Circle in the Sand (2 page)

I sit on a brick wall just after sunrise, knowing the odds are against me. I watch
the waves twenty yards in front of me—rolling, crashing, spraying, and bringing me
solitude. This is where I need to be this morning. I shake the hair from my eyes and
let the breeze blow it back. Some days, you can lick your lips and taste a hint of
salt; today is one of them. The air is crisp, enticing goose bumps on my exposed arms,
awakening my senses, and reminding me why I call this place home.

I look far beyond the whitewash hoping for a sign. The same sign I’ve searched for
on so many other occasions. I need to see the smooth, dark-gray back folding over
in the ocean as it releases a massive spray of water. That’s my sign. It’s tells me
everything is going to be okay. I have a better chance after sundown, but I need to
see this now, before my appointment. Some sort of encouragement would be nice when
I’m feeling so alone in this. Yes, I’m used to going it alone, but this time is different.

With my hands pressed down and grinding against the brick, I hang my head for a moment.
Close my eyes and think. I go over the last few months and wonder about some of the
decisions I’ve made. I know it seems as if I don’t care what people think, but this
one is big. I have no problem admitting that I screwed up. I can say that; I’m not
a hypocrite. I say a silent prayer in my head, but as I often do, I cannot stay focused
on what I’m praying for. That’s because as of late I don’t know what I want. I begin
to sing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison, the first song my dad taught me on the
guitar when I was only eight years old. Those are my favorite memories of him, when
it felt as if I had a real dad. My voice comes out soft, almost a whisper, and I can
hear the music in my head. I tell myself that by the time I get to the chorus, I’ll
glance up and find what I need to see.

The familiar smell of eggs and onion from my favorite taco shop on the corner float
under my nose, carried by the ocean breeze. I haven’t eaten and now I’m distracted.
An egg burrito from Juan’s could be my sign, I try to convince myself. But it’s no
use. I hear the mechanical sound of something rolling toward me, so I stop singing.
But I don’t open my eyes. I just wait for it to pass.

“Hey, sexy,” I hear behind me.

The voice doesn’t match the words, so I’m curious. The thought of sustenance fades
as I pop my head up, shift my body on the wall to face the sidewalk. A boy on a scooter,
probably mid-teens, stares at me as he rolls slowly by.

“Hey!” I yell, stopping him in his tracks. My voice is sharp and deep, and for a second,
he is frightened by it, but then I smile and see his fear melt into relief. I know
I have this power over people—to make them fear me or love me. “C’mere, man.”

His skin is light brown and reminds me of a warm cup of coffee that could whisk my
chill way. Braids flutter on each side of his head like some crazy Red Riding Hood
as he rolls toward me. His white T-shirt looks like an undershirt, with a gold cross
on a chain hanging between the V-neck. His dark blue jeans hang low on his waist.
I don’t comment on the blue-and-white checkered boxers that border the top. Worst
fashion trend since headbands.

“What’s up, sexy?” he says and then smiles wide. His teeth are gorgeous, straight
and white. It’s an effort not to be taken in.

“What do you think you’re doing calling a strange woman sexy?” I’m copying Emily’s
tone when she speaks to her kids, though I don’t particularly mind his comment. I
want to see what his response is.

He shrugs as he rolls closer and appears surprised to be getting a lecture from someone
like me. I’m often told I look much younger than my twenty-eight years. I’m only five-two
and my light skin and chubby cheeks don’t help. “And why aren’t you in school?” I
can tell this kid has a story.

“I got suspended. What’s your name so I won’t have to call you sexy?”

I’m betting this type of charm works on girls his age, but still, I indulge him. I’m
enjoying this distraction. “It’s Jax. What’s yours?”

“Dante.” Then he tilts his head a click to the side. “Hey, I know you.” He lets his
scooter fall to the ground and, in one leap, hops up on the wall, staring down at
me. “I saw you with your grandma when I was visiting my great aunt, Lydia.”

I recognize instantly he’s talking about Rose and Oak Grove, and I’m sure I’ve even
spoken to Lydia before. My new connection with Rose has me there more, but not to
volunteer. “That’s not my grandma,” is all I say.

“I heard you reading that boring ass book to them old ladies.” He turns away and takes
a few steps along the wall as if it’s a balance beam.

“That boring ass book is
Pride and Prejudice
—a classic.”

“Yeah, well I’m against prejudice,” he says in a serious tone. Then he squints over
his shoulder and shoots me a grin.

“So why’d you get suspended?” I ask, finding myself liking this kid’s style for some
reason. I have no idea what time it is, so I should leave soon. But I still need my
sign, and I want to find out more about Dante. This is what I live for—the opportunity
to meet an interesting soul. It’s the reason we’re on this earth: to love, learn,
and experience. One of the most worthwhile ways to do that is through human interaction.

“We were in English class, and I turned to my friend Eugene and said, “Whoa, dat ass!”

I hold back a smile and say, “So they’re pretty strict about language at your school,
huh?” I went to private school and less than that would have gotten you suspended.
That’s why I spent half of eighth grade at home watching
Days of Our Lives
.

“No it wasn’t the language, it was
dat
ass.”

“What?”

“Dat ass belonged to my English teacher.” Dante spun on the wall, up on one toe like
a ballerina. He was clearly proud of his performance, here and in the classroom.

I laugh, but contain myself quickly. I know I shouldn’t encourage the kid. I went
through my own time of disrespect and challenging of authority, but this is his journey.
I can hear in his voice; he will learn. “So shouldn’t you be at home then?”

“My mom sent me to the store.
Shit
, I better go before she beats
my
ass.”

“Well it was nice meeting you, Dante.” I shield my eyes with one hand and reach up
to him with the other. He’s not paying attention to me and is now facing the water.

“Damn! Did you see that, Jax?” He points out to the sea, and I swivel back that way.
My gaze follows his arm, my eyes scramble around until they make a connection. There
it is. A solitary whale, bobbing in and out of the water, blasting a beautiful spray
of ocean in the air. I fill my lungs with refreshing sea air, then let it all whoosh
out freely.

“Thank you, Dante.”

●●●

I sit in the waiting room staring at my phone. I should leave Sage a message, in case
I’m late. I’d driven twenty miles out of the way to get to this place, to make sure
I didn’t run into anyone I know. So I’ll be cutting it close to get home on time.
But I hate to lie so I decide otherwise and turn my phone off. It’s not only that
I hate to lie; often I’m simply incapable of it. I don’t tell someone their new haircut
looks nice if it’s crap. I don’t say I’m fine with something if I’m not. If you know
me, you understand you’re going to get it straight. I might throw out a warning of,
“You don’t want to hear my opinion.” That’s when you get lucky.

I search through my giant purse for something to do to keep my mind occupied. It’s
cluttered, but contains most anything I’d need in a variety of situations. I’m nothing
if not prepared. Watching CNN as the other three in the room are doing is not an option.
I couldn’t care less about political bullshit. The bracelet I made for Sage’s grandmother,
Rose, is still in the plastic bag in the side pocket and catches my eye. She loved
it, but it was too big so now I have to adjust it. I should have remembered her wrist
was smaller than mine, withered away from age and illness. I wonder if I’ll see Dante
the next time I’m there. He seems sweet under all that swag. Plus, he found my sign,
which makes me want him as a friend.

I snatch my book out and begin reading. I leave the bookmark in place because the
girls will notice if I don’t read where I left off. I really don’t mind.
Pride and Prejudice
is my comfort read. After a few minutes a nurse steps through the door.

“Jacqueline?” she says.

The four of us eye her and then each other, but no one gets up. I turn my attention
back to my book, but I’m soon distracted by a pair of hideous white shoes that have
appeared next to my chair.

“Ms. Kensington?”

“Yes,” I say, looking up. Her expression is fake happy. Like she’s annoyed she had
to seek me out.

“Jacqueline Kensington?”

That name is stuffed so far down my subconscious; I rarely recognize it or respond
to it. “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t answer.” I jam the book in my purse and stand. “It’s
Jax.”

After we’re behind closed doors and she’s measuring my height, she says, “Is your
name really Jacqueline Onassis Kensington?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” My grandmother’s obsession became my legacy. After my mother
got knocked up at seventeen, my controlling grandmother promised to take care of us,
pay for my private school, and let us live with her in Ocean Beach.

“I think it’s beautiful.
She
was beautiful,” she says as she jots something down and then points to the scale.

“Yes, but I’m nothing like her.” And I spent my life trying to convince my grandmother,
and everyone else, of that.

I step on the scale. I don’t register my weight or ask her what she wrote, as I’m
sure Sage and Emily would do. I’m an average girl and that’s fine with me. Sage is
masterfully thin and literally works her ass off to be that way. Emily’s weight fluctuates
between dangerously thin and big as a house because it seems she is always preparing
to get pregnant, is pregnant, or has recently delivered.

We finish with the preliminaries, and she directs me to a room. It’s cold and feels
hollow. Even the posters on the wall are clinical instead of sappy or inspirational,
similar to some offices I’ve been in. My every movement echoes the sound of crumpled
paper and makes me cringe. I hate being here, but I have no choice. As I sit and wait,
I think about life. I think about how one night can change everything. Your destiny.
Your identity. Then I think of my whale and how it surfaced just at the right time.
Everything’s going to be all right
. But when I glance down, I wonder why my hands are shaking.

I can’t recall exactly why I started following her on that day. Or even how I’d slipped
away from my nanny and out onto the Pacific Beach boardwalk. I’m sure she was busy
trying to keep my little sister, Sierra, out of trouble, unaware that the perfect
child had wandered away. I remember trailing the girl wearing two different shoes,
being pulled along by a woman in a navy-blue skirt. She didn’t notice me as we weaved
through the crowd, dodging bikers and skaters trying to pass from the oncoming lane.
After a minute or two, I felt the sun beating down on my shoulders. Sweat began to
bead up on my nose, but I didn’t care. There was something about that little girl
that kept me going, skipping in time with each of her steps. She had auburn hair,
cropped unevenly at her chin. And when she finally glanced back in my direction, I
noted soft, pale skin and bright-green eyes. She flashed a quick smile which I mirrored
unconsciously. When she turned forward again, I wondered if the smile was for me or
something that was always there, like the sky.

I was probably only following her for a short time, but I suddenly began to feel lost
and very far from the safety of my nanny. Disappointment poured over me, and I slowed
my pace, ready to turn back. Then, the girl came to a screeching halt, yanking her
wrist from the woman’s grasp. She turned to face me. The woman bent down to pick up
the contents of her bag, which must have spilled with their abrupt stop.

“What’s your name?” the girl said.

“Sage. What’s yours?”

“Jax. Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying to figure out what she meant. “Why are you wearing
two different shoes?”

This time she shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then she looked down at her shoes and back
up at me with an endearing smile that didn’t quite belong to a small child. At least,
I’d never seen one like that on any other eight-year-olds. The smile disappeared as
swiftly as it came when a boy on a bike rushed by me and clipped my elbow. “Hey! Watch
it!” Jax said, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer. That was the first of many
times Jax would watch out for not only me, but anyone she loved.

The woman she’d been walking with had finished with her bag, stepped over to where
we stood, and then ushered us over to the side.

“Jacqueline, why did you stop like that?” she asked.

“Grandma, I think this little girl is lost,” Jax said.

“Are you, honey?” she said as she bent down. Grandma didn’t appear to be very old
and had a friendly smile, but I still felt I’d done something wrong. I couldn’t speak
and searched over my shoulder to check if Miss Ellson was coming after me. I pictured
her panic-stricken face racing down the boardwalk with Sierra in her arms. She always
acted in fear of being fired. Sometimes I wondered if my father did that to her.

“Yeah, she is, and I think she goes to my school,” Jax said.

“Do you go to Linfield?”

I nodded and a tear stung the corner of my eye. My throat went lumpy, and I tried
to swallow it back. That’s what I got for trying to have fun for once—for forgetting
who I was for just a second. I vowed if I got home safe it would be the last time.
Little did I know that Jax would make sure I never kept that promise.

I can’t believe it’s been almost twenty years since that fortuitous day at the beach.
I can still remember, as if it was yesterday, sitting next to Jax and drinking cherry
soda while her grandmother spoke with my nanny. I wasn’t afraid of getting in trouble
when I heard Miss Ellison talking to my father on the phone. Mom had been out of town
on business, like on so many other occasions. I was more worried about Miss Ellson
getting in trouble.

The next day, Jax approached me as I sat alone at a table during recess, still feeling
guilty that my fears about the nanny were confirmed. Daddy didn’t put up with incompetence.
I’d understood what the word meant, even at that time. Jax was with another little
girl and a boy.

“Hi, Sage,” Jax said smiling. “Remember me?”

I nodded, noticing I was a little outnumbered.

“This is my best friend, Emily.” She wrapped her hands around the girl’s arm and gave
it a gentle tug. The girl smiled proudly in response. “She lives three doors down
from me.” Then she hooked a thumb over to the boy who stood on the other side of the
girl. “And this is her brother, Nerdy.”

“It’s Neddy!” the boy said.

“Ned and Emily are twins. I wish I was a twin,” Jax said.

I stood from the table, and they watched me gather up my trash and throw it in the
can.

“I’m going to play tether ball,” Ned said. He turned and took two steps before stopping
and shouting over his shoulder. “And don’t forget to wait for me after school.”

“Okay, Neddy,” Emily said.

“Do you want to be best friends with me and Emily?” Jax said.

I examined her shoes to see if they matched this time, as if that would be the deciding
factor. They were pink high-top tennis shoes with glittery laces. That was good enough
for me.

“Sure.”

“Okay, but first we have to do a ceremony.”

“Is it going to hurt?” I asked.

“Hell no,” she said, throwing her head back.

“Jax!” Emily said, snapping her head to the side, serving up a disapproving glare.
“You promised.”

“Sorry, it slipped out. Come on!” Jax took off running toward the field. Emily followed
next, skipping, and I stood there watching them get farther and farther away. One
day after swearing I wouldn’t try to have fun, I was already faced with breaking it.
I convinced myself that I could have best friends and still not have fun.

The ceremony consisted of catching ladybugs in my hand, one for each of the girls.
I had to pledge my undying friendship for them and then open my hands to release the
insects. A gentle breeze surrounded me and lifted the ladybugs off the tip of my finger.
Warm magic stirred in my belly with the knowledge that I was a part of something special.
Emily and Jax did the same for me. That was the first of many ceremonies in which
we’d all have to prove our friendship and loyalty year after year
.

Now as I cruise down the Interstate on my way to Jax’s place, I’m both apprehensive
and excited. With Jax you never know how things will go. She’s like the Tasmanian
Devil, running around in that cartoon like a tornado. I don’t have time to get sucked
in to that today. My boss, Christine, is already pissed at me for not driving down
from LA with her for this new client meeting. I told her I wanted to visit my grandmother
after, so we needed to take separate cars. Listening to another one of her bitch sessions
all the way down the 15 freeway was not tops on my list of favorite things. Not to
mention it would give her another opportunity to remind me that if a man were in my
position, he would have done it differently.

I crack the window on my silver Lexus as I exit the freeway. I don’t care how cold
it is on this January day, I want to feel the ocean breeze that I’ve missed since
my last visit two months ago. The clouds are sparse and gray, but I’m hoping they’ll
blow past the sun and reveal creamy blue skies.

I head down West Mission Bay Avenue and a pang of guilt hits me for not vising my
father. He doesn’t even know I’m here today, and I’ll keep it that way. I’m somewhat
out of place in my business suit as I slow and roll through each stop sign heading
into Mission Beach—a town where half-million-dollar homes can resemble shacks and
people walk the streets looking homeless. This is where I grew up, and no matter how
much I love my two-thousand-square-foot house in Agoura Hills, this will always be
home.

Jax is expecting me, but that makes no difference. There is no calendar app on her
phone or appointments penciled into squares of dates on the fridge. I only hope she
remembers, which to her credit she does most of the time. I take a right on Bayside
Lane and can almost smell the sea salt. Jax is now living at her grandmother’s house.
The home she was raised in and lived most of her life.

The streets are narrow at the beach, and by this time of day most of the curbs are
taken by surfers who park and walk down to the sand. The driveway is empty so I take
it. I can’t chance some skater dude scratching my door as he slides by. I have almost
three hours before I have to be at the meeting downtown, but I’ll tell Jax I have
two. She will inevitably have some last-minute excursion that will leave me stressed
for time. As I approach the door, I hear music playing.

I ring the doorbell and wait as I turn and scan the street. I should be completely
at ease in my hometown, yet I still check for possible threats. After all, I resided
in the more desirable, safer part of this beach community. I knock several times.
When Jax doesn’t answer, I pound louder. That damn music must be drowning out any
evidence of my arrival. So I decide to grab the handle and see if it’s unlocked. The
first thing that pops into my head as I push the door open is
God, I hope her hair has grown back
. Last time she bleached her auburn locks blonde, she hated it and proceeded to chop
it all off. She looked like a blonde Demi in GI Jane.

“Jax,” I say, trying to make myself heard over Kurt Cobain.

The living room is pretty much the same, but the sofa has a blanket and pillow on
it as if she’d slept there last night. I catch a glimpse of a duffle bag next to the
coffee table when a guy enters the room.

“Hey,” he says with a slight drawl, as if it’s perfectly normal for me to be standing
there. He has a plate in his hands with a half-eaten sandwich on it and walks past
me while tearing into the other half.

“I’m looking for Jax,” I say as he walks by me and plops down in a chair.

“Oh, she’s not here,” he says in between chews. Then, as if a light bulb went off,
he freezes. His eyes travel from my heels to my face, and he nods with a little grin.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the plate down. “Wow, sorry,
that was rude of me.” His southern accent is more pronounced now. He jumps up and
sticks out his hand. “I’m Brady.” His hair is damp and dirty blonde, messy with a
slight wave in it. He’s wearing a loose tank and what appears to be swimming shorts.
I am guessing he is a college student and possibly a surfer.

I shake his hand and register the transfer of crumbs and wetness to my palm. “I’m
Sage, a friend of Jax. She was supposed to be meeting me here.”

“Then I’m sure she’ll be back.” He stares at my legs for too long, then points at
the makeshift bed and says, “Have seat while you wait.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to mess up your bed.” Not to mention have my body make
contact with who knows what is on that blanket.

“That’s not my bed, but I do rent a bedroom here. My brother Travis crashed there
last night.”

“Oh,” I nod. I walk over to the window to watch for Jax’s arrival which had better
be any damn second. I should have expected this, but she never mentioned she was running
a half-way house for freeloading surfers.

“Wanna sandwich?” I hear him say.

“No, thanks,” I reply without turning from the window. What the hell am I supposed
to do now? I don’t bother calling Jax yet. Instead I decide to head out to the porch
and make some calls. “I’m going outside to use my phone.”

I take a seat on the porch swing and smile before my ass hits the mesh. It’s old,
rusted metal, and might just collapse from under me. But I’m glad to see the spot
where Jax, Emily, and I sat gossiping and eating ice cream still alive and swinging.
It’s been so long. I almost wish they were both here now. They were the only ones
I could ever open up to. Now I store it away, the same way my family stores its money,
hoping I never have to use it.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, wanting to send Christine a text, but
it will only annoy her. She hates texting and doesn’t want to wait for my replies
when she needs me. I punch in her number and count each ring. After the fourth ring,
I smile and her voicemail picks up. I leave a message checking in so she won’t stress
even though she probably will anyway.

I decide to send a text to Emily. I won’t be able to visit her while I’m here, but
the swing makes me miss her all the more. “Wish you were here,” is all I say. She
knows I’m down for a meeting and a quick lunch with Jax. It was too short notice for
her to get away. I swear she works ten times harder than I do, and while I can’t imagine
how she deals with that lifestyle, my heart melts when I’m around those kids.

I flip through some of the recent pictures Emily sent me when I hear a car pull up.
I stand up when I see it’s Jax. “Hey, girlfriend,” I shout as she walks toward me.
Immediately I can tell something is different. The ever present spark that lives in
her eyes has faded. When she reaches me, we wrap our arms around each other. I tower
over her in my heels. Her hand reaches up to my hair and runs the length of it.

“I missed you,” she says.

We pull away and our eyes connect. “Me too.” I smile and slowly that spark fills in
her eyes and Jax is back. She is probably just tired, so I don’t ask why she’s late.
I’m simply elated to be once again with my best friend.