by Greg Mantell
“What about her baby?”
“What about it?”
“How’s her baby doing?”
“I don’t know, Mike. The doctors asked for confidentiality. I think we can give her that right now.” Michael lowered his eyes back to the open binder.
“Matthew Jacobson will be remanded in custody until a further investigation is complete,” Joe continued. He produced a few folded sheets of paper from his blazer and plopped them down in front of Jen. “Jen, you’ll be accompanying him to West County Detention Center. There’s your itinerary. Wheels up at 1710.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I also need you in Concord tomorrow for a possible 267.”
“Yes, sir.”
The other man placed pens in front of both Michael and Jen. Michael picked it up and browsed over the first page. After a few seconds, he initialed the line at the bottom. He flipped through the next three pages and signed the bottom of each one. He arrived at the last page in the binder. He immediately signed and dated it.
He peered over at Jen. She traced every line of the page before signing the line at the bottom. Five minutes passed before she signed and dated the final form. The assistant closed their respective binders and picked them up off the table.
Joe and the other man moved toward the door.
“What about Luke?” Michael asked. “The other hermano?” Joe stopped and turned to Michael.
“Either PT or CISEN will keep an eye on him.”
“You’re just going to throw him to the wolves like that?”
“He’s lucky enough to be alive, Mike. There’s nothing else we can do for him.” Michael’s mouth hung open. He leaned over the table, extended his arm and gestured at the binder.
“Give me that.”
“What?”
“I want it back. I’m not signing it.”
“Are you fucking serious? You want to drag this out any longer? Don’t you have a wife and kids you need to see?” Michael leaned back his chair and dropped his arm.
“So that’s it? Nothing else? Just-”
“I don’t know what else to tell you. Everybody else has already moved on. Did you know sixty people died at a church bombing in Turkey this morning? Sixty. I don’t know what to make that. The only thing I can tell you is to just go home. Hug your wife and kids. Jen, go home and see Cameron. Tell him you love him. That’s all I can think to say right now.”
Joe proceeded to the door and exited the conference room. The other man followed. Both Michael and Jen remained in silence for a moment. Jen reached over the table, grabbed the folded sheets of paper and stuffed them into her purse. She stood up, adjusted her blazer and outstretched one hand toward Michael.
“It was a pleasure working with you,” she announced. Michael looked at her hand for a moment, then up to her face. He grasped her hand and shook it.
“You too.” She picked up her purse and swiftly left the room. She rounded a corner and stepped out of Michael’s view.
Michael stared through the glass partition and onto the floor of cubicles. The clamor of phones ringing and fingers hitting keyboards still filled the room.
The sun dipped behind a grass-covered sand dune rising above a narrow two-lane road. Michael was behind the wheel of his car. He neared the entrance to the parking lot at Point Loma. The sounds of waves crashing echoed over the bluff. He stopped at the booth and showed his identification to the parking attendant. He waved Michael through. In the other lane, a line of a dozen cars slowly rolled out of the lot.
Only two vehicles remained in the parking lot. Michael noticed the unmarked cruiser at the base of a concrete path ascending the hill on which the Old Light House stood. He saw two men inside in the cruiser. He nodded in their direction. The two men nodded back. The driver of the other car started the engine, pulled out of the spot and drove toward the exit.
Michael parked a few yards away from the concrete path. He spotted Evey, Sam, Mary and Cole atop the hill. They were all dressed formally. Both Mary and Evey wore orange and yellow sundresses. Sam sported a blue button-down shirt and tan shorts. His shoulder-length hair appeared combed. Cole wore a white polo shirt and shorts. He played with the small tie clipped onto his collar.
Evey looked down the hill and saw her father exit his car. She bound down the path. In a burst of joy, she jumped into her father’s open arms. As Michael and his daughter embraced, the other members of the family made their way down the hill.
Sam saddled up to his father’s side with his head down. Michael wrapped his arms around his eldest son and kissed him on the top of the head. Michael tasted styling product on his lips. He wiped his mouth, smiled and tussled Sam’s hair. He bent down, picked up Cole and held him tightly for a moment. Michael lowered his five-year-old son back to the pavement. Mary stepped forward. The two hugged one another for nearly a minute. Their three kids regarded their parents’ embrace without saying a word.
Michael and Mary walked hand-in-hand toward a patch of grass at the top of the hill. They stood at the precipice of rocky slope that descended into the ocean below. The area afforded them a panoramic view of the ocean, harbor and downtown San Diego. They watched Evey and Sam accompany Cole to the top of the Old Light House. Michael heard his youngest son clop up the wooden steps toward the lantern room.
His eyes drifted to the shores south of downtown San Diego. It was a clear day. He could see the sandy playas east of Tijuana. To his right, the sun gradually descended toward the pelagic horizon.
The ringing in Michael’s hearing aid rose again. The roar of a jet engine grew louder and louder. Five miles north of Point Loma, a commercial airliner at the end of the San Diego International Airport runway began its takeoff. The sound of the engines amplified as it sped down the runway. Michael’s eyes remained fixed on the southern shores. He gripped his wife’s hand tightly.
Mary turned toward Michael. She placed her other hand on his. Cole reached the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse. He ran up to the railing and placed both palms against the window.
The jetliner lifted off the ground and soared over the Pacific. The roar of its engine quieted, and the ringing in Michael’s ear subsided. Another wave crashed against the bluff and receded. Michael turned away from the southern shores and faced his wife. He finally loosened his grip.
ACKNOLWEDGEMENTS
I first and foremost have to thank my dear friend and editor Blake Brittain. I am so thankful for his friendship, generosity and assistance in my writing career. In 2007, I was a lonely sophomore at Wake Forest University, and Blake was gracious enough to walk down the corridor of in Kitchin Hall introduce himself to a stranger as weird and anti-social as me. I am eternally grateful for that moment and for our friendship ever since. I would not be half of the writer I am without him.
I also have to thank Dante Armstrong and Suza Khy. Their interest and encouragement in this story has kept me going through every setback. This novel would not exist without their help and reassurance.
Finally, I have to extend my sincerest gratitude for Jessica and Stephen Ta. As the hosts of our Bible study for many years, they have served as great friends, spiritual guides and true examples of God’s love. This story would not be possible without their encouragement, and I am incredibly grateful to call them my friends.