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an la crime story | An LA Crime Story - Part 3

Apr 04
0

A Karmic Web

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Aggie kept Tamarind for one hundred and sixty eight days. They played Candyland and Hide and Seek with Poo. They ate a lot of Nutter Butters and saltine cracker sandwiches. Aggie fed Tamarind nectar from a honeysuckle plant so she wouldn’t have to eat bugs (which made Aggie cry). Instead of spinning her webs for traps, Tam spun them for fun. Over six days in November, she spun a kid-sized badminton net between a clothes line pole and a jacaranda tree. Tamarind would sit on the top edge of the web-net and watch Poo and Aggie play. Eight days before Christmas, while Poo was trying to bat a birdie, she accidently whacked Tamarind and she died.  

“Maybe she’ll be happier in heaven and her leg won’t be extra crooked anymore.” The girls’ mom, Stel, told Aggie, trying to cheer her up. 

“But I’m her family.” Aggie cried, certain that family is all the happiness anyone ever needs. “God will bring her back.”

“I don’t think God has time for a little girl’s spider.” Stel told her, putting it to rest. She didn’t have time for one of Aggie’s God talks. The Porter family was in the Swap Meet business and it was their busiest week of the year. They sold painted tin Christmas ornaments, wind-up toys, string lights of the apostles; Virgin Mary and Rudolph the Reindeer glow-in-the-dark figurines and baby Jesus night lights – which were their biggest seller. But they only had two left. Steve Porter decided he’d drive down to his supplier Renaldo’s store in the morning. If he left early, he could get to Ensenada by ten or eleven, pick up four cases of night lights and be back in LaMirada in time for that night’s holiday swap meet at the drive-in. He’d take the girls along…  Aggie liked road trips and Rhea loved the food.  
 
They went to bed early. “Bless Mom and Dad and Rhea and Aggie and Poo and grandma and grandpa in heaven.” Aggie and Rhea prayed as they knelt at the bottom of their twin beds. “And Please God,” Aggie added, “If you have time, send Tamarind back to me.”

Rhea watched Aggie wrap Tamarind’s body in a piece of crumpled tissue paper and lay it next to her pillow. They both got into their beds. Stel came in to say goodnight to her girls. Aggie was already asleep. Rhea pretended to be. Stel picked three and a half pairs of socks off the floor and two used Kleenexes. Thinking the crumpled tissue paper by Aggie’s pillow was just another Kleenex, she picked it up too. She turned out the light and closed the door.

Stel threw the socks in the dirty clothes hamper and the tissues into the kitchen trash can. The can was full. She squished it down then pulled out the bag and loo tied it shut. Steve took the bag out to the trash bins which were on the street, ready for the morning collection.

Still awake, Rhea listened to the sounds of her house quieting down for the night. Ten minutes after she heard her parents’ muffled voices fade as they fell asleep, she got out of bed. She took off her nightgown; underneath she was wearing tights and a sweatshirt. Quietly, she took the screen off the side bedroom window, stood on Aggie’s toy box and climbed out.

Apr 04
0

Front seat

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Javier Adelente’s old battered ’79 Toyota truck sat low to the ground. The cab seats were shredded from wear and the front windshield steamed from the breath of Rhea and Javier, locked in the singular passion of young love in a front seat.

“No no no no no… Rhea mumbled as he kissed her over and over… His warm brown skin smelled like Dial soap. His hands slid down her body–

“Oh. Oh. Oh. OK…” she panted as Javier shoved his hands under her ass and lifted her onto him. They’d been there before. He was her first love and she was his. She was sixteen, he was seventeen and it was getting harder and harder to “wait”. She could feel the Christmas lights from the little houses on Normal Road blinking on and off, like some absurdly merry warning.

“No,” she told him again but he kissed her neck and pushed her right knee down so she straddled him. She barely managed to whisper, “We promised we’d wait till Christmas. It’s only a week away”.

“I know…” he agreed. She pulled away.

The birth of Jesus had nothing to do with first time sex but they’d thought it was a good idea; a present to each other. They were teenagers, full of gesture.

“Let me have another.” she asked. he reached down and grabbed a grease-spotted brown paper bag and held it open for her. She took out a handful of fresh fried tortilla strips scattered with sugar and cinnamon. The warm sweetness filled her mouth as she crunched down, still straddling him.

“These are sooo good.” She told him. “Tell your mom thanks.”

He watched her eat it – watched her joy – watched as she spilled cinnamon sugar down her chest. She tried to brush it off.

“I’ll get it.” He said as he started to lick it off. Whatever resistance she’d had disappeared with the feel of his tongue on her skin and the warmth of his breath. She opened her sweater and let the sugar spill further down into her bra. He followed it with his tongue, reaching around with one hand and undoing her bra, freeing her for his mouth.

Feeling him big and warm underneath her, she pulled his mouth to her breast and closed her eyes. As his tongue flicked her nipple, he slipped his hand inside her panties and slid a finger into her. Man it felt good. She moved against him. She pulled off her sweater and pressed closer to him. Then he screamed…

“There’s a spider!” and threw her off of him as he scrambled to get away from it as it crawled across the driver’s side window. She slammed against the steering wheel. The horn honked LOUD.

“Get down!” She grabbed him and they tumbled to the floor and tried not to make a sound; freaking a little as they heard the door of a nearby house creak open.

She sneaked a peek down the street. Three houses down, Steve was looking out her front door. After a moment, he went back inside. She sat back up, but Javier stayed on the floor.

“Is it still there?”

“The spider?”

He nodded. She looked around then saw the spider, still walking across the window. She looked closer. It was kind of wobbling. She looked closer still. It looked just like Tamarind. She let it crawl onto my hand.

“What are you doing!?” He kind of freaked.

“I’m taking it.” She told him. She kissed him with the promise, “I’ll see you Christmas night.” She opened the door and got out. She never saw him again.

Mar 31
0

Exit Strategy

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LAPD Exploited Kids Division was housed at Headquarters, Downtown but Rhea had sometimes worked out of Hollywood division on Wilcox. It was nestled in a homey little block of ’60’s apartments and Jacaranda trees, two blocks south of a Popeye’s Chicken on Sunset Boulevard. The lighting was bad and there was an actors’ union ATM machine in the lobby. Rhea kept a spare notepad in the desk there that she shared with Strickland. It was one of those little rainbow pads that come in a four pack. She went there later that day, after she’d left Dr. Gallows, had some thick French toast at Aloha cafe then walked all over downtown trying to figure out what to do.

She grabbed her notepad out of her desk drawer, turned to leave and faced the two hundred and sixty pound slab of reality that was Detective Matt Strickland. He was just coming in. It was awkward for a few seconds.

“I was just getting my notepad.” she muttered, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“OK… catching up on a lot of tv. I got Netflix. Have you ever seen Breaking–”

“I meant with the therapy–”

“I know.”

“Have you gone?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Good.” He lingered, wanting to say something; unsure if he should.

“What?” she prompted him.

“Do you want out? Is that why you… did that. “Cause if you want out–”

“No. I don’t want out.”

“Then why–” he started to ask again.

“It’s how I deal, Strickland. That’s all. It’s just how I deal.” she offered.

“The hell’s the matter with booze?” he wanted to know. “Or even pot if you wanted to break the law – Dirkshire and the Lieut would let it slide – but not this, not some–

“I didn’t break the law.” She reminded him. “And pot’s legal now.”

“Yes. OK. But we are supposed to be looking out for kids, here–”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, OK?” She wanted him to understand, at least a little.

“Look…” she let out a long breath and gave in to some of the truth, “They remind me of when I was happy.”

“They?”

“No– I meant–” she tried to recover but he stopped her.

“Fix it, Rhea. Fix the… ‘need’ and come back.”

She nodded. “I will.”

As he opened the door for her to leave, she looked at the dents in it, kicked in from a thousand angry cops taking out their frustrations. As she walked by him, she paused and asked him, ““How do you deal?”

He looked at her, hard. He’d known her so long; since she was sixteen. He’d seen her scared and he’d seen her brave. He’d seen her fight, learn, cry. He’d seen her chase down a lead with no sleep for three days straight. He’d seen her give up. He’d seen her start over. He’d seen her kill. He’d seen her hate. Lord knows he’d seen her eat. But looking at her now, he realized he’d never seen her love.

“I garden.” he answered, a little annoyed she didn’t remember; she’d seen his garden a thousand times. She’d lived in it.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Fix it.” He said again and walked away.

Apr 04
0

Bedtime Story

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Five hours later, just before dawn, Aggie was still sleeping as Rhea, clenching the spider loosely in her hand, snuck back into her bedroom through the window. She tiptoed over to Aggie, whose sleeping body was twisted in dream. She pulled a Kleenex from a box by the bed and settled the spider into it.

“Stay there.” she whispered, “Stay there until my sister wakes up.”

Realizing she was talking to a spider, she shook her head and folded the tissue over the spider and tucked it next to Aggie’s pillow. She went to bed. She fell right asleep.

The spider wriggled out of the tissue and wobbled to the corner of the bed where Aggie’s green jacket hung from a post.

Five hours later, just before dawn, Aggie was still sleeping as Stel put the green jacket on her and tucked her into the back seat of the family’s Acura. Rhea snuggled into a pillow in the front passenger seat. Stel loaded them down with pop tarts, peanut butter, a thermos of orange juice, Triscuits and a jelly jar full of water and a ziploc baggie of kitty kibble for Poo, who was asleep in Aggie’s lap. Steve started the car. Stel leaned in and kissed him. “Try and get back by four.”

“We’ll make it by then, easy.” He kissed her back.

Stel shook Rhea a little, this was important, “You Dad’s going to be busy so watch your sister.”

“I will.” Rhea promised then Stel added, “And bring back some of Joe’s rellanos.”

“OK.” Rhea promised again.

Stel kissed her fingers then touched the Saint Christopher medal that hung from the rear view mirror. She waved as the car drove off.

 

Apr 05
0

Pacific Dreams

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At seventeen, Panama Jones was achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful… from his Mexican green eyes to the arch of his feet to the warmth of his smooth, sweet skin.
He didn’t think about it much, all he thought about while working part time as a janitor at the Vasquez senior center on Whittier Boulevard was making enough money to hang on to the studio apartment he shared with his mom, Lourde. 

After work on a Monday in August,  he cashed a paycheck for $237.12. He bought two milanesa tortas at La China Poblana and ate a late dinner with his mom at home. He put two hundred bucks in the drawer in the TV stand for rent. An hour later, Lorde’s boyfriend showed up with a stash. The two of them smoked an old one then found they were out of papers. “Do us a favor would you mind and get us some?” Lorde asked Panama. She opened the tv drawer, took out a five and handed it to him. She opened it enough that the boyfriend noticed the cash. Panama noticed the boyfriend seeing the cash. They locked eyes, for a second.

“Sure.” Panama told his mom as he took the five and left, hoping the weird feeling he had would go away.

Panama left, closed the door and was three yards down the hall when he heard the deadbolt latch shut. He went back and tried the door. Locked. He knocked. He heard them talking. He knocked harder. No one came to the door. And he knew. He wasn’t welcome. He said a silent goodbye to his mom, hit the boulevard and started walking. It was a little after eleven.

Panama dropped down Alameda to Venice then headed west. He bought a donut and coffee at the Donut King then didn’t stop until he hit the beach a little before seven am. He’d never been there before, never seen the ocean, never left home. The cool mist surprised him. It cocooned him.  He had three and a half dollars and nowhere to go but he knew he wasn’t going back.

Before the sun set that day, he ventured in. The force of the waves close to shore surprised him; knocked him down. 34 year old Chelsea was just ending a long ride on a short board. She grabbed him up. Then she took him in. For three months and four days, she called him “Baby.”

“Hey, Baby, bring that lotion over here. Lie down, now… roll over on your back.” Or “Baby, you hungry?” And sometimes, “Baby, you’re gonna break my heart.”. 

She shared her bed with him, her food and soon enough, her heart. She knew she couldn’t keep him but she tried.

“Just get in there, Baby, get in there. Hold your breath and dive under until you feel the rush pass over.” Chelsea taught Panama how to get past the first set of waves until they got to the breaks that were big enough to ride. He took to surfing like religion. Indeed, it was his savior. Every time he went under a wave, he forgot everything. Every single wound, every single fear. The first time he rode one, good things almost seemed possible. He used Chelsea’s board every morning while she was at work. But afternoons and weekends, she wanted it for herself.
“A good used one’s under two hundred bucks.” She’d tell him, “You can save that in no time bussing tables on the or even working at McDonalds.”

She could’ve bought him one but she knew he’d probably take it and run – he was starting to talk about the breaks at other beaches he’d heard about: Point Dume, San Onofre, Imperial, San Felipe. 

She also knew he could find another woman to buy him one. And he did. 

Women gave Panama everything: shelter, food, sex, pot, love. They turned him on to the chili verde at Felix’s in Redondo; the surf breaks at Solana, San Elijo, Rosarita; the strips at Huntington; Lady M weed; Astro Burgers’ onion rings; Kama Sutra positions four through sixty-nine and the Yellowtail marinated in tequila and lime at Joe’s café in Ensenada.

Panama had just finished a plate full of the fat, sizzled fish and was buying some twinkies – they called them “Bimbos” down there – at Boom Boom carneceria just down the street from Joe’s when he first met Leland Hays. He’d been between women for a few months, sleeping on the beach, making a few bucks selling joints to surfers from the two ounces of Salinas Gold a woman in San Diego had given him.

“Could get you killed.” Leland mentioned as he slipped Panama a twenty for a joint of the smooth weed.

“Hey man, be cool.” Panama backed away, “Just a couple sticks’s all I got–“.

“I am cool.” Leland leaned in, “Just sayin’, sellin’ can get dangerous. Cartel doesn’t like competition–”

“Three sticks. That’s all I got– just need a few bucks for food.” Panama walked away.

Leland’s words slowed him, “I can get you five, six hundred for a few nights work.  Easy money.”

“Easy money.” Words that should’ve made Panama run. But he was so young then… stoned and way less worldly than he thought. Five or six hundred was enough for a month’s stay at the San Ysidro Motel –  he was a little scared of sleeping on the beach ever since  a friend of a friend had got his head cut off one night sleeping at Imperial. Plus he could get a board of his own. He’d sold the second hand one a woman in Pismo had bought him – he’d had nowhere to keep it.

He followed Leland across the street.  As Hays got into a sweet, sweet ride – a new blue VW van, Panama was right behind him.

“How easy?” he asked.

Apr 05
0

Uncaged

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“Maybe I didn’t love you quite exactly as I should have…” Steve’s favorite CD played as the three Porters headed south down Interstate Five. Aggie had her little pink sunglasses on, looking cool, singing along. By the time they reached the border, the Willie CD had played almost nine times and Aggie had taught Poo to meow along with the chorus, “You were always on my mind. You were always on my mind…” Poo was pretty good. It cracked Steve and Rhea up.

Sprawled lazily around a the Port of Ensenada, the low-rise city neither welcomed nor refused anyone. Steve drove familiar streets into the outskirts of the business district and parked in front of Renaldo’s party supply store… pinatas, plastic wreaths, ornaments and a hundred dolls hung from strings across the open front. The three Porters went in. Poo stayed in the car.

Inside, the wonderland was crammed wall to wall, ceiling to floor with stuff. Boxes and boxes, shelves and shelves of stuff. Dozens of birdcages hung from ceiling fans, door knobs, ladders, water pipes, light fixtures and the branches of a big dead tree stuck in a giant pot in the middle of the room. Each birdcage had one or two or three blue parakeets in it. Sometimes a feather would fall from their cages to the floor.

Rhea went straight for the costume jewelry: bangle bracelets crusted with plastic jewels, giant glass rings and brooches and chokers sporting dragonflies and bees. Steve and Renaldo searched the store for every baby Jesus night light they could find. Aggie stood in the middle of it all, saddened by the birds. They were always quiet; not a peep, not a song. Surely unhappy to be caged inside a party store.

One of the cages hung low on a dead tree branch, about eye level with Aggie. The bird was watching her as it plucked one of its feathers and pushed it between the wire bars so it fluttered to the floor. Aggie picked it up. She looked at the bird; it looked back at her, like they were talking. After a while, Aggie unlatched the bird’s cage door. It nodded at her as it slipped out. But it didn’t fly away. It hopped over to its nearest friends, two parakeets in a cage that was hanging from a coat hook. With its beak it unlatched that cage door and the two birds hopped out. They split up and fluttered over to three other cages, one was sitting on the counter where Rhea was trying on a pair of Freida Kahlo earrings. It caught her eye. She turned and saw Aggie, holding the little blue feather. Rhea figured it out in a flash and hurried over to her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Nothing…”

As the birds stealthily continued their prison break and Steve and Renaldo remained preoccupied, Rhea called out to Steve.

“We’re hungry, Dad. OK if we go over to Joe’s?”

“Yeah, OK. I’ll be there as soon as Renaldo packs all this up. Order me something.”

“OK.”

“Watch your sister.”

“OK.”

Rhea took Aggie’s hand and felt something in it; she was still holding the blue feather. She had an orangeade soda in her other hand. Rhea took the feather and tucked it into Aggie’s pocket.

“C’mon. Let’s fly.” she smiled as she pulled Aggie out of there.

Apr 05
0

Asombroso

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Rhea held tight to Aggie’s hand as they made their way through Christmas shoppers to Joe’s café four doors down. The only vacant table in the tiny café was right by the front door. Rhea sat Aggie down at the table and told her to “Stay right here and don’t move. I’m gonna go order us some lunch.”

“OK.”

Spritely Joe Leybas was cooking in a battered old frying pan on a two burner stove in the back of the unadorned room. He looked up as Rhea approached. A smile creased his eyes.

“Rhea! Hola. Back so soon!”

“We ran out of Jesus night lights.” Rhea explained. “They’re our biggest seller.”

Joe tossed a fat hunk of fresh fish into a pan sizzling with garlic and lard.

“Is that Yellowtail?” she asked, breathing it all in.

He nodded and smiled then splashed some tequila on it from a bottle of good Asombroso.

“Oooh, I’ll have that, please. Dad, too, he’ll be here in a minute.” She turned to Aggie, who was already looking bored. “Aggie, what do you want to eat?”

“Cake please.” Aggie chimed.

“I don’t have cake–” Joe started–

“That’s OK. I’ll get her some cupcakes at Boom Boom.” Rhea told him then asked how, exactly, he was making the Yellowtail.

He loved to talk about food. So did Rhea. As he told her how – first – the fish needed to be so fresh you could smell the Pacific, then you marinate it in tequila – Asombroso if you have it – and lime… Rhea got lost in the story.

Sitting all alone by the door, Aggie was getting antsy. A fat man came in. Aggie felt a flutter of shadow cross her face and turned and looked out the gap where the door hadn’t quite closed.

A blue parakeet flew by. My oh my! Then six or seven or eight followed. Aggie ran out, after them.

Apr 06
0

Bye Bye Birdie

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A gray mist filled the December sky, saturating the colors of the busy street at Christmastime… saturating the bright blue of the parakeets flying away.

Aggie wove through the throngs of people in the street. She kept her eyes up, on the one bird in the sky who seemed to linger a bit, letting her keep up. She approached Boom Boom Carnerceria just as Panama Jones came outside. He was holding two churros and a soda. He was a little nervous but a couple puffs had calmed him down. He concentrated on following the directions of Leland Hays who had told him to, “Use a churro or anything sweet.” to get a little girl into the new blue van he had lent Panama. “We’re helping them.” Hays had explained, “Taking poor little Mexican girls– who are by themselves. We put them with a nice family in LA – give them a job for life. They get new dresses, plenty of food and a room of their own. They love that, their very own room…” Plus, there was the van. Panama had slept in that van the night before. It was nice. Safe. Warm. And it was his to use if he sometimes got a little girl and drove her across the border to LA. Plus he got paid. Pretty good deal.

A little girl’s voice made him look up.

“Bye bye Tyrone!” Aggie called up to the parakeet in the sky as she hurried past Boom Boom, right past Panama Jones. He watched her as she turned a corner and disappeared down a side street while chasing after a bird.

Panama followed Aggie around that corner. After about a half a block, he called to her softly, in Spanish. “Ninita– Ninita–!”

She was so fixated on the bird in the sky, she didn’t see him until he touched her arm and held a sweet churro out to her, asking her:

“Quieres un churro?”

She didn’t have time to try and understand – Tyrone flew close by and she ran down the street following him, sharing his joy.

Panama saw that she was focused on the birds. He followed her and he called to her, over and over in Spanish,

“Vamos a coger el chirrido. Podemos coger el chirrido. Podemos coger el birdie más rápido en el coche -” (Let’s catch the birdie. We can catch the birdie faster in the car–)

She didn’t understand a word he was saying but it sounded important so she stopped and turned to him.

“Huh?”

They were only inches from where the blue van was parked. Close enough for him to scoop her up and put her inside. Blink of an eye. He strapped her into a seatbelt and pointed up through the sunroof as Tyrone flew by.

“Ahi esta!” He said as he started the car and pulled away. “Lo atraparemos!” (We’ll catch him!)

Exactly four minutes and twenty-eight seconds after Aggie had first run out of Joe’s, Panama drove her north on a two lane road out of town. Into the desert. Easy Money.

Apr 06
0

Gone

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Joe gave Rhea a taste of the Yellowtail straight out of the pan – man that made her smile. For a sixteen year old SoCal girl, she had eclectic taste in food. Sure she liked Taco Town tacquitos and the potato wedges at the Arco am pm mini-mart but she could also taste the distinct edge of sweetness in the lime Joe used and was curious where it came from.

Impressed, he told her it came from a tree in his mother’s backyard. She lived by the sea and the salty air brought out the lime’s sugars. She had goats, too and their milk was tangy and sweet. He’d thought of trying to use it in some desserts.

“Maybe I’ll try and make a cake for your sister the next time you come down–” he told Rhea.

“You hear that, Aggie?” Rhea turned to her sister. The table by the door was empty. The door was open. Aggie was gone.

Rhea dropped her fork and ran.

Outside there was an urgent flow of people shopping, but no little white girls. Rhea stopped dead and looked in every direction. Then she saw her Dad, walking toward Joe’s with a big box full of Jesus night lights. She ran to him. He saw the panic in her eyes.

“Where’s Aggie?”

Apr 06
0

Over

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Back in Joe’s, the Yellowtail burned. Lard-filled smoke veiled the air as Joe looked everywhere for Aggie, hoping she was somewhere inside. The door was still open a crack and through it came the wails of Steve and Rhea calling Aggie’s name over and over and over until their voices cracked. The fat man turned the stove off. No one found Aggie. It was nearing three o’clock.

Panama drove slow on the partially paved bumpy desert road that led Northeast, toward the border. He didn’t want to rush things, didn’t want to get to the crossing until it was dark; it made him feel less anxious – that and the Medusa weed buzzing his head. But it was the praying that got to him. It knocked him off his high, made him lose his cool.

“Please God.” The little girl said an hour into their journey. Her clear voice startled him. He looked at her. The churro he’d given her was lying in her lap, uneaten. The sunroof was still open. She held her hands up to the sky. “Please.” She prayed, “I want to go back now.”

In Spanish he told her to leave God out of it, that he was there to help her. “No no no. Dejar a Dios a solas.” He told her.”Yo voy a ayudar.”

Finally she let him know what he’d failed to figure out. “Mister I don’t know Spanish.”

Panama looked at her again, seeing her really for the first time. She was blond. She didn’t speak Spanish. Hays had said they were taking poor little Mexican girls–

She put her hands together again and looked up at the sky. “Dear God…” she began but he cut her off, “You don’t have to pray. You don’t have to get God involved, I’m going to help you. I’m going to get you a room of your own.”

“I don’t want my own room. I want to go back.”

He drove on. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He didn’t want to figure it out, didn’t want to know. He opened a window and lit a joint, pulling hard, letting the smoke fill his head. He blew it out the window and sprayed a tin can of air freshener all over him. And he drove on, ignoring Aggie. She rode in silence, for awhile. Then looked out the window and mumbled,

“Too far. You went too far.”

The fuck was she talking about? He sucked harder on the reefer; sprayed a little more freshener; drove a little bit faster.

“Too far. Too far. Too far.” She said softly, precisely and over and over and over until it pierced his brain.

He pulled over, skidded in the sand off the road, turned to her.

She looked him in the eye. “We went too far.”

“Now you listen to me–”

“Now you listen to me.” She interrupted him, “We went too far, now how will my sister find me?”

His mind started racing,”… She has a sister? Is she looking for her? Could she even drive? No, she’d have to be a kid, too. They were poor. No car. Did they have a car? He could leave the little girl here. Someone would find her. Maybe not. Maybe she’d die. Not good. Yes, he should take her over. She’d be happy. And he’d get to keep using the van. And he’d get a few hundred bucks. And… she’d be happy. He thought for a second, “You want to leave her a note?”

“OK.”

He found a pen in the glove box and a receipt. He gave them to her. “Here. Write it on the back.”

“I can’t write good yet.”

He snatched them back. “OK. OK. Dear– ” he looked at her. “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Rhea.” She told him. “Rhea Porter.”

“Dear Rhea Porter,” he wrote on the back of the receipt then looked at her again.

“I am here.” she said. He wrote it down. As he opened the door, she told him to also write, “From Aggie.”

He added that to the note then got out of the van, stuck the note under a big rock, got back in the van and drove them on.

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