by Jake Parent
For about 15 minutes, she told him the history of the house, and about her dreams. She was certain that’s all they were, she said. They had to be. She didn’t think there was anything supernatural about it. It was just that they seemed so real. And with what happened to Annie and her family, it was maybe better to be safe than sorry.
“If there is some kind of spirit,” she started and then made a correction, “or soul, I just want them to be at peace.”
Father Antonio nodded along, sipping his coffee and occasionally pursing his lips while Cristina spoke.
For some reason that she didn’t quite understand, the act of telling him about what had happened was already making her feel better. She said as much.
He didn’t show a reaction, except to fold his hands and sit back in his chair with one foot propped on the other leg.
“Well, yes. Perhaps. Perhaps. Tell me though, Cristina, what is your relationship with God like right now?”
Somehow she knew a question like that was coming.
“Well, I think over the course of the past year I’ve been as spiritually sound as I’ve ever been in my life. I haven’t been to church lately, but I do regularly attend what I would consider spiritual gatherings.”
“12-step meetings, I presume you mean?”
“Yes,” she said, a little surprised he knew. “It’s really changed my life, too. And taught me a lot about how not to be the selfish person I was in the past.”
She meant those things, of course. But as the words came out, she couldn’t help feeling as though they were a bit rehearsed. Like at least part of her was saying what she thought he wanted to hear, and not necessarily what she fully believed. In reality, she had learned a lot. Had grown so much. But she felt like she still had a long, long way to go.
“Your uncle told me of your recent successes. I’m glad to hear it. We were worried about you for many years. Unfortunately, far too many of our young people have left the flock, searching for answers in places I’m afraid we can’t reach.”
The openness and understanding in his words sounded strange to Cristina’s ears. She’d always seen church – and religion generally – as being made up mostly of people who sat around judging others, all while committing sins of their own without a second thought. Her addiction recovery work had taught her, however, that the relationship people have with God (or a “higher power” as they liked to say in the 12-step rooms) was really a personal choice.
“The only thing you need to realize about your higher power is that you ain’t it,” Michelle told her when they first met. “You need to stop trying to control everything in the world. When you learn how to do that, then you can start working on the things that you do have power over, like your own actions.”
Cristina said, “Thanks, Father. I feel lucky to have found a path to follow.”
“Good. Good. I know you haven’t had the easiest upbringing. Are you aware that I knew your mother?”
Her eyes perked up. That was definitely a surprise.
“No, I didn’t know that.”
He looked away, staring upward, searching for a distant memory.
He found it and said, “Yes, indeed. We were schoolmates. I was a shy young boy sitting in the front row of class, and she was the feisty young beauty in the back, always passing notes and getting into trouble. But we were actually quite close for a couple of years. Both of us walked the same route to school, you see.”
Cristina tried to imagine her mother as a child, but couldn’t. She’d barely ever even seen her as an adult. All she could picture in her mind was Anise, walking alongside a little boy who was an exact miniature version of the man sitting in front of her now, all the way down to the greying beard.
“She even saved my life once,” he continued, still gazing off toward the past. “We were on our way to school one day, when a van drove up and parked next to us. A strange man said he needed help finding a lost dog. I, filled to the brim with trustful naiveté, nearly jumped into his vehicle without thinking twice.” He laughed distantly. “Your mother, however, would have none of it. ‘What’s the dog’s name?’ she asked. ‘What color is he?’ ‘How old?’ She berated the man with these questions until he simply closed the door and drove off.”
Father Antonio returned his hard-to-read eyes back to Cristina.
He added, “I see a lot of that fire in you, too, Cristina. The heart of the lion, some might say. Personally, I would call it the strength of God.” He ran his fingers over his beard for a moment. “This may sound strange coming from a priest, but I think God wants us to question His universe. I think when Jesus came to live here on Earth, His message was that we should never take what we are given. He told us that we should always be free to seek out the ‘why.’ And that doing so will never make God love us any less. For His love is eternal and unconditional.”
He finished the last sip of coffee and set his mug down on the thrift-store table.
“Anyhow, I’m rambling I suppose. I do that from time to time. My point is, despite the fact you’ve been away from the church for a number of years, that doesn’t mean you’ve been forgotten, or even necessarily that you’ve gone astray. I want to encourage you to keep doing what you’re doing. And, hopefully, when you’re ready, you’ll come back to see us.”
He smiled again, and this time Cristina felt sincere warmth. Perhaps it was the mention of her mother, but she couldn’t help thinking Father Antonio had the look of a proud father – a look Cristina had always dreamed of receiving.
“Thanks,” she said, holding back a sudden strong wave of emotion. “Thanks for your kindness, and for what you do to make the world a better place.”
“It’s God who makes the world a better place, Cristina. I only try my best to listen to His will. That’s all any of us can do. Now, shall we have a look around? See if we can’t chase away some ghosts?”
He stood and pulled three things from his bag. A rosary, which he wrapped around the fingers of his right hand. A small, plastic bottle of clear liquid, which Cristina assumed to be holy water. And, lastly, a long piece of white cloth that she couldn’t remember the name of. He draped it over his shoulders.
Together, they walked through the house. In each room, Father Antonio squirted a bit of holy water in the corners and in the doorway, saying something in Latin as he did.
Nothing spectacular happened.
Finally, he performed the same rite on the hallway closet.
“Remember Cristina, never take the world at face value. The will of God is not always obvious, and sometimes it takes asking questions to understand what He wants from us.” Father Antonio looked away thoughtfully and then back at her. “But never forget, as well, that God helps those who help themselves.” He touched the rosary to her forehead. “Be blessed child, and may you find peace in service to your fellow man, and in the glory and grace of Almighty God.” He lowered the rosary and smiled. “Do you know the Lord’s Prayer?”
“Of course!”
They said it together, holding hands in the living room.
If the teenage Cristina had been watching, there would have been plenty of snide remarks and laughter.
It’s not like she was about to hang a picture of the Pope in her bedroom any time soon, but she did feel a surprising sense of security in the fact that she had access to a community of people who, at least judging by Father Antonio and Tío Alberto, were deeply aware of what it means to be a good human being.
The priest said his goodbyes, giving her his card and telling her to call anytime, even if she just needed someone to talk to. He waved and smiled through tight lips as he drove his Toyota Camry away from the house and down the driveway.
The morning fog had burned off and the sun was out.
Cristina decided to walk down to the cliffs and think. The tide was rising and the size of the waves had become fearsome. The rocky pathway she’d taken with Jack was wet, but not yet flooded. From the safety of the cliff’s edge, she watched the water and lis
tened to the waves thunder.
40
Cristina was picking out her outfit for court the next day. Then she planned to go to bed early. She still didn’t feel all that great and wanted to make sure she got plenty of sleep.
The phone buzzed on the dresser.
She thought it might be Casey, but when she picked it up the display said UNKNOWN.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Someone was there. She could hear them breathing.
“Hello?” She repeated.
“Cristina.”
Her heart rushed into her throat so fast she could barely speak.
“Anthony? What the fuck? What are you doing calling me? How the hell did you even get my number?”
“You should know by now that I have my ways. I’ll always be able to find you.”
“I’m going to hang up and call the cops.”
He snickered his familiar dismissive laugh and said, “Yah, OK, well I’m on an untraceable line. So I guess it would be your word against mine, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuck you. What do you want?”
“I just want you to know that I’m going to win, Cristina. No matter what I have to do, I’m going to take Anise away from you. And then you’ll know what it feels like to be alone. The same way you made me feel.”
“You’ll never get her. You’re going to look stupid tomorrow. And if you ever come near us, I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
“You should be, Cristina. You really should be.”
He ended the call before she could say anything else.
As hard as she tried to stay strong, she couldn’t keep from crying.
41
Cristina expected the hearing to take place in a formal court setting. But the room the clerk’s assistant led them to looked more like the kind of place a corporate board would meet. The grey-walled space was empty except for a long, black table surrounded by office chairs.
They were told to sit on one side. Dan set his briefcase on the table before pulling Cristina’s chair out for her.
Her jaw had dropped that morning when he picked her up at her house in a sparkling-clean, blue BMW.
“Wow,” she’d said. “I thought you gave up all your money.”
“Most of it. But it’s amazing how far a little can go.”
She really couldn’t imagine, actually. Aside from what she’d received in the settlement, which almost all went to the house and expenses, Cristina’s bank account had never had more than a hundred bucks in it. Ever. But she knew what he meant. Sort of.
After the shock of his new look had worn off, she realized Dan looked quite handsome in his freshly pressed suit. Armani, she recognized. His hair was washed and brushed. Face shaved clean, letting of the faint hint of an expensive aftershave.
Cristina dressed in a grey skirt and black blouse – the most professional outfit she could put together from her collection of clothes, which, as nice as they were, had mostly been purchased for their sex appeal. Her hair was parted down the middle, hanging past her shoulders, no bangs, held straight to either side by a hidden network of bobby pins. She also wore heels, something she hadn’t done in more than a year. After wearing them for so long (another one of Anthony’s rules), she had to laugh at how the first few steps made her feel like a wobbly baby deer.
“Remember,” Dan said as they sat waiting at the table. “Let me do the talking, and when it comes time for you to answer questions, be absolutely honest. Don’t try to leave anything out or tell any half-truths. Lawyers typically don’t ask questions they don’t already know the answer to. If things get heated, or if Anthony lies, do not speak directly to him. Resist the urge. Let him have his say. If there’s something we need to clarify or call him out on, we can do it later. Got it?”
She did, especially since he’d already gone over it twice during their 45-minute car ride over the mountains and into the city. During that time, they also discussed Anthony’s phone call. After considering it carefully, Dan told her they should refrain from mentioning anything to the judge. The lack of proof meant bringing it up would likely only result in a useless back-and-forth.
Dan seemed to have done nothing but think about the case for the past week. He knew the facts better than she did.
Their main point of emphasis was going to be the drug test, the results of which had been sent directly to the judge. Dan wanted to show that she was not only a fit mother, but that the entire proceeding should be dismissed as an attempt to libel her. He noted that making the latter point would also be the first step in suing Anthony for damages later on.
After about ten minutes sitting in the conference room, the door opened. In walked Anthony. He looked Cristina’s way, grinned, and then turned to stare straight forward as he took a seat. Her eyes went immediately to the side of his head. A large scar had left a blank spot in his otherwise perfect, light-brown hair.
Gone was the spacey look he’d carried with him during their divorce case and his criminal trial. In its place was the sharp, cocky glare she’d always found both attractive and obnoxious. He wore a sharp grey suit, red tie, and the gold Rolex his father bought him for his twenty-first birthday.
Sitting down next to Anthony – but only after dusting the chair off with a silk handkerchief – was Walden Chester III, Esq. A tall, thin man with a full head of immaculately styled grey hair. His suit was navy, the tie a bold yellow. He displayed a similar cockiness to Anthony’s, but hid it well under a calm demeanor and a near-constant politician smile.
Walden Chester III neatly folded his hands on the table. Anthony did the same. Neither of them said a word.
The silence broke only when the judge entered, prompting them all to stand.
Judge Peterson was a short, nearly-bald white man with thick, round glasses that were exactly the same shape as his head. He wore a flowing black robe. It did little to hide the girth of his belly. He introduced himself, shook hands with everyone in the room, and told them to sit.
He placed a large folder with a string wrapped around it on the table. Cristina thought he looked like a teacher about to hand back assignments. He unwound the binding and removed several documents, stacking the papers on the table in front of him. Topping the pile was a previously-sealed envelope that had been cut open.
“Hello, everyone,” he began. “Welcome to family court. Both of you have been here before.” He peered sternly over his glasses at Cristina, then at Anthony. “So I won’t waste your time with a lot of banter. Basically, we’re here because Mr. Stevens is making the case that the circumstances of Ms. Rodriguez’s custody of daughter, Anise, should be revisited.”
He cleared his throat and continued, “When I first saw this case on my docket, I must admit to having been a bit perturbed by it, given the fact that you, Mr. Stevens, are an abuser.” The judge stared at Anthony, who didn’t react. “However, given the results of this test.” He held the envelope in the air. “I’m now gravely concerned for the wellbeing of your daughter, Ms. Rodriguez.”
Cristina snuck a glance at Dan after he visibly shifted in his chair.
The judge slid a stapled stack of papers from the envelope. He scratched a small patch of hair on the side of his head.
“Positive for methamphetamine,” he said plainly, flipping the paper over and holding it up for Cristina to see. “What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Rodriguez?”
She wanted to scream. Not just because the judge’s words felt like a slap in the face. No, she was angry. At Anthony, whose balls she desperately wanted to slice open. And at herself for being so stupid. She knew exactly what had happened.
The chocolates. It had to be. You ate them and you were up all night. Enjoying the hell out of it, too. Weren’t you Cristina? Cleaning the house. Doing art. You know what? I bet if you really thought hard about the whole thing, you’d have to admit that a part of you knew, didn’t you? But you just kept on eating those damn things anyway.
Didn’t you? Then you felt sick. That wasn’t the flu at all. That was a damn comedown.
All she could do was picture herself leaping over the desk and wrapping her fingers around Anthony’s throat.
“Ms. Rodriguez,” the judge repeated. “Do you have anything to say?”
“I didn’t take any drugs,” she said, biting her bottom lip, trying to stay calm. “At least not willingly. On Sunday night, a box of chocolates was delivered to my house without a name on it. I thought they were from my boyfriend, so I ate them. I spent the next two days awake, and then felt what I can now recognize as withdrawal.”
“And you didn’t report this?” Walden Chester III asked, speaking to her as though she was the lowest form of scum on the planet. “You received this ‘alleged’ box of drug-laced chocolates and didn’t say anything to anyone about it?”
She looked at Dan. He nodded, still looking slightly worried, though less so than a few seconds earlier.
Cristina said, “I didn’t realize what was happening. I’ve had trouble sleeping before. And when I started feeling sick, I honestly thought it was the flu.” She tightened her jaw, raised her chin into the air, and kept talking. “Judge Peterson, Your Honor, I am not on drugs. Not anymore. I’ve been clean for more than a year, and I’ve worked really hard to stay that way. I go to meetings regularly and work with a sponsor. And I–”
“–When was the last time you attended a 12-step meeting, Ms. Rodriguez?” asked Walden Chester III.
Her head slumped a bit.
“About a month ago.”
“A month?” The slick lawyer raised his hands in forced disbelief. “Does that sound like ‘regular’ attendance to you?”
“No. I guess not. But I’ve been in a new place. I just haven’t gotten settled in yet. Before I moved, though, I was going almost every day.”