Here’s one more transitional short story to tide you over while you wait for Cheated to Death, Angeles Investigations #1, to be released in one week. Have you preordered yet? Links are in the Angeles Investigations tab at the top of the page.
After all, we haven’t gotten Jamie and Pete back to Santa Monica. Until now.
Saturday, July 1
We left Alamogordo at five in the morning on Saturday, trying to beat the heat of the day. Pete drove the CR-V, with Ammo; I drove the Jeep. Both cars were loaded, even though we’d sent most of our stuff ahead via UPS. Meredith, stalwart soul that she was, got up to see us off. She hugged us both tightly. “Drive safe. Text me when you get to the ranch.”
Pete said, “We will.”
She smiled at me sadly. “I’m happy for you two that you’re going home, but I hate that it’s going to be so long before I see you again.”
I said, “You have to come for a visit. Bring Jesse.”
“We’d love that.” She hugged me again. “Thanks for everything.”
“Thank you.”
Pete said, “We’ll talk to you in a few days.”
“Okay.” She leaned into the car to kiss Ammo on the head. “You be a good boy.”
I said, “Always.”
We stopped about every hour to stretch our legs and Ammo’s, but still made it to Tucson in good time. A few minutes before noon, we were pulling into the driveway of the ranch house belonging to Pete’s sister, Christine, and her husband, Andy Fernandez. We drove around to the back of the house and parked. Ammo peed on a boulder, then we lifted our overnight bags from the back of the Jeep and met Chris on the porch where she waited for us.
She hugged us both. “Good drive?”
I said, “Yeah. Traffic wasn’t bad.”
Pete asked, “Are the guest houses full?”
“Yes. I’ll never understand people who want to vacation in the desert in the summer, but I’m glad they do. Although we’re starting to think about shutting down in both July and August next year.” The ranch already closed for a month in August due to the heat. “Anyway, come on in. You’re in the room at the top of the stairs.”
We spent most of the rest of the day in the kitchen. Pete insisted on cooking dinner for the family, and Chris didn’t argue. Mid-afternoon, Chris and Andy’s older daughter, our niece Stephanie, stopped by. She was in a nursing Ph.D. program at the University of Arizona – which Pete and I were paying for – and regaled us with tales about her weirder classmates.
The entire family gathered for dinner around the wooden trestle table in the kitchen, and we had a wonderful visit. I would have loved to talk well into the evening, but Pete and I wanted to start early again in the morning. We said goodnight at about 8:30 and reluctantly went to bed.
Sunday, July 2
We repeated our early morning performance on Sunday, merging onto the 10 by five. An hour later, we turned west onto the 8, and I felt a weight lift from my shoulders that I hadn’t even realized was there. As far as I was concerned right now, the 8 had one reason to exist: to get me home to San Diego.
The freeway fulfilled its duty to me. By 11:30, we were leaving the 8 for the 5, headed north to Oceanside. Forty-five minutes later, we pulled into my dad’s driveway.
Just as Chris had, Dad greeted us on the porch. He hugged us and rubbed Ammo’s ears. “Are you hungry?”
Pete laughed. “When have you known your youngest to not be hungry?”
“Fair point.”
I said, “Hey! I can hear you, you know.”
My dad grinned. “Come on in. I’ll make BLTs.”
We spent the day on the back porch with Dad and Claudia, watching Val’s horses and talking about nothing in particular. That evening, we walked over to Jeff and Val’s for Pete’s birthday dinner, one day early. Gabe was home from Davis for a brief visit, and updated us on his exploits. We ate fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob, with carrot cake for dessert.
That night, Pete and I were in bed, in Dad’s front guest room. It was late, but neither of us was sleepy. Pete asked, “What are you thinking?”
“It doesn’t feel real yet.”
“How so?”
“It’s hard to describe. In my mind, I’m sort of expecting to go back to Alamogordo next week, even though I know that won’t happen.” I turned my head to look at him. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s hard to describe.”
I poked him in the ribs. “That’s my line.”
He chuckled then said, “It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. I’m watching us travel, eat, interact with our families, but it kinda feels like I’m seeing it on film, or through someone else’s eyes.”
“Yes. That’s a much better explanation. It’s surreal.”
He squeezed my hand. “We’re leaving a lot of trauma behind us. It’s normal to feel disoriented. You described it once as being released from prison. Even though I protested at the time, I suspect it’s similar.”
“Let’s plan to never go through anything like this again.”
“Agreed.”
Monday, July 3
In spite of our lack of sleep, we got up early. Jeff, Val, and Gabe came for breakfast, and Dad made blueberry pancakes. We said “see you soon” to everyone, loaded Ammo into the car, and headed north.
We were home by eleven. I pulled the Jeep into our first parking space, under the deck, and Pete parked behind me. We let Ammo pee against the concrete wall that divided our alley from the property on the other side, then climbed the stairs to the deck and unlocked the back door. Pete unleashed Ammo while I punched the code to silence the security system. He put water down for Ammo then followed me to the living room, where I was surveying the stacks of boxes that had been delivered on Friday. Drew Jemison, our next-door neighbor, had overseen their arrival.
Pete came to stand beside me and draped his arm around my shoulders. “We have a lot to do before Wednesday.”
On Wednesday, the future staff of Angeles Investigations – Rob Jones, Jamilah Daly, my brother Kevin, and I – were meeting at our new office building in Brentwood to make plans and see what else needed to be done before we opened on August first. Kevin was in North Carolina visiting our relatives; he’d be joining by FaceTime. I said, “We don’t have to do it all by Wednesday.”
“Yeah, but I know you. These boxes will be unloaded and broken down and their contents put away by the end of the day tomorrow.” He hugged my shoulders then let go. “Did you text everyone to let them know we’re here?”
“Oh. No, let me do that.” I pulled out my phone and sent a group text to Dad, Jeff, Val, Kevin, Kristen, Rob, Jamilah, Christine, Meredith, Pete’s brother Steve, our neighbors Drew and Holly, and Ali and Mel.
The Eagles Have Landed.
My phone immediately blew up with acknowledgements. Ali’s said, Happy anniversary! See you tomorrow at four?
I replied, Thanks! See you then. Ali and Mel were hosting a Fourth of July party.
Pete had gone to the kitchen and was rummaging around. “Steve didn’t leave much.”
Steve had been living here for the past month while he chose, then bought, a condo closer to Hawthorne and SpaceX, where he was now working. He’d moved over the weekend to a two-bedroom in Redondo Beach. I said, “You told him he could take what he wanted.”
“I know. I didn’t know he’d want nearly everything.”
“We’ll go to Ralph’s tomorrow morning.” Ralph’s was one of our local grocery store chains.
“Right. Want a Coke?”
“Sure.”
Pete pulled two Cokes from the fridge and we carried them to the front patio. The jasmine that wound through the wrought iron fence was blooming, and the vegetable gardens that Drew had been tending were bursting with tomatoes, peppers, onions, and herbs. I said, “Looks like you’ll be making salsa this year.”
“Absolutely.” Pete popped the top on his Coke and took a drink. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“Cars.”
“What about ‘em?”
“Now that we’re back here for good, don’t you think it’s time to go electric?”
“Ah.” We’d discussed electric cars before. In New Mexico, it hadn’t been practical; there was very little infrastructure to support EVs in our part of the state. “I’m not buying a Tesla.”
“Of course not. There are plenty of other options now.” Pete pulled out his phone and started tapping on the screen, then handed it to me. “Look at that.”
I looked. “It’s a VW!”
Pete grinned. “Yup. Your car ownership can come full circle.”
My first car, when I’d returned to the U.S. from England after grad school, was a VW Bug. I’d loved that car and had driven it until it died. Pete had owned an old Jeep Cherokee at the time; we wore that one out, too. Our current cars were trouble-free, but they were several years old. And gas was far more expensive in California than in New Mexico.
The car on the screen was a VW ID.4, an electric SUV. I said, “Ooh! Nice.”
“Very.”
“Built in Tennessee.”
“Yup.”
“We’ll have to get a charger installed outside.”
“Two chargers. I might as well get one, too.”
“Oh. Do you want to get rid of the Jeep?”
Pete shrugged. “It’s not very practical. Or efficient.”
“True.” I read through the specs. “Are they in stock?”
“I doubt it. After we go to Ralph’s tomorrow, we can visit the VW dealer and find out.”
I handed Pete’s phone back to him. “Now we can’t go back to New Mexico. There’s no place to charge the cars.”
He gave me a look. “We could have chargers installed there.”
“Or not.”
He chuckled. “Or not. Yet. Where do you want to eat dinner?”
“Chandni.” The Indian restaurant that was just around the corner from our house.
“Perfect.” He sighed deeply. “It’s good to be home.”
“It sure is. Happy birthday.”
He reached out for my hand. “Happy anniversary.”
I squeezed his hand then raised my legs and tapped my heels together. “There’s no place like home…”
He laughed. “First chance we get, let’s hike up to Eagle Rock.” Where Pete proposed, and where we got married.
“Wednesday, after our meeting.”
“Perfect.”
A siren whooped, then a Santa Monica PD cruiser sped by, lights flashing. I said, “Welcome home.”
Pete held up his Coke can. “Here’s to LA.”
I clicked my can against his. “Here’s to home.”
Meg Perry Books 