Unsound (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) (21 page)

I got my phone out and speed-dialed my mentor, Dr. Judy Dennis. She’d been one of my instructors at university and a professional, then personal, mentor after she retired. She was also in AA and my new sponsor.

“Hi, Cappy.” She was the only one to call me that, and it made me happy to hear her husky smoker’s voice say my name.

“Hi, Judy. Well, I made it through my first day back at work.”

“Excellent. Whatcha drinking?”

“Perrier with lime.” I stroked Hector, and he blinked his crystal-blue eyes at me. They still reminded me of Richard’s eyes, but I hoped they wouldn’t someday—those were Chris’s eyes too.

“Good girl. The first day back at work is hard and the evening routine even harder.”

“It helps so much to be in the new place. I knew I had to get out of the Palms house the minute I got out of the crater if I was going to stay sober. This is so much better.” Even as I spoke, one of my neighbors, retired Mr. Gonsalez, wandered across the lawn with his binoculars—he kept a close eye on the humpback activity in the Bay. He raised a hand in greeting, which I returned.

“I’m not alone out in the boondocks. I’m right in town. I see people. I’m a part of the community.” I stroked Hector’s soft fur, drawing my fingers along his seal-point ears. He shut his eyes and turned up the purr volume. “I’m away from a lot of my triggers.”

“How bad were your cravings today?”

“About a three and a half.” We used a five-point Likert scale for me to report daily craving levels, with one the worst ever and five completely craving free. I also kept a log of my triggers and how I handled them. “I want to talk about Russell Pruitt.”

“It’s about time.” I heard Judy drag on her cigarette; she’d told me I could be her sponsor when she finally quit smoking. “What brought him up?”

“He’s always there. Taken up residence in the mental closet
Constance used to live in.” I gave a bark of a laugh. “I couldn’t get her back in there if I tried.”

“I’ve always thought the way you disappeared her from your life wasn’t healthy.”

“It wasn’t a choice early on. I missed her too much. The pain was too bad. I put her away because it was so hard to go on without her as only one of a pair of shoes. But in the crater, I realized she was always with me; she lives on in my very DNA. And she has very good taste.”

“So you are bringing her out of Shadow. And now Russell Pruitt is in Shadow, much bigger and scarier.”

“The key is to know and own your Shadow, make friends with it.” A concept out of Jungian psychology I’d always liked. “Also, no one could be stronger and scarier than Constance.” I remembered her voice telling me to stab Russell Pruitt. “I was afraid that if I let her out, really remembered and experienced her, my twin would take me over. I realized that wasn’t the case. I could love and embrace all Constance was—because she’s me too. Ultimately, she gave me the strength to deal with Russell Pruitt.”

“You still feel guilty about his death.” I’d told her the bare bones—that I hadn’t actively killed him while he’d certainly tried to murder me—but I’d taken his life in a passive form of murder.

“I know I shouldn’t feel guilty. No matter how I come at the situation we were in—legally, morally, mental-health-wise—I know I had to defend myself by any means I could find. The coroner cleared me. The ME said that nitro medicine or no nitro, his heart was in bad shape and he could have gone anytime.”

“So why do you feel guilty?”

“I don’t know. He was narcissistic, twisted, and he took me prisoner and did abusive things to me. And yet, until the moment when he was hauling me by my hair to the pit, I didn’t really believe he’d hurt me. I had to keep trying to hold on to my defenses. I felt a real affection for him.”

“You’re the mother of a son close to his age. You felt a degree of responsibility for what happened to him. You’re a kind and compassionate woman. It’s natural.”

“The psychologist I talked to said I was Stockholmed.”

“I actually think that’s too simplistic an explanation for what happened between you two.”

I knew that was true.

I found myself petting Hector too hard, but he just kneaded my lap, potentially ruining my new silk dress. I didn’t care. I felt closer to understanding what had happened between Russell Pruitt and me.

“We were on parallel journeys. He was trying to find out if he was his father, trying to resolve his past by confronting me. I was trying to find out who I was too—make peace with my grief over my twin, with losing my husband and role as a mom. Trying to find out who I was without alcohol. By the end, even our bodies were in sync.”

“That’s amazing. What a great case study it would make.” Her scholar’s mind was always analyzing. “You both resolved things you came to resolve—and in that incredible setting.”

“I know. But I have this guilt. I lived and he didn’t. I lived and Constance didn’t. I feel like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“You know about survivor guilt. You can ascribe meaning to this, or not. Be aware of your process.” Judy was a sharp cookie. She didn’t get to be head of the psychology department at a major university by accident. “I’m interested to see what you make of your life, with this release from the past, uncharted future without Richard, and kicking booze in the teeth.”

I gave a shaky laugh. “Think I’ll do some journaling about it. See what emerges. I was already doing good work I’m proud of, so that doesn’t need improvement.”

“You might be surprised,” Judy said. “Call me tomorrow, same time. Full report, babe.” She hung up.

I sighed, pressed the Off button. Switched to my photo and video cache. I’d purged pictures with Richard out of the phone. I thought someday I’d be able to appreciate all he’d been to me, what he’d brought into my life, but this wasn’t that time. So now I just had pictures of Chris and my little cache of video documentary I was making for my future self.

I’d been able to save the SIM card—it had ridden through my travails in my pocket, and the data had transferred to my new phone. I thumbed to the video called “Haleakala Crater Cabin.”

I pressed the little arrow key, and my haggard image looked me in the eye.

“Caprice, you’re a wreck. You’ve been given another chance at life.” I listened to the riveting monologue ending with, “I’m doing it. I’m suffering now so you, me in the future, can have a better life. Don’t fuck it up.”

I didn’t plan to.

The doorbell rang, an unfamiliar buzz. I stood, and Hector complained, following me as I applied my eye to the peephole.

I felt my pulse pick up. I opened the door. “Hi, Bruce. What brings you here?”

He pushed his Oakleys atop his buzz-cut head. He was holding a fern plant, a glorious one lush with curling, intricate fronds. “Wanted to check the security on the new place.”

I laughed, standing back. “Come on in. Not worried about that anymore.”

He handed me the fern. “Congrats on the move.”

“It’s really a very good thing.” I set the plant on the counter. “Thanks so much; this is gorgeous. I’d offer you a drink but—you know I don’t have any. I can get you some Perrier.”

“Wasn’t checking up on that,” he said. “But I’ll take some, thanks.” He’d walked to the front of the apartment. “Great view, great spot. Do you have a broom handle to put in the slider at night?”

“Seriously, Bruce, the crisis is over,” I said, bending into the fridge to get the bottle of Perrier and the limes. When I stood back up he’d rejoined me in the kitchen, and I could swear he’d been looking at my rear, even though he cut his eyes away before I could be sure.

My cheeks went hot. I busied myself cutting the limes and making the drinks as he turned away, taking in the space. “Nice painting.”

“My son did it. He’s very talented, got a creative side.” I handed him the glass, and our fingers brushed, which activated a tingle somewhere I forgot tingles could be activated. “Want to sit outside?”

“Sure.” We went out to the deck again and sat in the
Adirondack chairs. He put his head back against the solid wood frame, and I let myself look at him over the top of my glass.

He looked tired. Being a station chief was no small responsibility, and I could see it in the tiny puckers of stress beside his mouth, in a line between his brows that never really left. He adjusted his big body in the chair and sighed. “Feels good to smell the ocean.”

“That’s why I’m here. The whales have been jumping in the Bay every evening.”

“Would you go out with me?” he asked suddenly, as if he had to just say it. He turned his head, still resting against the back of the chair, and looked at me. “I’d like to—spend more time with you.”

Heat came wafting back over me like a hot flash—what the hell. I was menopausal, so maybe that was what it was. “I’d like that.” I slurped my Perrier clumsily.

“Good.” He sipped his Perrier. “I find myself thinking about you a lot.”

“Huh. Really.” We talked on the phone almost daily since the crater, but I hadn’t let myself really think about where things were going—it had started to matter too much.

“Yeah. I like you a lot. You’re an amazing woman, Caprice Wilson. Way out of my league.”

“Ha-ha,” I said. My heart was thundering. “Wrong about that. Just a middle-aged alcoholic divorcée.”

“Educated. Beautiful. Smart. Courageous as hell.” He took a sip of the Perrier, shook his head, set the drink down on the side table. “Mostly I really like hugging you.” He patted his lap. “Come on over here.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I said, getting up out of my chair. Bruce folded me in against him. My cheek rested on his chest, and I heard the thump and swish of his heart. I closed my eyes and remembered the last faltering beat of that other great big heart.

Good-bye, Russell Pruitt. Rest in peace
.

Bruce’s heart beat on—strong and regular. I hoped I’d hear it for a very long time.

**************************************

The author following in Dr. Wilson's footsteps on Sliding Sands.

View from the first outcrop Dr. Wilson tries to reach.

Colors like melted crayons.