CHAPTER TWELVE
Liane
When I awoke, Hawk was lying on his side, his head balanced on his hand, his eyes watching me. He smiled, and I felt a light happiness fill the room.
“You aren’t afraid of morning breath?” I asked him.
“Not in the least,” he laughed and smacked me on the rump before he slid off the bed and headed to the kitchen.
“Are you making tea?” I called after him.
“Nope. Coffee.”
“Could you make me some tea?”
“Nope. Coffee. You’re the tea maker in this house,” he added, and I felt a glow of belonging.
We took our mugs outdoors and sat on a small patio that held only one chair, so I sat on his lap. “Why just one chair?”
“There’s only one of me,” he answered, and I recognized in his words the defensive posture he had determined for a lifetime. He must have realized how that sounded, because he added, “We can get a second one if you insist, but I kinda like you here.”
I licked the cream cheese I’d smothered on a bagel from my thumb and set the mug down. “Well, it’s up to you,” I taunted him and leapt off his lap before he could grab me. He came after me, laughing and scooped me up into his arms. I wrapped mine around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips. He pulled back his head, and there was a very serious look on his face.
“I want you,” he said.
My shoulders drooped a bit as I realized the effect I’d had on him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a tease. You just made me happy.”
“I’m not talking about sex, Liane. I want you. Forever. Here. With me. I want you to marry me.”
I realized he wasn’t teasing. And it felt right. So very right. I couldn’t stop myself from nodding.
He dropped me to my feet and lifted my chin to look up at him. “Are you serious? Will you marry me?”
“Are you seriously asking me?”
“Sweet Jesus!” He picked me up in a bear hug and swung me around until I threatened to lose my breakfast. “When?”
“When will I lose my breakfast?”
“No, silly. When will you marry me? How soon?”
“Do you mean to tell me, Hawk Sansabri, that you aren’t going to give me a proper courting? You’re not going to take me to dinners and picnics and movies and for long rides in the country? You just want me to drop everything and marry you this minute?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” The look on his face told me he was overjoyed. “Hawk?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“Slow down. There are two things that have to take place first.”
His face fell. “Such as?”
“Number one, you must properly ask my dad for my hand. That’s a token of respect, and it’s simply the way it’s done. You can have him on your side or make an enemy for life, but respect makes the difference.”
“That’s no problem. Let’s go now.” He pulled me by the hand toward the drive.
“Not so fast. The other thing is we have to straighten out the mess with your past. I can’t marry a man who doesn’t have a legal name. It will catch up with you eventually. You also have to come clean to your father. I don’t care whether you do it with open arms or boxing gloves, but we can’t begin anything as wonderful as our life together under the shadow of deceit.”
“Liane, you’re not serious?”
“I am, indeed.” I put my hands on my hips, and he saw the defiance in me for the first time. “If you don’t straighten that all out, we’re doomed to fail.”
“Liane, the name doesn’t matter. I have all the identification I need. I can get a marriage license. It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me. That’s the condition. I don’t care if you straighten out the name and then legally change it to Hawk Sansabri, but you need to make this right. If you don’t, you’ll continue to harbor this resentment, and that’s like an acid. You don’t need to be his son or even his friend. You don’t need to talk to him ever again. You do, however, need to stand up for yourself and walk out into the open. It’s the only way, Hawk.”
I could tell by the look on his face that although he wanted to fight me on this, he understood and agreed with everything I was saying. I didn’t want it to be hard for him, but I knew it would only become harder.
His shoulders slumped. “Okay.”
I kissed him again and this time, he held on to me as if I were a lifesaver. “It’s okay, my love. I’m here and always will be. Remember our connection? We’ll get through this together.”
Hawk
I drove Liane back to her car that day and headed home to begin my plan. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. My sense of revenge had been the driving force behind my success. It was time that my wife to be serve as that incentive. She deserved to marry a man who was honest with the world. I couldn’t fault her for that and in reality, wanted it no other way.
When I reached home, I showered and called an attorney I used in California. He had handled the paperwork when I sold my company there. Although he suspected something wasn’t quite right in the documentation regarding my name, it was in his interest to say nothing. Since he still filed corporate paperwork for me, I was protected by client/attorney privilege. I came clean to him on the phone, and he said while he didn’t have a license to practice in Kentucky, he’d make inquiries and get me answers.
He called back within the hour. “You’ve got nothing outstanding on your real name. Those were juvenile charges that were expunged when you turned eighteen. Now, you’re a bit sticky because you re-entered this country under an assumed name and that’s a felony. Don’t ask me why when the illegals are given better treatment than the working man citizen, but hey, that’s a political game, and I don’t get into that. So, what we have to do is file for a new passport for you, then get your driver’s license, etc. Can you get me a copy of your birth certificate?”
“Probably. I was born here in Kentucky.”
“Do it. You’ll have to go in without identification and tell them you were robbed or something. Figure that out according to your law there and don’t bring my name into it. I’m not supposed to be advising you outside of California.”
“I get it. Then what?”
“Then get me the certificate and at the same time, apply for a driver’s license. Give them the same story. You might have to take the driver’s test because they won’t have anything on record for you. Shit. You might even have to get a permit first. I’ll work on a workaround for that. Tell them as little as possible and don’t bring up the Sansabri name. Use only your real name. Now comes the next question. Are you going to legally change your name to Sansabri or keep LaViere? If you decide on LaViere, we need to go to court and get a judge’s approval to change all these corporate documents. You’ve been involved in fraud, my boy. It’s a helluva tangled web you’ve woven for yourself. It might come with a slap on the wrist and some fines.”
“I get that. Let’s just get it over with. Do you need me out there?”
“Not yet. I’ll send some power of attorney documents to you, and you shoot them back. If we have to go before a judge, I’ll call you if you need to fly in.”
I hung up the phone and felt suddenly much lighter. Lies were heavy to carry around. My phone rang again. It was the attorney.
“The presiding judge is up for re-election.”
“How much?”
“Maybe fifty thousand?”
“I’ll send a draft.”
Everything, even justice, could be bought for a price.
***
I waited in line and watched the people around me. A young woman was sitting in one of the hard, wooden chairs. She was clutching her ticket number in one hand and breastfeeding a child with the other. Around her were a half dozen more kids in stepping-stone ages. I wondered to myself what kind of future this woman had to look forward to. The high point of her life ended when that first child was conceived.
There was a Hispanic family clustered around their patriarch. He held his number ticket as though it was a ticket to Heaven. I easily understood what was being said and realized they were all illegals and had come with a story prepared. Their dream would be to walk out with birth certificates, yet they probably didn’t have a hundred words of English between them.
There were a few teens, evidently on their way to the license bureau or perhaps to file for Medicaid or maybe even get into the service. I wanted to send them out into the sunlight and tell them to run. They were about to get enmeshed in the system, but then so was I. What the fuck am I doing here?
It was my turn then. “I’d like a copy of my birth certificate, please.”
She held out her hand. “Driver’s license, social security card, and one other piece of identification.”
I slid her the piece of paper with the judge’s seal. My fifty-thousand-dollar ticket.
The woman read it, then looked up at me over her horn rimmed glasses. “Can I see a photo ID? A driver’s license will do fine.”
“Don’t have one. Never drove.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and I could tell she was hung over by the way she cringed every so often and held her head. There were at least two babies behind me squalling at the top of their lungs.
“Do you mean to tell me you’re, what, in your twenties and never drove a car?”
“Have a driver.” The attorney’s words hung in my mind. I wasn’t elaborating on anything.
“What happened to your birth certificate?”
“Don’t know. My mother kept the important papers, but she died. Came to the funeral and her place had been cleaned out. No records, nothing. Everything was gone. Not even a picture to remember her by.”
The young woman who was breastfeeding had concluded her job and was now shouting at the children as though this would straighten them up. She shouted their names in a memorized litany and probably forgot who was whom from time to time. She tidied that up neatly by screaming, “Y’all.” It was a nice, serviceable name that included everyone.
The woman behind the counter put her hand to her head again and winced. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They’re right after me. As soon as I’m done, you can get her and the kids out of here.”
She read the judge’s affidavit again, then sighed and nodded before asking for additional information.
I rattled my name, parents name, place of birth and all the legal bullshit required to get the piece of paper I wanted. I watched as she squinted at her computer monitor, stopping every so often to rub her temples.
The baby wasn’t full yet, or maybe it was colicky, but its wail drowned out the scattered last-minute strategic conversations of the Hispanic family. The two-year-old must have decided to scream in sympathy because her wail joined in the clatter. I looked at the woman behind the counter with an expectant expression on my face as though she should already be completing my request.
“Damnit!” She muttered under her breath as the baby hit a new high note. “Sign here and that will be fifteen dollars,” she said, pushing a paper beneath the Plexiglass window at me. I signed quickly, and she tore the document from its printer, stamping it hard with an official seal then signed it. “Here you go.” She grabbed my fifteen dollars and slid me the certificate.
I left the building and inhaled the relative quiet of the busy street. I've never bought my way through life before and felt not one ounce of guilt about doing it now.
Next was the DMV office. “I’d like to apply for a driver’s license,” I said to the girl behind the counter. She was young and looked like a librarian. I smiled and commented that her eyes matched her blouse. She asked for my previous license, and I gave her the same story, then handed her another paper from the judge that magically excused me from needing a permit. Money was king once again. She nodded and had me stand in front of a blue board. I flashed a bright smile as the camera flashed in my face. Ten minutes later, I was walking out with a paper license and the promise of a permanent one being sent to my house.
I went to the UPS store and overnighted the birth certificate. I drove past the courthouse in time to see the Hispanic family emerging from the office I’d so recently left. They were all crying; even the patriarch was wiping at his eyes. I pulled over to the curb and motioned to him to come to my opened window. I handed him three thousand-dollar bills and wished him buena suerte. He nodded and repeated gracias, gracias! He remembered me from inside the office. Our eyes met, and there was a kinship of the abandoned established.
The easy part was done. Now I had to come up with a plan for the hard part.