Full Measure: A Novel (31 page)

“They’re noisy creatures. There’s a bench on that hilltop. Let’s eat there.”

“The bats are generally quiet and mostly eat bugs.”

“I miss them, the parakeets.”

They climbed the hillock and sat. The day was muggy and warm, strange for October, and he felt the drop in pressure that presaged a storm. The latest from the weather people had rain beginning Sunday, and possibly lasting five straight days. Ted had heard one San Diego TV weathercaster call it “Stormageddon” and another “Stormocalypse.” The low pressure made it feel as if his body cells were less tightly held together. Like his brain had more freedom, not that this was necessarily good.

“Stormageddonocalypse-oramathon is on the way,” said Ted.

“So they say.”

They sat at opposite ends of the same bench, facing town. Ted could see part of Main, Evelyn Anders’s office building, the spire of the little church up on Fig, and the American flag over the post office. Lucinda had a light, almost inviting, scent that ran contrary to her general joylessness. Ted let the warm breeze bring it to him. He hadn’t spoken in a few minutes and he wondered if silence was all they could agree on. Silence as communication. That lasted exactly thirty seconds—Ted timed it on his watch—then he suddenly felt like sniffing a big load of pure crank and talking to Lucinda for a week straight. Play some music loud enough to melt his face, and dance to it. Maybe take a deserving person to the next level. Then he could sleep for another week straight. Sleep a lifetime. Instead Ted went to work on the taco. He poured a little green sauce on it.

“I liked what you said last time about finding a place to get away from the darkness,” she said. Ted nodded. “I think I know where to find that place.”

“Where?”

“Not far from here. I think I’ll be going there for a while.”

“A quest like?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Exactly what then?”

“It will be clear soon enough.”

Ted felt her heaviness, her great private freight, trying to take her down. Lucinda was not usual. Mary at Gulliver’s Travel was lonely, and horse-lover Dora Newell was scatterbrained, but Lucinda Smith was sad.
Sad.
He half expected to see a dark aura surrounding her but when he glanced at her there was none. “Are you involved in drugs, Lucinda?”

“God, no. But I do like my wine. Used to, anyway.”

“You have a bad secret,” he said, “that you’ve never told anyone. And you are thinking of killing yourself.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Lucinda. That would be a shame.”

“No. Just yesterday I decided not to. No.” She dropped her fork and napkin into her foam box and snapped the top shut. “I want to thank you for reaching out to me.”

“I never touched you!”

“It’s a way of saying you—”

“I really want to, though.”

“That’s out of line, Ted.”

“I was afraid so.”

“But I still want to thank you for being kind to me. It’s meant something to me these last few weeks. My family isn’t close and they don’t live around here. I haven’t made friends here yet. So just to have this guy not talking too much and being courteous to me and even buying me a TV I don’t need, well, it meant something. So thanks, Ted. For everything.”

“You mean I get to see you again?”

“No. Not like this.”

“I don’t get women.”

“Someday one will get you.”

“You get me.”

“Yeah. I kind of do.”

Ted heaved closer and set a hand over hers. It was a small-boned, chilly hand. He leaned in close. She turned to look at him and all he saw was her sunglasses. He slid them off and set them on the table. Her eyes were brown and bloodshot and he saw the darkness around them. They were beautiful. When he touched his lips to hers they were firm and dry. He smelled her scent and the aftershave and Rosa’s green sauce.

“No, Ted.”

“Yes?”

“Absolutely no.”

“Okay.” He pulled back and she slid her sunglasses back on.

“Let’s do this thing,” she said.

“What thing?”

“Drop me off at the Fallbrook Sheriff Station.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

*   *   *

“It was a beautiful September day. The skies were clear and it was hot but not too hot. You could feel the fall coming on. The children were back in school and I always like seeing the kids out and about, walking and riding their bikes to school. I like their energy and chaos. I always wanted to have children but it didn’t work out. My husband turned out to be a cheater. Divorce. I’m only thirty-five years old so there’s plenty of time for it to happen, biologically.”

Ted could hear the gravity stealing into her voice.

“I wait tables at the Pala Mesa Resort, where my condo is. I can walk to work and back. It’s mostly nights. That day I got up early, even though I’d worked late the night before. I did my workout then drove downtown for a few things. Came back and worked the lunch shift for another waitress who wanted off. It was busy. I got home about three, took a quick nap, then showered and dressed up nicely and had a glass of wine. It was a Paso Robles blend and I really liked it. I felt good about working late the night before, and I’d made solid money at lunch and I had the night off. So I decided to treat myself to dinner downtown. I like Salerno’s. I sat at the bar. I don’t like sitting alone at restaurant tables, especially here in Fallbrook where it’s all married people and families. You know what I’m saying…”

Her voice had cracked. Ted looked into the rearview and saw Lucinda wipe her nose with a tissue. He wondered why talking about working and eating dinner had made her so sad. She continued, low and throaty and somehow dazed.

“I had calamari and a couple glasses of their Chianti Classico to start. Then a Caesar and the linguini and one more glass of the wine, then that killer roasted chicken in garlic and lemon. I should explain that I have a fast metabolism and I work out a lot, and waiting tables is physical, too. So I
love
to eat and I eat a
ton
and never gain weight. I demolished the chicken and two more glasses of wine then the tiramisu with a very nice cognac. I talked to an airline pilot and his girlfriend. I felt good and sociable and not a bit sleepy. It was about eight. So I swung over to Murphy’s for an after-dinner drink, nothing fancy, just a glass or two of good California zin. Had a cup of coffee, too, to keep me sharp. Listened to the band. Then I left and drove up Mission toward the post office to make the right on Fallbrook Street. The radio was on and the windows were down and I was having one of those wonderful, out-of-nowhere moments when you’re just plain
happy.
You know? Happy. I was simply happy. And I hit a kid running across the middle of Mission.”

“And you’d had two bottles of wine and a cognac.”

In the mirror she nodded, clenched the tissue in her fist, and her fist to her mouth while the tears ran down her knuckles. “I know. I
know!
I’d never had that much before. Ever. Or since.
”

“So you’re going to surrender.”

“Yes. I am.”

“They’ll put you in a cage.”

“It’s the least I can do. George Hernandez. George. My car’s locked in the garage, dented, and his blood is on it. I mean, I wiped it off, but…”

“It’s hard to see at night. The headlights coming at you. And glaring in your rearview. And all the cars going fast.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Ted said.

“Not as sorry as George or his family. Or me.”

“But letting the government put you in a cage won’t help them any.”

“It might help my soul. A little.”

Ted drove past the substation on Alvarado.

“You passed it,” she said.

“I think you should reconsider.”

“I’ve been considering very hard for three weeks, Ted.”

“Everyone has the right to keep and bear secrets.”

“None of us has a right to a secret like mine. You will not convince me I’m wrong. Turn around or let me out.”

Ted pulled over and into the shade of a magnolia tree. “I have secrets I’ve never told.”

“Then I pity you. Maybe you should come with me. I didn’t mean that.”

“Some of them aren’t so good.”

“Any worse than mine?”

“It depends how you count.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Lucinda, I think we’re all better off with you not in a cage.”

“How on Earth could you believe such a thing?”

They sat for a while in silence. Ted looked at her again and wished there was something he could do. “What about the parakeets?”

“I gave them and the plants away last week. Rent is paid, notice is given, condo is clean. The things in this bag are for you and fare cash is on the seat.” She got out and slammed the door and headed back toward the cop house.

He watched her go and wished there was something he could do. He reached back and swept up the shopping bag up with one finger and swung it onto his lap. Inside he found a pack of two extra-large orthotic foot pads, and a small toy boat for children ages four to seven. Apparently she had noticed that his feet hurt. So that meant she was at least partially able to get outside herself and see other people’s problems. He remembered telling her that he got away from the darkness on his brother’s boat. Was the plastic boat an insult or a joke? Was she saying he was childlike?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Ted dropped off the car at Friendly Village Taxi, then drove home to the bunkhouse. He lay on his bed and looked at the ceiling and tried to ignore the urges, both benevolent and malicious and all things in between, boiling around upstairs. Dismissed by Evelyn, his formerly beloved. Harassed by Knechtl. Rejected by Cade. Demoted by Patrick. Jilted by Lucinda in favor of a cage. He got up and found the stash that Trevor had given him, and he crushed the rock, loaded the pipe, and fired it.

Lung swell, ear roar, lift of skull. Eee-haww. He put Cruzela on the player and did an in-place dance. Then he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes and rotated counterclockwise faster and faster, unscrewing from this shackling world and shooting toward a higher, better one, a human bullet.

Suddenly a great idea came to him. It came as so many others had come, barreling right into his brain from who knew where. He sat down at the picnic bench and created a new document on the computer and wrote a letter to Lucinda. He talked about his strong emotions for her and how sorry he was for what she had done and that she’d have to go to prison, probably for a long time. He said he couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than that, having to live in such close proximity to people you don’t know or like. He also confessed to sins of his own, things he’d never been caught at, things he rarely allowed himself to think about, let alone tell anyone before. He printed and signed it and put it in a letter envelope and wrote “Lucinda Smith, c/o” on it, but he wasn’t sure which jail or prison to send it to so left off the address and slipped it under his mattress. His body was buzzing in an unusual way, something to do with writing something honest to a woman he loved.

Then another great idea came to him. He went to the computer and did a San Diego escorts search. He’d done this before but never with a sense of purpose. Never like now.

Amazing.

*   *   *

Her name was Jasmine, though Ted suspected this was just her stage name. She met him in Caffe Primo that evening and Ted accompanied her back outside where she counted the money and make a quick call to her boss. She was tall and green-eyed and had silky straight blond bangs and hair to her shoulders. She had a good tan and her knit dress was not short but snug and almost the same color as her skin. Into the fabric small coffee-colored beads were woven, which made it look like she was wearing nothing
but
beads. She had a shawl over her shoulders and carried a small beaded purse. She had beautiful arms. Her necklace and earrings were freshwater pearls. Ted did not gape.

She turned away from him to make the call. Ted studied her partially revealed back, athletic-looking, lightly brushed by tiny jewels of perspiration, or perhaps a body spray. He disbelieved his good fortune. Earlier on the phone with Edie of Edie’s Escorts, Ted had been flustered and unwilling to specify his choice of race, body type, age, or “look,” but Edie said she had a very special escort that Ted would certainly appreciate. And here she was. He was wearing his suit, a navy wool summer-weight fabric of average quality, a white shirt and clip-on tie. Of course his orthotic dress shoes.

Edie had told him the charge was $175 per hour with a two-hour minimum, plus an “expected” 20 percent tip and a $75 travel charge to North County. She told Ted that Jasmine was used to being treated and tipped very well. Also, said Edie, Jasmine was a companion,
not
a prostitute. Should Ted mention prostitution or sex for money during this phone call Edie would hang up and his calls would not be returned. Was Ted with any law enforcement agency? Had he ever been? Had he ever been convicted of a felony? Edie took Ted’s credit card number against any problem with the cash. If Ted wanted more than two hours of Jasmine’s company, then the rate was $150 per hour. If he wanted anything particular during their time together, he should take it up with her.

They walked up Main, her hand lightly on Ted’s arm. The daylight was fading and Ted felt the warm density of the hurricane far to the south. They passed the Irish pub and the Anders Wealth Management building and a women’s boutique.

“I’ve never been to Fallbrook,” she said.

“I was born five hundred yards from this exact spot.”

“Should I have dressed more conservatively?”

“No. This is a liberal town for being so conservative.”

“I was a Navy brat. I’ve lived all over the world.”

“Then you’ll like the restaurant I’ve chosen. It’s called the Café des Artistes because it’s French. It’s one of the most important restaurants in Fallbrook. If you go there you’re somebody.”

“How wonderful. What do you do for a living, Ted?”

He looked at her, then away distantly. “I’m just back from Afghanistan.”