Cindy and I were at my apartment.
Ginger and Junior were snuggled on the couch between us. The patio door was open, and through it we could hear the sounds of the surf crashing, seagulls squawking and music playing.
“ Why don’t we ever hang out at your apartment?” I asked her.
“ Because your apartment is much cooler than mine,” she said. “And your apartment always feel like…an escape.”
“ An escape from what?”
“ Life. Pressure. Expectation.” She drank more of her wine as she gently ran her long nails down Junior’s back and up Ginger’s stomach on the return trip. “Not to mention, I always feel completely and totally safe here.”
We sat quietly, our stomachs settling. I had made a homemade pizza using two Boboli crusts, a half dozen vegetables, sundried tomatoes, tomato sauce mixed with olive oil and fresh garlic. Oh, and cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. My stomach, I knew, was busy sorting through the melange of vegetables, spices and sauces and would be busy for some time. Cindy’s stomach tended to settle a little more quietly than mine.
Girls.
Cindy sat with her feet and legs tucked under her in a way that made my own gimp leg hurt like hell just looking at her. It was late evening on a Thursday night, and the street sounds weren’t quite as clamorous. The wind that meandered through my open balcony door was tinged with brine and salt and car exhaust. A heady combination. From where I sat, I could just make out a bright red star that I was certain was Jupiter. Then again, what did I know? I’m just a dumb jock.
“ This is perfect,” she said.
“ I know.”
I reached behind my couch and found the remote to my sound system. I clicked it on and soon Marc Antoine and his Spanish guitar filled my small apartment.
I debated telling Cindy about Gary Tomlinson. But I decided against it. If she knew what I was going to do, things might not be so perfect.
Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself, and as the soothing music drew us together, as Cindy lay her head on my shoulder and little Junior and Ginger snuggled deeper between us, I closed my eyes and saw Mom’s lifeless body, the endless blood, and the old pain filled me completely. The old pain that never, ever went away.
Gary Tomlinson, I thought. I’m coming for you.
Motherfucker.