeouts?”
“What if we don’t?” I was not ready to talk about my near-death experience. It was way too personal.
He made small circles in the wa
ter with his hand. “Don’t you ever think about what life would be like if we couldn’t do this anymore?”
“Do what, surf?”
“Well, maybe not surf, but surf big waves.”
“No, I don’t ever think about that.”
“Well, I have been thinking that. Ever since what happened at Mavs.”
“You going soft on me?”
“It’s not going soft.” His face clouded over, and he looked away. “I’ve been lucky. Lucky to surf with one leg, climb Kilimanjaro, run distance races, have the shop … and lately I’ve been wondering if there’s more.”
“More, like what?”
We were interrupted again by a sweet set of waves coming through. Butch took the first, and I took the second, keeping an eye on my friend from my vantage point of cruising down this perfect small wave on my longboard. I thought about how miraculous it was that I was actually standing on a piece of foam and fiberglass, riding in harmony with the ocean. We paddled back out to the lineup.
“How are things going with Rosalyn and Eugene?” Butch said.
I smiled. “Promise you won’t call me a candy ass?”
“Promise.”
“Being with Rosalyn is hands down the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s even better than what it was when we were together before. And Eugene, sometimes I still can’t get over it. I mean, just a few months ago I was in a way different place, and now I’ve got the woman I love and a kid to boot.”
“What’s it like being a dad?”
“Can’t really say yet. It’s more like he’s a friend. Still can’t believe how much he reminds me of Tyler.” I looked at Butch. “Eugene is awesome. He’s talented—wait until you hear him play guitar—he’s polite, and I’d say he’s been pretty darn accommodating given the situation.” My eyes misted over. “Having a son is the best gift. Finding out about Eugene’s been like winning the lottery. No, better.”
Butch said, “That’s great.” He scooped water into his hands and threw it my way. “And what’s it like between the sheets with Rosalyn?”
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 59