by Willow Rose
“I’ve never seen the girl in my life,” he says. “I swear I haven’t.”
“What about her friend? The one that testified against you? Do you know who she is?”
Blake shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
“Could you have met them while drunk in a bar or something? It’s no secret you like to go out and drink every now and then.”
Blake shrugs. “I…I mean, it is possible, but I don’t remember it. She’s not even my type. I don’t like blondes.”
“Hardly an argument that will stand in court.”
I look into the eyes of my baby brother. He still has the innocence of youth in them. I always thought he would be one of those people that simply never grew up, the ones that hustle through life, but always seem to make it even if they don’t take life as seriously as the rest of us.
But now I see something else in those eyes of his. Something I have never seen in them before. He is afraid. He is shaken to his core.
“I spoke to your lawyer earlier today, and he told me the witness was capable of describing your body in detail, and could even remember the mole on the lower part of your back. How could she know this stuff if you’ve never met her before?”
“I…I…I don’t know, Mary. You have to believe me. I really don’t know. I didn’t kill this woman. I didn’t.”
“They found the bloody chisel in your kitchen, under the sink,” I say, quoting the lawyer’s information. “It was thrown into a bucket like someone had to hide it fast, and then a dishtowel had been thrown on top of it to cover it. Now, they haven’t matched the blood on the chisel with hers yet, so that part is still open. Besides, there was no bloodstain evidence found in your studio, which speaks well for your case. The state attorney will argue that you could have cleaned the place up, whereas the defense will try and make the case that blood always leaves some kind of evidence behind. Even when the scene has been wiped clean, there are still ways for forensic investigators to detect washed away blood, like using a reagent called Luminol, which reacts with iron found in hemoglobin. And, as far as we know, the forensics haven’t been able to locate anything, but they’re still working your apartment for evidence, so we’ll have to see about that.”
“I’m not getting out, am I?” he asks.
“Don’t say that, Blake. We don’t know anything yet.”
Blake is suddenly short of breath. He starts hyperventilating.
“Calm down, Blake. You’ve got to calm down.”
“I’m going to be one of those cases, one of those that are convicted of a crime they didn’t commit. Oh, my God, like those you hear about that are put away for life even though they’re innocent.”
“Not if I have any say in this,” I say.
I have a lump in my throat from watching my baby brother lose it like this. He is panicking. It is the worst thing he can do in this situation.
“But, you don’t, do you?” Blake pauses and leans back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter what we do. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t do it. They told me I could get a shorter sentence if I pleaded guilty…”
“Don’t you even think about that!”
Blake’s eyes widen. He tries to speak, but is choked up.
“He’s not going to help me, is he?”
“Who?”
“Dad. He’s not coming because he thinks I’m guilty. He’s not going to pay for that lawyer he sent me, is he?”
I sigh. I have to be honest. “No. He has paid the bills so far, to make sure you have a chance. But he is not going to pay anymore.”
Blake lets out a sound of despair. “How am I going to pay for it then? Boy, am I screwed.”
“You will have an attorney appointed to you by the court,” I say, knowing very well that it is far from the same. Right now, all Blake needs is the best lawyer money can buy. The same kind that got O.J. Simpson acquitted.
Chapter 17
April 1977
Peter turns pale when he feels how warm the baby is.
“We have to get her to the doctor immediately,” he says. “Oh, the poor thing. No wonder she’s been crying all day.”
He helps Penelope get into the car with the baby and they drive fast to the emergency room, where a doctor attends to them immediately. Penelope feels a huge sensation of relief when the baby is finally in the hands of the doctors and nurses. It is like the responsibility is no longer hers and she isn’t alone anymore.
Peter has a complete change of attitude towards her and puts his arm around her. He holds her tight while the doctor takes care of the baby. Penelope closes her eyes and enjoys his embrace once again. How badly she has missed it, has missed being close to him, has missed being his one and only. A tear escapes the corner of her eye and rolls down her cheek. Peter sees it and wipes it away.
“Shhh, she’ll be alright. Don’t worry. Our baby is in good hands now. She’s safe here.”
Penelope opens her eyes and looks at him. Yes, her baby is in good hands now, and so is she. Standing in the waiting room with her husband’s arms around her again, Penelope feels something she hasn’t felt since the baby came into their world. She feels safe. She feels loved.
“Your baby is going to be just fine.” The doctor approaches them carrying the good news.
“See, I told you, Penelope,” Peter says joyfully. “So, what is wrong with her, Doctor?”
“An ear infection. It’s very common at her age. But it can give a nasty fever if not treated. It’s amazing what that small size can cope with, right? I mean, a fever this high would kill most adults, but babies, they have them from time to time and still they’re fine. Nevertheless, I have prescribed some eardrops for her and something for her rash as well. She has a little diaper rash, which is very normal. You can take her home right away if you like.”
“Home?” Penelope asks, concerned. “Wouldn’t it be better if she stayed the night? For observation? She might get worse.”
“If you treat her with the eardrops, she’ll be fine very soon,” the doctor says. “Like I said, it’s very common and highly treatable.”
“But, I’m no doctor,” Penelope says.
Peter chuckles. “I think you might be able to handle a few eardrops, right?”
“It’s not that hard. Just hold her head still, then let the drops land inside the ear. Three times a day. The infection should be gone in a few days.”
“But, what if it doesn’t go away?” she asks, feeling very uncomfortable with having to take the baby home right now when she is still sick. She doesn’t feel safe alone with her at the house when she isn’t well. This time, she hadn’t even known that she was sick. Will she know the next time? Will she be able to make the right decision? She doesn’t want to be alone with her again.
“Tsk, of course it will go away if the doctor says so,” Peter says. “It’s nothing serious. Why are you so worried all of a sudden?”
“I…I just don’t feel like…I mean what if I don’t…what if…”
The doctor places a hand on her shoulder. He looks into her eyes. There is something about him that makes her feel safe.
“It’s only natural to feel insecure as a young mother. It’s a big responsibility. How about you go home now, and then I’ll call you in the morning and make sure everything is all right. Let me know if there is anything, and I do mean anything, that is wrong, and I’ll have you come in and we’ll look at it. I believe you can do this.”
Peter puts his arm around her waist. Penelope relaxes.
“I’ll be there too, remember? You’re not alone.”
Chapter 18
September 2015
I cry in the car on my way back to the beach. I can’t believe what a mess my little brother has gotten himself into. I feel so terrible for him and want to do everything I can to help him. I decide I am going to use whatever little money I have saved to pay for his lawyer. He needs the best there is. But I don’t have much to offer, and it won’t last long. Still, it is a start. I call the lawyer,
James Holland, and tell him to continue his work.
“I’ll go as far as I can for you, Mary,” he says. “Me and your dad go back many years, but I still can’t work without getting paid. I hope you realize that.”
“I’ll pay you. I’ll find the money; don’t worry.”
“That’s good to hear, Mary. I’ll get to work, then.”
I draw in a sigh of relief and turn the car in front of the driveway to my dad’s house. I am about to drive in when I spot a face from my past. She is standing on the pavement in front of the fence, with a dog on a leash. I roll down the window. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Sandra?” I ask. “Is that really you?”
She smiles and nods. “I heard you were home. I wanted to stop by and say hello.”
Sandra. Sandra was probably my best friend growing up. The best surfer on the block, and by far the most gorgeous one of us. She used to be so good she was invited to join the pro-tour for women once, back when she was eighteen and everyone wanted a piece of her. She was so beautiful and cool that all the brands and magazines wanted her as a model, and soon after the modeling took over more and more. Since she is also tall, she soon became a fashion model who travelled all over the world and did fashion shows for the big names and became friends with Naomi Campbell and Helena Christensen. For years, we all envied her the life she had.
She still looks great. Unbearably great.
Looking at her now at the age of thirty-eight, she still takes the prize for best looking. She is stunning. And slim. Looking at her makes me feel fat. Ever since we hit the teenage years, I became the chubby one between us, and the years have not been kind to me in that direction. I guess I just like food a little too much. Apparently, she doesn’t.
“How have you been?” I ask.
“Good. I’m good. Married,” she says, and shows me her ring finger.
“That’s right. To Ryan, right? He was a senior when we started high school, as far as I remember. Who would have known it was going to be you two?”
Sandra chuckles. “Not me.”
“So, you’re back here?” I ask. “Last thing I heard you were living in Italy?”
“I was. For many years I lived in Milan. But then my mother got sick and I came back and ran into Ryan. He had just started his own construction company. A year later, we got married and when my dad died two years after my mom, I inherited their old house right down there by the end of 7th Street. We rebuilt it, so you can probably hardly recognize it.”
“So, you’re still in that old house? That’s amazing,” I say. “You still work?”
“A little here and there,” she says.
I can tell she is being modest.
“I bet you’ve made enough to last you a lifetime, huh?”
She shrugs. “I guess. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, though. I mean it was fun when I was younger, but the pressure…I’m feeling it now that I’m getting older. I try to say yes to anything they give me. I still travel a lot.”
“Any kids?”
She looks at me, then shakes her head. “There just hasn’t been time, you know?”
I do know what she is talking about. In my career, I have met so many women that believed they were too busy to have a child. I have the impression many of them simply let time pass, thinking there would come a perfect time to have children. But the thing is, it will never come. There is no such thing as the perfect time to have children. My son came to me when I least expected or wanted it. I was at the highlight of my career, rocking it at CNN in Atlanta, so I blamed God for having bad timing. Of course, today, I wouldn’t change him for any career in the world. Not even Sandra’s.
“So, any of the others from the old crew still live around here?” I ask.
Her face lights up. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, they all do. You know how it is. You go away, but you come back because it’s the best place on earth, right?”
To hear Sandra call Cocoa Beach the best place on earth is very strange. Can this really be the same girl I grew up with? She used to go on and on about how she couldn’t wait to get out of here and how she dreamt of touring the world as a pro surfer.
“Well, I guess you already know that Joey recently came back,” she says.
“I know that, thank you very much,” I say with a sigh.
I can tell Sandra wants to go deeper into the subject, but she holds back.
“Well, Marcia has been here since she divorced her husband four years ago. She bought a condo on the beach close to 8th Street. You’ll see her around. She had her license revoked because of a DUI, so she rides her bike everywhere. Alex works at the school. He’s a teacher at Roosevelt now. Danny has been promoted to captain at the fire department. They just recently got a new big building down by Minutemen, and Chloe…well, you know Chloe…she is who she is. She still lives in her mom’s house down the street.”
I chuckle. “She still lives there?”
“Yeah. We don’t see her much. She is nocturnal. Only up when the sun goes down.”
“What does she do? Is she still hacking?” I ask, thinking about how Chloe back then had engaged in a world none of us had any clue about. I always believed she was an overlooked genius.
“Actually, she works in cyber-security now for some of the biggest companies around here, one of her clients being NASA. But she works from home. Takes care of her mother that way. I think she makes a decent amount of money doing that.”
I picture Chloe sitting in her old room, surrounded by chips and sodas, her eyes fixated on a screen and her fingers dancing across the keyboard. She was never among the best surfers around here, but she used to go out with us anyway. I wonder if she still surfs.
“So, I take it you’re back because of what happened to Blake?” Sandra asks after a long pause, where I sense she was working up the courage to ask me.
“Yes. To be frank, I really don’t know how to deal with it right now.”
“And your old man?”
“Washing his hands, as always,” I say. “He believes Blake needs to get himself out of it. He doesn’t really care.”
“He still called you, didn’t he?” Sandra asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he called to tell you, so he has to care to some extent, right?”
“I guess you’re right,” I say and look at my old childhood friend. I realize I have missed her. We used to be able to talk for hours and hours. Now it feels awkward.
“Maybe we should get the old crew together while you’re here,” she says. “Just for old time’s sake.”
I freeze completely.
“Unless you don’t want to?”
I shake my head. “No. No. I mean, I do. I think I do. There is just so much…I mean we haven’t seen each other in a very long time; we haven’t hung out since…” I pause and look at her, not knowing what to say. We both know what I am talking about. We have avoided bringing up the subject and we both know everyone will try to avoid it if we are brought together again. It will only be awkward. So extremely awkward.
“You know what?” Sandra says. “Maybe it was a bad idea. It was good to see you again, Mary.”
She touches my shoulder briefly and walks past me, nudging her little Chihuahua along as she walks across A1A towards her own house by the end of 7th Street. I watch her walk away, her perfect little behind moving beautifully in her tight shorts, then curse Blake for getting himself—and thereby me—into this awful mess. I was doing so well up there in New York, minding my own business, slowly forgetting my past. Now it has all come back to laugh in my face.
Chapter 19
September 2015
Jean Schmidt closes the window of her small house. She feels a chill of happiness rush through her body while looking out on the canal where the sun is about to set in the distance. She can’t believe they have finally moved into the house of their dreams. She has dreamt of living canal-front ever since she was just a young child growing up in Cocoa Beach.
She remembers sitting on the school bus, driving around town picking up kids, her nose pressed against the window, dreaming about living in one of the houses that has a view of the water and a dock and maybe a boat in the back. And for years, she worked to save enough to buy it. Neither she nor her husband, Danny, make much money, so for years they lived in a small townhouse by Fifth Street. But three months ago, Danny was made captain at the fire station, and with his raise, the bank finally agreed to give them the loan for the house of their dreams. They had saved just enough for the down payment.
They bought a beautiful two-story house with a dock big enough for them to have a table and six chairs and a tiki bar on it, and it even has a boat ramp. That is their next goal, Danny says. To get a boat. Jean doesn’t care about sailing. She just wants to have it so the neighbors can see it docked by her house.
“I’m going to my room to watch TV,” Daniel Junior says, as he enters the kitchen where Jean is standing admiring the view and the sunset over the Thousand Islands. It is gorgeous. There is nothing like a Florida sunset.
Jean turns her head and nods. “Sure.”
Junior grabs a soda from the fridge. Jean gives him a look. “Soda right before bed? Is that a good choice, do you think?”
Junior growls. At the age of eighteen, she can rarely still tell him what to do and what not to. Junior puts the soda can back and grabs a water bottle instead.
“Is Dad at the station?” he asks.
Jean nods. “Last night of his 48-hour shift. He’ll be home in the morning. He talked about taking you fishing if you like?”
Junior nods. “Sure. I mean whatever. If he wants.”
