( 2011) Cry For Justice

by Ralph Zeta

  “No need,” was the best I could come up with.

  “But I do,” she quickly countered. “Besides, we both know you’re not the marrying kind not at the moment, anyway.”

  “You can’t make a blanket statement like that!” I said, hoping to defuse a difficult situation with a bit of humor.

  “Oh, yes, I can.” She made a sound like a small laugh. “You are the perennial bad boy. You’re a good person and you have a heart of gold, you’re very attentive, and God knows you’re funny. You make me laugh; you make me forget about the sadness of life. When I’m at my wits’ end, all I can think of is how much I want to see you, and suddenly my world is brighter.”

  I thought I saw a tear, but she took quick action to conceal it, lowering her head and pretending to fix an eyelash.

  “Heck, you make me want to live forever! Did you know that, Jason? You make me want to live!”

  “Really?” I said, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Liar!” She smiled again. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you are the way you are. God knows, in my line of work I need all the distraction I can find. I need time away from my patients, time to disconnect from the hopelessness and despair. You make that time worth it.”

  “Speaking of work, have you considered the merits of a career change?”

  She laughed again, and I was starting to feel better about this mess.

  “See?” she retorted. “So like you. There isn’t much you consider beyond the pale, is there?”

  Guilty as charged.

  “You are one of the worst closet cynics I’ve ever known,” she said. “Irreverent to a fault, a true iconoclast oh, yes, and did I mention way outdated and very counterculture, Mr. Justice? You are a sucker for the mind-set of the seventies. And that is what I love about you: the fact that you are so utterly and remorselessly you.”

  “And this is bad because... ?”

  She gazed into my eyes for a moment, the smile on her face replaced by a sudden sadness. I didn’t like what I saw.

  “Jason, let’s face it: you’re not interested in forever. I know you have some valid and very deep-seated reasons for dismissing marriage as a broken institution. God knows I should be right there with you, a card-carrying member of the Abolish Marriage Now! Federation of America. And yet, I seem to have let my club membership lapse.

  “My time with you has made me realize that inside this tough-open-minded-modern-woman exterior of mine lives a very old-fashioned girl a girl who chooses to believe that life is more than just casual sex or friends with benefits. That a traditional lifelong commitment with the right partner is not only attainable, it beats the alternative all to hell and gone.”

  “Nora... ,” I interrupted.

  “Let me finish, please. This is important. I believe that having someone to share your memories, someone to grow old with, is a precious and wonderful thing to have and to cherish, a worthwhile goal, and that just because we may fear failure, we should never stop seeking. Do you understand what I’m saying, Jason?”

  I said nothing. What the hell was I supposed to say?

  It was obvious now that Nora was rethinking our arrangement. She had become emotionally involved in this affair of ours and failed to see the big picture: the dire consequences of wallowing in the quagmire of unrealistic expectations and the ensuing disappointments which was exactly what this lifelong contract that she envisioned entailed. Emotions had wormed their way into the picture. Things would never be the same. Damn it!

  “Can’t say I completely disagree with you.” Feeble answer, but what the hell. Things were quickly spiraling out of control, collision alarms were blaring in my head. We were boxed in. There would be no winner tonight. It was a toxic mixture of disparate goals and existential angst. No wonder so many marriages failed so miserably.

  “I know this is contrary to what we agreed, Jason,” she said. “I wasn’t planning on this, trust me. But I also realize I can’t help the way I feel.”

  I remained silent. I had to let her air this out.

  She smiled, looked down for a second, and was back at it in no time. “Okay, let me ask you this. In simple terms, how do you feel about me, Jason?”

  Touché. That was the real question, wasn’t it? And in its answer rested the fate of our relationship. I had to tell her exactly how I felt, the cold hard truth, and damn the consequences. She deserved nothing less.

  “Nora, you know I care a great deal about you.” After uttering the words, I realized how patronizing and canned they sounded. But I had to finish it. “But if what you want to hear is whether I love you or not, the only honest answer I can give you is, I really don’t know.”

  Nora stood and paced in front of the semi-circular berth. Even as a dark silhouette, she was a sight to behold. She crossed her arms under that bare, gorgeous chest and said, “So if I walked away right now, never to come back again, would you miss me?”

  It’s always about the subtext, isn’t it? The implied meanings, the unspoken words that carry so much weight. Nora was not one to mince words or dance around an issue. Her question had all the quiet finesse of a poison-dart hunter in the Amazon. I heard the veiled threat and understood its significance. This was not going well.

  “I think you know the answer to that,” I snorted. “You’d be sorely missed.”

  “Why? What will you miss? Is it the sex? It can’t be just that, can it, Jason? Or am I wrong?”

  Now, how the hell do you respond to that one, Counselor? “No,” I began. “The sex is great. In fact, it’s fantastic. But it’s more than that.” Oh, man, I am on a roll now.

  I had to think of something quickly. Giving the appearance of too much mulling over an answer to that particular question was not advisable. But whatever I decided to say had to be truthful. “You. I’d miss you! I’m addicted to you, Nora,” I finally blurted out.

  She cocked her head. “Addicted?” She muttered the word once more.

  She turned and walked into the head. I heard water running. The sink. Then it stopped. She came back and turned on the overhead lights.

  I squinted in the sudden brightness. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, as if bedazzled by her naked glory. It occurred to me that perhaps she had turned on the lights so I could have one last good look at her beauty before it walked out of my life, perhaps for good. Cunning.

  “Addicted?” she repeated as she picked up her underwear. “Did I hear you right, Jason?”

  Yup, I was right. She turned her back and began reaching for clothes. We were toast.

  “Nora...”

  “I have to admit,” she said, ignoring me, her tone a tad sharper than before as she slid into her skimpy underwear. “I have been practicing medicine for over fifteen years. I’ve seen my fair share of medical ailments, and I’ve dated my fair share of men, been married once and engaged twice, but this is a new one on me.”

  She pulled on her jeans and shirt and walked out of the stateroom. I barely had time to jump into a pair of shorts before hurrying after her. We’d never had a fight or a disagreement before. This was new territory for both of us. I caught up with her in the main salon. She was standing silently in front of the exit door, her gaze fixed on the deluge outside. She had her shoes on, and a dark hooded poncho.

  “Nora,” I said, “please don’t go at least, not like this.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want to go,” she said without looking back at me. “I much rather stay here. Maybe even forever.”

  “Then take off that coat and let’s talk.”

  I heard a small snicker in the twilight. She finally turned and faced me, and I could make out the smallest shadow of a smile. Her eyes were on mine, searching, probing. Tears gleamed on her cheeks. This time she didn’t bother to conceal them.

  “Even though this is the first time I’ve had a reason to be mad at you, I still can’t do it,” she said softly. “And you know why, Jason?”

  I shook my head and took a step toward
her.

  “Because it’s you who should be mad at me. I am the one breaking the agreement. I knew what I was getting into. You were always upfront.”

  “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me,” I said.

  I was now about two feet away from her close enough to smell her perfume. This was it: if we were ever to get past this, it would happen right here, right now. Or it wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. I can’t.” She looked up and held my gaze. “Not now, anyway. I need some time... need to figure some things out.”

  Shit.

  “Nora, if you don’t want to spend the night with me, that’s fine,” I said as I stepped around her and looked through the window at the miserable, watery world outside. “But it’s close to three in the morning, and it really is dangerous driving in these conditions.” I turned and put a hand on her cheek. “Hate me if you have to, but don’t go out there tonight. Take the stateroom. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms. Or whatever I’ll sleep in the engine room if you want me to. I just want to know you’re safe.”

  She gave me a wide smile. I loved that smile.

  “You have this nasty ability to always come up with the right thing to say, you know that?”

  “I know. It’s a curse.”

  “It’s a blessing.” She raised herself on her toes, leaned in, and kissed me gently. “Don’t ever change, Jason.” She raised the hood of the poncho and cinched the strings, her car keys dangling noisily in her hand.

  “Nora, please...” I wanted to plead with her, but I knew it was useless. She had made up her mind. It obvious she wanted to put some distance between us. Even if she had to swim to get there.

  Before opening the door she said; “You are going to help Amy, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to look into it, yes.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Only if the other guy promises first.”

  “I’m serious, Jason. I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt doing a favor for me.”

  She finally opened the door, and a maelstrom of rain, wind, and thick-as-butter humidity rushed the cabin. Without uttering another word, Nora stepped away from me and into the storm. The door blew shut behind her, and she was gone, swallowed by the soupy darkness. I wondered if we would ever be together again. But I already knew the answer. I shouldn’t count on her ever coming back.

  We both had entered into this relationship promising not to expect anything enduring from it: no commitments and no expectations, nothing but a good time. And when that changed, when time spent together was no longer satisfying or meaningful, then we would be honest, say our good-byes, and move on. No hard feelings. So why did I feel this gaping hole, this sudden emptiness churning and chewing at my insides? Am I not shallow enough? Or is she not trivial enough? Why can’t two mature adults endure a relationship without it evolving something else, something contractual, or formal? Like marriage; a path that surely leads to the dreaded basement of existential despair.

  I went to the compact cabinet that doubled as a bar, and poured some tequila into a long shooter glass. I fumbled around in the dark and found what I was looking for in the sink: an already squeezed sliver of lime. I downed the fiery liquor and sucked whatever juice was left from the lime. I took another hit. By the time I had a third and a fourth shot, the wedge of lime barely had pulp left, let alone nectar. I prayed the booze would coerce my now overactive and furtive mind into some sort of sleep. Waiting for the alcohol to have its intended effect, I decided to wake up the computer on the small navigation desk. I checked NOAA for the latest forecast and confirmed what I already suspected: the storm was still here and there was a lot more to come. I had another shot of tequila for good measure and shuffled back to bed.

  Sleep proved hard to come by. I glanced at the bedside clock: it was almost four. I desperately needed sleep. Nora had somehow convinced me to look into Amy’s messy life, and I had agreed. The main issue was that the person behind the swindle seemed to be someone who‘s interest were best served if Amy were completely out of the picture. The thought of dealing with a man like Evan Robertson brought on familiar but unwelcome feelings I had thought I left behind long ago. Not the kind of thoughts conducive to restful sleep. I fought the onslaught of memories, but it was no use; there was nothing else my mind would rather focus on. My mind kept coming back to Nora: her tears, her hasty exit.

  I shuffled back to the bar and this time brought the bottle back with me.

  Nine

  The whirring buzz of the alarm clock jolted me out of restless twilight. I heard myself moan as I groped to put a stop to the offending racket. I have vowed many times never to take another bottle to bed. The way I felt was not entirely unwelcomed and was way too familiar. There was an eerie comfort to the booze-induced pain.

  I held absolutely still, processing the torrent of memories from last night. My head was pounding, and my stomach was full of mating live eels. Between the drumbeats echoing in my ears and the incessant alarm buzzer, it was hard to remember why I had drunk so much. Then I knew: Nora. Her face, the obvious disappointment, the pain. Nora walking away.

  The surge of raw memories was quickly eclipsed by a more immediate reflex, a rumbling in my stomach, a volcano about to explode. Springing up from the bed, I smashed the little alarm with my fist in passing and made it, just barely, to the head.

  After retching up everything until there was only bile, I almost felt better. Then I remembered Amy and her predicament. I glanced at the shards of the alarm clock, then grabbed the cell phone from my jeans pocket to check the time: 8:23 in the morning. I didn’t quite remember why, but I knew I was already late.

  I stumbled into the galley, following the smell of freshly brewed French roast. Thank God for programmable coffeemakers. After splashing my face in cool water from the faucet and drying with a rough paper towel that felt more like sandpaper, I flipped on the computer at the navigation desk. The rain wasn’t hammering on the boat’s exterior as it had all night, but the wind was still stirring things up outside. According to the weather service, the storm hadn’t moved much, and the small-craft advisory was still in effect. That’s when I remembered my now defunct vacation plans. Plans I had made with Nora.

  She had driven away in that storm in the middle of the night. I speed-dialed her number, and she answered on the second ring.

  “I guess you made it home okay last night,” I said.

  “Yes.” She sounded a little surprised. “Yes, I did. Thank you, Jason.”

  “Glad to hear.” Pathetic. I really didn’t know how to carry on this conversation. I just knew I needed to talk to her. I wanted to hear the sound of her voice.

  “How about Amy?” she said, mercifully changing the subject. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m sure she’ safe.”

  “Jason,” she said, “you don’t sound normal. Are you getting sick?”

  That was Nora: always the doctor, nurturing and caring. No wonder she had been taken advantage of the way she had.

  “No, nothing like that,” I said. “I’m okay. Didn’t sleep so well. Maybe something I ate last night.”

  “This ‘something you ate’ was it distilled in Cabo San Lucas?”

  “Yeah.” She knew me too well. I had to grin. “Something like that.”

  “Jason...”

  I could feel it. Whatever was coming next was weighing heavily on her, and it wouldn’t be welcome news.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “We should talk,” I said.

  “Not right now,” she said in a nice, even tone. I could feel the distancing, the detachment, already building. “I need time. There was a lot said last night.”

  “Not by me so much.” I somehow felt compelled to defend myself. “You did most of the talking... and then you left.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But I had no choice. I needed to be alone.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  �
��Jason, promise me something, will you?”

  “What’s that?

  “That you won’t be mad at me, please?”

  “Deal. What about our vacation?”

  Silence, then “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  And there it was: the hard, cold reality. What had been so desirable just a few hours ago somehow becomes unwanted and unwelcome after the break up. She was slipping away like rainwater through my fingers. And there was little I could do to stop it.

  I must have remained silent for some time.

  “Jason, will you take care of yourself?”

  “Always.”

  “And...” Her voice was halting a woman on the verge of an emotional breakdown. “Please don’t hate me for ruining our vacation plans.” I heard a muffled sob. “I just need to figure some things out for myself. That’s all. I need time.”

  I said nothing. I wondered how long she would need. Eternity long enough?

  “I don’t know how long. I really don’t. I’m sorry.”

  Sometimes she scared the shit out of me. It was as if she were tuned in to some of my most private thoughts.

  “I’ll call you soon,” she said.

  “You do that,” I replied.

  “Take care of yourself, Jason.” The phone clicked off.

  The day had just begun, and I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse. I put the phone down on the desk and lurched back to the galley. The seismic activity in my stomach had calmed down for the moment, and I risked having some coffee and dead toast for breakfast. Outside, the patter of rain on fiberglass became white noise, something lost in the fog of pain. I knew when I finally went outside the muted sunlight of the stormy day was going to feel like a hollow point slug to the brain. My cell phone rang. Caller ID read “Sammy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Guess what, chief?” he said in his customary cheery tone.

  “First tell me about Amy,” I said. “I just want to make sure no one can trace her to wherever you have her stashed.”

  “Aw, J. J.,” he replied, “a little faith. Do I ever disappoint?”