by William Oday
Mason thought she was a cute infant, but that was it. Except that wasn’t it because she turned out to be a Bili chimpanzee, the largest subspecies ever discovered. Jane was nearly six-feet tall and weighed a hundred and ninety pounds.
She was a wild animal. Not a pet. She couldn’t be trusted. However, the single time he reminded his wife of this fact, she gave him a cold stare that couldn’t have been a clearer version of “back away from my baby!”
He didn’t bring it up again.
As if on cue, the family dog trotted in with a haggard, slobber-matted giraffe stuffie in his mouth.
Now here was an animal you could trust. Mason had trusted Max completely with Theresa from the day he joined their family.
Max nuzzled his nose against Beth’s waist and looked up with rapt attention. His eyelids sagged a little, so he always looked concerned. She smiled and scratched his neck. “She’ll be fine, Max.” She looked back to Theresa. “Both of you, don’t worry.”
That was apparently good enough for Max, as he dropped the giraffe to the ground and proceeded to hump it without regard for who else might be in the kitchen.
Theresa grabbed the giraffe and tried to tug it away, but Max clung to it while his hips gyrated wildly.
“Does no one understand the concept of inappropriate kitchen behavior?”
Max paused in his machinations and straightened up to lick Beth’s hand. Did he somehow know Jane wasn’t doing well? Mason didn’t think it was likely, but his experiences had taught him enough to not deny the possibility.
He’d seen firsthand the power of the primal brain.
“Sorry to change the subject ladies, but it just so happens that I had a client cancel this weekend. Had to leave town for whatever reason. I say we visit Tito and Mamaw.”
The darkness hanging over Theresa melted. The sun shone again in her smile, and just as quickly in Mason’s heart.
“Yes! It’s been forever,” she said.
Beth slung her messenger bag over a shoulder. “Tito said several chicks hatched last night. They’re up to their eyeballs in adorable furriness.”
Max barked, perhaps also excited to see the newborns. Theresa bounced in her chair. “We have to go!”
“It’s settled then,” Mason said. “The West family escapes the metropolis tonight.” He set a bowl of cereal in front of Theresa. Brightly colored blobs of whatever it was that passed for cereal swam through organic, low-fat milk.
Max left Beth and sat next to Theresa. Mason demanded and begged her not to feed him at the table, but she slipped him food anyway. It wasn’t simple teenage rebellion because she’d done it since he was a puppy. Beth did it on occasion too, so it was a three-against-one issue.
You had to pick your battles. Some weren’t worth the injury. Negotiation happened at both a tactical and strategic level. Mason understand the value of taking a tactical loss, so long as it didn’t mean losing limbs or lives.
Beth planted a kiss on Theresa’s forehead. “I’ll let them know we’re coming.”
Every weekend at her parent’s acreage in Ojai was a good one. It ate at his wife that they’d been out to visit so few times in the last year. Their family had never been busier. Between his clients, the demands at the zoo, and Theresa’s burgeoning social schedule, free weekends were a scarce commodity.
Her parents weren’t getting younger, and Tito had his share of health problems recently. They all needed a visit.
Mason looked forward to time away from the city. As much as he loved the city of angels, sometimes he needed a break from heaven.
Especially living on the west side of Los Angeles. He loved Venice. The bohemian flavor. The easy access to the beach. The taste of life under a sun that warmed the air year round. But it felt like being surrounded at times. With the ocean to their backs, they had around ten million people between them and the outside world.
Trapped in paradise. It only made sense if you lived it.
Beth looked up at him with a shadow of concern in her eyes. “Walk me out?”
Mason wrapped his arm around her and tried to remember she needed to get to work.
“Sure.”
Theresa gagged like a duck choking on a log. “The Crayfords don’t want to see your PDA either.”
Mason tossed her a smirk. “Quiet. Or we’ll continue in here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They stepped out of their tastefully gray with white trim, single-story Craftsman, unconsciously hitting the first and third wood steps down off the front porch. The middle step was loose and a lawsuit waiting to happen. It was on Mason’s list, but had been continually bumped.
The smell of freshly cut grass drifted over from the Crayfords’ yard. Their new electric mower and perfectly clipped, deep green grass evidence Oscar had already been hard at work this morning. In his mid-eighties, he still insisted on keeping up with things himself.
Yellow Gerber daisies filled a flower bed below their front window. Their bright hue gave the yard a cheery glow that Mason always appreciated. Especially since he and Beth didn’t have a green thumb between them.
The bed was a bit overgrown. Oscar took pride in his yard, but his wife’s illness had taken a toll on them both.
Mason helped out where Oscar would allow it. He’d trimmed the apple tree in their backyard a few months ago. He made sure their garbage, recycling, and yard waste bins made it to the curb and back every trash day.
The early morning sun warmed his face as he accompanied Beth to her old, rusted black and dulled chrome Kawasaki Vulcan 750. Spock, as she called it. Any normal person would’ve tossed it into the junkyard years ago, but Beth gave the twenty-year-old bike all the care it needed to keep going. It was a point of love and pride for her.
She was like that.
He didn’t like that she rode Spock on the freeways. He’d tried to force her into something with more steel wrapped around it. But then she’d forced him to drive her to work in his Bronco a few mornings. Right into the belly of the morning commute.
What a complete nightmare.
The bike cut her commute time in half. That ended the last opposition towards her riding. Spoken ones at least.
Beth was a natural fixer. On a work day, she’d be elbow-deep in elephant crap trying to solve a medical issue. On the weekend, she’d be in the garage keeping Spock alive.
She tossed her bag into the stow compartment, and slung her helmet over a handlebar. She turned to Mason and fell into his protective embrace. Her face burrowed into his chest.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Theresa,” she said, “but Jane’s not doing well.” A tear pooled on the inside corner of her eye. “I can’t lose her. Not another one. Not again.”
He lifted her chin to pull her eyes to his. She loved Jane. But he knew it was more than that. Some losses never faded. Years could be seconds to the heart.
“You aren’t going to lose her,” he said. “You’re the best damn veterinarian in the world. And you love her like a child. She couldn’t be in better hands.”
Beth moved her hands back and forth in the golden sunlight, examining them with detached interest. Measuring them.
“Depending on how she’s doing, I may have to sit out the weekend trip.”
“Your dad will be pretty upset. And not just because he won’t have his favorite free vet checking out the new chicks.”
“I know. But if I can’t get her feeling better, I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
Her heart was still so raw, just under the surface. Sure, you could show the world a scar and say you’d healed. But some wounds weren’t that easy.
He wrapped her in a bear hug and squeezed. He leaned down and touched their foreheads. Strands of wavy, black hair framed her sunlit amber eyes. They mesmerized him now as much as they ever did. Maybe more. At thirty-four, she was more beautiful than ever. Small lines had crept into the smooth curves, the ripeness of youth just starting to show signs of wear.
The imperfectio
ns made her more tangible. More precious. Again, he wished she didn’t have to leave for work. He could comfort her with more than just hugs. Before the derailed train of his thoughts totally crashed off the tracks, he gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.
“Get to work, doctor,” he said with an authoritative voice. His work voice. The voice he used when he wanted to get someone’s attention and make them comply.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, her eyes mocking and grateful all at once.
“Never pretended to be. If you do have to stay, I’ll take Theresa. Tito can’t get too mad if she’s there.”
“That’s a good idea.” Beth hugged him again and turned to grab her helmet. She slipped it on and popped the visor up. “I’ll call when I know more.”
Of course she would.
Without another word, she dropped the visor and fired the engine to life. He glanced behind her to verify the driveway and street were clear. Anyone that might not notice or care about a motorcycle pulling out. He worried any accident would turn out like a crash test boxing match where her opponent had the advantage of about three thousand pounds.
There were no other cars. He watched her pull out and leave with a wave.
Max bounded out of the open front door and howled as she rode away. When she didn’t respond to his off-key entreaties, he moped over and begged until Mason offered him a scratch under the neck.
The gray bike paused at the stop sign at the end of their block before continuing. Mason was about to head back to the business of scraping the egg pan when the sky to the north drew his attention.
Far away, the blue sky above turned a murky brown at the horizon. A darker hue than the usual smog that habitually hung over Los Angeles. A forest fire probably. A big one. The darker brown band stretched from the ocean to the northwest to the mountains to the northeast.
He needed to check the news as it appeared to be directly between them and their weekend visit to Tito and Mamaw.
Max sat on his haunches and sniffed the air. Mason glanced at him as if he might answer an unspoken question.
As smart as Max was, he didn’t bark anything notable. Mason couldn’t blame him. He’d never seen anything like it either.
Theresa popped out the front door.
“Earth to Dad. I’ll incur the wrath of the Los Angeles public school system if I’m late again.”
“Got it.”
He gave one last look at the unsettling distance, and then headed back inside.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason glanced in the rearview mirror of his tan 1978 Bronco to see Max’s blocky head obscuring most of the traffic that extended forever behind them. His tongue hung out the side as he panted in the early morning heat. Mason reached back and scratched his neck while trying to avoid the long tendril of drool that swung from his mouth.
Cars backed up into the intersection as horns blared and people jockeyed to get through. Too many people loved Los Angeles. They loved it to death.
A foul stench assaulted Mason’s nose.
“Max,” he said as he cracked the window.
The red light governing the intersection of Venice and Lincoln stayed red. Glared red like it enjoyed his growing irritation. This one, in particular, lasted twice as long as any other that he regularly drove through.
Rather, attempted to drive through, because he was stuck here with a waning hope of ever leaving.
He looked over to the passenger seat and watched his daughter’s fingers fly over her phone screen. She was a wonder with the thing. He admired the long black hair that looked like a time machine reflection of her mother. They shared the same jaw that could shift from warm laughter to frozen silence so fast he’d be left behind wondering what happened.
He noticed her shoulders tense and then she thumbed out of the texting app.
Busted.
She turned to him with lips screwed up in obvious irritation. Jaws tensed and nostrils flared.
“Dad, you’re snooping.”
“No. Not really. Just daydreaming. Passing the time. Praying this light decides to change.”
“It’s bad enough you put that tracking app on my phone so you can spy on my every—“
“It’s only for an emergency. It doesn’t track unless you or I activate it.”
“Yeah right. Did you also install a text logging app? Something that lets you print the history so you can invade my privacy at your leisure?”
She had her mother’s fire.
He turned back to the street light governing the busy intersection of Lincoln and Venice and tried not to let the sarcasm dripping from her words get under his skin. The last year with her had been rougher than any before. At times, it felt about as smooth as a typical street in Los Angeles—one jarring pothole after another.
If only her bumps and holes were that visible. He could see the road ones coming. Could utilize skills honed over nearly a decade to navigate and avoid them.
Top-notch tactical driving skills didn’t help a lick in avoiding the recurring blowups that were taking a bigger and bigger toll on their relationship.
What happened to the little girl he remembered?
He didn’t feel like a terrible dad. He didn’t think he was unreasonably strict or overly protective. Not that he was objective about it. He knew that wasn’t possible.
Caution was a career trait for him.
Risk management was priority one. A big part of risk management was having good intel. So, of course, he wanted nothing more than to pour through every single text on Theresa’s phone, then identify possible threats, then neutralize them before they could escalate into something serious.
He was a dad. That was his job. Plus, it was his day job as a close protection officer.
Only, it felt impossible in a way no work job ever had. Impossible in a way that nothing in his career of protecting Fortune 500 CEOs and diplomats from around the world made easier.
A few clients over the years had made protection an onerous task. Famous people usually. The worst. He’d sworn off taking those assignments years ago. The pay just wasn’t worth the headache. The risk.
Good intel could help mitigate risk, but he knew better than to say anything of the kind to Theresa. The last time he gathered intel on his daughter’s life through her text messages, he’d nearly caused a nuclear winter in his nuclear family.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “I looked at you. I’m allowed to look at my smart, beautiful daughter, aren’t I?”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your language, Theresa.”
She shrugged and looked out her window at the long lines of cars that extended in all four directions at the intersection.
Mason retreated to safer ground.
“Mom texted before we left. She told Tito and Mamaw we’re coming. Tito said there was one chick, in particular, he wanted to show you.”
The clouds parted and Theresa smiled. So easy like that.
“I can’t wait to snuggle them. Cute, fluffy little fur balls everywhere. Eeep!” The last part came out in an emotional spike of anticipation.
“And some possible but unconfirmed bad news. Mom may have to skip this visit.”
Unbridled concern pinched her eyebrows together. “Is it Jane? Is she okay?”
Mason bent the truth, but only a little. For his daughter’s sake.
“Everything is fine. Mom just wants to run some additional tests that may take longer than expected.”
It was weak, but he wasn’t going to break his daughter’s heart if he could avoid it.
Theresa huffed and blew out a breathy, agitated exhale. “We already canceled the last two times. We can’t cancel again.”
“Nobody’s saying cancel. Worst case is just us two go.”
Mason wanted to go as much as she did. When he married Beth, her parents were a big part of that commitment. They’d welcomed him into their family and gave him a sense of rootedness that he’d longed for his entire life. Beth ha
d brought needed stability.
A foundation that kept him from completely sinking, even during the dark years.
CHAPTER SIX
Darkness beat at the edges of his mind. He forcefully cut that line of thought short. He knew where it was going, and it wasn’t good.
He dragged his thoughts back to the present and bristled at the mass of metal crawling by. He longed for the peace and tranquility of Tito and Mamaw’s small acreage. Their property was quintessential Ojai. Big. Surrounded by beautiful nature. Chickens and goats underfoot. The braying of a mule somewhere in the distance.
You didn’t find that kind of thing in Venice. Not without spending five million dollars to get it. Maybe not at all.
“We better not end up canceling,” Theresa said.
Mason mashed the brake with his left foot and gently tapped the gas with his right. This stoplight felt like a stop-forever-light. He glanced at the cross traffic and saw an open pocket approaching. A dangerously strong urge to punch the gas and roar through the intersection tickled his leg.
“Don’t worry,” Mason said, as much to himself as to his daughter. “We’re going.”
Her expression softened. He saw hints of the little girl she once was. Slowly submerging into a woman that confused the hell out of him.
He prayed Beth would have good news. At least not bad news.
Theresa’s phone beeped and a message popped up. He resisted the urge to take a sideward glance.
“You text more than you breathe.”
“Very funny, Dad.”
“Kidding. But not,” he said as he leveled a look at her.
“Understood,” she replied, then nodded toward the road. “Green light.”
Mason flicked a look up at the light and verified the change. Not for the first time, a small voice inside him acknowledged the spectacle of how much power three little lights had.
By mutual agreement, drivers trusted the colored signals to protect them. Mason wondered at how fragile a construct the whole thing was. It would be too easy to cross the line. To bring someone else’s life to an end. To end up in that spot yourself.