Barbara Samuel (36 page)

Allie stood right in front of her. Luna blinked and said, “It’s not how it looks. Come on.” She tugged Allie’s sleeve, and pulled her along. “Look! I won a bunch!”

“Oh, my God, Luna! That’s so cool. The most I’ve ever won is a hundred bucks.”

Luna, exhilarated by her win, slipped up behind Thomas and threw her arms around him from behind, spreading her palms to show him her bounty. “I guess you’re my lucky piece.”

And for one blinding second, it was only the two of them. His body was warm against her breasts and belly, and his hair smelled of shampoo, and there was something both comfortable and exotic about the way he
felt. He took her wrists, cupped her hands, and bent to kiss her elbow before turning around to grasp her all the way, arms and legs and lips. “Congratulations!”

She allowed one moment, just one, of that blistering blue-white light to flare between them, then pulled back. “You said you’d explain to Allie,” she said, waving toward her. “Explain.”

“This is your friend?”

“Allie, this is Thomas Coyote. Thomas, Allie.”

He stood up, holding out his hand, and Luna saw by the way Allie’s face blanked, then shone, that she was off the hook. “How you doing?” he said.

“Well, my heart is broken, but other than that, I’m okay. I’m up twenty bucks, which is pretty good for me.”

“Luna wasn’t going to go out with me. I just showed up at her house when her daughter was leaving and made her come out to dinner with me.”

“It’s okay. I understand. We have a date for tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Luna widened her eyes at Allie behind Thomas’s back, and Allie smiled. “I guess I’ll let you two get back to your evening. I spied a cowboy over there with my name written over his Wranglers.”

Luna hugged her impulsively. “Seven tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll be there at six,” she said, and in a low voice added, “Sex often and wildly.”

Luna laughed. “Absolutely.”

“God, I’m jealous!”

Light the color of burnt umber, probably a streetlight, came through a crack in the curtains of the theme motel where Thomas and Luna finally found a room. The
light arrowed through clouds of dust motes roused by their energetic joining to splash on Thomas’s knee, upraised beside her. Luna lazily waved a hand through it, watching the shadows before settling her palm on the big, solid joint. Her body felt like light itself, at once hot and soft and weightless. The air was full of their combined scent—his hair and her soap, a touch of his foresty cologne and the earthiness of their fluids.

They didn’t talk, only lay together in the stillness, contented. Luna curled into his side, her breast molding itself to his lower ribs, her head on his broad shoulder. His hand drifted lazily, lightly, over her back. Sometimes, she moved her cheek against his skin. Sometimes he kissed her head. She dozed a little, amazed that it was possible to let her guard down so much with him, that they could find such an oasis in this dark little room.

After a long time, Thomas asked, “What are you thinking?”

She stirred. “Not much of anything really. That I like being with you. It’s so easy.” She moved a hand on his stomach, admiring the pine-colored flesh. “You?”

He shifted to his side, rising up on one elbow. His hair, which he’d taken down just for her, cascaded over them, extravagant and wild. The sight made her ache, somewhere deep. “I was thinking that there’s love in me still after all.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes, his gaze going down her body, touching her elbow, tummy, sex.

Something very like terror squeezed her lungs, and she put her fingers on his mouth, unable to even speak.

Then he did look at Luna. He kissed the fingers on his mouth, and took them in his hand. “I’m in love with you, Moongirl,” he said. “That’s what this feeling is, and it doesn’t matter that I haven’t known you long. It just matters that it’s good.”

She shook her head urgently. “Don’t say that, Thomas.”

“Love is a good thing, Luna. Not a bad one.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?” He kissed her, smiling a little. “Is it that hard?” His hair swirled over her breast.

“No.” Her throat was too tight to speak much. She thought of how many times she had admired him at the grocery store, his strength and his genial attitude toward everyone, the kindness he displayed when an old person had trouble opening a bag or a tumble of oranges had scattered over the floor. How many times had she watched him, thinking he couldn’t possibly be as kind and good and honest as he appeared to be? Nobody was.

And yet, he seemed to be just that.

Tears came into her eyes, and feeling foolish, she turned away, pulling out of his embrace. “You know that’s not it.” She wiped the tears away, but absurdly, they sprang fresh and easy from some underground well and spilled over her face, and she found a soft, breathy sound in her mouth.

“Oh, Luna,” he said, and tenderly, so tenderly, he fitted his arms around her body, his chest to her back. His nose touched her nape. “Let me love you. I’m really good at it.”

Yes, he would be. She had seen that, too.

And suddenly, she saw her father, laughing as he came up the sidewalk to the house. He saw Luna’s Barbie doll lying in the rain and picked her up and smoothed her hair down and carried her inside. It was a quick little flash of memory, slicing like an instant razor through her mind.

She turned, the tears going away. “I’m trying, but—” She frowned. “It’s almost impossible to just … trust someone.” She looked into his dark eyes, touched his
scarred cheek. “You remind me of my father. I didn’t realize that until just now.”

“That’s not so unusual, is it? Girls look for dad, boys for mom.”

“Am I like your mother?”

He considered, raising a brow. “In ways. Maybe quite a few if I think about it. She works for the state in Colorado, with child welfare.” He grinned suddenly. “You’re more like
Abuelita.”

“Oh, thanks ever so! Mean and mysterious.”

“She’s not, though. She’s strong and scrappy and full of love and worry and she’s always trying to take care of everybody. Where do you think I learned to take in strays?”

Relieved that the conversation had taken a lighter turn, she laughed.

Suddenly the last of the light blinked out behind the curtains and the room was plunged into deep gloom. “Uh-oh,” Thomas said. “I have to feel my way now.” His big hands moved. “Ah, this must be breast. Maybe I should taste to be sure.” His lips covered Luna’s, suckling lightly. She laughed throatily. And that was easy, the giving and taking of this new delight in each other’s bodies.

But when he was in her, moving slowly, making it last so they didn’t have to go just yet, Thomas lifted his head and put his hands on her face. He kissed her gently. “Too late,” he said quietly. “It’s love, Luna-Lu.”

And she wanted to say
It was love for me the first minute you showed up
, but she only pulled his head to her, wrapped her hands in his hair and absorbed him, every molecule of him, into her.

Maggie’s Diary

24 Septiembre 2001,
Sra de la Merced (never heard of her)

Dear Tupac,
Oh, this was a bad day. It started out bad and then got good for a while, and then turned really, really bad.

The way it started out bad was that my mom’s boss called, early, and told me to get her out of bed. I wouldn’t do it for a while, then I finally did because he wouldn’t give up and called back, even, so I took the phone into her room and woke her up and gave it to her. She woke up enough to talk, and I went back out into the kitchen to make her some coffee, which she totally loves, so maybe the smell would get her out of her room for a change. I could hear her, though, saying she was sorry, that she’d be in on Monday, no matter what.

Which was good. She went to the bathroom and I
heard her brushing her teeth, all that, and she came out into the kitchen wearing her robe, her hair brushed, and said, “Hey, that smells good!” And she drank a big cup and then we fixed scrambled eggs.

I mean, I can’t even tell you how happy that made me. She was almost like her old self, skinny, but not so tired, tired, tired. She said she was sick of lying around, and maybe we should go get some new school clothes at the Wal-Mart today. I said that would be good and could I get some other stuff, too, like more notebooks (I’ve been using one I got at Safeway, but that was all the money I had) and maybe some markers and pencils and she said sure.

I was thinking that the charm might be working, finally, the one Mrs. Ramirez gave her. I don’t know what happened right after, but maybe it just took some time to work. I also have been saying the rosary five times a day, the whole thing, plus
memorares
and St. Francis’s prayer. It’s gotta help sooner or later. I mean, my dad really believed and he’d be so sad with me if he knew how mad I’ve been at God and the Blessed Mother for letting him get killed. I know just what he’d say, that it’s wrong to question God. But he didn’t have to give up his dad so soon, either.

Anyway, my grandma came over when my mom was up, eating in the kitchen, and she was so happy, too, and we ate doughnuts my grandma bought, and I saw mom eat a whole glazed one, not even tearing it all apart like she usually does. So, now Grandma can stop worrying that I need to come live with her, too, because my mom was doing okay.

We went shopping and I got two new shirts and a pair of jeans. She wouldn’t let me get hip-huggers, but I got some really long ones with silver studs down the side, and a cute top with laces at the neck. Also some
new underwear, a pack of pencils, three spirals, and she even let me get this cool pen, that I’m writing with right now, called a Rolling Writer. It’s purple, as you can see. It makes my handwriting look good.

At the end of the day, she was really worn out, so she took one of her pills—which is the right time to take one—and told me I could order a movie on Pay-Per-View if I wanted. I guess she doesn’t know the cable is off, and so is the Internet, which is why I have to keep going to the library to use it. But I didn’t say nothing. She was so happy and it was a real good day, so I just decided I could read stuff I brought home.

But then, Joy calls me and says her and Ricardo had gone out, but then somebody called him on his pager and he had to go to work (he’s a cook, a really good one, at this good restaurant) so he had to bring her home early and she was all sad. Her mom went out and she’s alone and could I come spend the night? She had all kinds of popcorn and stuff. We could watch movies. So I asked my mom and she said okay, so I walked over there at like eight o’clock.

It was so fun! Her house is this funny place, all bright colors and things painted on the furniture, like birds and jungles and stuff. Almost like my mom’s plates from Pier One, but all over everything. And the couch has all these bright pillows so we could sprawl all over it, eating the piles of stuff Joy brought out on a tray, all nice, like a fancy party. There were grapes and popcorn and cheese, and this really good turkey. At first, I was shy, but it was all so good I just ate and ate like a pig, and Joy ate just as much. Then we made root beer floats, only with this vanilla pop that was so delicious I felt like a rich girl.

We watched videos for a while, and one of your
videos came on, and Joy said, “Tupac really is hot. Too bad he died.”

“Maybe he didn’t, you know? There’s a lot of people who don’t think so.”

I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it. She made this face and pulled her hair back (which she dyed blond again, and boy, Yvonne is gonna hate her guts on Monday for sure, because she is a really cute girl and all the guys will notice). So, maybe to just get me thinking about something else (which I admit I’ve been talking about you a lot) she says, “I went out with this black guy back in Atlanta.”

“Is he the one who likes rap? Did you fall in love madly?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. But it was kind of stupid—he wasn’t a very nice guy, really. My stepmom was the one who said she didn’t think he was, and I thought she was being like a southern belle, you know, no race-mixing, but she just saw that he was a jerk.” She rolled her eyes and popped some grapes in her mouth. “Then I found out he
was
a jerk, just like ninety-nine percent of all the other guys in the world.”

I told her I didn’t think they were all jerks, but she says, oh, really? And starts counting up the guys in her life, and it’s not great. Her dad cheated on her mom, then now he’s cheating on her stepmom, her grandpa left her grandma when she had little kids, and then her first boyfriend turns out to be a jerk. So I guess I can understand how she might get the wrong idea about guys.

So, for once I had something good to tell somebody. I told her about my grandpas and grandmas, who were both married for like a million years, and all my uncles. I only have one uncle who ever cheated, and it was a really big deal. Like nobody talked to him for ages, and
they gave him lectures all the time, and it was a drag for him. I don’t get why it’s no big deal in the movies. Like everyone just says, “Oh, he fell in love with somebody else,” like it’s normal to break up families and leave the kids all sad and the moms without anybody in their corner after they worked hard to make a good life.

My dad loved my mom totally. I know it in my heart. That’s why she’s so sad.

Joy gave me this look. “I bet they’re just careful, those guys, not to get caught.”

“Joy, no. That’s so sad you think that way!”

She looked all miserable, and even got tears in her eyes. “That guy? He talked me into having sex with him.” She wiped her nose, real quick. “And I was so crazy about him. He had this beautiful face, these beautiful hands, and a great voice.” She kinda shivered. “And I was so humiliated when I found out he was just using me.”