by NK Morales
Several minutes later I walked back to where James and Trooper were. I placed my hand on my son’s shoulder. “They said they’d come and pick him up.”
James didn’t look at me when he said, “I think he is dead now. Will you keep the flies off of him? I’ll be right back.” James ran into the house.
I kneeled down and started waving my hand back and forth over Trooper’s body. James returned with a dish towel which he laid over Trooper.
“That should keep the flies away until the Humane Society shows up.”
Forty-five minutes later a white van displaying the words, Animal Cruelty is a Crime, pulled into the driveway. I opened the front door, relieved that someone showed up to take care of Trooper. The man who stepped out of the van appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties and not bad looking. He was around five ten, five eleven, muscular, maybe 175 lbs, tan, high cheekbones, and clear skin. He was wearing black cargo pants, black work boots, a short-sleeved gray polo shirt which tried to hide a dragon tattoo. A black baseball hat and a badge around his neck finished off his uniform.
A badge? A cop? Hummm. Interesting, I thought. I didn’t expect a cop to show up to remove a dead animal. I suppose it made sense. A cop would be responsible for enforcing state laws and local ordinances pertaining to domestic and wild animals.
He was putting black rubber gloves on when he asked, “You have a dead bunny?”
“Yes. He’s in the backyard.” I watched as he opened the side door of the van and pulled out a red coffee can. I led him to the back of the house and the white dish towel covering up Trooper. He removed the dish towel, grabbed Trooper by his tiny white fluffy tail, and placed him in the coffee can. He secured the lid on the coffee can, stood up and started walking back to his van.
He didn’t say anything. Asshole. Didn’t Mr. Dragon tattoo know I was attached to Trooper?
“Thank you,” I said.
After all, I was truly grateful Trooper wouldn’t be rotting in my backyard. I should have buried him once I knew he was truly dead. I was kicking myself.
“No problem,” he replied as he placed the coffee can inside the van and shut the door. He removed his gloves, walked over to the driver’s side, got in and drove off.
What an ass. Didn’t that jerk know my heart was sad for Trooper? No! Mister dragon tattoo guy didn’t give a flying rats’ ass. It seemed like the world had nothing but arrogant self righteous men in it. Good grief!
“How sad, huh Mom?” James said from behind me.
“I can’t believe he put Trooper in a coffee can. A. Goddamn. Coffee can!” I hollered.
James came up to me and hugged me, saying nothing. I had no idea why the death of a tiny little bunny named Trooper had put me in such a foul mood.
When Jake arrived from work I told him I’d called the Human Society to come pick up the bunny.
Jake tilted his head to his shoulder and with an inquisitive look asked, “Really babe?”
“Yes, really! What was I supposed to do? He was alive. He needed help so yes I called them. He was living, Jake,” I explained.
Jake stood in the middle of the kitchen, placed his hands on his hips, and mocked me. “That poor guy is going to go back to the office and say, ‘Hey Joe, while you were out in the field chasing a mountain lion and George was trying to capture a bear, guess what I was doing? Some crazy lady had me picking up a fucking dead rabbit. Oh excuse me, it wasn’t a rabbit it was a fucking bunny!’” Exasperated, he threw his arms into the air.
“Seriously Espe, don’t you think he had better things to do?”
I just glared at him. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny or not.
Actually, I was really hoping he’d get hit by a truck. I was looking through him, hoping to see a big red semi coming up behind him. Maybe, if I were really lucky, he’d trip in the shower and split his head.
It was decided, I did hate him today. Not only that, but I was positive I’d be going to hell for my thoughts and I’d be standing right next to Hitler and Saddam Hussein.
Chapter 31
Late Spring
Drew
Humph! This was not good.
I stood staring at the bag of marijuana in my hand. This was certainly not what I expected to find in the cookie jar.
I wrapped my hand around the bag, shoving it in my front pocket. I had a million thoughts going through my head. Whose dope was this? Megan? Paige? Was one or both of them a pot smoker? Was one of them holding it for a friend? Was it planted? Was someone from the agency setting me up? What should I do? Should I question Paige and Megan, together or separate? Should I hang on to it and see which one of them starts freaking out when they discover it missing? Do I keep it? Do I flush it down the toilet?
I needed time to think. I was glad I was the only one home. I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be if I ran into Paige or Megan at the moment.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and called the only person who could help me remain objective. “Hey, Steve, I need to talk to you. Can you meet me in La Jolla by the seals?”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “A simple yes or no will do.” I really didn’t want to say much over the phone.
I walked into the garage, pulled out the bag of dope, and hid it in a bag of potting soil. Better to stash it than to get caught with it I thought, at least until I sorted this out.
“Drew, you okay? What’s going on? Talk to me.” He sounded worried.
Sighing, I asked, “Can you be there in twenty?”
I was pulling out of my driveway when I heard Steve say, “On my way.” I heard him shut what sounded like his front door before I ended the call.
As I drove toward La Jolla I thought about how much more complicated my life just became. At moments like these I was thankful for my transfer to San Diego two years ago. It was great to have a friend nearby, someone I could bounce my thoughts off of. I hoped talking to Steve would help ease my troubled mind.
When I arrived at Casa Beach it didn’t take me long to spot Steve. He was standing on a landing overlooking the beach, watching the seals. I reached out to shake his hand then pulled him in for a quick pat on the back. “Hey thanks for coming. I need to talk to someone.”
Steve turned to look at me, raised his eyebrows and said, “I’m listening.”
I placed my hands on the railing looking past the seals. I chuckled nervously before starting. “Right before I called you I was looking for my spare key to my bike. For the life of me I couldn’t remember where I’d left it. I was looking everywhere for that damn key. I even checked the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator, where I didn’t find the key. What I did find was a quarter bag of dope.” I looked at Steve, watching his reaction. “Can you believe it? Dope in a drug enforcement officer’s home. Fuck.” I laughed roughly.
I shook my head. I had to remind myself to take a deep breath in order to pull myself together. “The problem is I don’t know who it belongs to. It could belong to Paige. She hangs out with Taylor Kelly.”
Steve was still watching the seals while he listened to me. “We both know Taylor isn’t as sweet as she seems. That chick smells like a walking joint.”
I giggled. “It could be Paige is holding it for Taylor. Or it could belong to Paige.”
I turned to face Steve. “If I accuse Paige, the thin thread holding my marriage together is going to snap.”
“What about Megan, could it belong to her?”
“I don’t know. She’s fourteen and trying to figure out who she is. Last week I went home for lunch and found Megan with her friends by the pool when she should have been in school.”
I shook my head. “There were several empty beer cans and cigarette butts lying around.”
I closed my eyes in order to rub my face. “She has been trying to assert her independence lately. You know, typical teenage shit.”
I continued expressing my frustrations to Steve. I told him
about all the questions racing through my head before I called him, including the possibility I was being set up by someone in the agency. I asked him what he thought I should do. I needed a second opinion.
“Damn dude, I think we could both use a drink.” Steve said as he pointed to a hotel bar across the street.
Steve and I sat outside on the patio in black wrought-iron chairs with green slate table tops. This first beer went down cold and smooth in a matter of minutes. It hit the spot.
“Thanks again for meeting me Steve. In truth, I was just surprised I found marijuana in my house.” I tilted my empty bottle toward the waitress letting her now I was ready for another.
Taking a sip of beer, Steve said, “I think the first thing you need to do is get rid of it. Flush it.” He took another sip, “Who do you think it belongs to?”
“Truth? I think it belongs to Paige. If I stop to think about it, she’s been acting strange the last few months. She goes out more and stays out longer. I haven’t questioned where she goes or who she’s with because the nights she goes out are peaceful. No ignoring each other and no fighting.” I know what I said sounded terrible but it was true.
Rubbing his chin between his forefinger and thumb he asked, “Just out of curiosity, why are you still married to her? Please don’t tell me it’s because of Megan, either.” He looked at me from underneath his eyebrows. “I’m sure she knows more about your relationship with Paige than you give her credit for.”
Leaning back in his chair he said, “You should talk to her. I think you’d be surprised.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes before I answered. “I made a commitment and I won’t be the one to break it. If Paige wants this marriage to end she’s going to have to be the one to ask. Otherwise I’m going to do whatever I can to ensure Megan has both of her parents around.”
Steve gave me a look I had trouble deciphering—I wasn’t sure if it was a look of pity or amusement. “You are fucking nuts. You know that, right?”
I raised my beer in a toast motion saying, “Among other things,” and started laughing.
After having another beer with Steve I headed home.
Chapter 32
Drew
I hadn’t even crossed the threshold into the kitchen when I figured out who the pot belonged to. Paige was cursing from underneath the kitchen sink. She was on her knees throwing out cleaning supplies left and right. Looking around the kitchen I saw several cabinet doors open. Dishes and flatware were scattered in various places. On the counter the cookie jar lay emptied of its contents. Shattered on the floor was a water goblet, a dinner plate, and what appeared to be a gravy boat. One thing was evident: she had more than one hiding place.
Paige had no idea I was even in the room. I walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen table. I leaned forward in my seat with my elbows on the table and my fingers interlocked under my chin, waiting for her to realize I was there. I watched as she finished under the sink then moved quickly to the pantry. It took a few minutes before she closed the door to the pantry and jolted in surprise. Her mouth dropped, her eyes turned buggy, and she placed her hand on the pantry door for support. It hadn’t taken her long to become aware of the fact I was watching her. She knew I knew what she was looking for.
Paige let out a deep breath, looked at the floor, and said, “I’m sorry.”
Without moving I asked, “What are you sorry for?” I still wasn’t sure what her role was. Was she using, selling, or holding?
“I know you know what I’m looking for. Where is it?” she demanded.
She walked to the table where I was seated, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
“I flushed it.” I lied of course, but I had every intention of getting rid of it as soon as this conversation was over.
She was staring at nothing in particular, just shaking her head slowly up and down.
“By the looks of the kitchen it must be pretty important to you.” I waved my hands through the air as if showcasing the disaster all around me. “Is it yours?” I asked.
“Yes,” almost as if relieved the truth was out.
“How long have you been using?” I asked calmly.
She looked me in the eyes and replied, “About five years.”
I was shocked by this revelation. “Five years? Why?”
Paige let out a deep breath before saying, “Some days I feel like shit. I hate being a mom, I hate sitting home all day. I hate that you’re gone so much with your job. It doesn’t help when you’re gone and I find myself waiting by the phone for you to call. Sometimes just hearing your voice grounds me. Then again when you do call, we have nothing to say to each other. It’s fucked up.”
She was trying to change the subject by putting the blame on me and I wasn’t going to let her off the hook easily. She had been smoking pot for five years and my experience in drug enforcement told me she had probably tried stronger drugs and was using them occasionally.
“Have you tried other drugs besides pot?”
She was staring at her hands. “Yes, heroine once, crack a handful of times, and cocaine every time I go out.”
“How often do you smoke pot, Paige?”
“Every day,” she said.
I released a disappointed breath, doing my best to center myself. “Are there any other drugs in this house?”
Shaking her head, “No,” she said.
Trying to understand, I asked, “Why turn to drugs? Why not find a hobby or a job? Or go back to school? Why haven’t you talked to me?”
“When can I talk to you, Drew? On the nights you do come home I get a peck on the check. You eat dinner and you either fall asleep on the couch or head straight to your office to do more work.” Looking at the palms of her hands she quietly continued, “I got tired of waiting for you years ago.”
I couldn’t comprehend what she was trying to tell me. Was her decision to use drugs really my fault?
She carried on, “I can’t tell you how many nights I lay awake debating our marriage. Your actions. My actions. Or how many times I’ve told myself I’ve had it with you. Your career. This family.”
Looking at me with coldness in her eyes she maintained, “In the beginning I wanted this marriage to work. Now I know I’ll never have your love. Since I can’t have your love, I’ll gladly take your money.” Without blinking she concluded, “I started smoking pot to feel alive and lately I smoke to cope.”
Shocked, I asked, “What are you saying? That your life as a wife and mother is so miserable you had to turn to drugs?”
“Yes.”
“I do love you, Paige. When will you understand that? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to love you the way you expect me to. I don’t know what you want. I’ve given you everything I am and everything I have. Tell me, Paige, what else do you want from me?” I implored.
With no emotion on her face she said, “I want you to quit your job and spend more time with me.”
Shocker!
“Now you’re just talking crazy.” I started waving my hands in the air. “My job is the one thing that is nonnegotiable.”
Placing her hands on her hips in a challenging manner, she asked, “Then you haven’t really given me everything, have you? There is no need for you to work.”
“And it is the one thing you are not going to get me to forfeit.” I stated rather loudly.
Crossing her arms over her chest in a defiant tone she said, “Then I guess I won’t be forfeiting my pot.”
Without a second of hesitation I said, “So where will you be staying? I’ll make sure to have your stuff shipped to you.”
With wide eyes and open mouth she struck back with, “Who said I’d be leaving?”
“You can’t stay here if you’re using drugs. I will not tolerate it. I cannot tolerate it.” Pointing at the cookie jar, I continued, “More importantly, I do not want that shit around Megan.”
“You could leave,” she screamed at me.
Slowly shaking my head back an
d forth, I abruptly said, “No Paige, Megan and I will not be leaving.”
I knew my tone would remind her of our pre-nuptial agreement. I didn’t care if I hurt her feelings. I was done bending over backward for her. I was done with her greedy fingers. Her silly excuses. Her inability to be a mother—and how could I forget her newest iniquity, drug use?
She placed her head in her hands and started crying. “I fucked up Drew. I am so sorry. I don’t want to leave.”
“You did fuck up, Paige.” I was angry. I didn’t give a shit what she said.
She slid off the chair she was sitting on and fell to her knees. “Please, forgive me. Please! I don’t want to leave, don’t make me leave! I’ll stop using drugs, I promise.”
She crossed the line when she brought drugs into my home. Around our daughter. I didn’t have it in me to forgive her. I was tired of her hot and cold attitude. I knew this was a turning point in our marriage—it was the beginning of the end for us. When I looked at her it was as if I was truly seeing her for the first time. She looked wretched, stressed, and ten years older than she really was.
On hands and knees she crawled to where I was sitting. Wrapping her arms around my ankles she pleaded, “Please Drew, I’m begging you.”
“Paige, you don’t get it!” I yelled as I slammed my hands on the table.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I don’t want you to do anything for me. I want you to do it because you want to do it. I want you to be happy, but you have to be the one who ultimately decides what happy is for you.”
“Help me Drew, please help me,” she begged. “I am so tired of screwing up.”
I had to remind myself regardless of what she looked like she was still my wife. As fucked up as this whole situation was, I felt obligated to help her. In truth part of it was my fault. Wasn’t it? The guilt that it was my fault Paige turned out the way she did was eating me up. I could have talked to her more when I got home from work but instead I used the excuse of being too tired or I had work to do. I always had something else to do other than spend time with my wife. In the end I knew why I came up with one excuse right after the other. I loved Paige as much as I could, but I wasn’t in love with her. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t fall head over heels for her. In the beginning I tried. When I couldn’t make her happy I tried to make her happy with money. I had to forgive her, because the truth was, I needed forgiveness as well. Not to mention I had to prove to myself I made the right choice in marrying Paige. I had to make it work because I had given up on the hope of ever being happy again.