Commandants Own

CHAPTER 2~WELCOME TO THE HOOD

     My dad called moments after I dropped my bags on the hard wood of living room floor, my tired voice echoing around the empty space as we spoke.

     "So, what do you think, hard-charger?"

     "Well, it's not bivouac in the desert, and it has running water, but I guess it'll do," I said, flipping on all the lights.

     Even in his absence, his hearty laughter added the perfect amount of comfort to make this place feel like home. Dad was reliable like that.

     "Car keys and garage door opener are in top drawer next to the oven. And there's a little welcome home in the fridge for you."

     I pulled open the freezer door first, noting that I would never need that much space for food. On the fridge side, a bottle of my favorite white wine with a red bow awaited me next to a single stemless wine glass.

     "Ugh. You read my mind. It's perfect, dad. Thanks."

     "Call if you need anything. Your mother and I will be over this weekend to help you settle in. Love you, sweetie."

     "Love you too, dad.  And thanks for everything."

     The condo was completely bare and the fumes from a recent coat of fresh paint lingered still. Dad bought this place a few days after I announced my relocation and insisted I accept the offering. My moving back to his home state was the best news he'd received since Mia's funeral. But alas, it was depressing and I needed to get fresh air before I got high off the fumes of 'Storm Cloud' grey. 

     The sun would set in another 45 minutes and I wanted to see it. I grabbed my keys and headed to the garage. Under the car cover sat the '66 Mustang my dad gave me as my college graduation present. She growled like a Hell Hound when I revved her up, causing a prideful grin to stretch across my face.

     "I've missed you, beautiful," I said parting the steering wheel.

     The beach was only a couple miles from the condo, but I wanted to make it in time to eat and enjoy the sunset. I took the back roads, mentally mapping out a running route for the morning. I parked a few blocks from La Jolla beach and stopped in at a sandwich shop before walking the rest of the way to the beach with my dinner.

     At first glance, I understood why this was Mia's favorite spot to decompress. I searched the shore for the set of rocks she had frequented for the last couple of years, and sat in the same place she had, near the edge overlooking the water. I basked in the salty mist as waves crashed and sprayed over the lip of the rocks, wishing this was still her spot. I watched in awe as fiery-orange melted into the horizon, taking with it the last caresses of the suns warmth. The visit to Mia's rock reaffirmed my reasons for coming to Miramar; it reaffirmed my mission.

     A soft yellow glow of the neighbor's lights emanated from his window when I returned home. I could see a male figure moving about the living room, his space a duplicate image of my own, minus the empty. I scowled a little. I'd always hated the uncreative uniformity of cookie-cutter homes. I lowered the garage door and headed straight to the fridge for my welcome home wine. I would end the day properly.

     I popped the cork and smelled the wine through the neck of the bottle- sweet and crisp. Mine was an unsophisticated pallet, mom would say about my wine preferences. I took up the bottle and chilled glass, and headed for the front door. I would make good use of the small brick cookie-cutter porch. I slipped off my sandals next to the heap of luggage I left in the living room, hesitating when I saw Mia's journal. I reluctantly picked it up and placed it under my arm as I made my way to the porch. I planted myself on the top stairs, the journal under my leg and poured myself a full glass.

     I stared out into the quiet La Jolla street, watching couples walk hand in hand or riding a bike. I wasn't brave enough yet to unwind the leather strap binding the book shut. That would have to be the second glass of wine.

     The front door of the condo next to mine creaked, spilling the light from his house onto the sidewalk, and when it closed, took it all back. The night went silent again for several seconds. I took the last sip, savoring the smooth texture, and appreciating the apple aftertaste.

     "Welcome neighbor," a deep voice announced its sudden and intrusive presence.

A man, presumably my neighbor, poked his head around the short petition separating our porches.

     I coughed and choked the beverage down, not tasting it, and shot to my feet as if to meet a threat.

     "Whoa," he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Just a friendly hello."

     With one hand still in the air, he extended the other to shake mine.

     I accepted, admiring the warm amber of his eyes. "Sorry. First night jitters."

     "I understand," he looked around suspiciously, "a beautiful woman has to be cautious in the mean streets of the La Jolla hood." 

     I looked around at the pristine Audi's and convertible BMW's peppering the curbs and laughed, grateful my new neighbor wasn't one of the snobby elitist types.

     His grip was firm and when I looked down at his muscled arm, I noted the full sleeve tribal tattoo. Instantly, I thought military.

    "Vic," he said with an inviting grin.

     "Gwen," I replied.

     His smile brightened a little more.

     He glanced down. 
     "I didn't mean to intrude," he said, taking the cue from the half-empty bottle of wine and lone glass resting on Mia's journal. "Just wanted to introduce myself and remind you to secure the bars over the windows after dark," he joked, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Thanks for the tip."

"Any time, Gwen. Welcome to the hood."

     I watched Vic slip around the partition, returning his muted wave goodnight and offered a more generous smile than what was necessary. I attributed it to the wine going to my head. Or maybe the sultry way my name sounded coming from his mouth.

    Wine. It was definitely the wine.