The snow was really coming down as Orinda approached Mason’s Penn Landings flat. The trek from New Jersey was scarier than life because they hit a patch of black ice on the Betsy Ross Bridge and almost caused a collision.
Orinda attempted to talk to him about the strange case they were recruited for, but Mason would rather not. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to be inside and alone. He hadn’t forgotten or forgiven her for the earlier interaction with Detective Griffin. Sure, they worked well together when it was required, but the warming minutes of bonding they experienced enroute to the murder scene were gone and since their exit from, it had turned as cold as the wintry weather.
"Here we are, Mason. This is your address, right? Despertar, Mason. (Wake up Mason)”.
After their hydroplane experience back over the bridge, Mason took another pill and closed his eyes. Visions of Stockton’s cold, pale, white and dark blue face were embedded in the back of his mind. He wasn’t asleep because he was still conscious, but he was drifting after the long day.
"Mason, we're here. You can open your eyes now," Orinda said giving him a slight nudge to wake him from his thoughts. The address was correct and he was home. Without a word, he grabbed his messenger bag with all of his belongings and then looked out the window to gauge whether he needed to put his cold weather gear on or would he be able to make a run for it?
"Thank y-you for the ride home," Mason said and then opened the door. The inside cabin light came on, and the door ajar alarm sounded, catching his ear. From the warm inside comforts of the car, the snow looked treacherous but once he opened the door, the serenity of the quiet storm took over allowing him to calm. It was probably safer out of the car than in it.
"It’s really not safe for me to drive to Delaware tonight, Mason. Do you mind if I stay with you?" Orinda asked as she pulled up the emergency brake and turned the engine off. Mason had no intention of inviting her up, so she took the liberty of inviting herself.
"Um, I g-guess that sh-sh-should be fine. I have a pull-out sofa that you can crash on," he said without looking back at her. He couldn’t face her. His anxiety level had magnified 1000 fold. When he awoke this morning, the day started like all others, but that changed when they left the office. She was his dark-haired Latina fantasy but after the crime scene, he didn’t have the same romantic attraction for her. Never did he ever imagine that he would have her in his home at the end of the night. It was more than even his fantasies expected this morning.
"I don’t have to pull out the sofa bed. I can just sleep on top of it," she said.
"Orinda, I-I-I know you’re used to telling people what you want but that won’t work t-t-tonight. Y-y-you have invited yourself in my home; the least you can do is respect my belongings. My sofa is an expensive Italian leather. I would prefer you NOT sleep on the top of it."
She was stunned and had no idea that Mason saw her the way he did nor did she expect him to tell her. Pride made her change her mind about staying at his place, but pride also made her want to prove that she was not a control freak and could handle a little criticism and that she could even learn from it. Plus the snow was really falling.
"I’m sorry, Mason. I didn’t mean anything by it at all. I just wanted to keep things simple. I don’t want to ruin a welcome that I wasn’t invited to have. Forgive me, please," she said.
"S-s-sure thing, let’s get inside. I-I-I will show you where to put your things and let you get settled.”
Mason and Orinda exited the cold and entered the warmth of the loft’s foyer entrance. There was a small heap of mail piled on the dark wood floor that had been slid inside through the mail slot on the door. Mason picked up each piece after he placed his coat, scarf and hat on a coat rack in the corner; without invitation, Orinda did the same. When she reached to do so, her eyes caught a piece of mail from the Department of Veterans Affairs. She was curious about it, but it was none of her business, so she dared not ask.
They walked up a short flight of steps to where the entrances of the living area and den were. Orinda was surprised by the decor. Colored paintings on the wall paired with black and white framed photos along with the dark leather sofa set gave the place a bold, masculine feel. It felt almost like a museum; everything in it was very clean. There was not a hint of femininity anywhere.
"Can I get you any-any-thing to d-drink?" he asked her as she remained planted at the room’s entrance. She wasn’t sure if she should move freely and risk being reprimanded for being invasive.
"I would like that please. Thank you so much, Mason. You have a beautiful home," Orinda said. She hoped that he would give her free range to walk around and make herself at home.
"You have to excuse me. I’m not used to hav-hav-having company. Feel free to look around if you'd like. Are you hungry?" Mason asked. He gave her a glass and a bottle of water. Orinda walked over to the kitchen bar and sat down.
"Your home is really nice, Mason. I don’t know why I expected a bachelor pad full of empty pizza boxes, video games and titty magazines. You’re doing quite well for yourself on a journalist’s salary," Orinda said. She was attempting to find out how Mason would be able to afford such a place. The only reason she was ever really able to afford her home in Delaware was the insurance money that she claimed after her father’s death. How did he afford such living comforts?
"The VA diagnosed me with obsessive compulsive disorder in addition to a few other things after my service discharge. I was able to get a high percentage of disability for it. I get anxiety if there is a lot clutter, and I tend to freak out if there is."
"Oh, hell, that’s not what I mean. I hate clutter, too, but, this is different. You have style. It’s very classy, very masculine," Orinda said as she noticed Mason’s speech smooth and clear as ever as he sipped what appeared to be water.
"You can take off your investigative hat, Ms. Costa. I know you’re curious of how I’m able to afford a place like this. It’s okay. I know that’s why I offered it to you before you could ask. Yes, my place is masculine. Despite me being different, I’m still a man. Do you think it’s above my means? Isn’t that what you want to say?"
"I’m just trying to have conversation, Mason. I didn’t mean anything by it at all. I thought I was complimenting your taste. I wasn’t trying to pry. And will you PLEASE knock it off with the Ms. Costa crap? I said that I was sorry to you. What more can I do? Dios mío! (My god!)"
“I’m sorry. It was my way of trying to let it go and break the ice," Mason said. His passive-aggressive attempt at humor failed miserably. Orinda must have felt pretty bad to apologize, but she had no real reason to. They were still trying to figure each other outside of that one moment they shared. That moment didn’t make them anything except co-workers preparing for an iffy assignment that needed to take the edge off. That was why she joined him for a drink. She was nervous, too.
It had been a while since she was last with a man but despite his peculiar behavior, she felt that maybe she could have a romantic interest in Mason. Her sympathy for him was more than enough for her to get close to him. She could feel his attraction to her, and she liked it. She didn’t want to tell him that she caught him glance at her breasts a few times and she liked that, too. Her sexuality had always been her weakness, but this time her sympathy for him caused her arousal and that meant that she needed something else to take over her focus.
"It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. Can we just change the subject now please? I have to be here tonight, and I don’t want it to get awkward," she said.
"I told you I’m not used to company, especially the company of a woman so please bear with me. I’m usually a loner with a routine. I get home, I turn on some music, make dinner and then read depending on the night, but tonight I’m about to cook dinner for two, for a woman who works with me after seeing the dead body of a man I once knew. Today has not been an easy day."
"Don’t let me stop your routine. You can still listen to music while you make us dinner. Also I would love a glass of wine as well. I honestly wasn’t expecting you to offer me water especially after the elixir you gave me earlier today. By the way, what was that? You never said."
"This is what it was and it’s what I’m drinking now." Mason removed a bottle from the cupboard behind the bar and grabbed two shot glasses to pour them both a drink.
"What’s the name of the drink? It’s stronger than anything I’ve had before. I should have asked before I drank it earlier, but it’s too late for that now. I’m curious of what it is if you’re going to give me more," Orinda said as she adjusted on the bar stool and picked up the shot of clear liquid to sniff it and then examined the unlabeled bottle. Mason had already taken his shot and then put on a black and gray cooking apron before pouring another.
"It’s a drink that I found while I was deployed in Kosovo. It’s a clear whiskey made from plums called Slivovica. After the detail would return back to the base, we would drink a lot. We all would drink for our own reasons. Some drank to ease the pain of being away from family or to relieve themselves from the fear of dying. Some drank just because they felt like they had to only because other Marines did. I drank, too. I drank because it made me more like them. It made me normal."
Orinda sat and listened as she sipped her drink and chased it with the water that Mason gave her earlier. She listened as he spoke slowly but clearly while he prepared their meal. He really knew his way around his kitchen. He looked like the winner of Master Chef, the Gordon Ramsey cooking competition.
"I drank a lot because my normal was not everyone’s normal," he continued.
"In fact, I drank it so much, the guys even called me Slivovica. I was either Slivovica Mason or I was in a Slivovica Session. It was the only thing that helped with my anxiety and that actually calmed me. I’m sure you’ve noticed the difference."
She noticed. She also noticed that, his words were very inviting. He was a great intoxicated orator. She was intoxicated as well, but she wasn’t sure if it was by him.
"That was life for me for a while. It was worth the hangovers in the morning because it helped me relax at night. Until I got in trouble."
"What happened for you to get in trouble, Mason?" she asked as he began to place minced garlic and coarse white pepper in the fryer with two pieces of halibut. This was the first time she had a man cook for her, and she hadn’t slept with him yet. It was new territory for her because the thought did not cross his mind.
"I’ve seen and done some things I’m not proud of, and it seems that these things are starting to manifest themselves. I think I’m next. I feel it." Mason began to sweat from his forehead. It wasn’t clear if he was sweating from the heat of the kitchen or the inferno of confession.
It was becoming too much of a burden not to tell her certain aspects missing from his affiliation with Stockton but with an open investigation going, it was a matter of time before either she or Lieutenant Gutiérrez found out.
"Mason, habla conmigo. (Mason, talk to me.) Answer my question. What happened for you to get in trouble?" Orinda asked as she tied her hair upward. The heat from the kitchen, in addition to her drink, caused her to warm. She needed to remove the hair from her neck to cool it. The anticipation was killing her.
"Some of the operations I was involved in are still considered classified. Most classified level information is declassified after a number of years, but that’s only if the government wants to do so. There are details about missions from the Korean War the public doesn’t know about due to classification and probably never will. Maybe it’s because an armistice was signed only for ceasefire, and we’re technically still at war, or maybe it’s to mask the disgusting actuality, but that’s from another war and is irrelevant. Our mission will forever be classified. What we did will never be told of because it was a disgrace. We killed soldiers when surrender was offered. We killed soldiers because surrender was offered. It was horrible. Men begged for their lives, and we killed them just as we killed those that damned us to hell. We killed the enemy, and we killed ourselves. It’s something I will never forgive myself for," Mason said.
The confession was overwhelming to him and her. He began to wipe tears away while she could only look on. She knew she would never fully know what happened, but she also knew that if the story were told, the world would look at him and others serving differently. A United States Marine deployed into a combat situation is supposed to be seen by the world as a liberator and not a tyrant and belligerent of war.
"Did you do this sober, Mason? Is that what the Slivovica has to do with the story?" Orinda asked.
"I was sober but wish I wasn’t. The reason I drank off duty was it helped calm my nerves and allowed me to communicate with my fellow Marines. I could never drink while on a mission because I would become the group’s weak link and would put more lives at risk. I have to admit, if I did drink while on mission, I probably could have saved lives. It’s because of my speech that I could not save the lives of innocent soldiers that were doing their ordered duties. I couldn’t squeeze words out fast enough to Stockton or any of them for that matter without being reduced and ridiculed but if I drank, I wouldn’t have been coherent enough to translate any language. It was a tough situation."
"You were in a tough situation, Mason, but it’s over now. There is nothing you can do about it now. War is death, and soldiers are born to die. It’s been that way since the beginning. It’s the way of the world and everyone in combat knows it but what you can do is make sure that the death of this Marine, regardless of how he lived and served, does not go unsolved. I think we were brought together to prevent more death in addition to chronicling the details," Orinda said and Mason knew she was right.
There was something else that Mason knew from his time at boarding school. His teacher would make the class recite, even write, John 16:13 on every paper assigned. He read it and wrote it so much that eventually he didn’t have to refer to the Bible anymore because he knew it by heart.
"But when He, the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.”
It was interesting in life to consider what allows truth to be revealed. Death and sin brought confessions of guilt that the soul no longer allowed the heart to bear. Mason knew he would have to confess to Orinda because he had no one else with his best interest at heart, plus he felt that she wouldn’t judge him. Everyone needed an outlet and she was his. She knew that he trusted to tell her because he had no one else. She wanted to help fix him because she already witnessed what an unpopular war did to a man, but now she would know what an unfamiliar war did.