Susana couldn’t wait for summer to end, mostly due to the one lone cicada who droned on so long she wondered if it would ever die. Sleepless, it didn’t help she was trapped in her own love sorrows at 65 point 5, heading like a freight train on the loose for another New Year’s Day birthday.
Fortunately, Papa was still hanging on, Mark’s dad, Jefferson, was the star of Ivy Park, telling stories, delighting staff and other vets and ladies living full time in memory care. The local VA was very helpful in getting him placed. The sale of Jefferson’s farm went so smooth it was a relief to Mark to be able to turn the estate into the kind of care his dad needed. Both their dads worked hard enough to be able to have good quality nursing. It was a blessing to say the least.
“I’ve got some crazy news Susana,” Mark said.
It was mid September and the summer rush had slowed at the local café. They met for an informal breakfast. Mark had been dragging his feet to open the email the private detective had sent him a few months ago. When he finally opened it, his sister’s mugshot was staring back at him along with the mugshot of a man he didn’t recognize. Of course, he needed to talk to Susana about it.
FLASH: KATHY BAUER. FLASH: DERRICK BAUER.
EMAIL:
Hi Mark,
Unsure if this is the Kathy you’re looking for, but she matches the information you gave me and the picture — which we had digitally aged. Looks like it could be her. She married Derrick Bauer about 30 years ago. I’m not supposed to have these pictures, but I have contacts on the inside. Don’t know much about them, but they had an address in McFarland. Their only child, Luke, seemed troubled, but then his parents were mules for a well known cartel for many years. Looks like we found your Luke. At 17, he was sent by Kathy and Derrick to some hoity rehab in the Redwoods — paid for courtesy of drug money. Another contact/favor. When he got out, his parents, who had gone through a swift trial, received life in prison. It was the only way the judge saw fit to protect them from death by Cartel. Apparently they’ve had a rough time of it in lockup.
As a result, Luke was officially on his own at 18. He flailed, in and out of trouble for years, got good at aliases — and eventually made his way to you.
Link: McFarland Today below.
Police Blotter: Luke Bauer, minor, 17, McFarland, California, arrested for stealing money from the Idle Spur Café, McFarland, Ca.
There’s some proof that Luke struggled through Jr. High, constantly absent. I called the school. Spoke with the same principal. He remembered all the wellness check calls made to the Bauer’s. He even showed up at their house himself. Apparently, Luke did a bit better in high school. Graduated. That’s positive. But the kid never got help. Lost his parents after high school to prison. Kid’s lucky he got the sentence he did.
It’s never what we expect Mark. You’re not alone.
Please call me if you have any questions. I’ll be forwarding an invoice.
Respectfully,
Joe A. Gauci, PI
“No way in hell,” Susana looked at Mark across the table holding a copy of the email.
“The kid came looking to use us,” Mark looked around. “That’s all he knew Mark,” said Susana as she reached for his hand on the table. She didn’t care who was looking at this point. Small towns. “What a messed up person my sister turned out to be Susana,” Mark waited a minute, “Luke had grandparents. Me? Honestly Susana? I feel nothing but sadness. It’s too late. I gotta let it go. Wish the kid well. I don’t know if I could ever see my sister again at this point.” “Obviously, it’s too dangerous Mark — and I doubt the prison would allow it. Best to ride low,” Susana said.
Susana began to mumble at breakneck speed in Spanish, shoveling more food than she weighed, while Mark stared around the old Keene Café, poking a fork at his.
Tuning out, he looked up at the old ceiling fans, whizzing helicopter blades, ready to split away from their wobbly bases, as Brenda, probably in her 90s now, shuffled by, yelling toward the kitchen, “I told ya’ll no egg in the qui-sont sandwich,” TING, she slammed the plate on the metal ledge. “Ya, ya, lo siento!!! Calm down boss,” screamed Victor, the recent hire. Man, that little lady was no nonsense. She epitomized a vintage throwback, still wearing her original apron and café shirt, adorned in sparkles, plastic food pins, fake flowers, a few scout patches, anything a customer gave her or a treasure she carried from home. Brenda had pearly cat-eyed frames, with lenses that accentuated her sharp blue eyes, like a magnifying glass, when she looked at you. A beaten down silvery chain hung around her bright orangey hair with shades of yellow where the gray was supposed to be. An enormous pair of Hokas were attached to her boney legs. She knew where to put the money, Mark thought. He wondered if Brenda had to work? or if she worked to stay upright.
There were two war vets, sitting one booth away from each other, engrossed in banter about their experiences. Each one talking louder and prouder absorbing the sound of Susana’s Spanish inquisition. One donned a cowboy hat full of military insignias, the other a ball-cap just the same. Between Brenda and these men you would have thought the place was made for deaf people. There were Christmas lights strewn everywhere, even draped over the lopsided gold framed Native American paintings on the wood paneling — which was closing in from all sides. A grandmother brought her grandkids in for some ice-cream and by the time it got to their table, Mark noticed, one small child leaning into grandma’s waist. She was saying a little riddle, as they scooped ice-cream together, while the other three older kids were engrossed in their phones. Ugh, he thought. They were missing out on something good. Something real good.
Just then - SQUEAK!!!
Suddenly, Susana was cut-off from her passionate ramble, as Mark jumped to the rescue, before she slid under the table. Seemed the red pleather booth seat had detached itself from the wood box, tilted her upwards, then downwards like a cheap county fair ride.
“Ay, mi madre!,” Susana was red as the seat.
“Cash only,” said Brenda, the register was glued down, hemmed in by tiny donation containers, like March of Dimes, Salvation Army, Children’s Miracle Network, and a few local pet rescues. Snow globes made of pennies and bugs. Folks usually chose from the array of lotto offerings sitting right next to them. “Have a nice day,” Brenda said, walking away tuckin’ a ten, Mark handed her, into her apron pocket. “Thank you.” She had a pen in her mouth with a plastic spoon taped to it.
As they walked outside, Susana said, “I still don’t understand how these events in our lives are coming together in an almost sci-fi movie-like way? It’s surreal. How can we be so close to it and know nothing at all ? “We asked questions. We investigated. That’s how,” Mark responded confidently, “and I know it seems surreal Susana, but our people stuck around. We imagined them to be far away. Like you said, six degrees of separation. I looked into it. It’s global too.” “Guess our lives are absorbed in our own grief. We miss things,” she said, looking down at a June bug walking along the gravel. Shouldn’t you be moving on too, she thought.
They both had things to do on the weekend. Mark’s business was blooming, which kept his mind off the tragedy that became his family.
Susana decided to look up Dr. Ray to see how he was doing. She had heard he was still living in McFarland with his wife. 80 going on 81, in relatively good health, his eyes were going, his hands were shaking and the old legs were ordered to wear compression socks. His patient’s families were concerned. His wife just wanted him home. They had a little place on an acre that took care of itself. Just a few sweet cats. Susana knew that Dr. Ray had a catch and release program for many years.
She’d been sad hearing about another recent suicide, this time, close to home, in Clovis. Another veterinarian. The story disappeared, but Susana discovered there was far more to it.
Veterinarians actually face a much higher rate of suicide compared to the general population and other professions. It shocked her, but it didn’t. Looking around at the elevated state of humanity, she saw a cocktail of arsenic and old lace. Except who and/or what? was responsible.
“A man is ethical only when life, as such, is sacred to him, that of plants and animals as that of his fellow men, and when he devotes himself helpfully to all life that is in need of help.”
— Albert Schweitzer
“Dr. Ray?, I don’t know if you remember me or the Clemente Farm?, but I wanted to check in — see how you’re doing these days?” “Oh hello there — Isabel?” his voice a bit shaky. “No, it’s me, her daughter, Susana. Mama passed away in her mid 60s, sadly. And I am in my mid 60s now. Papa is in memory care in Clovis.” “Oh, I am so sorry to hear that Susana. Yes, I remember you as a kid. What are you doing now?,” he said. “I live and work in Keene, California. I also advocate for dogs and cats that need rescuing, plus I have my own crew of rescues,” Susana said proudly. “Wonderful. Wonderful. How can I help you?” the doc said. “Well, I was wondering if you might be interested in speaking with some of the younger vets in Kern County? “What would that be about Susana?” he said with interest. “Not sure if you realize how bad it is right now, Dr. Ray, with costs to vets, patient costs, mass euthanasia, abuse of animals, and then the array of people who really love their dogs and cats? and can either afford the high care and want more, or can’t afford the care at all. It’s been making for a boiling pot of emotional and financial strain on veterinarians and their staffs. Many of them go from one hard situation to the next and are often publicly shamed for things that are out of their control. Anything from treating an abused animal, then legally having to return it to the owner, when they are aware it’s a horrible situation, or just the rescues being brought in, in bad shape, high euthanasia from breeders, euthanasia requests for perfectly fine, yet unaffordable pets, and the private/public shame they take for high costs. The list goes on, but I thought it might be a good clinic to offer to this generation. One that inspires them to keep going, any advice you might have, etc. would be appreciated.
There was a long silence. She spoke a mouthful as usual.
“Sounds like they need love Susana,” he sighed. Then coughed. “I can do that, but I should probably check with the wife. She likes having me home. Tell you what, you arrange it, perhaps pick a few dates and I will make it happen. The wife has to drive me anyways,” he chuckled. “They took my license away a few months ago. Damn macular low vision.”
“Oh, thank you Dr. Ray,” Susana was beaming, “just call me Ray, Susana. I’d be happy to get my old arse off the couch. You were always sunshine.” Susana blushed, “Do you have an email Dr., I mean Ray, where I can send you some information?” “Yes, my wife takes care of that. It’s my eyes,” he said, “oh I apologize, you did say that. So very sorry for what you’re going through.” “It was great to hear from you Susana. I will never forget your parents. Good people,” Dr. Ray never changed. He was kind. “Thank you. They really were, are, I mean, okay. Bye for now,” Susana hung up.
Of course, she checked in with Mark and wondered what he was doing in the evening.. They decided to make the best of the rest of summer. She’d get stuff for barbecue. He’d get ice-cream.
After dinner they played cards, chatted about the day and laughed over Chuck’s snores. Nothing was wrong with him. He was just very old. Didn’t want to do much. He was still eating, drinking. How Susana loved that boy.
They had a good time just being. Forgetting.
As Susana walked Mark and Sarge outside to his car, the lone cicada began to screech his love song again.
“I wonder if he’ll win her over. If she’s there?” she said.
“Where? Who?” Mark was looking straight at Susana smiling.
“La Cigarra,” she smiled back.
“When all t'world goes one road, I go t'other.”
― James Herriot, All Creatures Great and Small
Photography: work coverage of my favorite Mariachis in L.A.
and btw, was Ronstadt just amazing???
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.