Barbara Samuel (24 page)

Sullenly, suddenly, she was very sorry that she’d agreed to let Thomas join them, and resolved, right there in the blaze of the hot September sun, to make sure to keep them apart in the future. The one thing that she could do for Joy was protect her from the hurts that were so obvious.

Thomas carried the fishing poles down to the edge of the river, and they all trailed behind him. Joy had the honor of carting the tackle box, a much-scarred, gray plastic thing that when opened revealed an entire subculture Luna knew nothing about. “Cool!” Joy said, picking up a bottle of something black and slimy. “Is this bait?”

“Yep.” He pulled out another one, that looked like corn. “This works better, though, for trout. We probably won’t catch anything today since we’re fishing at the wrong time, but you never know.”

He picked up the rods and explained the various parts to her, then illustrated how to toss the line in the water. It was just basic fishing, not fly-fishing, he told her,
which was more complicated and took a lot of time to master. Joy’s first few attempts were clumsy, but she didn’t giggle in that self-deprecating way so many girls—and women—did, just gathered herself, concentrated, and tried again until she got it. Thomas said, “There you go.”

She grinned at Luna over her shoulder.

Tiny and Luna sat on a flat rock in a patch of shade. Thomas looked at her. “You aren’t going to try?”

“Nope.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “And I bet you don’t watch football, either.”

“Good guess.” A manly man, of course. Luna never attracted anyone anymore who liked to sip wine and listen to classical music on Sunday afternoons. Not that she was particularly attracted to
them
, either. Much as she lamented the football code, there was a lot to be said for a man being a man. She had women to do things with if she wanted New Age music or an afternoon at the opera.

Now she narrowed her eyes in consideration. “I bet you’re a Raider fan.”

Surprise winked over his face before he caught it. “How’d you know?”

Tiny let go of a little hoot of amusement. “She’s got you, boss.”

“Lucky guess,” Luna said. “They’re the most rabid fans of all.”

“I’m not rabid,” he said, casting his line.

Tiny snorted. “He never misses a game. Never.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Thomas said, focusing on the fishing line. “I’m missing one today.”

“Not on television here,” Tiny said.

Luna chuckled.

“Hey, I love football,” Joy volunteered. “Only Atlanta, though.”

Thomas turned his mouth down at the corners, nodding approval, and asked her about a draft pick Luna had never heard of. Joy gave her opinion in what seemed to be a very knowledgeable way. How did that happen, Luna wondered, then she knew. Joy had learned about football to have something to share with her dad.

“So,” Luna said to Tiny, “I take it you’re not a big fan?”

A quick shrug. “I like it, you know, but there’s just so much stuff to do all the time. I got four kids, and a house—takes a lot of work to keep things nice.” He pulled up his pants leg and showed her the thick, bulky electronic bracelet attached to his ankle. “This has messed me up, put me real far behind.”

“How much longer do you have to wear it?”

“Six weeks.”

She whistled. “Pretty expensive.”

“Sheee. Tell me about it. Me and my wife both gotta wear ‘em, so you know it’s killin’ me.”

Luna thought of the wife last night at the VFW. How had she managed to get away like that? It made her think the monitoring center wasn’t doing what it needed to do. “What’s it up to now? Ten or twelve bucks a day?”

He took a cigarette out of his pocket. A short Marlboro, from the red pack. “I wish. It’s fourteen-fifty.” He bent his head into the cigarette, cupped his hand around the lighter, puffed to get it going. His licorice black hair fell forward, and he brushed it away as he exhaled.

Seeing her close attention, he said, “Sorry. You want one?”

She shook her head.

“Me and my wife, once we finish our classes, we could live together again. Two weeks.”

Joy looked over her shoulder. “I
thought
I smelled a cigarette! Mom, it better not be you smoking!”

The patch stuck to the underside of Luna’s arm tingled. “Nope.”

“You’re quitting?” Tiny said, and pulled the cigarette from his lips. “I’ll put it out.”

“No, don’t,” she said. “I’ll just sit here and get a secondhand fix.”

He grinned, and it erased some of the haunted leanness in his face. She could see the young man he had been, not so long ago, the one who had believed he would have something good, and instead was sitting here, too hungry for his family, aching to put things right.

“How’s your counseling going?” she asked.

“It’s all right, you know. They say the same things every time.”

Luna just listened.

He smoked some more. “This guy’s always saying that you need to think about the worst you could do. Like kill somebody. And then think maybe it’s not so bad if you just let each other go.” He looked at her. “I don’t think that’s right, you know?”

“What’s wrong about it?”

“When you get married, it’s supposed to be for life, not just till you don’t feel like it anymore.”

“That’s true. And there’s a lot of trouble caused by divorces. Especially for kids.”

“God, I couldn’t stand to be away from my kids like that. It would just kill me.”

“You know, though”—Luna shifted, tucking her legs beneath her—“there are people who spend their whole lives making each other miserable. My grandparents
did.” She glanced at him to see if this was the right story, and he had inclined his head in interest, so she went for it. “My grandmother was very religious, totally Catholic, you know, and my grandpa—well, let’s just say he wasn’t. She wasn’t a drag or anything, but just a very clean-living person, walked every day, ate right, all that. He was a drinker and card player and a smoker. I don’t even know what they saw in each other to begin with.” He chuckled softly. “I know people like that.” “They couldn’t be in the same room with each other without having a fight. Apart, they were fine; together, they turned into something evil. Their kids were all screwed up from the fighting, and one day, my grandma just left him. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “She went to Albuquerque to work in the university cafeteria, and he stayed behind at his job, finally free to just party whenever he wanted—and he did, too. He loved closing down the bars, smoking cigarettes till he coughed his lungs out, chasing women.” Tiny smiled. “Sounds like a pretty wild guy.” “Absolutely. Here’s the thing, though, Tiny.” Luna touched his arm in a purely instinctive gesture. “My grandma went to Albuquerque and started working in the cafeteria, and going to a new church. She met this guy who was as sober as she was and they got married and they lived together for twenty years, very happily. In the end, they were both a lot happier. And so were their kids, because they didn’t have to worry that one would kill the other.”

He put out his cigarette and tucked the butt into the cellophane of his pack, something Luna liked him for. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s not like that with me and my wife. I couldn’t love anybody else.”

“Really?” Something about his face made her feel airless
all of a sudden. This one wasn’t changing his thinking. He would never be able to let go, not without a lot more, very intensive counseling. His culture, his world, his methods all said he had to do things in a certain way, and a six-or twelve-or even a fifty-week class in anger management would never address the underlying problems. He needed one-to-ones—but who would pay for it? Not the state. Not him—he couldn’t afford it. And Luna couldn’t stand it. “Tiny, is she your first love?”

“Nah.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed a name tattooed on his forearm:
GLORIA.
“I was with Gloria from the time I was thirteen to when I got out of the Army. We were gonna get married, but I caught her messing around with another guy and left her.”

“Long time, then, you were together.”

“Yeah.” He pulled his sleeve down.

“Did it break your heart?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her. “But it’s not the same. I’m telling you, Angelica is special. She’s my heart. She’s the mother of my children.”

“I admire your devotion,” she said, and meant it, “it’s rare. But Tiny—”

Joy whooped on the bank. “I caught one! I think I got one! Thomas, help!”

Tiny and Luna jumped up, watching as Thomas helped Joy reel in her fish, a flipping, fighting trout of some size. They reeled it in and put it on the bank, at which point Luna had to turn away. She hated seeing them die. It was just so unfair that they should be swimming along, minding their own business and somebody came and snatched them out and then they were dead.

Once it was properly throat-slit, Luna could go over there and congratulate Joy, who was jumping around like a little kid. “I caught one! I caught one!”

There was no chance to talk anymore with Tiny, but Luna saw him later, sitting on the bank, smoking thoughtfully. Maybe talking helped. Maybe not. You could only do what was right in front of you to do.

Joy loved catching her first fish. It left her feeling all cheerful and happy, and she helped Thomas build a fire in a little pit designed for that purpose. He showed her how to clean the fish, then wrap it up in foil with butter. While they waited for it, they grazed on sandwiches and cheese and crackers, drank lemonade and iced tea and big bottles of water. Thomas, Tiny, and Luna batted around politics and the good old days, when there weren’t so many Californians moving into New Mexico, when you could buy a house for next to nothing. When the fish was done, they split it four ways, the succulent, steamed meat as buttery and tender as the day itself.

Joy wished that Maggie was with her. It wasn’t so much that she wasn’t enjoying the company of her mother and Thomas, she was. Just that grown-ups were always, well, grown-ups. All their boring discussions, like when they were young back in the ancient times, and they could even sit and be quiet for like twelve thousand years. The skinny guy, Tiny, ended up falling asleep on the blanket in a patch of shade, leaving Joy’s mom and Thomas to sit, not quite touching, on a rock by the water. Thomas put his line in the current and put his hands on his thighs, and Joy saw her mother trying not to look at him.

It was so cute. Her mom even blushed. And Joy could tell that Thomas really liked her, that it was everything he could do not to gobble her up. His eyes were wild with it, and he took every little excuse he could think of
to accidentally touch her. Fingers, hands, arm to arm. Joy couldn’t wait to tell Maggie that her mom had a boyfriend for real.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” Joy said after lunch.

“You want company?” Luna asked.

She lifted a shoulder. “Not unless I have to have some. It’s safe, right?”

“Stay on the path so you don’t get lost.”

Thomas added, “And watch for rattlers.”

“Rattlers don’t scare me,” Joy said, rolling her eyes.

“Really?”

“A snake that warns you? Please. You ever see a river full of water moccasins? Now
they’re
scary.”

His smile, Joy thought, was very nice. It crinkled his eyes. “Can’t say that I have.” He pointed to a dun colored path cutting between a pair of old, old cottonwoods. “There’s some petroglyphs up that way. Look at the rocks as you go.”

“Cool,” Joy said, even though she didn’t know what petroglyphs were. Something old, no doubt. There was always something old around here. One of these days, she wanted to get to Mesa Verde and see the cliff dwellings. It wasn’t that far. A girl she knew at school in Atlanta went on vacation there and said it was really, really cool. She picked up a bottle of water and waved. “Be good,” she said in a singsong voice.

Her mom blushed.

As she walked, she thought about them finally getting to kiss and wished for a boyfriend of her own. Like that cousin of Maggie’s. Or uncle? Anyway, what if he was just out walking here today, and she came around the corner and there he was, all alone, sitting on a rock, looking up at the sky? She would be so startled, and he would give her that smile, that teasing smile with his eyes glittering a little bit. A warmth moved in her body
as she thought about it. He was
so
cute. And not
that
old. Maybe he would notice her if she got her hair back to the right color.

There were some other people along the path—in fact, it was kind of busy. Two little boys barreled down the hill toward her, yelling at the top of their lungs, and she thought of her little brothers with a pang. That was the hardest part about this, missing them so much. She hadn’t expected it—and sometimes she was afraid that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t live with her mom if it meant never living with her brothers again.

These boys were dark, and they said
“Hola!”
before they dashed by her, two sturdy little things in jeans and plaid shirts. They dipped through a break in the trees and she heard splashing, and decided to follow them. It was still and quiet in this spot, and she looked back the way she’d come, spying the picnic blanket spread on the bank. Tiny was gone. Joy’s mom and Thomas were on their rock, locked in a kiss.

Joy knew she should look away, that she was intruding on a private moment, but there was something so electrifying about it that her cheeks got hot and something moved in her stomach, low and hot. Thomas was a big man, and he wrapped her mother up like a little doll, as if he would absorb her into his body. He kissed her with all his attention, his hand on her face, her blond curls scattering over his wrist. And her mother— her mother looked like she would happily die just then. As Joy watched, Thomas’s hand moved down, covering her mother’s breast …

Joy turned away, awash in a heat that humiliated her. Her body felt strange, like it didn’t belong to her, and she stomped through the scrub oak, ducking into and out of the paths that led back to the mountain, blind.
What was
wrong
with her? Sometimes all she could think about was a boy’s hand on her breasts. Sometimes, late at night, she’d lie in her bed and think about it, and her whole body burned. It made her restless. It made her reckless. She’d paid for it, too, and she still wanted it again.