Biting Winds

by Shawna Ireland

  “Was he joking, Jessica?” Sangio was genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything now. I don’t know him,” she trailed off, looking back into the stars. She sat quietly for several minutes, before laughing out loud. “I shouldn’t be laughing,” Jessie admitted. “Seriously, nothing's funny.”

  Sangio sat patiently, assuming she would continue when she was ready.

  “Did you know I’m a nurse?” she asked Sangio.

  “I did not.” Sangio smiled. "I briefly dated a nurse once upon a time."

  “Yeah. I spent a good part of my residency in the ER and saw a lot of damage. Car accidents, gun shots, seizures, cardiac arrest, mental health breakdowns. You name it, I saw it. If there was something that could be crammed up a hole, I assisted in getting it out.”

  Sangio grimaced at the thought.

  “The one trauma I couldn’t comprehend was the abuse at the hands of a loved one. I couldn’t. Kids came in burned with cigarettes, emaciated, covered in lice and ringworm, or black and blue at the hands of their own parents and step parents. Women came in with black eyes and actually thought we would believe that they fell into a doorknob. Seriously Sangio, have you ever met someone who really fell into a doorknob?”

  “Never in my many years,” Sangio responded honestly.

  “That was the least of their problems. We would see the same women, over and over and over. Each time their injury was worse than the last, and each time their story was less believable than the last.”

  “It is a weak man, who would strike a woman.”

  “Not just the women either,” Jessie informed him. “The men too. They had split heads from being hit with frying pans, testicles swollen to the size of grapefruit from being stomped on, and bumps and bruises to match the injuries a battered woman would come in with.”

  “I don’t mean to laugh, Jessica! Please don’t think I’m rude. I didn’t think women really did that, except in the movies.”

  “They do! And fewer men will report these women, so they come up with stories that make themselves sound tough. There’s nothing tough about saying they got their asses handed to them by their little ladies.” Jessie shook her head.

  “So what do they say?”

  “Mostly stories about football or soccer injuries, bar fights, and I had a guy once tell me he dropped a six-foot sword on his head when he was trying to mount it to the wall,” Jessie laughed.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I'm really not. In spite of the effort the men made to pass it off as something else, I'd see it for what it was by how nervous and attentive their spouses were. The men with the real football injuries, they were usually brought in by a group of other men. The bar fights were usually escorted in by cops, and usually smelled like they brought the bar with them. Like beer and cigarettes, you know? Anyhow, I have a million stories. I guess what I’m trying to get at is I could never understand how they came back to the emergency room the second time, then the third, fourth, and fifth with the same person, holding their hands, demanding ice chips, fast treatment, warm blankets, you know, acting like they truly cared about the person they single-handedly put in the hospital.

  “And the victim, would lay in the bed lapping up the attention. Even the kids. They would cry for their moms and dads, the same ones who hurt them, the ones with tracks on their arms, and the stink of the same cigarettes that they burned their babies with, still permeated into their clothes.”

  Sangio was confident that Jessie wasn't merely sharing a work story with him and that there was something more to her experience that was creating a personal conflict. He wanted to ask her, but was worried that she would stop talking once she realized she was divulging a bigger picture.

  “Anyhow,” Jessie continued. “I can’t decide what bothered me more. The victim’s need for the abuser, or the abuser’s ability to forget the pain they caused just moments before that brought them to where they were.”

  “It could be both,” Sangio offered.

  "I can't imagine staying." Jessie laughed somewhat sarcastically, quickly changing the subject. “You know what I thought I would be doing right now, Sangio? I thought I would be on an island in Fiji, with my husband, snorkeling, exploring coral reefs and volcanoes, sun bathing on pearly-white sand beaches, watching cliff divers and fire walkers, eating Cassava, rice, and fish and sipping on a nice cold Kava. Instead, my husband is passed out, and I’m sitting on a cliff by a beach at a campground that is freezing, might I add, and with a stranger. No offense!”

  “None taken,” Sangio assured her.

  "The closest I've come to leaving the United States is you."

  "Me? I'm not foreign," Sangio admitted. "I'm born and raised in Santa Barbara."

  "Seriously? With a name like Sangio and an accent I've been trying to place since the first time you spoke to me, I was pretty sure you weren't from the valley. So much for living my honeymoon vicariously through you."

  "The accent is from my many years of travel. After living in multiple countries over the years, you pick up on bits and pieces of languages and accents."

  “Have you ever been to Fiji?”

  “No, not yet. However, I have been to Italy, Portugal, Russia, Ireland, and many other places. I've never been much into the tropical beach experience. Well, not until the last handful of years."

  "Why? I plan on retiring as close to the ocean as possible."

  "I used to be very sensitive to the sun, so I avoided it completely."

  "That explains the perfect complexion, but what changed? You seem to tolerate it quite well now."

  "Not completely. I spent many years, and many thousands of dollars trying to find a cure. There doesn't seem to be one, but there are a handful of products that have made it possible to tolerate a reasonable amount of time in the sun."

  "Like sunblock?"

  "Well, that would be too easy. But there are these pills, an antioxidant, Astaxanthin. They find it works as an internal sunblock when it's ingested. I take with, ah, with each meal. It's more potent than any sunblock on the market. Most people can't tolerate it in high doses. There is also a powder I use. It reflects the sun’s rays off of my skin. It started out as a powder for women who didn't want to put the greasy sunblock on their faces. So they made their pressed powder work to deflect the sun. I took that idea and worked with a team of scientists to create something that works perfectly for my needs."

  "How do you swim? Or sweat for that matter. Won't the powder wash off?"

  "No, it's water-resistant. And the Astaxanthin works as a little insurance. The powder would probablywork fine on its own, but who wants to take chances?"

  "Medicine is amazing. You can take a pill for practically anything these days."

  Sangio laughed. "You have no idea."

  “Which was your favorite destination?” Jessie asked, bringing the conversation back to travel.

  Sangio shared the paths of his adventures for the next hour. Jessie interrupted many times, asking many questions, laughing, and staring dreamily into the stars until she slipped into a peaceful sleep, with her arms folded behind her head, ankles crossed, and face smiling up at the moon.

  Sangio knew he should wake her and head back to camp, but instead, he covered her with the blanket she had carried to the cliff and watched her sleep for a while. He watched her abdomen rise and fall with each rhythmic breath, and smiled as he listened to her slight snore as she fell deeper into sleep. There was something so strong, yet fragile about this woman. Perhaps tonight she shed light on the cause for the fragility.

  Chapter 12

  Jessie woke with a start, expecting to feel Sangio next to her on the stretch of grass by the cliff. Instead, she found herself fully clothed in her tent, shoes and all, with no recollection of how she got there. Dave was sleeping beside her, snoring off what was rightfully going to be the worst hangover he ever met.

  She chuckled, climbing off of the air mattress, creating a few unnecessary bu
mps and sloshes as she got up. Dave groaned, holding one hand to his sour stomach as the other hand shielded his eyes from the sunlight that was luckily filtered by the tent. Suddenly, Dave jumped to his feet, tumbled through the doors of the tent, and puked into the undeserving eucalyptus trees. Grumbling something incoherent about dying, he waved off a nonexistent conversation, tripping on the lip of the tent, and falling ungracefully onto the air mattress, which held the dump of weight remarkably well.

  Jessie made a fire and heated a pan of water to a rolling boil for a cup of strong coffee. She watched the baristas at Starbucks do a pour over enough times to figure out how to do this without a coffee pot, even though Dave bought a top of the line coffee percolator for camping. She just wasn’t feeling it this morning.

  Jessie considered getting lost in her book, but her thoughts kept going back to Sangio’s exciting recounts of his world travel, which were far more exciting than a romance novel that Jessie somehow stopped believing in. She sat in her camp chair, sipping a strong cup of French roast, reliving Sangio’s story telling, and imagining the same opportunities for her.

  Fiji was not in her plans anymore, at least not nowbecause it was a trip she had created with Dave in her vision. No, there would be too many ghosts, should haves, and could haves. Jessie’s new thirst for travel was stronger and bigger than a honeymoon in Fiji. She wanted see as Sangio visually illustrated, Irelands three Lakes of Killarney, with mountains sweeping into their shores. She longed to absorb the scenery and spirit of St. Mark’s Square in Italy and to picnic on the grounds of the Castle of Almourol after walking the cobble stone streets in Portugal.

  Jessie, still unable to locate the keys to the car, attempted to walk her way around the campsite in search of the camp manager, who could certainly point her to some walking trails. After a few loops, rights, and lefts Jessie begrudgingly gave up and decided to count her way back to her campsite using the wooden campsite markers in front of their coves, roughly kicking pine cones down the road as she made her way.

  Jessie saw her pine cone bounce off a black sneaker, attached to a long, blue jean clad leg, further attached to a tight cotton V-neck t-shirt. All much too clean for a camper. Jessie’s heart leapt in recognition and enthusiasm as she looked into Sangio’s smiling face. She hadn’t even recognized that it was him when he pulled up in his brand new, sporty, black Lexus that was nearly as strikingly handsome as he was.

  “Sangio! Good morning!” she exclaimed so overzealously that she immediately started blushing. “Are you headed out?” She tried to hide her disappointment at the possibility that his vacation was over.

  “Good morning, Jessica. I was just headed into town. I saw you walking and thought I might borrow your company. That is, if you are up for a little shopping.”

  “I would love it!” Jessie accepted, excited for the opportunity to get a change of scenery at last. “Maybe I should freshen up first.” Jessie realized she was a little dusty from her morning walk, and Sangio’s car appeared to be recently driven off the lot, if not the Lexus assembly line.

  “Nonsense! You look great,” he said, smiling at her. “You would be mistaken to think my car cannot handle a little ocean sand or camp dust. Certainly I do not look that pretentious?”

  "Not at all."

  "Do you need to go back for a credit card?" Sangio offered.

  "Nah, I spent the morning pilfering the cash from the wedding cards people gave us." Jessie tapped a bulge in her back pocket.

  "And you decided to walk around with a cash roll in case some of the other campers had a yard sale?"

  "Or a boat sale. I could buy a nice wooden boat with this chunk of change, and row myself home." She followed Sangio to the door he held open for her. "But since I've yet to come across a boat, I suppose I could be tempted to spend my money elsewhere. Besides, I've been dying to see more of Bodega Bay, and I don't see Dave venturing far from the camp today."

  "What a shame." Sangio tried to sound sincere as he softly closed the door for Jessie.

  For several hours, Jessie and Sangio explored Bodega Bay. They stopped at every local shop that caught their eyes. Between the two of them, they headed back to camp with handcrafted jewelry from the Artisan Co-Op Gallery, vintage prints of the bay from Bodega Bay Heritage Gallery, windsocks from Candy & Kites, bags of assorted saltwater candy from the pink and white striped building, Patrick’s Salt Water Taffyand storied antiques from The Bodega Bay and Wooden Duck antique shops. The afternoon was finished off with a little 'wine surfing' as the owners of Gourmet Au Bay called it, where they sampled three wines on the open bay deck, enjoying each other’s company as much as they enjoyed the sight of the silent and emerald bay, merging into the cerulean sky painted with champagne streaks from the beaming sun.

  Sangio was touched by the way Jessie had the natural ability to talk to complete strangers. He watched people fall in love with her after a few minutes of laughter and light conversation. They exchanged phone numbers and emails, and promised to keep in touch, and a handful of people hugged her when she left their stores. She was everyone's daughter, sister, and granddaughter. Sangio understood his own desire to be near her, and not let her walk out of his life. She had a magnetic pull to people. He, too, was under her spell.

  Jessie collected paper trinkets along the way, but at the end of the day she took the handful of papers out of her shopping bag and threw them into the trash can before getting into the car.

  “It was for a schedule,” she answered Sangio’s unspoken question. “Well, more like a scrapbook. A family tradition my parents started.”

  “So why did you throw them away?”

  “I think I want to forget this. Not you, or even today. It’s hard to explain. This has been the best part of my honeymoon. But. . .”

  “But I’m not your husband?”

  “No, it’s not even that. It’s complicated. And today has been such a beautiful day. I will not forget it, ever. I just want this period in my life to disappear.”

  “Your honeymoon?”

  “The honeymoon and the marriage.”

  “You don’t intend to stay married?” Sangio forgot to hide his shock. "I'm sorry for my bluntness."

  “It's okay," Jessie said. "But no, I don’t intend to stay married to Dave. I just haven’t figured my way out of it yet.”

  “I'm sorry."

  "So am I. I feel like an idiot. How do I face my family and admit I was so wrong?"

  "Are you close to your family?"

  "I am."

  “But you don't think they would understand? Or help you?"

  "They would be here in a heartbeat, Sangio. But I don't want to stress them out. I found my way into this mess, and I need to find my way out of it."

  “You know, many years ago I was in a bad situation. So many things went wrong for me, and the one thing I regret is trying to protect my family from the truth. If I could go back in time, I would just tell them what they deserved to hear, and trust that they could handle it.”

  “You talk as if you're a hundred years old."

  "Sometimes it feels as if I am," Sangio nervously admitted. "But about your family--"

  "I'll tell them,” Jessie decided. “But I want to wait until I get back home. There is nothing they can do for me here except to worry about me.”

  “What exactly do they have to worry about?” Sangio stiffened in his seat. After today, he found it hard to imagine Jessie in a position where she should be afraid.

  “People aren’t always whom they appear to be. Sometimes the nicest guys turn out to be monsters.”

  Sangio wanted to tell her that sometimes monsters turned out to be nice guys too, but this was about Jessie, not Sangio's need to be near her. To spend every moment with her.

  "If you need someone to talk to, or help with anything, day or night, you know where I am," Sangio offered.

  "Thanks," Jessie accepted. "You have no idea how much you already did for me by bringing me here today. It was like therapy. I've always
loved camping, but somehow, this time, I have felt completely closed off from the rest of the world."

  Dave was still sleeping when Sangio dropped Jessie off a bit after two in the afternoon. Jessie, tired from the days enjoyment, laid out a blanket to sunbathe in the privacy of her cove, hoping the sun might quicken the healing process of her now yellowing bruises. At the very least, help hide them. She closed her eyes towards the sun, and absorbed the vitamin D, when the wind wasn’t blowing a chilly barrier between them.

  Sangio smiled as he walked up to Jessie's campsite, pleased by the excuse to see her again so soon. When he didn't see anyone in the campsite he decided to place the bag on the picnic table. That's when he saw Jessie, sunbathing. He was about to turn around and return the locket that she left in his car later that day. He felt as if he were invading her privacy, but the bruises she had cleverly hid caught his eye.

  Jessie hadn't heard him enter the campsite. However, she did hear him speak to her in a strained, almost silent voice that she barely recognized.

  “Who did this to you?” Sangio asked slowly. Deliberately.

  Jessie opened her eyes to see Sangio staring at her assortment of bruises, with shock first. Then she saw his eyes darken with anger, an expression that was also evident on his face. Jessie sat up, hastily grabbing her blanket to cover the evidence of her beating, and bringing with it pockets of sand that trickled across her in the same movement.

  “Who did this?” he now demanded through clenched jaws, though he already knew the answer.

  Jessie didn’t speak, but the quick dart of her eyes to the tent where Dave snored, needlessly confirmed the disturbing fact. Sangio turned towards the tent, standing as still and as rigid as the dead.

  “I have to go,” he said stiffly. He could not move a muscle without reacting to his instincts. Sangio forced himself to control his ungodly urges to kill the sleeping man, and when that was under control he used restraint unprecedented to him to walk away until he was out of sight of any potential witnesses. Only then was Sangio free to run with the force and rapidity of a hundred mortal men, leaving a trail of trees cracked and shattered behind him as if a violent storm chased his path.