What He Left Behind

Twenty Six

Rena decides it's best to drive back to Los Angeles right away, insisting she prefers to drive at night when the roads are quieter, and that having a kid that wakes at all hours has turned her into a night owl anyway. We hit the road and chat for the few kilometres but then I must fall asleep, for when I wake up I see we're arriving in Hermosa Beach.

Despite the late hour – or should I say the early hour – the town is abuzz. There are throngs of people stumbling from club to club, laughing and chatting, some of them drunk. The roads are far from the virtually empty highways we drove on when we left Sacramento. Still, I can't help but admire the palm tree lined streets and the modern state-of-the-art apartment buildings.

"It's so pretty here," I awe.

"A bit nicer than Detroit, huh?"

We drive for a few minutes longer until we arrive at an apartment building a few blocks back from the main road. The lush green lawns and palm trees lead up to a white stone building that has balconies and patios lining the outside. It looks expensive and modern and new, as though it's only recently been built or refurbished. Excited, I jump out of Rena's car, pulling my bag behind me.

"How can you have so much energy at this time of night?" she mutters, before adding, "Oh yeah, because you slept the whole fucking way here."

"Sorry," I laugh, smiling guiltily.

"Just get inside you lazy madam," she orders, unlocking the door to her ground floor apartment. If I was awestruck before, seeing Rena's home has me gobsmacked. It literally looks like a show-home. The tile stone floor hallway leads into an open plan kitchen, living and dining area. In the left half of the room is a grey corner couch and an armchair, facing the flat screen television. There is also a playpen. Beyond that is a set of glass doors opening out onto a small patio area. The granite counter of the kitchen which runs along the right hand side of the room is spotless aside from a few decorative ornaments and some kitchen appliances. Then there is another counter running parallel to the first, which serves as a breakfast bar and has two bar stools sitting on the side closest to the door. In the far corner by the window which looks out over the rest of the apartment complex is a small square table, three chairs and a high chair. It is small and simple, but tasteful and tidy. All I can think is how much my brother would love this, how I wish that he held on long enough to live this wonderful life at the beach with his gorgeous girlfriend and beautiful son. If only he knew what good things were to come, he would have stayed.

"This place is incredible," I admire.

"Thank you. It's not usually this clean. Wait until Jacob gets home tomorrow and he'll tear the place up."

"What are kids for if not to ransack the house?" I ask rhetorically.

"Exactly," she muses, "I'll show you your room." I follow her back into the entrance hallway and down the corridor to the spare bedroom. There is a double bed in the centre of the room with a small bedside unit either side. To my left is a chest of drawers and to my right is a wardrobe. In keeping with the rest of the house, it is neat and tidy and tastefully decorated.

"Bathroom is down the corridor, first door on the left. If you want a shower in the morning, towels are on the rail. Help yourself to any food or drink, literally whatever you want. Just make yourself at home."

"Thank you so much."

"You're welcome sweetheart. Get some sleep."

"Okay."

"Goodnight," she mutters, rubbing her eyes as she leaves the room. I open my bag and unpack some of my things before slipping into some flannel shorts and a navy blue top and tying my hair up into a bun.