Carissa held my hand. “You’re doing the right thing.”
My eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure? What if—”
Her emerald eyes stared into mine. “Honey, it’s all going to work out.”
My fingers drummed on the table. I took a long gulp of tea. “Can’t I sleep on it and call him tomorrow?”
She eyed me with amusement. “Don’t want me listening in?”
I bit my lip. “I just need to think of what to say.”
“I’ll be home tonight.” She gazed heavenward. “God knows the restaurant can’t survive without me.” Not often enough, but over the years, Carissa visited from Santa Fe where she lived with her boyfriend. She had moved up the ranks in the hospitality business. Ah, the glamour of a starving artist. Carissa was now manager of the Mexican restaurant where we’d worked together. She squeezed my hand. “Call him. Then call me the second after you hang up. Okay? Think of Eugene. He deserves the truth.”
My heart thudded in my chest when I heard the clatter of footsteps on the porch steps. The screen door slammed, and Eugene and his best friend Nelson slouched into the living room, throwing their backpacks and Nelson’s guitar case on the sofa. I quickly snapped my laptop shut, sitting up straight. “Hi, honey!” I trilled. “Say hi to Carissa. She’ll only be here a few more hours.”
Eugene peeked up from behind dark hair and gave a small wave. “Hey.”
Nelson bounded into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner? You guys mind if I stay?”
Nelson was such a fireball. He didn’t mean to be rude, but the way he practically lived at our house made me feel like I raised two adolescents instead of one. “Nelson, honey, I think Eugene needs to concentrate on his homework and—”
Eugene said, “But if I get all my stuff done, then can he stay?”
“Come here, sweetie,” I said. Eugene stood a few inches away, and I drew him into me. I reached up to stroke his hair. “I suppose if you get your homework done he can stay. I missed you today.” The thought of not being in Eugene’s life caused my voice to sound choked.
He smiled and pulled away, heading the few steps to the pantry. “Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”
“You’re never too old to be embarrassed by your mom,” I said. Eugene opened the pantry door, stood motionless while studying the contents then closed the door.
Carissa said, “One of these days I’ll have kids, and you can be sure my mission will be to embarrass them every chance I get.”
Nelson said, “When you have kids, they will be good looking and famous.”
Carissa smiled. “You think so?”
Nelson bowed in front of Carissa. “If they look anything like you, they will.” He smiled, a charming smile that was sure to woo the ladies in years to come. “Now, may I get you two anything to drink?”
We declined, and Eugene tugged at Nelson’s sleeve. “Let’s go practice.”
“I’ll grab my guitar,” Nelson said. Then he followed Eugene to his room and, glancing over his shoulder said, “It was lovely seeing you again, Carissa.”
The door closed, and next thing we heard was their guitars screaming to life.
I toyed with a paper napkin, folding and refolding it, then looked at Carissa. “Eugene’s such a great kid. Jax will love him, right?”
Carissa stroked my hair. “Of course he will.”
Eugene had become my reason for living. And now I had to break the news to him and to his father.
I had six months to live.
Jax
Thirteen years had passed since I’d heard Rosalyn’s voice.
Panic raged through my system. I’d been about to turn my key in the ignition so I could hightail it to Palo Alto and meet Butch and the paramedics. But her voice stopped me cold. I sat in my truck in the parking lot of Mavericks and gripped the phone. “Rosalyn?”
Her words tumbled out. “Um, I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from the Mysto Spot Surf Shop.” Why was Rosalyn calling the surf shop looking for me? My chest tightened as a feeling of lightheadedness caused my vision to blur. We were silent for a moment; the only sound was both of us breathing, mine irregular and ragged. Then, she said, “Jax? Jax … have you been crying?”
“Rosalyn?” My mouth went dry. I tried to form words, but I couldn’t.
“Are you still there?” she said.
I covered my mouth with my hand. “Rosalyn?”
“Are you okay? Is this a bad time?”
Hell yes, it’s a bad time. “Rosalyn … why did you call?”
She stammered a reply. “Just because—”
My body tensed. I sat up straight. “Who gave you my number?”
“The girl who answered the phone.”
“She gave out my private number?”
“I kind of told her it was an emergency. Hey, I know it’s been a long time … but I was wondering—”
My thoughts scrambled as I struggled to understand. I wanted to talk to Rosalyn, was desperate to ask her a million questions about what had happened after she left me, but I was totally unprepared for this conversation. Instead, I blurted out, “Rosalyn, I’m kind of busy right now. I’ve got to be somewhere.”
Her voice was meek. “Jax … can we talk?”
“What emergency?” The vision of Butch’s blank stare flashed through my mind as the foghorn blew. I inspected my bleeding knuckles. “Rosalyn, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong … exactly.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I just really need to talk to you.”
My thoughts were unfocused. “Well, make it quick ’cause, like I said, I’ve got to be somewhere.”
Her voice was a whisper. “I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
My body felt frigid, and it had nothing to do with having been in the ocean. Was I really talking to Rosalyn? Did she think she could waltz back into my life? “Yeah, well, I can’t do it right now.”
“Please?” Her voice sounded low and pitiful.
My nails cut into my palms. “What’s this all about?”
“I know it’s been a long time—”
“Guess you could say that.”
“And, I was hoping you would meet me.”
I reached around and unclasped my wetsuit because I felt like I was choking. Rosalyn had caught me totally off guard at the worst possible time. I wanted to see her, but I also wanted to hurt her. I loved her, and I hated her. “Why?”
She said, “Just a few minutes. That’s all I need.”
I scraped my wet hair out of my face and collapsed against the seat. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please? Jax … I really need to talk to you.”
I barked out a laugh. “I cannot wait to hear what you have to say. Go ahead.”
Rosalyn cleared her throat. “I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
I felt blood pulsing, rushing to my head and clouding my vision. “Jesus Christ! Just tell me why the hell—”
When she spoke, her voice shook. “Will you meet me?”
What kind of scheme had Rosalyn cooked up? I was intrigued, but my brain told me to bolt out of the parking lot. I had to get to Butch. I wanted to slam the phone down, make her feel a fraction of what I’d felt when she walked out on me all those years ago. “Rosalyn, I can’t do this right now. Nice talking to you.”
“Jax! Wait!”
“I have to go.”
“Honey—”
I wasn’t her honey anymore. “Rosalyn, someone needs me right now.”
“Wait … please? Just five minutes. Are you still in Point Loma?”
I tapped my foot impatiently. “No, Rosalyn, I’m not.”
“Well, I’m in Santa Cruz. Can I meet you somewhere?”
Santa Cruz? Something in the pathetic sound of her voice made me weaken. I exhaled thirteen years of frustration and longing into my phone. “Matter fact, I’m in Northern Cal right now,” I said.
“You are? Great!
Can I see you tomorrow?”
The thought of seeing her again caused anxiety to spread over my body like an icy wind. All those years separated, and now she called? My heart pounded like a school kid; a fluttery feeling filled my stomach. I knew that I’d meet Rosalyn.
“What time and where?” I said.
“You know Pleasure Point?”
“Yeah, I know the place.”
“There’s a bench at the park, right there where the guys surf. Can you meet me tomorrow at five?”
I opened my mouth to voice one last protest to make her squirm, but instead heard myself say, “Fine.”
Relief flooded her voice. “Jax, thank you.”
We ended the call, and all the breath left my lungs. It was as though I was in an alternate universe. What did Rosalyn want? My thoughts leapt to Holly. I was anxious to call her, tell her everything was okay. I knew she waited patiently at home, eager for word of how the waves were, wanting to make sure I was safe. I didn’t want to upset her. I would call her later, once I had more information on Butch. My hands shook, and my throat was dry.
I stared straight ahead in a trance, the foghorn a despairing bleat.
What did Rosalyn want with me after all this time? My mind raced with the possibilities. She was in trouble with the law, she needed money, her parents were dead, she wanted to proclaim her undying love for me. That last thought made me laugh bitterly at the unfairness of life.
I turned the key in the ignition to make the forty-minute drive to Palo Alto.
Eugene
Once we were in my room, I picked up my guitar. “Let’s practice.”
I’m pretty good at playing the guitar. When I was a kid, my mom used to dance around the living room while she cleaned house and blast her music. Mom told me that as far back as she could remember, I used to dance right along with her. My mom liked some pretty radical bands. Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix could shred it like nobody’s business. I liked to lie on the living room floor while my mom danced around. I always felt the vibrations of the music moving through the floor and through my body. Some people said they couldn’t feel music. To me it seemed pretty normal.
When I was little I begged my mom for a guitar ’cause I wanted to be like the bands on YouTube. Usually, when I got home from school, Mom made me peanut butter and honey sandwiches (if she was home from work), and after I finished my homework, she’d let me watch YouTube. Finally my mom said that if I got really good grades, did all my homework, and quit bugging her about learning how to surf, she’d buy me a guitar for Christmas. And she did. The Christmas I turned eight, mom got me a totally sick Fender Telecaster. It’s my best friend. Along with Nelson, of course.
When I was old enough, which I guess was around five, my mom sat me down and said, “Eugene, honey, you’re my special boy. You know that don’t you?” Of course I knew that, but all I wanted that day was a helping of ice cream.
Mom put a big bowl of strawberry ice cream in front of me, tucked a napkin under my chin, handed me a spoon and said, “You know baby, the Universe brought you to me in a very special way.” I looked into her big, brown eyes and slurped up a spoonful of ice cream. “Some kids have a mother and a father, but you’re lucky because I wanted you so much that I meditated, asking for guidance, and the Universe told me that I was going to be your mommy and that’s all you would ever need.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but she told me that there were doctors who helped people like her who wanted to have babies, and that she met with some of those doctors who helped her get pregnant with me. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Do you want some more ice cream?”
Over the next few years I’d asked questions, and she told me more about the “sperm donor laboratory” that’d helped her. “I was able to pick the physical characteristics, oh honey, I’m so happy that you’re my son,” she would say, and then give me a big smooch. These conversations usually ended with more ice cream.
Nelson said, “After we practice, let’s look at that sperm donor site. We’re gonna figure out a way to find your dad.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Whatever.”
Nelson plays bass guitar. And he likes to screw around on the computer.
After we’d played three of the new songs we’d been practicing, Nelson set his guitar on my bed, swiveled around twice in my desk chair, and said, “Come on, let’s check out those sites again.”
Nelson flipped open my laptop. He giggled when he got to the site called Fertility Warehouse. “Look, there’s that hot babe again.” I leaned over Nelson’s shoulder. There was the lady doctor in a lab coat who looked like a lingerie model. She had a hot body, big boobs pushing up against the lab coat, and long, dark hair that looked like she’d used one of those curling irons or whatever on her hair, making it all wavy and glossy. Somebody must’ve told her, “Hey, put this white coat on, and you can make a hundred bucks.” Nelson played the video. Snappy music filled the room, and the underwear model told us all about how many thousands of people they helped to have babies. Then, just like in science class, she showed slides of sperm and eggs and fallopian tubes. “If I get to meet her,” Nelson said, “Maybe I’ll make a donation.” My face felt hot. I wanted to run out of the room.
“Let’s practice some more,” I said, turning my back on Nelson.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m just getting to the good part.” I turned around. He clicked on the section that showed sample photos of men. I guess one of those guys could’ve been my dad.
“Dude! You think that one’s your dad?” Nelson pointed at a guy who looked like a fireman. I studied the photos. One looked like he worked in an office. Another looked like the surfers I’d seen all my life growing up in Santa Cruz. Guys with blond hair, chests with lots of muscles, and straight teeth. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Nelson said.
“What?”
“See those guys? They all jerked off into a jar. Probably in a room where they watched dirty movies.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, freak show, that’s how babies are born.”
“I know that.” The whole thing was gross.
“See, it says right here,” he pointed to an image that showed how a sperm and an egg came together. “They put the sperm in this vial thing and mail it to the mom. Nelson clapped his hands together. “And then what? Think she went in the bathroom and—”
My fists clenched. “Shut up, Nelson.”
“Just messing with you, dude.” When he saw my face he said, “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
I put my head down. I felt like crying. “C’mon, this is boring. Let’s practice.”
He punched me in the arm. “You’re one lucky freak. My old man, he’s always yelling at me to make my bed or quit cutting class or telling me to never smoke cigarettes while he lights up and smokes a whole pack in one day. You never have to deal with that shit. Lucky.”
I didn’t feel lucky.
Even though my mom told me that she was okay, with the cancer and all, and that she was gonna be fine, I worried. My mom was totally cool, and I loved her.
But still. I wondered what it would be like to have a real dad.
Jax
“We can’t permit you to see Mr. Wolf right now.”
I stood in the admitting room of Stanford Hospital still wearing my wetsuit.
“I need to see him! Now.”
“I am sorry, sir, but it’s going to be several hours before we allow visitors.”
The pretty redhead with the form-fitting uniform was just doing her job. I didn’t say anything for ten long seconds, just gazed at her. Finally, I gave her my most enamoring smile. “Thanks. I’ll wait in my truck. And if you need me to get you anything from the vending machine …” She smiled and promised to update me.
I walked to my truck, performing a towel change in the parking lot, peeling off my wetsuit and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt.
The day had started out so epic; everyone t
ook turns enjoying the monstrous waves at Mavericks, and then it had turned nightmarish. Seeing Butch’s limp body reminded me of the very real fact that it’s a dangerous sport and any one of us could be seriously injured or die at any time.
And then, Rosalyn had called. What did she want from me after all these years? I wanted to see her, but was not prepared. Would I ever be? Over thirteen years of wondering what’d happened, and she’d called now? My teeth clenched when I thought about how I’d spent that first year pathetically searching for her, convinced she’d return. Finally, I’d pretty much given up and got on with life. Rosalyn obviously didn’t want me.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her, but my protective shield came up, surrounding me with what felt like a glass isolation booth that I was determined Rosalyn was not going to penetrate. I’d deeply loved her. But she had hurt me bad. Still, I was curious. What did she look like now? What was she doing?
After two hours of checking in every twenty minutes with the receptionist and getting her snacks from the vending machine, I was finally allowed to see Butch.
I practically ran into the room, and when I saw my friend, who was one of the strongest athletes I knew, looking pathetic and pale, my heart almost broke. His eyes fluttered open.
“Where’s your leg?” I said, patting him on the knee.
“Think one of those nurses stole it,” he quipped.
I sat down in the chair opposite him. “Man, you’ll do anything to get attention. I knew I shouldn’t have given you that wave. You okay, buddy?”
“Seen better days. Just happy to be alive.”
I put my hand on his arm. “So, what happened?”
“Don’t you want to hear about the cute nurses?”
I grinned. “Think any of them can afford me?”
His eyes drooped then he smiled. “Think they pay them pretty well.”
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 41
