Barbara Samuel (31 page)

Neither of them listened. John was too stupid and Tiny too stubborn. Thomas was too far away to break it up, but one of the other men, an older man called Lorenzo, attempted intervention, grabbing Tiny’s arm, pulling him away, telling him, “You don’t need this, come on, you’ll be in trouble and you already got enough.”

But John wasn’t having it. “Yeah, go ahead, quit. I’ll be sucking her titties all night long.”

Shit.

Thomas bolted into a full run, but it was too late. Tiny’s rage, a living being, a demon, gathered itself up and roared out of him, shooting out of his fists, his arms, his legs and feet and head, a whirl-like funnel cloud that left John dazed on the ground, bleeding from nose and mouth and a cut on his cheekbone, when Lorenzo and Thomas managed to pull Tiny away and restrain him.

Thomas knelt and pulled the younger man to his feet. Blood gushed out of his nose, and Thomas wanted to slap the kid again for bringing this trouble. “Put your head back,” he said, “let’s get you to the doctor.”

Wobbling, the boy leaned into Thomas. “Jesus, he hits hard.”

Thomas lifted his chin toward Lorenzo, giving him charge. “Either of you do that again, and you’re both fired,” he said. Once the boy was in the car he said, “And if you say who did it, you’re fired on the spot. I can’t afford to lose Tiny, and you’re an idiot for baiting him. Got it?”

“Got it.”

As he rounded the truck, three ravens flew overhead, cawing out. He glanced at them darkly and shuddered.
Damn. He was going to have to stop listening to his
abuelita.
She was making him superstitious.

The Pay and Pack was swamped, especially the floral department. An art festival of some sort had come to town for the weekend. There were lots of them, all the time through the year. The attendees started showing up Thursday, filling the motel and hotel parking lots with their SUVs and Volvos and ever-so-retro Volkswagen buses. The coffee shops perked with their longhaired, hiking-boot clad number, and boutiques happily sold their better items. Luna tried not to get exasperated with the requests for exotic cheeses and organic Japanese vegetables all day long, telling herself this was a crowd that had serious money to spend and most of them had come a long way to do it, but it wasn’t easy. For one thing, they were so young to be so wealthy. So selfconsciously unselfconscious, so perfectly exercised and tanned and dressed, so very graciously aware that their tastes shaped the world and they took it seriously and put Mother Earth first.

But it did mean all the restaurants in town would be crowded all weekend, and if she had harbored any hopes of sneaking away with Thomas somewhere, their chances of finding a room were slim to none, and that was very disappointing. It also meant that the floral department was too busy—these people sent one another flowers like air kisses—for Luna to take her customary early day.

Sometime after lunch, Allie called. “How’s it going, stranger?”

A thread of guilt wound through her. Aside from that one afternoon at the shop, she had barely seen or spoken to Allie at all. And there was so much going on that
it struck Luna as odd. “Allie! Hi! Are you swamped today?”

“Have been—twelve readings. If I were charging money, I’d be making a fortune. And these folks think a trinket is a good trade.” She made a noise. “Anyway, I just wanted to catch you before you made big plans. Can you go out tonight? Maybe go over to the casino and play the slots for a bit?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, not really. I’m just restless. Feeling the baby blues again.” Allie was single, by choice, and had no desire to get married to anyone, ever, the legacy of a childhood spent with an abusive father. She didn’t regret her choice to go it alone, taking lovers when she wanted, but the baby blues had been biting her quite a bit lately.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind that at all, actually. There’s been so much going on in my life and I haven’t had a chance to tell you about it.”

“Oooh. Are you having good sex often?”

Luna laughed. “I’ll tell you more later.”

“C’mon! Just a hint. Have you had sex at all?”

Over her skin moved a tactile memory of Thomas’s thick, cool hair falling over her, but there also came a strange resistance to discussing it. “I’ll tell you later,” she said.

“That means yes, doesn’t it? Oh, I can’t wait to hear.” A short pause. “Jeez, I think I’m jealous, Lu. That is one delectable drink of water.”

“Hmm. Well, let me check bases with Joy and make sure she doesn’t mind, and I’ll get back to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Maybe we can sneak over to Rita’s. I’m dying for a good margarita. Surely she won’t have too many people.”

It was a tiny restaurant in Angel Fire, a family-run
Mexican with the best
menudo
in the county. Not that Luna ever touched the stuff, but that was what everyone said. “I’ll call you around three, let you know.”

“All righty. Looking forward to it, kiddo.”

Luna hung up and rubbed the tenseness in the back of her neck. She used to go outside for a cigarette when she felt this way. Lately, she’d been hanging out in the break room inside, but it was a grim place, with bad fluorescent lighting and indifferent furnishings all in shades of industrial blah to match the rows of green lockers along the wall. Not exactly relaxing. She also really missed her smoking buddies.

What the heck. She’d risk it today, just sit out in the fresh air and breathe secondhand smoke for a little while. If it was too hard, she could do something different tomorrow. “I’ll be outside for twenty minutes,” she said to Jean.

She scowled beneath her plastic hair. “You aren’t smoking, are you?”

Luna gave her a mother look. The one that says,
Child, who do you think you are, presuming to speak to your elders that way?
It worked. Jean said, “Well, I’m just concerned about you, that’s all.”

Luna didn’t bother to answer, and it was an oddly freeing feeling. She slipped out the side door and wandered into smoker’s corner, a picnic table on a grimy patch of pavement. It was to the north of the building, so it was always shaded, and a pair of tattered scrub oaks offered a little privacy. They could see through holes in the branches to the parking lot, but no one much ever saw them.

There were three people sitting there this morning. Diane, Ernie, and—Luna started a little—Angelica, the estranged wife of Tiny Abeyta.

“Hey, hey, look who’s here!” Diane, one of the checkers,
said as she came around the corner. Diane wore Egyptian eyeliner, thick and black, angling out and up at the corners, and some glitter lotion over her cheekbones. Her smock was opened to show her low-cut T-shirt and lots of creamy cleavage. She was as beautiful and flamboyant as a Jacob’s Coat rose—once upon a time, Luna had ached to look like this. “You falling off the wagon, girl?” Diane said.

She had to smile softly over the “girl.” “No, I just came to visit.”

“Cool!”

“How you been?” Ernie asked. An ex-military man whose plain white shirts and blue work pants were as crisply pressed as folded paper, he was one of Luna’s favorite people. A native
Taoseño
, he’d escaped at seventeen to go to the Army, then to war, and afterward wandered the world with his wife until he retired at thirty years and came home. He worked part-time in the bakery department, and studied for a bachelor’s degree in Spanish in his spare time. Sometimes he brought Luna Spanish poets to read.

She touched his hand lightly, briefly. “Miss you, Ernesto. Whatcha been reading?”

“Not so much lately. School started, you know. I’m taking three classes this time.” He tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, and it fit like a cartoon drawing, the smoke politely blowing away from his angled cheekbones. “You?”

“No, me either. My daughter is living with me!”

“Oh, that’s right! How’s it going?”

Luna launched into the tale both Ernie and Diane wanted to hear, the wonders of her beautiful daughter, who was getting along just fine in Taos. Angelica, a little apart, kept her attention focused away, smoking in
private silence, but her presence tugged at Luna in some way she couldn’t name.

Angelica stood up to put her cigarette in the big, sand-filled concrete container meant for that purpose, and then ducked down abruptly. “That’s my husband out there!” she said, and scrambled beneath the table. “Shit!”

Luna’s heart sunk as she peeked through a hole in the bushes and saw Tiny climb out of a very beautiful purple Lowrider. He wore work clothes, adobe smeared on him from head to toe, even in his hair, and she thought it looked like he had blood on his mouth.

“You want me to call the police,
h’ita?”
Ernie said.

“No,” she said urgently, holding up a hand in protest. “He’ll go to jail and then we won’t have no money at all. It’s already hard. No.” She curled herself even more tightly together. “I’ll just stay here and he’ll get tired and go home.”

“I’ll call Thomas,” Luna said. “If you want me to.”

Angelica looked at her, not comprehending for a moment, and Luna realized that while she’d seen Angelica at the VFW, and knew the whole story, to her, Luna was just the woman who ran the floral department. “His boss, Thomas?”

Luna nodded. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Okay. Yeah. That would be good.”

Luna looked through the hole in the bushes and said, “He’s coming this way. He knows the smoking area is here?”

“Yeah. He knows it’s my break time.”

“Come with me,” Luna said, standing, and glanced at Ernie, who stood up and went to the opening in the bushes, standing with his hands in his pockets, his cigarette tucked right at the corner of his mouth. Blocking the view. Luna gestured for Angelica to follow her and
they dashed into the door that led to the long dark room behind the floral counter. “Sit over there until he leaves.”

Angelica did as she was told, but she was worried. “I’m gonna get in trouble for being late back, it’s so busy today.”

“I’ll take care of that.” She rounded the counter quickly, found Jean and told her to go to the checkout and cover for Angelica. She started to murmur and protest and Luna gave her the mother look again.

Jean narrowed her eyes. “Gee, you’re so mean today, what’s wrong with you?”

“Go.” She didn’t wait to see if she would listen, but went back outside like she was coming out for a break. Tiny was talking to Ernie, appearing to be normal, and Luna raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Hey, guy, what’re you up to?” Slumping down on the picnic bench, she said, “Diane, I need a cigarette. Can I bum one?” Then she widened her eyes in mock worry in Tiny’s direction and said, “Don’t tell anybody.”

It served the purpose of putting him on her side. “Nah, I know how hard it is.” Using only his left hand, he pulled out a cigarette of his own. “Mind if I sit with you guys? Need to see my wife for a minute and she’s usually on break at this time.”

“No, go ahead.” Luna scooted over, casually, and patted the spot next to her.

Diane, wide-eyed, gave Luna her lighter. “I gotta get back inside. Bring it to me later.”

As she left, her unfashionably round figure swaying, Tiny watched her. Ernie turned, winking. “Don’t make girls like that every day, eh?”

Tiny whistled his agreement, and blew out some smoke.

Luna wasn’t quite sure what to do next. She needed
to call Thomas, but it seemed more important to sit with Tiny, keep him from going inside to find Angelica. Tiny was flushed and had obviously been fighting. A smell of sweat and agitation came off him and his knee jiggled as he smoked. Coiled tight. Luna had an idea. “Ernie, do you know Tiny Abeyta? Tiny, this is Ernie Medina.”

They lifted chins at each other. “How you doing?”

Luna met Ernie’s eyes. Held them. “I met him because he’s living with a new friend of mine, Thomas
Coyote.
They work together, too, at Coyote Adobe.”

He got it, what she needed for him to do. He winked, teasing lightly, “Coyote and Luna, eh?”

Luna smiled, nodding a little. Her heart was racing too fast, whether from the cigarette or the excitement, who knew?

Ernie casually put down his cigarette and waved. “Time for me to get back.”

“See ya.”

Which left Luna and Tiny sitting in the smoking area by themselves. “What’s up, Tiny?” she asked gently. “You have a fight?”

He bent his head. Nodded.

“You left work?”

A shrug. “It was break time. I got a right.”

“Thomas let you go?”

He took a quick, sharp drag on his cigarette. His knuckles were bloody. “He had to take the guy to the emergency room.” He shot a mutinous glance at Luna. “I broke his nose, I think. But it wasn’t my fault, I swear to God. Dickhead just kept trying to get to me, telling me all this shit about my wife—”

“Tiny,” she said quietly, and risked putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but let it settle. “You want to
go somewhere, get something to drink, a soda or something? My treat.”

A quick, sharp shake of his head. “Nah, I need to see her.”

“You’re already in violation. Right now, sitting here, leaving the job without permission. Fighting.”

The muscles beneath Luna’s hand were whipcord tight, and he made a face like he’d cry if he weren’t such a badass. He wasn’t as old as she first thought—not more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. In love, burning to make something right that wasn’t ever going to be. “Can I tell you something?” she asked.

He didn’t protest, so she rubbed his shoulder a little. “When I was seven, my dad left home. It was terrible, Tiny, I missed him so badly it was like somebody cut off one of my arms. I still miss him and I just found out he died and I’ll never see him ever again.”

Tiny raised his head. “That’s sad.”

“Your kids love you. Don’t do anything that’s gonna take you away from them. It’s too much. They need you.”

He ducked his head abruptly. Nodded.

“You want to go somewhere? Really, my treat.”

His mouth worked as he stared hard at a place on the table. “Nah. I’ll go home. To Thomas’s house, that home. Talk to
Abuela
for a while.”

“That’s a great idea.” She let her hand drift down, and realized the cigarette had burned away, unnoticed. She stubbed it out. “Let me have another cigarette, will you?”