Barbara Samuel (32 page)

He made a soft sound of amusement. “Sure.” Standing, he looked around, suddenly unsure again, and handed the cigarette to her. Offered to light it, and she showed him that she still had Diane’s lighter. He stood
there a moment more, then said, “I guess, uh, I’ll go. If you see Angelica, tell her I was thinking about her, eh?”

Luna nodded. Lit the cigarette, and this time smoked it, her heart squeezing with terror and relief and worry. “You know, Tiny,” she said. “If you ever want to talk it through, any of it, feel free to call me. Anytime, day or night. I used to be pretty good at this kind of stuff.”

“Why would you help me?” he said cynically.

She raised a hand. “For keeping my secret.”

A half smile. “Thanks.”

Luna watched him wander to his car, his head down as he smoked the last of his cigarette. Best Friend Barbie, her hair hidden beneath a scarf, poked her head from between the curtains and watched him drive away, pulling his car gently into the street. Driving like a little old man.
He’ll kill her eventually.

“Yep,” Luna said aloud. Unless something happened, he definitely would. It broke her heart for all of them. Jail might not be the answer, but she wasn’t sure there was anything else that would counter hundreds of years of social conditioning and the brittle temper of a man who was lost. She finished the cigarette, put it out, and went in to let Angelica know the coast was clear.

She was gone.

Even after leaving the store, Tiny couldn’t come down from the mad. He kept thinking it was going away, but then it would shoot through his veins like straight pins, pricking his inner elbow, the base of his skull, the corners of his eyes, making him see a red smear at the edges of everything. Lorenzo, an old man on the job, had talked to him low, in Spanish, the words pouring over him like something cool,
Let it go, let it be, you don’t need no trouble, he’s a boy, a fool, a crazy Anglo boy. Nothing.

But every time he started to feel it slipping away, Tiny saw John’s big white hands on Angelica’s breasts, those big ugly hands over the white skin and freckles. She had beautiful breasts, big and round and heavy, with dark, dark nipples like crowns and just thinking of them, thinking of her around him, made him ache with a sharp, shooting desire.
I’ll be sucking on her titties all night long.

From seven in the morning until five in the evening, the ankle monitor was inactive, more or less, because he was at work, miles away from the machine that went off if he strayed the rest of the time. It basically came down to house arrest combined with work release. Usually Thomas was there to see that Tiny didn’t break the terms of the arrangement, but he’d be at the hospital with John for a while.

Tiny had an hour, maybe two.

After he left the grocery store, he just drove around for a while, not going anywhere, just thinking. He thought about what that woman, Luna, said to him. And he thought of putting his face in Angelica’s neck, smelling her, and how that would fill him back up, take away this empty feeling. He needed to see her. It was like an addiction.

He could go to her house and wait there till she came home. He thought about that for twenty minutes or more driving up to Rancho de Taos and through the back roads, then over to Peñasco, and back to Taos again. If his car was on the street, someone might see it and they might all get in trouble. Instead, he parked three blocks away, the car hidden behind some trees by a vacant lot. He walked away from it and took a short cut through the fields, beneath a big willow brushing the ground softly, and came to his house from the alley. The back door was open.

And standing there in the sun, his hair so hot from it that it burned and he put a hand over it, he wondered why it had never occurred to him to come here during the day before, when the kids were at school and they could be alone. All alone. Anticipation made him feel faint.

Thinking of her skin, of her heavy hair, he opened the back gate and went up the ancient walkway, broken a little with time and too much weather, the top layer grating away to show the pebbles and dirt that made concrete. Late pink roses dripped over the fence, filling the air with a thick sweetness and he paused, feeling dizzy, to pluck one.

Through the open door came the sound of the radio playing the pop she liked, and he opened the screen door quietly, moving on soft feet into his house, seeing with a kind of weakness all the things he had been missing—his chair at the table, the salt and pepper shakers with silver tops he’d bought at the flea market one day because they were crystal and she liked nice things. It was all spic and span, no dishes on the counter, the floor so clean you could lick it. A crisp white curtain lifted on the breeze, and he smelled ironing.

A swell of agonized love came up in his chest. She liked things to be nice. She worked so hard to keep them like that for all of them. Little things—the blue bowls of stuff that smelled good, the way she kept gloves in the bathroom and special rags by everything that could get dirty, and her three mops for different jobs. It mattered to her, things being clean.

And the kids looked like that, too, their clothes all perfect all the time, their hair never too long, their socks never sprung. She would do without meat to get new shoes for one of the kids.

He stood in the kitchen, absorbing his wilderness of
love for this house and family and wondered how it could be that they lived apart now, even for a little while. He turned the rose between his thumb and forefinger and then turned toward the living room, going down the hall with the flower in his hand.

She stood before the ironing board, pressing a skirt, singing along with the music. Her hair was caught in a clip at the back of her head, and pieces of it fell down against her jaw. She’d washed off her makeup from work, so he could see the brownish mask around her eyes, and she wore only a pair of baggy shorts and a sweatshirt and thongs, but he almost couldn’t breathe for loving her, wanting her.

“Angelica,” he said, quietly.

She jerked violently, startled, and for a single, painful moment, he saw true fear, even though she recognized him. It turned to happiness when she saw the flower. Her eyes widened, and she rushed to the front door to close and lock it before anyone saw inside. “Tiny!” she cried, pressing her back against the door. “What are you doing here?” She whispered, like someone might hear. “You’ll get in trouble and we won’t be able to live together at all anymore. You have to go.”

“I will,” he said, nodding, coming toward her. “I just wanted to see you so much.” He gave her the flower, pressed close to her, put his hands on her hips—sturdy hips like a woman, not a girl. “Touch you.”

Her breath came out of her on a quiet sigh. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said of the rose, and put her arms around his neck. “I miss you so much,” she said, and he kissed her, and it was like lightning, like a storm boiling up out of the south, a thick, wild honey pouring off her tongue. He groaned and pulled off her sweatshirt, baring her breasts, kneeling down to kiss them, pushing off her shorts and panties and sinking into her right there.
Her cries were guttural and too loud, she covered her mouth, but then he covered it for her, liking it when she bit his hand almost to bloody, their bodies banging hard against the floor as they fell, as they roared together into the need, the release they’d been wanting, an agony, a relief, a sorrow, a joy.

There was no one else, ever, in his heart, in his mind, than this woman, his Angelica, his angel, his woman, his wife. “You’re mine,” he said fiercely. “Mine.”

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes.”

For the first time, Joy wasn’t there when Luna arrived home. Luna had bummed a ride from a coworker, too tired to walk two and a half miles. When she came in, the message light on the phone was flashing, and she distractedly sorted the mail while she listened. There were four messages: the first from the high school registrar, asking for some paperwork Luna had asked April to get for her.

The second was from Thomas, telling Luna he appreciated her help this afternoon more than he could say, and promising he would call later when things were stabilized.

The third was from Marc. And it was such a Marc kind of message Luna was gritting her teeth within three seconds. “Lu, look, we need to talk about this situation. I thought I’d be all right with Joy living with you, but I’m not comfortable with it after all and I think we should talk seriously about what’s best for her. I’ve been reading about the gang activity there and it can’t be good for Joy to be in that environment, and I know you
have recently purchased a home, but she also tells me you still don’t drive, and she just has so much more of everything here.”

A pause, one he used to take a breath. “Lu, you love her. Do the right thing, huh?”

“Right,” she said, and punched the number seven to erase the message. “That I will do, sir.”

The fourth message was from April. Her voice was high and brittle. “Hi, sweetie. Just calling to let you know we got your letters. Thank you so much. You’re a peach. Give us a call when you have time. Your dad will be out of town all weekend, so we’re doing movie days and things like that. Anytime, honey.”

As she stood there, Allie called. “So, are we on or what?”

A stab of guilt touched her. She’d forgotten again. “You know, Allie, I’m tired. I don’t think I really want to go out. How about tomorrow? I might enjoy myself a lot more then. ”

“You don’t have the thing with your mom?”

“She’s going to Greece, poor baby. We’re going to have it here tomorrow night. Can you come over?”

“That sounds good. Maybe I’ll go over to the art festival tonight, check out the boys in their Wranglers.”

Luna chuckled. “Good idea.”

As she hung up, she did take a second to wonder why she still hadn’t said much about Thomas. Come to that, she hadn’t shared it with anyone. Not Allie or her mother or Elaine. Interesting. She’d have to think about why. When she had a second.

Right this minute, she had to return Marc’s call no matter how much she loathed the chore. Especially if he was going out of town for the weekend. His secretary put her through right away, and he said, “Lu!” in a hearty voice. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

“I’m not sending her back, Marc.” “Lu, that’s not reasonable. You’re being—” “You need to listen to me,” she said. “If Joy chooses to go back to Atlanta, I’m perfectly willing to let her go—but this isn’t about me or you. It’s about her. She’s old enough to make these decisions herself, and you can bully her as much as you like, but she’s even more stubborn than you are, and all you’ll do is push her away even further.” “Lu, what can she get in Taos? Really.” There was a lot, but that wasn’t what this was about. Not Taos, not Luna, not even Joy. “Why did you change your mind, Marc? Why send her away then yank her back? Did the newspapers get wind of it? Did your campaign manager tell you that Joy would be an asset to you?”

A slight pause told her it was one of those things. A red-hot blister of anger burst in her. “Are you ever going to stop using people?” she asked bitterly.

“I’m not using her. She’s my daughter and I love her.” “Especially when she can advance your agenda.” “I’m also not bullying her, Lu. That’s an exaggeration.”

“Is it? You promise to send her an allowance, then you withdraw it a week after she arrives? What would you call that?” Luna flung her hair out of her face. “Maybe it’s not bullying. Let’s just call it manipulation.”

“There’s no need to raise your voice.” Luna closed her eyes, putting a finger against the place between her eyebrows that had suddenly started to throb. “I am not raising my voice, but there’s a good reason if I so choose—I’m furious with you for using your daughter as a pawn, and I won’t let you do it. Not now. Not ever again. The custody agreement has been
changed and whether you want to do it or not, you owe us both just a little time together.”

“I can go back to court, you know.”

It felt like all the air was suddenly sucked out of her lungs.
Old memory
, said Therapist Barbie.
Take a deep breath.
“Yes, you can,” she managed evenly. “And you’ll have everything on your side, just like you always do.” She thought with terror of the night in the motel with Thomas, of her developing relationship with him, thought of sitting outside today with a known wife-abuser, thought of Marc’s connections and money and knew if he really tried to fight her on this, he’d likely win. “I keep hoping, day after day, that you’ll one day recognize how much you hurt her. Then and now. Try, for once in your life, to do the right thing, huh?”

She hung up, tears of anger threatening to spill into her throat. How could she
ever
have loved this man? Had there been even an ounce of goodness in him? Anything but his own blindly selfish ambitions?

Once, there had been a good man in there. He’d come from nothing, clad only in his ambition and a fierce will to succeed. Once, it had been a noble kind of fight and Luna had admired him. But as so often happened, his gift had also proved to be his fatal flaw.

Staring out the window at the mountains, immovable and somehow wise-looking, another wave of anger swept her. Hadn’t she paid enough? Did she have to keep giving up everything that mattered to make the gods get off her case?

She didn’t want Joy to go back home. Didn’t want to give up the richening bond between them, the sweet pleasure of just seeing her every morning, dragging into the kitchen rumpled and swollen-eyed with sleep. Luna loved the sound of Joy’s laughter, the way she gripped her pencil as she did her homework, loved seeing the
emerging ghost of the woman that would one day take her body.