Angeles Crest

by P. J. Zander

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Spring showed promise as the heavy rain cells that seemed to be more common in recent years during the winter gave way to those longer, sunnier days on which Southern California staked its reputation. The skies were a spanking-clean blue that jumped out at you. The abundance of flying and crawling creatures broadcasted the sights and sounds of new life. Even up the Crest, flecks of green dared to show themselves as the snow retreated from the charred forests. They were the harbingers of re-growth that would slowly weave a tapestry of mountain splendor. They also would bring back stability. Experts said a minimum of five years of new vegetation would be needed to withstand the mudslides in the burned area.

  Following the cremation, Raylene and Banyan were back in Wrightwood for a celebration of Jolene’s life and to scatter her ashes. Breaking away from the throngs of people in attendance, they rode the chairlift to the start of her favorite run on Mountain High East. He looked down the slope where patches of rocks and earth were beginning to poke through the melting snow.

  “She was special, Ray. She had so much to bring to those of us lucky enough to be close to her, so many ways to make things better. This world is a sadder, lesser place without her.”

  Raylene was facing the valley and mountains beyond, her eyes closed. A wisp of wind played with her hair. “She brought so much to us, Rusty, and enriched our lives. The world is better for having had her even if her time was too short.”

  With the surrounding mountain peaks silent and stoic against the sky, Ray held the canister up almost as an offering and Jolene’s ashes rose free on the breeze of a bright, warming, March afternoon.

  #

  He spent a few days up in the ski town, helping Ray sort through Jo’s belongings. Or, at least they made an attempt at that long, painful process. At night they talked about their futures and for the first time, Ray hinted that she was considering a change.

  “Are you ready for a bomb?”

  He looked at her quizzically.

  “What would you think if I sold the lodge business and moved to Laguna?” She watched his sad eyes widen and his mouth drop at the same time. “Don’t get excited. I’d need time to work this through in my mind, of course. But I am thinking about it.”

  Banyan stammered for a few seconds. “Well, Ray, I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. I think it would be fantastic. I never even entertained the prospect of you living with me at the beach. Not seriously. It’s always seemed like one of those things that’s never going to happen.” He couldn’t contain his smile. “Now, if you’re really able to leave here, I mean, we could have a whole new life ahead of us.” Another thing he’d never considered came to mind. “Hey, we could live at the Emerald Bay house.”

  While their spirits rose with the potential for this new chapter in their lives, it was still obvious to both of them that she was doing much better than Banyan. Although he had worked himself back into excellent shape as his arm had healed, he was suffering.

  “Rusty, you should go back to the beach. Take some time to do nothing, let things sort themselves out with no pressure. And why don’t you lay off the sparing for a while, give your poor face and hands a chance to heal?” She had his hand in both of hers as she studied the deep sadness that had not left his eyes for days, and his broad shoulders now stooped under a terrible burden. In fact, Banyan knew what she was thinking when she looked beyond the bruises and cuts at the new lines etched in his face: he’d aged noticeably since January. And he saw it, too. “All of this will keep and I can use your help again whenever you’re ready.”

  “You sure? I know I’m a pain, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Really, I’ll be just fine. I’m more concerned about you right now.”

  He knew she was right. But, he could tell there was something she was holding back. The way she held her eyes on his, not letting go, her lips slightly parted. She wanted to tell him but hadn’t found the right moment. That probably meant there wasn’t one.

  “Ray, you sure everything’s okay? Is there something else you want to tell me?”

  She nodded, and paused to find a beginning. “I’ve never told you what I’m about to say and I hope you understand my reason for being so candid now. It only became clear to me in the past few days.” She took his other hand so that she held both of them. “For all the years since your mother died, you have carried the hatred of a ten-year-old boy for your father. I know even now months after he died, the intensity of that feeling hasn’t changed much. I’ve seen that bitterness underlie your daily life for over thirty years. But think back on when that anger developed and why. You lost the person who was the center of your universe when you were ten. You were devastated, and you felt abandoned. Rusty, I think the reason you’ve never been able to commit to the kind of relationship I’ve always wanted is you didn’t want to risk losing me the way you lost your mother. And now, like you lost Jolene.” Raylene looked down for a moment, giving him a chance to catch his breath, then went on.

  “I’ve heard all of that about how you despised your father, but accepted his money, how you’re somehow unworthy of me, that I could do better. And all your guilt. But those are all excuses to dislike yourself. Rationalizations. Your real problem is you won’t take the chance of getting as close to me as you could. Jesus, Rusty. You’ve taken on some of the toughest situations a person could be in—dangerous ones. Deadly ones. You've risked your life without hesitation. Yet, you won’t jump in with both feet when it comes to a life with me. Life is like that. You of all people should know it. There are no guarantees. Either one of us could be dead tomorrow. Should that stop us from being together?”

  She pulled him close and embraced him tighter than he could remember. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. Her words were a blur. His mind was out of focus and yet he knew exactly what she said.

  #

  Before he left, she placed in his hand the chain and gold skier charm, the only intact item recovered with Jolene’s remains. She had worn it since he’d given it to her on her ninth birthday. When he started to resist, Ray said, “Take it, Rusty. You know Jo would have wanted you to have it.”

  Banyan studied the charm, then slowly closed his fingers over it.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  By noon he was on the road. Deciding to take Angeles Crest Highway all the way down to the 210, he drove slowly, letting the serpentine road lull his mind into a rhythm. He knew he was following Jo’s last drive out of the mountains six months before and wondered what she’d thought about then. Was she worried about classes? Probably not. She had the world at her fingertips. Most likely, she was taking in the view to the Pacific and of the surroundings before they were scorched by the fire. He was also tracing Ray’s miraculous, life-saving effort down an all but impassable road.

  Just as the turnout came into view, his cell phone rang. He turned off as he answered the call, parking near the edge below which Jo’s remains were found.

  “Banyan, hope I didn’t get you at a bad time.”

  “Never a bad time for you, Ernie. Just heading out of the mountains on my way home. How’s police work?”

  “Day in, day out, we stay one step behind crime . . . on the good days.”

  “Sounds like a motto, Captain Quintana. How you keep at it, I’ll never know. Anything I can do for you?” He had to wait a little for the captain’s answer.

  “We had a State-wide bulletin come through here a week or so ago. Seems Rick Moss, the skier, got beat up to within an inch of his life, in his house up around Tahoe. He might not make it. You remember him?”

  “Hell, yes. You know I wouldn’t forget him.” He paused. “Would it be inappropriate for me to smile and pump my fist?”

  “Christ, Banyan.” Quintana blew out a chest full of air. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  Banyan looked at the knuckles of his right hand. “All I know is whatever he got, I’m sure he deserved.”

  “Funny thing. Turns
out the locals think they got a general description of the guy. Real tall, fifties or sixties, wearing a 49ers ball cap. Car he was driving got left at a bus depot, a used Chrysler 300 purchased with cash in Reno about twenty-four hours prior to the discovery of the victim. No prints, nothing.”

  “What can you do? Sounds like a dead end.”

  “Hmmm.” The captain was taking his time, maybe thinking things over. “You good?”

  Banyan gazed at the mountains. “Yeah, Ernie. I’m good.”

  Again, a few moments passed before Quintana spoke. “Well, I’m sure when we meet again it’ll be under better circumstances than the past six months. Take care of yourself and Ray.”

  “Will do, my friend. Thanks, for everything.”

  #

  Only when he got out of the car did it register. This was the turnout at which the photo of the three of them had been taken so many years before. He recalled that all-too-fleeting happiness they had shared, their bond as close as any family. And now, with Ray in that moment at her house, it had sounded so good, so right—the rest of their lives together in Laguna. But, he honestly didn’t know if he could commit to her if she decided to leave her Wrightwood life behind. He’d never realized how the loss of his mother had become so paralyzing that it was keeping him from the most important person in his life.

  #

  He’d left the mountains and highway behind a little before two in the afternoon and soon pulled into the driveway of the orderly, well-maintained house. Even though he hadn’t called ahead, he guessed that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe thirty seconds after his knock, the front door opened.

  “Hello, Geert.”

  “Why, uh.” The elderly man hesitated, searching for the name to match the weary face before him. “Uh . . . it’s Rusty. Yes, Rusty. What a pleasant surprise.” He was beaming. “Please come in.”

  As far as Banyan could tell, he hadn’t awakened Hulsing from a nap. He took the same wing chair in the bay window.

  “I hope you don’t take offense, Rusty, but you don’t look as vibrant as when we first met. And, your face has been hurt. Are you well?”

  “Actually, I’m in good condition, Geert. Just a little tired.”

  Hulsing’s eyes didn’t leave his face for a few seconds. Then the old man went to the kitchen. “Perhaps some tea with schnapps would help?”

  He raised the volume on his answer. “Just tea would be fine.”

  “Of course. You didn’t take schnapps before.” Banyan was amazed at Hulsing’s memory.

  The old German naval officer placed the cup on the table between them, sat kitty corner and asked, “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “I’m taking you up on your invitation to come again. I appreciated you telling me about your World War II experiences and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to fill you in on what I did in Vietnam. Geert, only one other person has heard these details. I haven’t even told those very close to me. I think you’ll understand.” Banyan couldn’t say why, but he somehow felt compelled to talk about it, to confide in this gentle man.

  “I would indeed be honored to listen to your story, Rusty.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  He recounted the May 26, 1968, battle when his armored troop carrier came under Viet Cong attack up the Ong Huong Waterway in Kien Hoa Province.

  “There were numerous firefights like this, but I pretty much just did my job. Maybe even kept my head down more after that. Can’t explain why I did what I did that day. It was like something grabbed me and shoved me off that landing craft at those wounded soldiers. Looking back, I don’t know the young guy I was. A complete stranger to me now.”

  Hulsing had remained transfixed during Banyan’s account. “You did something extraordinary, Rusty. You reacted courageously during an absolutely terrifying battle. Such close quarters. It has to have had an effect on your life. It must have transformed at least part of you since then.”

  That was the thing that puzzled him. He didn’t think it had. “I just never really thought or talked about it much.”

  “Yet, here you are, telling me.”

  #

  After goodbyes and wishing the old man well, he drove down Briggs. Banyan knew he’d never see him again. But, he wouldn’t forget Hulsing. He sensed that the kind man understood something that still eluded him. It was in his voice, in his pale blue eyes, as if he had insight into the meaning of Banyan’s combat experience and in particular that battle in 1968. Maybe it always had been right there in front of him. Banyan just didn’t know. But, talking to Hulsing meant it had poked its head out.

  He wasn’t sure if he actually expected some sort of catharsis after telling the story. Regardless, there was none. While he was glad he’d saved those three men, he couldn’t really say he felt pride. A decade later, Raylene had seen something of that young gunner’s mate in him when they’d first met, and instilled in Banyan a sense of worth that evolved in his life’s work. But, it all had started slipping away in the past three years following his devastating investigation into the Reed family’s 50-year-old cold case, and essentially vanished with Jolene. He had hoped to grab hold of something now because pounding Dwyer’s head into the ice, seeing both him and Nathan die, and knowing their mother would go away for life, left him empty. Those lives for Jolene’s? The balance sheet didn’t add up. It never would.

  Yet, maybe that bottom line wasn’t the point. There was nothing to be gained by allowing the losses to fester and the guilt to gnaw at him. Not three hours before, Ray had cut through the smoke and mirrors of his psyche to pinpoint what had baffled him for decades. Looking back and recording the losses was meaningless. Living was a cycle of suffering loss and moving on. Nothing ever was, or could be, perfect—life would never let him stick the landing. For whatever time remained, his best life would come only if he was willing to risk it with Ray. And it seemed to Banyan that in losing Jo, they would find each other. Together they would hold Jolene’s memory. Her death would count.

  #

  The platinum sky darkened as the drizzle gained consistency. While stopped at the bottom of the hill, a text buzzed on his cell. Instead of letting it go, he pulled around the corner and put on his magnifiers: ‘2 meter, ugly beach but 4 footers waiting 4 experienced h2oman. catch 1 4 me. bondo’d bondo.’ In his current state, he was having trouble focusing on the message. After several deep breaths, the nerves swimming in his stomach slowed. Then he was able to smile at his friend’s goofy words, another sign that Bondo was back, at least mentally. Still, many thoughts were rushing forward in his mind like abandoned dogs in a pound—take me, take me. His head was in overdrive. He closed his eyes. Several minutes passed. Reaching behind the seat, he felt the container. One detour, and then home.

  In less than fifteen minutes he was turning into the entrance to Forest Lawn. The pleasant florist suggested a spring bouquet and refreshed his vague, boyhood memory with directions and a map to the gravesite. With the drizzle becoming a steady shower, Banyan drove slowly around the gently bending road to Sunrise Slope.

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to Linda Cashdan at The Word Process for her invaluable editing and coaching. My life-long friend, surfing buddy, best man and Crest rider, Gary Christensen, provided a major boost by pointing me toward e-publishing early on, and by accepting the first-reader challenge. I think there is a bit of him in Banyan. I also must thank my long-time friend, fellow retired G-man and bike rider in his own right, Art Quintana, for his Chapter One review way back when. Finally, thanks to my family for encouragement and patience during this solitary and often selfish project.

  Information about the crew of the German cruiser, Karlsruhe, visiting La Crescenta prior to World War II is authentic and was provided by the Historical Society of the Crescenta Valley. The HSCV’s website contains fascinating nuggets from the past through which also came the idea for Jolene’s historical rental house.

  Banyan’s heroics in Vietnam briefly mentio
ned near the end of the novel were inspired by the actual May 26, 1968, courageous rescue by Machinist’s Mate Fireman, William H. Payton, aboard ATC 111-10, an armored troop carrier up the Ong Huong Waterway. Under intense enemy fire, he and another crew member ran from the boat and crawled through thick undergrowth on the beach to reach a badly wounded soldier. Then, they carried him back to the boat through the fierce gunfire. These days, “hero” is overused and undervalued. Bill Payton is the real deal.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright 2016

  P. J. Zander was born and raised in California. He earned a degree in English from the University of California, Santa Barbara, served as a naval officer aboard an amphibious assault ship and worked in the federal government. While Alaska has been home for decades, he and his family also have resided in Northern Virginia, Northern California and on the Hood Canal in Washington State. Angeles Crest is his first novel. He is currently at work on his second Rusty Banyan installment.

  Author’s note:

  Dear Reader,

  If you’ve come this far, I hope that means you found the story entertaining and would be willing to take a minute to write a review. Your review posted on Amazon would get the word out to potential readers and provide valuable information as I develop future stories.

  Thanks a lot for your consideration and support.

  PJZ