by Jake Parent
Most of all though, she dreamed of scoring a fat bag of heroin and injecting herself with the biggest, thickest charge the needle would hold. She could watch the world drift off into oblivion as the angels kissed her soul.
But she always came back to thinking about her smiling little girl looking up at her as if the world was a perfect place.
Anise was an oasis in a desert of misery.
And, ultimately, it was the strength she found in her daughter’s love that allowed Cristina to finally fight back. To say no. To leave the world of torment and pain and suffering behind. To seek out a better life.
When she grabbed that fire poker and cracked Anthony’s head open with it, there was no doubt in her mind she was trying to kill him. Not because she necessarily wanted to see him dead, but because she couldn’t picture him ever leaving her alone unless he was.
Now that he’d proven her right by trying to sabotage everything she’d worked so hard for, Cristina couldn’t help but regret that she’d failed.
44
Officer Washburn hadn’t spoken since Cristina began her story.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said now.
“Don’t be,” Cristina responded, feeling surprisingly good for having just relived the worst moments of her life. “If anything, it’s my fault. For staying so long and being a victi—”
“—No, Cristina. The only person to blame for what happened is him. You shouldn’t ever think otherwise. I’m sorry we weren’t there to protect you then, but we’re here now, OK? And you need to know that.”
Cristina wanted to believe her, but wasn’t finding it particularly easy.
“Thanks,” she said anyway.
But going over the story really had given Cristina a renewed sense of courage and determination. It reminded her of how much she had to lose.
As the unmarked Crown Victoria passed into Pleasure Point, Cristina smelled the already familiar and comforting brine of the ocean. It made her think of Casey, and of sea lions. Of playing in the sand with Anise.
“Quite a view,” Washburn said as the car ascended the sweeping hillside road toward the house.
Soon the car was under the thick canopy of pine and redwood. Then turning toward the driveway. The tires crunched gravel, then silenced when they hit the softer dirt of the courtyard.
Parked in front of the house was Cristina’s Honda – old and beat-up, but still hers. At least for now. She pictured it being towed by the cops, taken away along with everything else she had.
They parked and got out.
Cristina unlocked the door to the house. As soon as she opened it, there was a crash from down the hallway. Followed by the swoosh of the sliding glass door.
Washburn bent at the waist, pulling up her pant leg to reveal a small-caliber revolver strapped to her right ankle. She removed it from its holster, checked it, and pointed the barrel down the hallway. She touched a hand to Cristina’s shoulder, moving her aside so she could sneak toward the kitchen.
After confirming the room was secure, Washburn lowered the gun and beckoned for Cristina to follow.
Both their eyes went to the garbage can. It lay tipped over in the middle of the floor. Cristina hurried toward it. The box of chocolates was gone.
“Don’t touch anything please, ma’am,” Washburn said with authority, craning her neck to look out the back door. “Where does this lead to?”
“There’s a hiking path through the trees.”
They heard the cracking sound of a branch breaking somewhere up the path.
Washburn flinched. “Shit. OK. Stay here.”
Gun in hand, she ran into the woods.
For ten agonizing minutes, Cristina stood in the kitchen, stunned and not wanting to move. She pictured Washburn holding hands with Anise as the two walked toward a police car, the little girl with a sad, questioning look on her face as she carried her stuffed octopus and a backpack full of clothes.
Tears, tinted black by Cristina’s eye makeup, dripped from her cheeks and onto the floor. She felt powerless in a world void of any real justice. There was no such thing as fairness. The bad guys won too often. It had always been that way, and it always would be.
What was the point of even trying?
She heard a rustle of branches. A tall, slender man with his hands behind his back appeared, pushed through the trees by the much smaller Washburn. Cristina recognized him immediately as the guy from the pier and the drum circle.
Through the trees behind them came another figure. A short, portly man with a beard.
Jack.
He had on the same too-tight shorts he’d worn when he and Cristina hiked together. His powerful legs looked almost silly in comparison to his hefty gut. He carried a long stick in one hand, and a serious look of concern on his face.
He soon noticed Cristina standing just inside her back door, cheeks smeared black like a sweaty baseball player.
“Oh, dear,” he said, taking her into his arms. “What’s the matter? Everything is going to be OK.”
“Th-th-they’re going to t-take Anise away from me, Jack. But I didn’t do anything.”
“OK, OK. Everything is going to be OK.”
He held her until Washburn returned.
“Don’t worry,” the cop said, putting a hand on Cristina’s back. “We’ve got this guy good. He had the chocolates in his backpack. And he’s already going to town about how Anthony was the one who put him up to it. According to the business card I found in his wallet, his name’s Alan Wayfield. He’s some kind of Private Detective, although I’m pretty sure after this he’ll be lucky if he can land a job working security at the mall.”
She smiled and extended her hand toward Jack.
“I’m not sure where you came from, but thanks for the assist, Mr. . . .”
“Jack. You can call me Jack. And it’s no problem. Only, can someone please explain what’s going on here? I was walking back from my other place and had, pardon the TMI, stopped to take a leak. All of a sudden I hear shouting. I didn’t know what was going on. But I crouched down in the bushes. And from there, I saw our friend who now has the metal bracelets on making his way up the path. I could tell just by looking at him that he was up to no good. So I stayed real quiet and, right when he was about to pass me, I stuck out my trusty old walking stick, like this, boop.” He made the motion to illustrate his point. “And down he went – SMACK! – into a rock. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I sat on his head.”
Cristina’s sniffling cry half-turned into a laugh, and although Washburn tried to contain herself, she couldn’t help but do the same.
“He’s not kidding,” Washburn said. “I came running up, all out of breath from that damn hill, and there’s my new friend Jack, sitting on this guy who’s underneath him wiggling like a bug.”
Cristina leapt at Jack and kissed him on the corner of the mouth.
His cheeks immediately turned bright red.
“Well, whoa. Wow. Holy moly. If I knew I’d get this kind of attention, I’d spend all my time sitting on people.”
Cristina went upstairs to get a tissue and clean up. She was still incredibly shaken, but her sense of relief was immense. It was finally over, she thought. Surely they would arrest Anthony now. And this time, not even his hoity-toity lawyer could get him off. He was done.
Washburn called in additional officers to check the kitchen and the hiking trail. Dan showed up while the evidence team was there and made sure everything was done properly. They didn’t find anything else. But they already had what they needed, especially with Anthony’s henchman apparently willing to spill his guts.
Before getting into her car, Washburn assured Cristina she would do everything within her power to make sure both Wayfield and Anthony went away for a long, long time.
Jack had gone back to his house, but returned after the cops left. He brought with him two roast beef sandwiches, some Lay’s potato chips, and a couple bottles of ginger ale.
“
You can have both the sandwiches if you want,” he said. “I figure you’re probably famished after all this excitement.”
Choked up at the gesture, she again embraced him, this time reaching her arms around his broad chest in as strong a hug as she was capable of.
He didn’t blush this time. Now he looked more like a proud father.
She said, “Thanks for everything, Jack. I realize we only met a little while ago, but I want you to know, you’re one of the kindest men I’ve ever met in my life. I wish there were more people like you in the world.”
“I’m not that special. I think I’m just the kind of person who likes to root for the underdog. The little guy never seems to win enough in this world, and if there’s anything I can do to make that happen, I try my damnedest to do it.”
“I’m serious,” she said, trying not to tear up. “If there’s anything I can ever do to repay you, please let me know. Anything, Jack. I owe you.”
He looked at her and smiled.
He said, “You just keep raising that beautiful little girl of yours the right way. I have a feeling she’s going to do some pretty important things with her life. So you show her how to be a good person and how to take care of others. That would be more than enough for me.”
On cue, Aba’s car came crunching up the driveway with Tío Alberto behind the wheel. Cristina ran toward it, barely able to let them come to a complete stop before she opened the door.
Anise had fallen asleep on the way and sat hunched over in her car seat, peaceful and serene.
Cristina beamed happy eyes at her uncle. He returned a loving gaze in his soft, yet strongly masculine, way.
Anise awoke for a moment when Cristina lifted her, just long enough to see whose arms she was in. The little girl’s lips curled into a smile before she lowered her head down onto her mother’s shoulder and went back to sleep.
LOSS
45
Cristina and Anise had been in their new house for almost six months.
Summer was winding down. There were fewer tourists in Pleasure Point now, and the sunsets were coming earlier and earlier each day.
Anthony had been arrested after it was determined that the chocolates Cristina received were indeed injected with small doses of methamphetamine. But for reasons beyond her comprehension, he’d been released on bond and remained free, albeit on court-ordered house arrest, pending a trial that seemed to keep getting pushed back.
Shortly after Anthony was arrested, Dan filed a suit in civil court claiming physical and emotional damages. He said it was likely they would collect a significant monetary sum, but warned that such a proceeding probably wouldn’t even begin until after the criminal trial was resolved.
Nonetheless, there was a peace in Cristina’s heart like she’d never known.
The dreams had stopped. Whatever spirit – real or imagined – that had been delivering them seemed to have moved on. She wasn’t sure why, and didn’t really care.
The only thing that mattered now was finally getting a chance to settle into her new life. And with Anise there full-time, mother and daughter embraced every breathtaking moment of the Pleasure Point summer.
They went to The Wharf at least twice a week, always making sure to ride Pinky the horse each time they were there. They also went to the beach. Hiked. Ate delicious dinners at Jack’s house. Watched countless beautiful sunsets. And sometimes went to the drum circle on Sunday evenings, standing upwind, of course, to avoid what Anise called “that funny smelling stuff.”
One weekend in late June, Tío Alberto came over and they all got their hands (and faces and clothes and shoes) dirty cleaning up the backyard. When the work was done, what had been an overgrown jungle was transformed into a nice little garden. Nothing crazy, but Cristina and Anise were both quite proud of their collection of tomatoes, zucchini, rosemary, thyme, and cilantro.
On top of all the wonderful time spent with Anise, Cristina was falling madly in love with Casey. Despite everything she’d been through in the past, which she described to him in detail one day while they sat together on the beach, he somehow managed to unlock her heart, making her feel as though she’d never been hurt before.
He treated her like she’d always dreamed of being treated. He didn’t have much money, so he couldn’t buy her things like Anthony had. But he did something much better. He treated her like an equal partner. Like a human being. He took interest in who she was as a person. Not just her body or her mind, or even her soul. He saw her as a unique package of individual parts, appreciating each one as a special gift to the world.
When she was with him and Anise, Cristina felt whole. He was so patient and kind with her daughter, always treating her as if she was his own child. Cristina loved watching the two together. Their laughter perfectly harmonized in her ear, like some flawless symphony of happiness.
Yes, things were going great.
Cristina even managed to stop smoking cigarettes. And after about a month spent hacking up disgusting globs of yellow goo in the shower each morning, her lungs felt better than they had since she was a kid.
She finally connected with Michelle again, too. Her friend and 12-step sponsor was crucial in helping Cristina get through the aftermath of unknowingly getting high.
But their relationship somehow wasn’t the same. It seemed to belong in the past.
Not that she wanted to give up doing recovery work. Not in the slightest. That journey had, after all, saved her life and made her current happy reality possible.
Finding some new groups to attend was on her list of things to get done, eventually, once she found time for it. God knows Jordan and Dan were always trying to get her to go to one meeting or another. Especially since the three of them (plus Anise) had made Sunday evening dinner at the Venus Café a regular thing. But, for now, Cristina was focused on figuring out what she wanted to do with her life.
To that end, she took a part-time job working behind the counter at an art supply store a few days a week. Katlyn from Bula’s had a little sister, Jacklyn, who babysat Anise while Cristina was there.
The store was called Artifacts, and it was just a few doors down from Casey’s shop. There wasn’t much money in it – she only made minimum wage. But working there gave her a sense of purpose that she really enjoyed. It was her first time ever having what most people would consider a “real” job.
Plus, being in that environment, smelling the paints and the chalks and the paper, got her interested in doing art again. Even if she had to admit that it was, at first, a little weird trying to do it sober.
The store also did classes, which were free for employees and their family.
Shortly after starting her job, she signed up for “Oil Painting the Sea,” mostly because “Finger Painting for Kiddos” happened at the same time, one room away.
After their classes, Cristina and Anise usually walked over to see Casey at Bula’s, or to The Wharf so they could ride the carousel and win a stuffed animal or two.
By the time summer was nearing its end, Anise’s collection of plush critters had grown large enough to fill the top of her Minnie Mouse dresser and extend down the base of the wall.
In addition to all her old favorites, now there were aquatic creatures of every kind: a sea lion, a sea elephant, a sea turtle, a sea anemone, a sea star, a seahorse, a seagull, the octopus Cristina won for her the first time they went to The Wharf, a jellyfish, a walrus, a squid, a tuna who talked when you squeezed him, a dolphin, a whale, and a great white shark (he was all the way in the corner because his face was kind of scary).
Anise was getting ready to start a new school year. First grade. Cristina didn’t know if she was ready for her baby to be so grown up. Kindergarten had been more-or-less a glorified babysitter. Now Anise would have homework every night, a holiday play in December, and all kinds of other big-kid activities.
All of which reminded Cristina to focus on the things that mattered most.
She wasn’t sure what was going to hap
pen with Anthony. But despite all the fear he put her through over the years, she now felt more safe than ever. The police were monitoring him, and Officer Washburn had made it her personal mission to call Cristina at least once a week to remind her of that fact.
Of course, that knowledge didn’t keep Cristina from sleeping with her knife under her pillow. At least when Casey wasn’t there. And lately those lonely lights had become rare. So much so, she was thinking of asking him to move in.
Besides the fact she loved him and felt safe with him around, she also hated the idea of him sleeping on that old cot in the back of the store. She knew he didn’t mind it, at least that’s what he said. But on the nights he wasn’t with her, she would stay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking about him surrounded by boxes of shoes and surfboards and piles of unfolded t-shirts. She really didn’t know what he did there, but she always pictured him sitting on the edge of the cot, eating a burrito by himself, listening to music as he tried to block out the loneliness.
In reality, he probably spent most of his time figuring out how to pay the bills.
Pleasure Point’s Development Association – made up of what Casey called “rich jerkoff developers who didn’t give a shit about the history or culture of the town” – had been trying to get rid of him since shortly after the store opened. As soon as they realized he wasn’t going to deck Bula’s out in their cheesy Pleasure Point merchandise.
Casey came over upset one night, talking about how the Development Association’s efforts were getting bolder. Now they wanted to raise the rent so high he wouldn’t be able to afford to renew his lease when it came up later in the year.
She asked him why they were doing it.
He said he really didn’t know, except he’d heard they wanted to put in some kind of visitor’s center in the space where the shop was. Part of a bigger expansion project. He added that anyone looking for information about Pleasure Point – surfing or otherwise – was probably better off going to Bula’s than anywhere else in town.