by William Oday
Beckham didn’t play professional soccer anymore and was a little ancient for her taste. But the photos she had from that day proved he used to be a super hottie.
She returned her attention to the class as her history teacher strolled through the aisles talking about something she should be listening to. She watched him and wondered if she’d end up in the principal’s office later.
She’d gotten to class nearly a half hour late after they’d stopped and tried to help a hopeless situation. She clearly had a valid excuse, but that didn’t always matter. He said punctuality was a sign of mutual respect. After all, how would the students feel if he showed up late to class?
Theresa figured most of them would be thrilled, but she didn’t think that was the point he was trying to make.
He hadn’t said anything, but she would’ve paid a million dollars to see how he marked the attendance sheet next to her name.
One more tardy mark and she’d be in trouble. Detention probably. She’d done everything she could to get out of the house on time. They would’ve made it if not for the accident. If only her dad would allow Holly to pick her up, none of this would’ve happened.
Holly would’ve run the red light and so they never would’ve seen that guy.
Maybe she could blame past tardies on Holly. In all honesty, she was the reason they’d been late to Trig a number of times. The problem was that it was the class after lunch. And lunch for Holly was prime socializing time. Once she got started, it was hard to get her back on schedule.
Theresa turned to look out the window as a raven alighted on a lamp post. Glossy black feathers and a prominent black beak. It tilted its head to the side and peered at something held in its claws.
She’d read about how smart they were. That they’d drop nuts into traffic and let the cars crack the ones that were too hard for them to get into by themselves.
Pretty amazing for an animal with a brain the size of a walnut.
Her mind wandered and she recalled how some cultures saw the appearance of a raven as a sign foretelling of dark things to come. She didn’t necessarily believe that. Although this time it might be right because detention might very well be in her future.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Her thoughts of smart ravens and dark futures dissolved as the history teacher rapped a knuckle on her desk.
“Did you not understand the question, Miss West?”
She shook her head, not because she didn’t understand it, but because she hadn’t heard it in the first place.
“I presume you read the assignment,” he said with a tone that presumed just the opposite.
She read it. Okay, skimmed it.
Okay, she skimmed the highlights.
“Sorry, what was that again?”
Holly sniggered at the desk to her left.
“Miss Pearson, do you have something to contribute?”
She shook her head violently and slumped down in her hard, wooden seat. The kind that made sure you didn’t get comfortable enough to doze off.
“No, sir,” she replied with her gaze on the floor.
Guaranteed she didn’t read the assignment.
“What a surprise,” he replied. He turned back to Theresa. “Why do you think the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina turned out as it did?”
Theresa considered the highlights from the various online archived articles that she’d read. Glanced over at least.
From the tragic inexperience of “Heckuvajob” Brownie. To the political turf war of local, state, and federal players vying for the spotlight. To the repeatedly ignored warnings from the Army Corps of Engineers about the state of the levees protecting New Orleans. To the just-in-time delivery systems that fed all major cities in the United States and left each with no more than three days of food in grocery stores before another truck needed to show up or the shelves would be bare.
From what she gathered, it seemed like the abundant, secure reality that seemed so solid the day before landfall was washed away in no time. As if it never truly existed.
Worse yet, the assumed security of knowing rescue was on the way turned out to be just as ill-founded.
There was plenty of blame to pass around. But in her mind, it came down to one thing in the end—especially after discussing it with her father.
“There were lots of causes and contributors to the problems. But it boils down to one thing. The people weren’t prepared for an emergency of that scale.”
The teacher looked at her in quiet contemplation for a moment, as if surprised by her analysis.
“Do you think anyone can be adequately prepared for a category five major hurricane?”
“Not completely, no. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. And most people aren’t prepared for any kind of emergency. Being somewhat prepared would be ten times better than not prepared at all.”
He chewed on that response for another minute.
“And what do you think might happen if a similar event occurred in Los Angeles?”
Theresa’s train of thought stumbled and derailed. These were problems that happened to other people, in faraway places. Sure, there might be a freak traffic fatality. This was the land of cars, after all.
But big disasters?
She’d never considered what it might be like here. If her home were destroyed. If she were in danger like those that survived in the days and weeks that followed Katrina.
Thankfully, she realized an obvious fact.
“We don’t get hurricanes here.”
“No, but we have no shortage of other disasters waiting in the wings. A record drought that has the Los Angeles region buying or stealing water to keep our golf courses and front yards green. Infectious diseases once thought beaten showing up throughout the state. The largest forest fire in a hundred years even now burning out of control up in the San Gabriel Valley. Maintenance problems with the San Onofre power plant requiring an emergency shutdown. The San Andreas fault that is long overdue for a major quake.”
Behind him, Holly rolled her eyes, made a pistol with her hand, and set the barrel to her temple. She dropped her thumb and her tongue fell out of her mouth.
Theresa suppressed a giggle and coughed to cover what escaped.
The teacher didn’t notice. He looked around the room and paused at the window as he noticed the raven outside. It perched on the lamp post, calmly dipping its head, tugging intestines out of the carcass held in its red, glistening claws.
“You never know what the day will bring.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mason pulled to a stop in his driveway and stared out the windshield. What a morning. Witnessing the gruesome accident brought back memories of his time in Iraq. Many that were just as horrible, and a few that were far worse. The vague sense of danger peaked his protective instincts for his daughter, for his wife. For Elio.
Elio was the toughest to take because he had so little input in his life. If it were up to him, he’d be more involved, but his mother Maria wouldn’t allow it. She’d never forgiven Mason for not bringing her husband David home.
David wouldn’t have stood for Elio’s flirtation with gang life. Not for a second. But then, maybe Elio wouldn’t have felt the draw if his father had been there all these years.
But David was gone and Mason couldn’t change what happened. He couldn’t magically trade places; a life for a life only worked in storybooks. And thinking about it only threatened to pull him under.
Maria had pulled away after Mason returned from duty. Returned when David didn’t. The rift wasn’t all her fault. He had returned carrying new scars. The worst being those not visible to the eye. He couldn’t face her for a long time.
He still couldn’t face himself.
Mason shook off the shadow. He couldn’t go back.
That was history.
His story.
The blackest chapter.
Mason gritted his teeth and stared at nothing in particular. His knuckles turned white from gripping the st
eering wheel so hard.
There was no getting around it. He had to call her. He’d promised that much, at the least.
A wet tongue lapping at his fingers pulled him up of out the gloom. Max going after the microscopic remains of the failed breakfast that morning. Mason gave him a rough scratch on the neck.
“Thanks, buddy.”
He jumped out of the Bronco and Max followed. The dog barked once and bounded for the front door, his thick torso swaying back and forth like a lion. Mason slammed the door shut and looked to the north. The sky appeared darker than earlier in the morning.
The fires had to be going strong up there. Depending on the area, the weekend trip to Ojai might be impacted. If they had to cancel, Theresa would be upset. It would be the third time in a row they’d had to cancel plans. He understood life was like that. But it didn’t make it easier to explain to a fifteen-year-old intent on cuddling and naming newly hatched chicks. An eighty-six-year-old Tito wasn’t much easier to let down.
Disappointment aside, if their safety was at risk, they’d postpone. He’d corral his family in Los Angeles for one more weekend. Keep everyone safe on this side of the wildfires. They could hit the beach. For living less than a mile away, it was a cardinal sin how infrequently they got out on the sand.
Mason was about to head inside when Oscar Crayford called from the next driveway over.
He didn’t look good. Which was saying something for a man already crumpled with age.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Good morning, Mason,” Oscar said in a tired voice. He shuffled forward and Mason closed the distance so he wouldn’t have to go out of his way. The old man carried a bouquet of freshly cut Gerber daisies from his flowerbed. Their cheerful glow made the shadow hanging over Oscar all the more pronounced.
Max darted at the neighbor, intent on smelling his pant legs.
“Max! Get back!” Mason shouted. Max looked back with unfulfilled longing, hoping he’d misunderstood. “Get back.”
Max trotted over and peed on the bushes under their front window.
“Good morning, Oscar.”
Oscar held out the flowers.
“These are for Beth. Mabel would want someone to enjoy them while they’re in full bloom.”
Mason accepted the gift.
“Thank you. How’s she feeling?”
Oscar dropped his gaze and shook his head.
“They ended up making her stay the night. I haven’t slept in a bed by myself in decades. Fitful, horrible night.” His eyes teared up. “Worse for her, I’m sure. Alone in a hospital.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Oscar waved Mason off as if he and his wife’s suffering were no cause for others’ concern. They were old world independent like that. Oscar only let Mason help out when he absolutely had to. That assistance grew bit by bit over the years, as the octogenarian slowed down. Mason was happy to help. He considered it a small payment toward his enormous debt in life.
“I’m heading back to the Reagan Center now,” Oscar said. “Mabel’s most likely tapping her toes wondering why I’m not packing up her overnight bag. Over fifty years together and she still has the patience of a child.”
The observation might have been harsh, except a smile crept into the corners of his lined face as he said it. They had the kind of love that stuck through thick and thin. Through wars, economic expansions and recessions. Through presidents assassinated or nearly so. Through the rise and fall of grand political theater that tore the world apart, time and again. They stuck together.
They were in it to the end.
Mason admired them deeply for their commitment. He liked to think that he and Beth were on the same track, only thirty plus years earlier.
“She’ll be happy to see you,” he replied.
Oscar grinned and a glimmer of youthful optimism showed through the crevices of his craggy skin.
“If I don’t make it back by noon, mind checking on Mr. Piddles?”
Mr. Piddles was their ridiculously overweight cat that had a penchant for peeing on the carpets. Hence the name. The rotund feline tolerated Mason because he occasionally fed him when the Crayfords were out. He’d even go so far as to brush against his leg once or twice to indicate he approved of being fed. Mason would return home to an absolutely spastic Max. The bullmastiff would sniff and snort all over his pant legs until they were soaked with slobber.
“Don’t mind at all, Oscar.”
“You’ve still got the key?”
It hadn’t gone anywhere for years.
“Of course.”
“You know he gets cranky if he isn’t fed precisely at noon.”
“Don’t worry, Oscar. I’ll take care of it.”
Oscar paused for a moment, as if assessing whether Mason was a fit guardian. Perhaps deciding he had no better option, he nodded.
“Be back soon as I can.”
“See you soon, Oscar.”
The old man nodded and then shuffled toward his pristine wood-paneled, 1951 Buick Roadmaster. His pride and joy. The thing that he arguably loved as much as Mabel. He patted the flared fender then tugged open a heavy steel door that clearly tested his atrophied muscles.
Mason waved and then strode up the steps to his house, skipping the wobbly second step, and let himself in.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After he dropped his keys in the entry table drawer, he poured a tall glass of water from their stainless steel Big Berkey gravity filtration system. The high-quality mirror polish made it sit right at home in their contemporary kitchen. It looked good and worked even better. The company claimed you could dump in pond water and it would come out clear as glass and perfectly healthy to drink. Mason had never tested it, but it was definitely the best water he’d ever tasted.
He swigged down the whole glass in one continuous gulp. Partially quenched, he flicked on the TV and flipped to a local news station. A commercial trumpeted in his face. He’d never tested it empirically, but his ears told him that commercials ran at twice the volume of whatever you tuned in to actually watch. He muted it as an adult in a chicken outfit squawked about car dealership deals and closeouts so good they’d be crazy to extend them beyond the coming weekend.
They apparently were crazy as he saw this chicken on TV all the time.
He set the empty glass on the gray granite countertop and turned away from the screen. Even with no sound, watching this garbage was mind pollution. Not facing the screen, he had to face a decision.
He had to call Maria. It had been too long. He dug his phone out of his front pocket and stared at the virtual dialing pad.
He knew the number by heart, even if he rarely dialed it. That wasn’t the whole truth. He’d dialed it a thousand times over the years. But then deleted the digits before hitting the green “Call” button. Only a few times made it to the green button. When he had something important to say.
Not the most important thing. He’d never be able to surrender that story.
Mason’s stomach lurched and rolled. He dialed the numbers and punched the green button. It rang a moment and her voice answered.
“What?”
“Hi Maria, how are you this morning?”
“Did you really call to find out how I’m feeling? Because if so, I’m hanging up.”
It was never easy. He didn’t deserve for it to be any other way. She blamed him for not bringing her husband home. She wasn’t wrong.
“Sorry, Maria. I’m calling about Elio.”
“I told you to leave him alone. You’re not his father. His father is gone.”
“Maria,” Mason said as he closed his eyes and tried in vain to block out images that appeared realer than the waking world. Images that haunted his dreams. He swallowed hard and continued, “I’m not calling to argue, or bring problems into your life.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Wait!” Mason said. “I’m just checking in on Elio. To see how he’s doing. It’s been too long since I’ve talked to hi
m.”
“I told you to stay away from him, Mason! I don’t care what you promised his father.”
“Is he still hanging around those Venice 10 gang members?”
“Why do you care?”
“They’re bad people, Maria. They aren’t kids playing games. They’re for real.”
“He knows not to mess with them. We’ve discussed it many times.”
“Has he listened?”
“Are you questioning my parenting? How dare you!”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant! Mason West to the rescue. My son doesn’t need a superhero. He needs a father. Where were you when his father needed you?”
“Please don’t make this about David.” A spear of hot guilt pierced his belly, doubling him over. Mason grit his teeth to the point of shattering. His mouth tasted foul.
“Theresa mentioned the other day that she saw him with those guys. I just wanted you to know.”
“Well, thanks for that. I guess. I’ll handle it.”
“I’d like to help—“
“How many times do I have to tell you? Any help you could’ve given my family ended in Iraq when my husband died. When my baby boy lost his father. When I lost my husband. Elio wouldn’t be in this situation if David was here.”
“I did my best, Maria.” The words tore out of him like a jagged blade. In war, your best effort could end up worse than you could’ve ever imagined.
“Let me be clear, Mason. Stay away from my child.”
The line clicked and the call ended.
Mason dropped his head in his hands and fought to control his breath, his heart. Fought to control the acid that scraped his insides.
He would never forget Lance Corporal David Lopez. He’d never had a closer friend. He didn’t know then the repercussions of a single signature. His.
The day he joined the United States Marine Corps.