Arresting Grace Part 16

"What do you do?" Benton asked.

"I'm a voiceover and theatre actor."

"Nice," said Samantha.

"Alright, Edward. Tell us your story."

This was going to be good. I'd never seen Walter's b.u.t.tons pushed like that.

"My cousin just got married. She's twenty years older than me but still my cousin. She lives down in a rural part of San Diego. She called that day, needing help moving a hutch into her trailer. Since I have a pickup truck, my pa and mom and I decided to drive down and make a family day of it. We took two cars.

"We went to lunch with my uncle and my cousin, then back to the trailer. My younger niece was playing the piano. It was a good time. We stayed until it got dark. Then I drove back by myself. The cop pulled me over on the 5 Freeway for a busted taillight. I didn't know I had one."

"LAPD?"

"Yes. The officer smelled weed so I showed him my medical card. He asked if I had been drinking. I told him I had three beers at lunch, but that was hours ago. He said he didn't think I was intoxicated. His partner asked me to step outside of the car."

"That's what they do," said Walter. "Good cop, bad cop."

"They were both nice to me."

"What did you blow?"

"0.08%."

A few groans.

"When I was in jail, they gave me a DNA test."

Samantha kicked me, then gave me a look. "DNA? What the heck?"

"How do they test for DNA?"

"Put a swab in my cheeks."

"You agreed to that?"

"What choice did I have? It was going to be $100 for this fee, $40 for another one. $800 for this cla.s.s, $2000 in fines."

"Did you hire a lawyer?"

"No. They didn't give me a public defender, either. They violated code 2451a and code 2351b."

"The whole thing sounds unconst.i.tutional. Too much Big Brother."

"Well, let's be honest," said Walter. "They profiled you. They saw the tattoos on the neck and profiled you."

"It wasn't just me. They got DNA from everyone in the cell. They're building up their database. It's government takeover."

Walter turned to me. It was nearing 7:00. "Alright, Michael, before we turn you loose, what have you learned?"

"First, let me say, I like you all, but I'm never coming back to this cla.s.s."

"Let's hope not. What are you going to do differently to make sure of that?"

I think he misconstrued my joke. Regardless, I answered the question. "I'd like to say I will never drink and drive again, and I don't plan on it. But we've had this conversation. We can say we're going to do something, or not do something, but when we're in the heat of the moment it's a different thing. I come back to what you say, which is a recurring theme of this cla.s.s: plan ahead of time.

"I was going out and drinking way too much. I knew I shouldn't have been doing it. And if I'm going to take the steps in my life that I want to take-to be the man I want to be, to have a relations.h.i.+p and get married-I can't be doing those things anymore."

"Did you hear that, ladies? He said the 'M' word."

"The weird thing is I found myself quoting you throughout the week. My girlfriend lives in San Jose and we talk every night. Every Tuesday night, I'd spend forty-five minutes or so telling her what happened in cla.s.s. She said, 'But I thought it was a DUI cla.s.s?'"

"But you made it more than that. You care and I appreciate that. I've enjoyed knowing all of you. This cla.s.s has been better than I ever expected. I'm going to miss it. I think back to Angelica. She'll tell anyone about the cla.s.s and her DUI. It doesn't matter; there's no shame for her. You helped take away the shame. This cla.s.s has been a measure of grace."

Walter started the movie, handed me my card and walked out of the room. Louisa insisted I take three pumpkin squares for the road. I hugged her and Samantha. I shook Charles' hand and gave Benton a hug. Said goodbye to the new guys and Courtney and left the room.

Walter was standing in the hallway. I hugged him and said, "You've been a big help."

"I appreciate how you came each week with a desire to learn and to get something out of the cla.s.s."

"You made it easy to do so."

"You're going to be fine."

"Thanks, Walter. It's been a pleasure."

Twelve weeks later, the cla.s.s had defied convention and expectation at every turn. I pedaled my bike home, pa.s.sing a man on the street at the same time he sneezed. "G.o.d bless you," I called to him as I rode past.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Jessie's birthday weekend. She'd been sick for two weeks. Sinus headache, achiness and persistent cough. We'd joked about establis.h.i.+ng a three-foot boundary line between us...no crossing it. It was only a joke. I was still going to hold her, still going to kiss her. There were worse ways to get sick.

Allison picked me up Friday morning to take me to the airport. That week, she'd been hired at a new company, doing advertising for movie theaters. It meant she would be leaving the church office. She'd already given notice and received her offer letter, but was anxious because of the background check, still pending.

"I told my new boss, 'Uh, you're going to find some stuff in there.'"

I laughed. "How did he respond?"

"He said, 'As long as you didn't kill anyone, it's fine.' But I'm still nervous."

At the airport, I thanked her and wished her a nice weekend. "Let me know how that background check turns up."

The flight was only half full and I had a row to myself. I stretched out more generously than usual, though when the pilot announced our descent I sat up like a fidgeting schoolboy. After de-boarding, I ran the length of the terminal, hurrying to get outside where I knew she'd be waiting. I couldn't hold her tightly enough. Back where she belonged, in my arms.

We drove from the airport to Santa Cruz on Highway 17, a windy stretch of road. She'd told me before she gets nervous driving it. Her sister hit a deer once, driving home on the 17, and she had another friend who had wrecked on it.

"You're going to have to stop looking at me while I'm driving," she said.

"It's going to be hard. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Well, you have all weekend to see me. Pace yourself."

I had taken Friday off and was flying back late Sunday afternoon. For her birthday, she'd used a floating holiday, which gave us the day together. We found a parking garage in downtown Santa Cruz ($.50 an hour to park. Are you kidding? In L.A. or San Francisco it would be $15 an hour.) and walked the block, looking for a place to eat. I stopped mid-stride to look at her.

"How does that happen, that you get more beautiful on your birthday?"

"Stop it. You're embarra.s.sing me."

"Did you feel it happen? 12:01 came and you felt yourself getting more beautiful?"

"Press here to blush."

We found a restaurant with a menu we liked and went inside. "I'll be right back," she said, keeping her purse with her. "Are you going to sit beside me?"

"If you want me to."

"Yes, please."

She went to the restroom and I sat at the table, praying while I waited. "G.o.d, thank you for a safe flight. Would you bless this weekend? May we speak to each other honestly and sincerely. Thank you for Jessie, her life, for every year she's been on this earth. Thank you for her parents, their love for her and the way they've raised her. Thank you for the woman she is."

She returned. I moved out and gave her the seat by the window. The sun was too bright and we asked the restaurant manager to lower the blinds. We decided to share an order of pancakes, as well as a Santa Fe omelet with black beans and salsa. She knew me too well. I will always choose breakfast over lunch if it's anywhere south of noon, and usually something sweet. The food came and I prayed over it.

"Try this," I offered, putting a strawberry on my fork.

"You're going to get sick."

"I'll be fine."

The spontaneous moments-where we sat in a booth, side by side, with half-drawn shades, laughing and enjoying the other's company-these are the ones we'll miss the most. We left the cafe and walked the court square, window shopping through the storefront panes. We pa.s.sed a jewelry shop. I kept quiet for a moment.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you. Tell me."

"Nothing," I smiled. "I'm enjoying the moment."

She pretended to pout. "You were thinking something. Tell me."

"I'll tell you later."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

We drove to a nearby beach, the Boardwalk area. We found a parking s.p.a.ce on the street and changed shoes. I put on a t-s.h.i.+rt, then reached for our jackets and the sleeping bag. She looked in her billfold for meter change. A man approached us. "There's free parking in the lot today," he said. "You don't need to pay on Fridays."

We thanked him and drove into the lot.

The Boardwalk was Coney Island-like, at least what I imagined Coney Island to be like. An arcade, pirate s.h.i.+p decor. Unfortunately, the beach wasn't as endearing. Flies everywhere. Seaweed patches drowning the sand. We unrolled the tarp and took off our shoes; she rolled up her jeans. But fifteen minutes of constant flies landing on us was too much and we decided to leave for a better beach.

She'd heard of a place called Panther Beach, supposedly scenic and somewhat isolated (and hopefully clean) and plugged it into the phone's GPS. Unfortunately, the computerized voice (We named her "Celeste") gave us bad directions and took us on a 30-minute drive to nowhere. What Celeste claimed was Panther Beach, we saw as a residential neighborhood. Jessie took it in stride. Though sick, she drove patiently all the while. We never found Panther Beach. Instead, we settled on Natural Bridges Beach, and by the look of things, we weren't the only ones taking Friday off. The beach was splattered with sun wors.h.i.+ppers.

Of course, who could blame them? A gorgeous day. Sunny, probably 80.

I took off my socks and shoes. She teased me for my feet, sheet-white. "Reminder to self," I thought. "Work on tanning them this summer."

She liked the swimsuit a woman nearby was wearing. A dark green one.

"I can see you wearing a swimsuit like that."

"You just like picturing me in a bikini. I could wear a potato sack and you'd say it was flattering."

"That's true," I admitted. (Actually, I had imagined us in an over-the-water beach bungalow in Tahiti. With her wearing the swimsuit, of course.) I'd sent her a card recently, a picture of an antique clock on the front, that read, "When I'm with you, time flies by." Truer words hard to imagine. The day was gone before we knew it. We decided to use the restroom before heading back to San Jose. For some reason, Snoop Dogg's "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang" was stuck in my head and I couldn't stop singing it. After the twelfth time, she jabbed me in the arm and told me to pick a new song. I used the restroom, then walked up a slight embankment and waited for her in the parking lot. I was holding the sleeping bag and, when she came out, threw it to her. Mine was a bad pa.s.s and she dropped it. I put my hands up like I was calling for a football and she threw it back to me-a great pa.s.s, tight spiral.

"Wow, I'm impressed with myself. That was an amazing throw."

"It was alright."

"Alright? That was a perfect throw. Much better than yours."

"Don't get c.o.c.ky," I told her. (It was a nice throw, though I wasn't going to tell her. Maybe later.) We packed our things and returned to the car.

There's a bakery in San Jose-Aki's-famous for its guava cake. I'd never tasted guava cake, but Jessie raved about it. "The best cake in the world." And she guaranteed it. She'd ordered one the day before, and we needed to pick it up before driving to Palo Alto for her birthday dinner.

The cake did look spectacular. At the bakery, I was tempted to open it and steal a slice before we got on the road. Instead, she ordered a chocolate chew cookie at the bakery and we shared it on the way. One of the best cookies I've had, though I'm sure the company I was keeping had something to do with it.

We arrived at the restaurant early and went to freshen up and change in the restrooms. I put on another s.h.i.+rt, switched shoes and washed my face. In and out in five minutes. I sat at the bar, waiting for her. Not so quick on her end. A half hour later, she joined me. But the wait was worth it. Wearing tight black pants, black-strapped heels and a black blouse.

"You're beautiful," I said.

The dinner was sure to be interesting. Different spheres of friends-some from law school, some church and some childhood. For the most part, the spheres don't come into contact with each other. But every now and then, during birthday dinners or farewell parties, they conjoin for a common cause: in this case, Jessie. I'd met Gene and Olivia, Denise and Larry, Dar and Elliot. But I'd never met Ingrid. I'd heard much about her. She and Jessie went to law school together. She bought a three-story Victorian home (with a lower level that had been used as a crack house) and spent a year making repairs.

We'd speculated on the way to the restaurant which guests would be first to arrive and who would be last. Gene and Olivia were driving from San Francisco together and, "knowing both of them," she said, they'd be late. Evelyn would probably be first.

Of course, Young would be last. He was in a meeting until 8:00.

I was staying with him that weekend. He was renting a room from a Filipino family in Millbrae. I asked Jessie the week before if I could invite him. "That's a great idea," she said. "I should have thought about that." Young was surprised (and I think happy) to be invited. He'd only met her twice. He said he would come straight from the meeting to the restaurant. I told him we'd save him a seat.