By Way of Autumn

  By Way of Autumn

  Jacqueline Druga

  By Way of Autumn

  By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2015 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you so very much to Kira R and to Shona for your editorial help services.

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan

  www.coversbychristian.com

  ONE – STICKY

  July 7

  Tell me what to say.

  What can I do to make it right?

  What’s wrong?

  Nothing.

  But that wasn’t the truth. Something was wrong. I just know what it was. How many times over the last year did my husband Jeff ask me what was wrong? “Tess,” he would say. “Come on tell me. How can we fix this?”

  There was nothing I could tell him. I did have an answer for him, but was it one that would really fix it all? I struggled with it myself, trying to find happiness, living day by day, feeling my emotions slip away. I felt horrible because there was absolutely nothing wrong with Jeff. He was a good man, he provided for his family, was there when we needed him. He never cheated or lied.

  It was me.

  Not that I cheated or lied, I didn’t.

  There was no question in my mind whether I loved my husband. I did. I just didn’t know how much or if it was even the type of love needed to make a marriage work. We were doing something right as we celebrated our seventeenth anniversary on the first of July.

  We had a barbeque in the backyard, nothing romantic, no gifts, just a cook out in the backyard because it was too hot to cook in the kitchen.

  The air conditioning wasn’t working properly and the desert air always seemed to hover and linger over our town a little longer than it should.

  We didn’t hold hands, kiss, we barely slept in the same bed. It wasn’t for lack of trying on Jeff’s part.

  He was married before me. There is nothing negative to say about Jeff’s ex. Samantha was a bright woman, a professor at UCLA. They married young, broke up young, and shared in the raising of their daughter, Nicole.

  Without animosity.

  It worked the way it should.

  I came into the picture when Nicole was just five. Samantha welcomed me as a co-parent and I was never viewed as the evil stepmother.

  I thank God for that.

  Nicole was bright and funny, artistic and outgoing. Then Samantha was killed in a car accident when Nicole was thirteen and all that changed.

  She didn’t become a bad kid, just a quiet one.

  Our daughter Julie was six when Nicole moved in with us. With respect to Samantha, I gave my all to Nicole.

  Jeff never understood the ‘change’ in his daughter, I did. She lost her mother, a good woman, her best friend.

  To compound that, Jeff had taken a teaching job in a school district outside of Los Angeles, California.

  Our family was uprooted.

  We found a great house, in a small town called Falcon’s Way. A green spot nestled between the mountains and the desert. Population 2314. In a way it was a good thing.

  A fresh start.

  If I were to pin point a change in our relationship, it would be when the incident caused Nicole’s downfall.

  It wasn’t when she got pregnant at eighteen. That I embraced. She did so well, never asked us for a thing. Maybe if she did, she wouldn’t have gotten in trouble.

  Two weeks before her son Tag’s fourth birthday, Nicole was arrested for armed robbery. She was the driver in an incident that turned deadly. Two people died. The clerk inside the store, and the woman she hit when she drove off.

  Life was turned upside down.

  She had a child.

  Nicole wasn’t with the father, and the Los Angeles County Children Services gave us custody until she completed her incarceration. Then again, without parole, Tag would be a grown man when she got out.

  Why didn’t she ask for help? She said she did it for rent money. We didn’t have much, but we would have done what we could. Jeff never forgave her.

  One day he would have to, because Nicole never forgave herself.

  I always wanted to tell him when he would ask the repetitive question about what he could do.

  I wanted to say, “Make it right with Nicole.”

  But I knew he wouldn’t. He would have to find a way to do so on his own.

  Still, we lived our lives day to day, there was no rationale to separate, and I just constantly searched for reasons to stay together.

  We ended up with a reason.

  Not that Tag wasn’t reason enough. He was. But any inkling to leave was tossed out the window when I found out I was pregnant. Intimacy was sparse and I could pinpoint the day we conceived.

  It was a surprise. A result of delusion by wine. Too young to be a grandmother, too old to have a newborn. I was in the proverbial hard place. Even with Julie a couple years from college, I was going nowhere.

  I had to find a happy medium because life, for as unfair and unbalanced as it could be, wasn’t going to change any time soon.

  At least that was what I thought.

  TWO – ROUTINE

  July 8

  There was no drawn out trial, Nicole pled guilty and was sentenced to twenty-five years. Since she was moved to a state penitentiary almost a year earlier, it was my weekly routine, no matter the weather or circumstances, to go on a visitor day. I never missed a Sunday neither did Tag or Julie. I was grateful, and it was easier once the prison system switched Sunday visitor hours from eight a.m. to one p.m. That made things easier. Still, it was something that was part of our lives; everything else was planned around it. I was still trying to figure out how I wouldn’t miss a Sunday when the baby came in three months.

  I actually panicked about that.

  More than anything I didn’t want her to feel abandoned because of a mistake. One that she felt and regretted every day.

  I liked the summers better because we didn’t have to rush back. At the beginning of the month we stayed at a cheap motel after the visit and returned home the next morning.

  Visit fifty-one would more than likely be the same as the previous ones.

  This Sunday was no different. We woke up, rushed as we always did, downed a quick breakfast of cereal, and as a family, the four of us went to church. Every Sunday, I searched Reverend Ray’s words for something that Jeff would hear as a sign to go with us. Each week I believed I heard something, but Jeff did not.

  We filed out of the community church, and like every week, the young reverend imported to us from Ohio, would wish us a safe journey, turn to Jeff and ask, “Will you be going?”

  “Not this week, Reverend.” Jeff answered, the same, never making eye contact. A quick shake of his hand and off Jeff went ahead of us down the steps.

  We weren’t a big town, one of those places everyone knew everyone’s business. They all knew we went to the prison to see Nicole and that Jeff stayed behind.

  By ten a.m. we were back home. I quickly made sandwiches for the trip and packed us a small bag. Jeff planted himself in front of the television.

  What was going through his mind? Did he debate going? One day he would truly regret it.

  “Jules, can you get Tag in the car seat?” I asked.

  “Sure. Come on, Tag.” She reached out her hand for her nephew.

  I noticed her blonde hair was in a ponytail. “Hey, did you bring an extra band for your hair?” I asked. “Last time they made you remove it.”

  “Yeah. I’m ready this time.” She o
pened the door. “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetie. Remember I won’t see you until Wednesday.”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow,” Julie said, with some shock.

  “I’m filling in this week in Santa Ana.”

  Julie cringed. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry Daddy.”

  She and Tag darted back in to kiss him goodbye. Jeff was very loving with Tag and Julie; it broke my heart that he just couldn’t find it in his heart for Nicole.

  After the two of them stepped out, I placed my hands on Jeff’s shoulders and leaned down from behind him and kissed him on the cheek. “I wish you were going.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I’ll call you when we get to the motel.”

  “Please.” He grabbed my hand. “Be safe.”

  “You, too.”

  I tossed my purse over my shoulder, grabbed our brown bag lunch, and moved toward the door.

  “Tess.”

  I stopped.

  “Try to eat. I’m making some extra cash from this teaching stint. Take the kids to dinner tonight.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. You’re eating for two and when you do these trips, I know you barely eat for one.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  No sooner had I stepped onto the porch, than Del Bender, my spry and friendly senior neighbor lifted his hand in a wave, while trimming the hedges.

  I returned the wave and he signaled me to stop, held up a finger and went into the house.

  The kids were already in the car, it was hot and I tossed my items in the car.

  “Can I drive?” Julie asked.

  “Honey, we are cutting it close.”

  “I know. I know. Please.” She begged. “I’ll be careful and I won’t be too slow.”

  I was thinking about it when Del crossed our lawn holding a bag.

  “Tess.” He handed me the bag. “Mary made this. Some cookies. Maybe Nickie would like some.”

  “Aw that is really sweet, please tell Mary thank you.”

  “Mom,” Julie pressed. “Can I please?”

  “The highway is dangerous. You’re just starting.”

  “I’ll drive until the highway. Statistically speaking, the chances of me having anything more than a fender bender right now are slim. Please?”

  “Yeah, go on.”

  “Yes.” She clenched her fist and hurriedly got into the driver’s seat, probably, before I could change my mind.

  “Statistically speaking,” Del said. “How many ‘statistically speakings’ do you hear a day?”

  “As many as she can dig up on that phone.”

  “Don’t think she makes them up?” he asked.

  “No, she enjoys statistics. And I can bet she looked up the statistics of new drivers and accidents.”

  “Hmm.” He grumbled. “You’re a brave woman, there, Tess. I saw her pull out of the driveway. Statically speaking, she’ll knock out that mailbox by next week.”

  “Probably. I’ll let her drive until we reach I-10, then I’ll take it. Give her a half hour of practice. Thanks again for the cookies.”

  Del nodded then peeked in the car. “Watch your left as you pull out, don’t cut it too soon or you’ll hit the mailbox again.” He said to Julie, and then peeked in the back seat. “See ya Stevie.”

  Tag giggled and waved. Del was the only one who called him Stevie, refused to call him, as he put it, the baby name.

  Finally we were all in and Julie backed out. As always, I held my breath, tensed up when I saw her cut the wheel too soon, and cringed when I heard the crack.

  “Shoot.” Julie gave me an apologetic look.

  “I got it!” Del yelled. “Get going.”

  Julie looked out the window. “Thanks Mr. Bender.” She cut the wheel, again too soon, hitting a curb shot as she straightened out the car and got on the main street. “He’s so nice,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

  “You’re fine, just pay attention.”

  Three houses down the street, Tag said, “Sam is decorating again.”

  I looked at the house across the street. There was a giant flag in the front lawn and other Patriotic memorabilia decorated it.

  “Looks like another antenna,” Julie said.

  “Don’t look at Sam’s house, just drive.” I instructed.

  “I like Sam,” Tag said. “He’s fun. He said he’ll teach me how to shoot a gun when I’m older.”

  “Swell,” I waved to Sam.

  Sam was a nice man and Tag was always racing over to his house to talk. He was the neighborhood eccentric. His house not only screamed it was in dire need of repairs, but also it cried out ‘American’. Sam, as a veteran, let everyone know he served his country. As did his father and grandfather.

  He was indeed hanging another antennae or something like that on his roof. He had so many antennas and dishes, I worried his already failing roof would collapse. But Sam kept adding them.

  Julie was too engrossed in watching him, despite my instruction to mind the road. She swerved once, straightened out, flashed me a smile and drove on.

  I knew I was a glutton for punishment for allowing her to drive. Hopefully, we’d make it on time. At least when I took over on the highway, we stood a chance.

  THREE – REGRETS

  Julie was talkative. Not that she didn’t talk a lot as it was. Julie loved to ramble. But on the trip, she was especially chatty. Her enthusiasm for life was amazing. She was the brightest in her class, and the most responsible teenager. I didn’t get angst from her. I got a great friend, and a daughter who respected me as a mother.

  Her hair was a lot lighter than mine, but she wore it the same style and length. Plain enough to pull off a clean cut look, and just long enough to pull back. Julie didn’t need make up, even though she wore it. I believed it was because she was insecure about her weight. I never saw an issue, I only saw this great child of mine. But kids were cruel. Julie had it tough. My heart broke for her so many times when she’d come home crying. Even as a teenager, she didn’t have many friends. Nor did she ever have a boyfriend. She was a beautiful girl, that in my opinion, was going to soar when she grew up.

  We had pulled over to our usual switch spot to change driving responsibilities. A truck passed us, causing my heart to jump. I hated pulling over. Even though I did so deep enough into the shoulder of the road, I worried about someone ramming into us. Especially with Tag in the back seat.

  “Did you see that guy?”

  “Which guy?” I asked, getting into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.”

  “I am,” She fastened her belt. “The one in the passenger seat.”

  “I didn’t look.”

  “You should have. He looked like one of the J’s.”

  I hesitated before pulling out. “The J’s?”

  “Yeah, you know. They live down the street. Their mom and dad host the block party every year.”

  From the back seat, Tag said, “Josh and James.”

  “Oh.” I sang out and pulled on to the busy road. “Okay, Josh and James Mason.” I knew who she was talking about. They lived down the street and I remembered them when we moved in. They were funny, upbeat and always selling something when they were kids.

  “I’m gonna marry one of them.”

  “Who?” I asked with shock.

  “The Mason’s. Probably. Josh.”

  “Julie, I think he’s a little old for you.”

  “Right now,” she said. “He’s twenty-two. But in five years, it won’t be that bad.”

  Suddenly, Tag giggled.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “Julie will be one of the J’s.”

  Julie grinned widely and turned back to look at her nephew. “Yes, you’re right. Way to go Taggy. I’ll be a J.” She faced me again. “They are so cute.”

  “They’re old for you.”

  “But they’re cute.”

  I nodded. “They’re cute.” And they were. Neither of t
hem were bad boys. They worked jobs. Wasn’t sure what they did, but they still lived with their parents so whatever it was, it didn’t pay much. “I just … I just always thought maybe Nicole for one of them.”

  Julie gasped so loudly, I thought she’d choke on her gum. “Mommy, no, you can’t give Nicole to one of them.”

  “What’s wrong with your sister?”

  “Nothing is wrong with my sister, for them, she’s wrong. They go to church all the time. We see them. And Nicole is …” She lowered her voice to a whisper, held up her hand to block her mouth and said, “Tainted.” Julie pointed back to Tag.

  “Oh, my God. Stop hanging out with Mrs. Bender.”

  “I like Mrs. Bender. Plus, she gave us cookies for Nicole. If you think about it, tainted or not, by the time, Nicole gets, you know, released … statistically speaking, one of the J’s will already have been married and divorced. And more than likely, when she gets out, she’ll not have any interest in men.”

  “Julie.” I scolded.

  “It’s true.”

  “Statically speaking?” I asked.

  She smiled and sat back. “Yep.”

  The Hideaway Hotel located about six miles south of the prison and just outside of Chino was our preferred location of lodging.

  Stan, the motel manager/owner was always a bright spot. He insisted that we check in before we went to the prison. Always fearful that there might be some sort of riot, we wouldn't return and he loses the money for the room. I don't believe anyone was ever knocking people over to get a room there.

  So, we checked in, and headed straight to the prison after dropping off our things in our room. It wasn't the best motel. It was far from it.

  An ‘'L” shaped, single story building with maybe fourteen rooms, at one time it was probably a great place to be. Affordable accommodation for traveling families over the past decades. Now it was an affordable place to stay for people visiting loved ones in prison. I was pretty sure it hadn't been updated since 1982.

  We arrived at the prison with seven minutes to spare. Good thing, because they wouldn’t let us in if we were late.