Shattered Essence (13 page)

He didn’t say anything.
Asshole
.
Didn’t Mr. Dragon tattoo know I was attached to Trooper?

“Thank you,” I said.

After all, I was truly grateful
Trooper wouldn’t be rotting in my backyard. I should have buried him once I
knew he was truly dead. I was kicking myself.

“No problem,” he replied as he
placed the coffee can inside the van and shut the door. He removed his gloves,
walked over to the driver’s side, got in and drove off.

What an ass.
Didn’t that jerk
know my heart was sad for Trooper? No! Mister dragon tattoo guy didn’t give a
flying rats’ ass. It seemed like the world had nothing but arrogant self
righteous men in it.
Good grief!

“How sad, huh Mom?” James said from
behind me.

“I can’t believe he put Trooper in a
coffee can. A. Goddamn. Coffee can!” I hollered.

James came up to me and hugged me,
saying nothing. I had no idea why the death of a tiny little bunny named
Trooper had put me in such a foul mood.

When Jake arrived from work I told him
I’d called the Human Society to come pick up the bunny.

Jake tilted his head to his shoulder
and with an inquisitive look asked, “Really babe?”

“Yes, really! What was I supposed to
do? He was alive. He needed help so yes I called them. He was living, Jake,” I
explained.

Jake stood in the middle of the
kitchen, placed his hands on his hips, and mocked me. “That poor guy is going
to go back to the office and say, ‘Hey Joe, while you were out in the field
chasing a mountain lion and George was trying to capture a bear, guess what I
was doing? Some crazy lady had me picking up a fucking dead rabbit. Oh excuse
me, it wasn’t a rabbit it was a fucking bunny!’” Exasperated, he threw his arms
into the air.

“Seriously Espe, don’t you think he
had better things to do?”

I just glared at him. I wasn’t sure
if he was trying to be funny or not.

Actually, I was really hoping he’d
get hit by a truck. I was looking through him, hoping to see a big red semi
coming up behind him. Maybe, if I were really lucky, he’d trip in the shower
and split his head.

It was decided, I did hate him
today. Not only that, but I was positive I’d be going to hell for my thoughts
and I’d be standing right next to Hitler and Saddam Hussein.

Late
Spring

Drew

Humph! This was not good.

I stood staring at the bag of
marijuana in my hand. This was certainly not what I expected to find in the
cookie jar.

I wrapped my hand around the bag, shoving
it in my front pocket. I had a million thoughts going through my head. Whose
dope was this? Megan? Paige? Was one or both of them a pot smoker? Was one of
them holding it for a friend? Was it planted? Was someone from the agency setting
me up? What should I do? Should I question Paige and Megan, together or
separate? Should I hang on to it and see which one of them starts freaking out
when they discover it missing? Do I keep it? Do I flush it down the toilet?

I needed time to think. I was glad I
was the only one home. I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be if I ran into
Paige or Megan at the moment.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out
my phone, and called the only person who could help me remain objective. “Hey,
Steve, I need to talk to you. Can you meet me in La Jolla by the seals?”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “A
simple yes or no will do.” I really didn’t want to say much over the phone.

I walked into the garage, pulled out
the bag of dope, and hid it in a bag of potting soil. Better to stash it than
to get caught with it I thought, at least until I sorted this out.

“Drew, you okay? What’s going on?
Talk to me.” He sounded worried.

Sighing, I asked, “Can you be there
in twenty?”

I was pulling out of my driveway
when I heard Steve say, “On my way.” I heard him shut what sounded like his
front door before I ended the call.

As I drove toward La Jolla I thought
about how much more complicated my life just became. At moments like these I
was thankful for my transfer to San Diego two years ago. It was great to have a
friend nearby, someone I could bounce my thoughts off of. I hoped talking to
Steve would help ease my troubled mind.

When I arrived at Casa Beach it
didn’t take me long to spot Steve. He was standing on a landing overlooking the
beach, watching the seals. I reached out to shake his hand then pulled him in
for a quick pat on the back. “Hey thanks for coming. I need to talk to someone.”

Steve turned to look at me, raised
his eyebrows and said, “I’m listening.”

I placed my hands on the railing
looking past the seals. I chuckled nervously before starting. “Right before I
called you I was looking for my spare key to my bike. For the life of me I
couldn’t remember where I’d left it. I was looking everywhere for that damn key.
I even checked the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator, where I didn’t find
the key. What I did find was a quarter bag of dope.” I looked at Steve,
watching his reaction. “Can you believe it? Dope in a drug enforcement officer’s
home. Fuck.” I laughed roughly.

I shook my head. I had to remind
myself to take a deep breath in order to pull myself together. “The problem is
I don’t know who it belongs to. It could belong to Paige. She hangs out with
Taylor Kelly.”

Steve was still watching the seals
while he listened to me. “We both know Taylor isn’t as sweet as she seems. That
chick smells like a walking joint.”

I giggled. “It could be Paige is
holding it for Taylor. Or it could belong to Paige.”

I turned to face Steve. “If I accuse
Paige, the thin thread holding my marriage together is going to snap.”

“What about Megan, could it belong
to her?”

“I don’t know. She’s fourteen and
trying to figure out who she is. Last week I went home for lunch and found
Megan with her friends by the pool when she should have been in school.”

I shook my head. “There were several
empty beer cans and cigarette butts lying around.”

I closed my eyes in order to rub my
face. “She has been trying to assert her independence lately. You know, typical
teenage shit.”

I continued expressing my frustrations
to Steve. I told him about all the questions racing through my head before I
called him, including the possibility I was being set up by someone in the
agency. I asked him what he thought I should do. I needed a second opinion.

“Damn dude, I think we could both
use a drink.” Steve said as he pointed to a hotel bar across the street.

Steve and I sat outside on the patio
in black wrought-iron chairs with green slate table tops. This first beer went
down cold and smooth in a matter of minutes. It hit the spot.

“Thanks again for meeting me Steve. In
truth, I was just surprised I found marijuana in my house.” I tilted my empty
bottle toward the waitress letting her now I was ready for another.

Taking a sip of beer, Steve said, “I
think the first thing you need to do is get rid of it. Flush it.” He took
another sip, “Who do you think it belongs to?”

“Truth? I think it belongs to Paige.
If I stop to think about it, she’s been acting strange the last few months. She
goes out more and stays out longer. I haven’t questioned where she goes or who
she’s with because the nights she goes out are peaceful. No ignoring each other
and no fighting.” I know what I said sounded terrible but it was true.

Rubbing his chin between his
forefinger and thumb he asked, “Just out of curiosity, why are you still
married to her? Please don’t tell me it’s because of Megan, either.” He looked
at me from underneath his eyebrows. “I’m sure she knows more about your
relationship with Paige than you give her credit for.”

Leaning back in his chair he said, “You
should talk to her. I think you’d be surprised.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes
before I answered. “I made a commitment and I won’t be the one to break it. If
Paige wants this marriage to end she’s going to have to be the one to ask.
Otherwise I’m going to do whatever I can to ensure Megan has both of her
parents around.”

Steve gave me a look I had trouble
deciphering—I wasn’t sure if it was a look of pity or amusement. “You are
fucking nuts. You know that, right?”

I raised my beer in a toast motion saying,
“Among other things,” and started laughing.

After having another beer with Steve
I headed home.

Drew

I hadn’t even crossed the threshold
into the kitchen when I figured out who the pot belonged to. Paige was cursing from
underneath the kitchen sink. She was on her knees throwing out cleaning
supplies left and right. Looking around the kitchen I saw several cabinet doors
open. Dishes and flatware were scattered in various places. On the counter the
cookie jar lay emptied of its contents. Shattered on the floor was a water
goblet, a dinner plate, and what appeared to be a gravy boat. One thing was
evident: she had more than one hiding place.

Paige had no idea I was even in the
room. I walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen table. I leaned
forward in my seat with my elbows on the table and my fingers interlocked under
my chin, waiting for her to realize I was there. I watched as she finished
under the sink then moved quickly to the pantry. It took a few minutes before
she closed the door to the pantry and jolted in surprise. Her mouth dropped,
her eyes turned buggy, and she placed her hand on the pantry door for support. It
hadn’t taken her long to become aware of the fact I was watching her. She knew I
knew what she was looking for.

Paige let out a deep breath, looked
at the floor, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Without moving I asked, “What are
you sorry for?” I still wasn’t sure what her role was. Was she using, selling,
or holding?

“I know you know what I’m looking
for. Where is it?” she demanded.

She walked to the table where I was
seated, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

“I flushed it.” I lied of course,
but I had every intention of getting rid of it as soon as this conversation was
over.

She was staring at nothing in
particular, just shaking her head slowly up and down.

“By the looks of the kitchen it must
be pretty important to you.” I waved my hands through the air as if showcasing
the disaster all around me. “Is it yours?” I asked.

“Yes,” almost as if relieved the
truth was out.

“How long have you been using?” I
asked calmly.

She looked me in the eyes and
replied, “About five years.”

I was shocked by this revelation.
“Five years? Why?”

Paige let out a deep breath before
saying, “Some days I feel like shit. I hate being a mom, I hate sitting home
all day. I hate that you’re gone so much with your job. It doesn’t help when
you’re gone and I find myself waiting by the phone for you to call. Sometimes
just hearing your voice grounds me. Then again when you do call, we have
nothing to say to each other. It’s fucked up.”

She was trying to change the subject
by putting the blame on me and I wasn’t going to let her off the hook easily.
She had been smoking pot for five years and my experience in drug enforcement told
me she had probably tried stronger drugs and was using them occasionally.

“Have you tried other drugs besides
pot?”

She was staring at her hands. “Yes,
heroine once, crack a handful of times, and cocaine every time I go out.”

“How often do you smoke pot, Paige?”

“Every day,” she said.

I released a disappointed breath, doing
my best to center myself. “Are there any other drugs in this house?”

Shaking her head, “No,” she said.

Trying to understand, I asked, “Why
turn to drugs? Why not find a hobby or a job? Or go back to school? Why haven’t
you talked to me?”

“When can I talk to you, Drew? On
the nights you do come home I get a peck on the check. You eat dinner and you
either fall asleep on the couch or head straight to your office to do more
work.” Looking at the palms of her hands she quietly continued, “I got tired of
waiting for you years ago.”

I couldn’t comprehend what she was
trying to tell me. Was her decision to use drugs really my fault?

She carried on, “I can’t tell you
how many nights I lay awake debating our marriage. Your actions. My actions. Or
how many times I’ve told myself I’ve had it with you. Your career. This family.”

Looking at me with coldness in her
eyes she maintained, “In the beginning I wanted this marriage to work. Now I
know I’ll never have your love. Since I can’t have your love, I’ll gladly take
your money.”  Without blinking she concluded, “I started smoking pot to feel
alive and lately I smoke to cope.”

Shocked, I asked, “What are you
saying? That your life as a wife and mother is so miserable you had to turn to
drugs?”

“Yes.”

“I do love you, Paige. When will you
understand that? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to love you the way you expect
me to. I don’t know what you want. I’ve given you everything I am and
everything I have. Tell me, Paige, what else do you want from me?” I implored.

With no emotion on her face she
said, “I want you to quit your job and spend more time with me.”

Shocker!

“Now you’re just talking crazy.” I
started waving my hands in the air. “My job is the one thing that is
nonnegotiable.”

Placing her hands on her hips in a challenging
manner, she asked, “Then you haven’t really given me everything, have you?
There is no need for you to work.”

“And it is the one thing you are not
going to get me to forfeit.” I stated rather loudly.

Crossing her arms over her chest in
a defiant tone she said, “Then I guess I won’t be forfeiting my pot.”