by Willow Rose
“You have a visitor,” the prison guard tells him.
Blake feels a sting in his heart. He hopes it is Olivia. He doesn’t know what they did to her afterwards, after they dragged him away. He just hopes that he didn’t get her in trouble with the general.
He is taken to a small room where his sister is waiting. Blake tears up when he sees her again. He is disappointed that it isn’t Olivia, but at the same time happy that she is here.
“Blake,” she says and stands up when he enters.
He can tell the sight of his orange uniform and chained feet and hands horrifies her. He sits down.
“It’s good to see you, Mary,” he says with a sniffle. “What has it been since I was up to visit you? Three years?”
“Five, Blake,” she says with tears in her eyes. “It’s been five years. How are you?”
He scoffs and answers with sarcasm. “Great!”
“Blake, be serious. How are you holding up in here?”
He looks into her eyes and feels tears pile up. He has tried to act so tough ever since the arrest, but the reality is that he is devastated. Completely. It is a nightmare. He doesn’t know what to do. He has been questioned for hours and hours, and still they keep asking him the exact same questions. No, he didn’t kill that woman. No, he doesn’t know who she is. How could he have stabbed her in his studio if he has never seen her before in his life?
“I’m trying my best,” he says.
“It’s awful,” she says. “I can’t believe anyone would think you could have killed that woman.”
Blake smiles through his tears. Finally, someone believes in him. Finally. “Where is Dad?” he asks. “I didn’t see him at the hearing.”
Mary hesitates before she gives him her answer. “It’s just me for now.”
“He’s not coming, huh?” Blake bites his lip. It is dry and sore.
“Maybe later,” Mary says, but he knows she is lying. “You know how he is, Blake. Let’s not focus on him. Let’s focus on you. You have to tell me everything. From the beginning.”
Chapter Sixteen
September 2015
“There really isn’t much I can tell you,” Blake says.
I am trying hard to keep myself collected in the small room with the guards listening in on our every word. I know if Blake says anything about the case that he hasn’t mentioned before they can use it against him. But I have to know more. I have to hear it from his own lips. I just have to make sure he doesn’t say anything to make it worse on himself.
I can’t stand watching my younger brother in distress like this. He is so pale and the look in his eyes so terrified it makes my stomach turn. I feel so bad for him. Especially since I can tell he is trying to play the tough guy. Blake isn’t a tough guy. He is a sweet little boy, an artist. He drinks too much, he parties way too much, and thinks the world revolves around him, but he could never hurt a fly. I just know he couldn’t. Prison is going to kill him. He is way too soft and sensitive. That was his problem at the boarding school my dad sent him to. My dad wanted to toughen the boy up, but he came back an even bigger mess than he left. He isn’t cut out for this world and all it’s harshness.
“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 Seventeen
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 Eighteen
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, yo
u 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.
