The Desert Behind Me Page 14

  The memory of the maracas rattle sent a chill cascading down my spine. The rattlesnake in the wash called to me and I decided on a different route for today. Frank didn’t need an opportunity to tempt me.

  An old Charger eased down the street. Tangerine orange, with a white stripe along the side. Someone had taken care of this old guy. A truly classic car in mint condition.

  It pulled over in front of my driveway and all my alarms sounded. The window rolled down and from the driver’s side, a friendly voice called out. “Hi. Jamie. I was hoping you’d be home.”

  The steel melted in my body. With legs that didn’t want to run the other way, I walked to the car. “Office Grijalva. What are you doing here?”

  He shut the mighty engine down and stepped out of his car. “I don’t get many Sundays off and I wanted to take Geraldine here for a spin. I was heading out toward Three Points and when I got close to your turn off, just pulled in on a whim.”

  Frank growled.

  A normal person would say something. Make a friendly comment, smile. “Nice car.”

  His wide grin held no darkness, no secrets. “How ‘bout it? You up for a ride?”

  At least I had an excuse. I looked down at my clothes. “Just going for a run.”

  He raised his eyebrows in a “so what” way. “I’ll buy you a shake at this great spot up the road.”

  Drinks yesterday. A ride and shakes today. Did I need this much contact? Did I want it? “A shake isn’t compensation for a missed run.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough. What would happen if you took the day off? It’s Sunday. Come for a ride with me.”

  Frank said, “You know what happens when you make friends. They leave you. Like Larry. Like Sue. Like Kari.”

  Tara harped about making friends. Mom advised caution. Wasn’t it time I decided something this simple for myself?

  The sun warmed the back of my head and I looked at the side of the house, the route I planned to run. “Maybe some other time.”

  Rafe’s face, so still and neutral, seemed to convey disappointment. “Seriously? You’d take a run over my dazzling company?”

  Even for me I had a mix of emotions. Tara’s line of reasoning echoed. What could be so risky about riding in a car with this guy?

  “He could find out more about you, and he’d be gone in a puff of dust.”

  “You wouldn’t be any worse off than you are now.”

  Or, he might stick around long enough for me to get attached, then he’d rip out my guts when he left. Better to stick to my run.

  He waited for me to change my mind but I had nothing to say. He gazed down the street, then into my eyes. “Okay…truth. It’s my Sunday with my kids, but I let them go with their mother because it’s Mother’s Day. So I’m lonely and feeling abandoned. Thought if you went for a ride with me, it’d take my mind off it.”

  Frank burst through my paralysis. “Bullshit!”

  Here’s what a few years of therapy taught me about Frank. For all his vitriol and foul language—the demands of violence I should visit on others—his main concern was my safety. If we were alone, I’d let him know I appreciated his concerns but that Rafe could be trusted. We didn’t need to fear every person.

  I wasn’t alone, though. Being firm with Frank worked best if I actually spoke to him. When I didn’t have that luxury, I did my best to convey the message internally. Since I mostly kept to myself, when this need arose, I would pull out my phone and talk, like half the American population speaking into their devices.

  “I shouldn’t have just come over. Bad habit of mine.”

  He’d put himself out by coming here and I handed him defeat and rejection. A ride. That’s all. Soon enough he’d figure out any one of the million reasons for not wanting to spend more time with me and never show up again. Rejection wasn’t something new to me. Obviously, it stung him. “Okay. A shake sounds good.”

  A subtle change in his face but his eyes sparked with pleasure. “You won’t be sorry.”

  The black leather interior warmed the backs of my legs, but not scorching, as it would in another month. The snap of the belt buckle vibrated through me, like the clang of a jail cell. No turning back. My brain raced, trying out and abandoning conversation starters.

  “This is a great car. What year?”

  Rafe backed into my driveway and then headed out of the neighborhood. “It’s an ’87. I had one like it back in the day. This baby is my project for Sundays when I don’t get my kids.”

  Maybe he wanted me to ask about his children. He’d mentioned them twice. “This is a Shelby, right?”

  He glanced at me, clearly surprised. “You know about Shelby Chargers?”

  How could I forget the freedom of opening it up on a straight road, the thrill of control around tight corners in the mountains. “It was the only sunroof I ever owned. Not practical in upstate New York most of the year.”

  “You had one, too? Oh man, I loved that baby more than anything.” He turned onto Ajo Highway, heading west. “Well, obviously not more than my ex. Since I sold the car to pay for her wedding ring.”

  “I sold mine because….” I started to speak but he accelerated and the rush of air in the windows drowned me out. Thank God, since the next words, “the car seat wouldn’t fit in back,” would have launched into questions I avoided like hidden mines.

  He shouted above the wind. “Should have kept the car. She was way more reliable and faithful than my wife.”

  He saved me from conversation by reaching for the tape player. “Hope you like heavy metal.”

  He pushed a cassette into what was probably a state-of-the-art stereo system in 1987. Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me screamed louder than the wind, and thirty years pitched off my shoulders.

  The song took me back to a year into my tour of duty, based in Ft. Huachuca, sixty miles east of Tucson. It was my first brush with Arizona and my early crush on the desert.

  We were drinking beer and I was waxing my Shelby Charger under the shade of the mesquite. One more good time laughing with the other enlisted men and women. The radio cranked up. No worries except that I didn’t drink so much I’d be hungover when I drove the commander around the next day. Loving life untethered with personal expectations. Mom thousands of miles away. No boyfriend. Just me being me. Before I met Larry, got married, added responsibilities on top of responsibilities, and wore myself down with the burden of love. Before it was all taken away. Before I lost myself.

  Rafe drove fast, well over the speed limit. Some law enforcement officer. Every now and then he’d glance my way and that teen-boy elation lit his still face. After twenty minutes he slowed and a smattering of dusty, sun-faded buildings littered either side of the road. A flag fluttered above a tiny brick Post Office but nobody moved in the afternoon heat. Rafe slapped his turn signal on and took a right into the ghost town. Behind a stand of scrub brush and creosote, a building little more than a singlewide trailer squatted in a gravel parking lot amid several cars and dirty pickups. It declared itself The Sugar Shack in all its faded and tacky glory.

  The Charger’s rumbling power broke abruptly and Def Leppard cut off in mid-scream. It seemed way too quiet.

  Rafe extended his arm, palm up, toward the Sugar Shack. “As promised. The world’s best milk shake.”

  The nostalgia trip continued. A baby in a carrier sat on top of the splintered wood picnic table out front. The mother, a tattooed woman in cut offs, flip flops, and T-shirt with sleeves torn out, fed ice cream to the baby dressed only in a diaper. The father sipped from a straw inserted into a paper cup big enough to serve as a swimming pool. He stood over a dark-haired girl of about six who wore a tattered princess dress and fairy wings. An ice cream cone melted down her hand and arm, quickly gathering sticky mud.

  An older couple perched on the end of the same table. A thin woman with hair like dandelion fluff smiled with such delight at the baby and little girl. She and the young parents carried on a friendly conversation while her h
usband ate his sundae with a vague expression, maybe not hearing it all clearly.

  A teenaged Latina leaned on her elbows inside the wooden-framed window. Rafe pulled up a fist pistol and cocked his thumb, pointing at her. “A chocolate shake for me, and…?” He tilted his head at me.

  With the voices of the people at the table and others crowding my head, I didn’t spare the brain power to make a decision on flavors. “The same.”

  The girl shot back at Rafe. “You got it.” She spun around and shouted the order, then turned back to Rafe. “About time you got that hunk of junk out of the garage.”

  Rafe admired his car. “Geraldine is feeling her oats.” Rafe pointed to me then to the girl. “Jamie, this is my bratty niece, Heidi. Bratty niece, this is my friend, Jamie.”

  A dark beauty, Heidi resembled Rafe, except for her toothy grin. Easy and freely given. “I don’t know why you’d want to spend your time with this old straight-faced man.”

  Rafe spoke while I tried to dig down to find some bantering. How long had it been since I’d shared teasing. “She felt sorry for me.”

  That wasn’t so far from the truth. “He asked me for a ride and a shake. I couldn’t say no.”

  Heidi laughed. “He’s such a loser.” She reached behind her and shoved the shakes our way, taking Rafe’s money. “Aunt Sophie was here with Myah and Rico earlier. She was wearing these giant sparkly earrings. Did you let the kids pick those out for her?”

  He raised his eyebrows and mischief poured from his eyes. “Looked good, huh? I told the kids she’d love them.”

  “They are the ugliest things and I’m pretty sure she hates them.” She raised her hand and high-fived him.

  I was saved from much conversation when we carried our shakes to the table and Rafe settled himself between the two couples. I climbed in opposite him and stayed quiet while he teased and asked the others questions. The chocolate ice cream melted on my tongue, unleashing more memories both welcome and painful.

  She is six and I let her order a shake too big for her tummy. I’d been craving strawberry, but delight to let her order the chocolate she so wants. I finish it, of course, waiting while she lets most of it melt. The creamy cool of that summer evening, watching her run after fireflies on the grass, while I suck the last drops, growling in the straw.

  She chats about the shake and bugs while I bathe her before bed, wash tiny feet, green with fresh cut grass, soothe the mosquito bites with dots of anti-itch cream. I tuck her in, smelling of baby shampoo and read her the book with the lush illustrations of pink and purple fairies. I stay with her long after she falls asleep, listening to her breath get deeper as she flies off with gossamer wings into her own fairy dreams.

  I pushed the shake away, only half finished. Rafe noticed, but he didn’t say anything. He kept up a friendly give and take with the no-longer strangers at the table.

  Rafe pointed at me. “Jamie is new to Tucson. What do you think she needs to do or see?”

  The young mother said, “When people come see me, they always want to see Biosphere II. I think that’s boring.”

  Her partner puffed air. “It’s cool. I like the Air Museum and the Boneyard.”

  I sucked in a breath at the name.

  The younger woman waved him off. “That’s even worse. It’s just miles and miles of old military planes.”

  The older woman piped up. “I’ve always enjoyed the Sonoran Desert Museum.”

  The discussion took off without me and I only needed to smile and nod.

  Frank had his usual awful comments about everyone. A few voices thought I ought to empty my shake on Rafe’s head. But that was all the usual chatter and nothing I couldn’t contain.

  Rafe finished and said good bye to his niece and his new friends at the picnic table. He didn’t say much as he fired up the Charger, exchanged Def Leppard for AC/DC, and we raced back to my house. He pulled into the driveway and shut down the rolling circus.

  We both climbed out and he met me in front of the car. “Better than a run, huh?”

  I couldn’t be sure I smiled. I’d hit my social limit.

  “How about a real date? Friday? I’ll take you downtown.” He looked hopeful.

  I rubbed my forehead to bring down the noise. “Thank you. I had fun today. But.” A nice person, a normal person, would be tactful. “No. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Maybe I surprised him by refusing. “Not a good idea? Because I’m Mexican?”

  Now it was my turn to be surprised. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why?” I realized his tactic. He was doing that thing salesmen do. Trying to get me to give him a reason for rejection, then shoot it down so I’d be forced to say yes.

  “I’m not dating. It’s me.”

  His lips barely turned up but he looked amused. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

  I shrugged my resignation.

  He grew serious. “Here’s the truth. I liked you right away when I met you the other day. I got the vibe you thought I was okay, too. I asked Pete about you and she said you’re a great partner, smart and easy to get along with. She doesn’t know much more.”

  “I’m a private person.”

  “Yeah. I get that. Sometimes, you work the job and you see stuff and people don’t understand. Can’t relate. You can’t tell them and you hold it inside. So I think maybe something bad happened and now you’re down here trying to forget it.”

  He stepped to the pit inside me. I didn’t want him to fall in. I took a few steps back toward my house. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the shake.”

  He leaped to block my way. “It’s not just you.”

  I hesitated.

  “Ever since my divorce, I don’t get out. My friends are all her friends. Our families have been tight for two generations. I need to make some new friends. Thought maybe we could do it together.”

  He’d ventured too close for me and I didn’t know how to respond. So I turned it away from myself. “Have you found Cali Shaw?”

  He seemed startled at the abrupt shift. “Is that why you agreed to go with me today? To get information about her?”

  I shook my head. “You haven’t tried to find her, have you?”

  Disappointment dropped his shoulders. “I thought we had fun today.”

  We did have fun. And I’d blown it. As usual. “I have a terrible feeling about her. What are you doing about her?”

  An icy edge crept into his voice. “Look, time is critical for Zoey Clark and the department has funneled resources to her. Cali has the reputation for taking off. We can’t justify pulling someone from Zoey’s case.”

  “But…”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is.”

  I closed my eyes and waited for the fire inside me to die down. “Thanks again for the shake.”

  I kept them closed until the Charger fired up and drove away. Frank kept screaming the whole time.

  When I opened my eyes and reached to punch in my code on the door lock, I joined him.

  24

  It couldn’t be here. Pain ripped across my chest, my muscles contracted and my head exploded with agonized cries.

  How long did I stand there? I hoped I hadn’t screamed but with the roaring in my ears I couldn’t be sure. I tried to swallow and heard the clicking of dry throat.

  Sherilyn’s chirpy voice traveled across the street, though the chaos. “Hi, there.”

  My hand shook when I raised it in a weak wave. The noise swirling in my head threatened to overwhelm me. I clamped down on my teeth and stared at my front door latch, hoping I was hallucinating.

  But the black and yellow hair bow stuffed in the handle was real. The other bow, abandoned in the mud under the lilac bush had been red, and this one yellow. But it was so much the same. It was happening again.

  The rough feel of polyester on my fingers proved it was no illusion. My hands shook as I pulled the bow closer. Two long, blonde hairs stuck in the clip on the un
derside of the bow.

  It felt like a rattler in my hand. My brain buzzed with opinions. How had the bow ended up on my door?

  “Your fault. The girl is dead. Because of you.” Frank’s accusations hit me clear as a lion’s roar.

  My mind raced with other explanations. Did a voice speak or was it me saying, “The girls are playing a trick on you. Probably watching you and laughing at your reaction.”

  Sherilyn sauntered up my walk. “Howdy.”

  I couldn’t answer.

  She held out a green glass bottle, condensation dripping. She grasped one of her own. “Thought we could have a beer and maybe get to know each other a little.”

  The last thing I needed was to disintegrate in front of a witness. “I don’t drink.” I blurted it out more bluntly than intended.

  She reacted as if I’d slapped her. “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll—”

  I worked up what I hoped passed for a neighborly face. “Anymore.”

  While Frank wanted me to shove Sherilyn, someone else rooted for me. “Hold it together.”

  With a little more control I said, “I mean, I take medication and it doesn’t mix with alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic or anything.”

  Frank snickered. “’Cause being an alkie is worse than being crazy.”

  A cute twinkle lit her eyes. “I’ve got apple juice, if you’d rather. It’s mostly the conversation I’m after.”

  I clenched and unclenched my fingers to stop the tingling. The bow’s clasp bit into my palm. “Where are the kids?”

  “Donnie got home in the middle of the night. They’re all cuddled up on the couch watching Minions for the billionth time. It may not be quality time, but they all love it and they’re together.”

  “Donnie’s alone with the girls?” Through all the noise in my brain, this news upped the volume.

  She tipped a beer to her lips and drank deeply. “Phshaw. He’s their daddy. He can get their drink of water and change a diaper. I deserve a little break from someone being hungry or dirty or laundry needing folding or dishes washed. After all, it is Mother’s Day.” She laughed in an easy way I might have done once. Please, don’t let anything happen to make her lose that joy.