Pie Town (4 page)

Malene and Roger had argued before their divorce, but their fights had been nothing like the fights he had with Angel when she turned fifteen and started hanging out with the Romero boys and that girl from Omega. Those fights lasted two years, and then she was pregnant and then she was gone. And Roger and Malene and their marriage and Angel’s little boy were all left in the wake of their daughter’s destruction.

Malene shook her head. “I don’t see the point, Roger,” she finally replied. She went back to filing papers, straightening up the area around her.

“I could just check to see if she’s still up north. I can call my buddy up there, and he could stop by the bar, the last place we have on record where she worked, and just ask a few questions.” He hesitated.

She glanced at the clock. It was getting late and she still had six sponge baths to complete and eight beds to change. She had to finish charting her daily duties and still work on a new admission scheduled to arrive before she left. She faced her ex-husband. “Alex always asks if his mother is coming to his birthday parties. He asks if she’s going to come at Christmas and at Easter and how to send her a card at Mother’s Day.” She shrugged. “He always asks, but he never seems devastated when she’s not there. Disappointed maybe, but not devastated.” She picked up the folders that needed her notes. “Just let it go, Roger. She knows it’s her son’s birthday. If she wants to show up, she will.” She looked down at the forms she still had to complete. “I’m way behind. I got to get some work done.”

Roger slid the toothpick from side to side in his mouth. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I bothered you. You’re right. I know. I need to leave her alone. I guess Christine is right. This town isn’t for everybody.” He pulled out the toothpick, seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn’t, stuck the toothpick back in his mouth, and nodded his good-bye. He turned to walk away.

“He ask you about the music?” Malene spoke before he got too far down the hall.

Roger turned around and nodded with a smile. “There will be music,” he replied and turned around again.

“See you tomorrow, Roger,” Malene called out.

He nodded and kept walking, while Malene opened a folder and picked up a pen.

“He still looking for Angel, trying to bring her home?” Christine was back from giving meds to her patient.

“He’ll never stop,” Malene replied. She jotted down a few notes and picked up another folder.

“Is that why you broke up?” Christine asked. She sat down in the chair next to Malene.

Malene turned to the younger woman. She shook her head. “No,” she answered. “That wasn’t why we broke up.”

Christine waited for more from Malene, but her colleague kept working on her files. Christine sat down and pulled out the schedule for the following week. She hadn’t noticed before that it had been completed. “I got six shifts,” she said, going over the next week’s assignments and sounding perturbed. “I told Shirley I only wanted five.”

“We’re short-staffed again,” Malene noted. “I’m working six too. They’re trying to hire somebody.”

“Hiring somebody and keeping somebody are two different things,” Christine said. She put the schedule back in its place beside the phone. “Well, I guess I can use the money, right? So why did you break up then?” she asked, returning to the earlier topic of conversation.

Malene finished her charts and placed them back on the chart rack. “I got a lot of work to do, Christine,” she replied.

The younger woman could see that she was being dismissed and that Malene wasn’t going to answer any more of her questions about her former marriage. She had never really given a reason for the divorce, and Christine was always curious. She watched as Malene hunted for her supplies to give baths. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. “You might as well not be divorced. Y’all act like every married couple I know. You’re worse than that couple on Mrs. Henderson’s soap opera.” She found a bath cloth on the counter, picked it up, and threw it at Malene. “I say, you should just get back together. Then maybe he wouldn’t come around here so much and you’ll quit being so bossy.”

Malene took the cloth and folded it, adding it to the supplies she had gathered. “Thank you, Christine. I’ll keep your advice in mind the next time I have a minute to think about Roger and me.” And she headed out of the nurses’ station and down the hall to finish her work.

Chapter Seven

I
t makes a little rattle when I rev up the engine.” Oris was talking to Frank, the town mechanic. Frank had his head under the hood, listening for the noise Oris had called about earlier that morning when he made an appointment for an oil change.

“Hit the gas again,” Frank called out, and Oris bore down on the pedal.

Frank waited a second and then finally pulled his head out and closed the hood. “I don’t hear it, Oris. It sounds fine.” He wiped his hands on the rag he had hanging from his back pocket, then held the rag and waited. He was tall, and he wore his black hair in a long ponytail that hung down his back.

“Listen again. I swear there’s a rattle.” Oris was seated behind the wheel of his new Buick. He revved up the engine again and waited.

Frank shook his head, confirming what he had just said—he couldn’t hear anything.

“I thought you Indians could hear things the rest of us couldn’t.” Oris turned off the engine and swung his legs around, placing his feet on the ground. It was hot and he was sweating.

Frank walked over to Oris. “That’s your wife’s people, Zuni, they’re the trackers, the ones with good ears. For us, it’s just another myth, Oris, just like the one that claims we aren’t good at business. You owe me twenty dollars for the oil change.” He stood next to the open door. Frank was Navajo, and his family had been in Catron County for generations.

“I was told that my oil changes were free for the first year of ownership,” Oris responded. He stepped out of the car. “You see the size of the trunk?” he asked.

Frank rolled his eyes. He had seen the trunk.

“If you take it back to the dealership in Albuquerque. Do I look like I sell Buicks here?” Frank asked, glancing around at his garage.

Oris reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He fished out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the other man. “What happened to the good old days when we traded in tobacco and animal skins?” he asked, putting his wallet back. He yanked up his pants and stuck his thumbs in his belt loops.

Frank took the money and stuffed it in the front pocket of his coveralls. He wiped his hands again and returned the rag to his back pocket. “We got screwed is what happened. Now it’s cash only, my friend.” He winked at Oris.

“How’s your mother?” Oris asked. “I haven’t seen her since the graduation.” He recalled seeing all of Frank’s family when Frank’s son graduated from high school. Even though Oris didn’t have any young people in his family finishing school, he liked to attend the special ceremonies. He went every year just to see how the children had grown.

“My mother and all my family are well, thank you,” Frank replied. “They don’t travel much in the summer. They stay up in the mountains where it’s cool.”

“And your boy,” Oris hesitated, trying to recall the name. “Raymond,” he remembered. “He still heading off to the army later this month?”

Frank nodded. “Getting ready to go to boot camp, and against my better wishes,” he answered. “But what’s a father to do?” He shrugged.

Oris leaned against his car and then pulled away because of the heat. “He’ll get a good salary, learn a decent trade. It’s not all bad, the military I mean.”

Frank didn’t respond.

“Could be worse,” Oris noted. “Could be screwed up on drugs, locked up in jail, living with hippies in Taos.”

Frank looked at Oris. They both knew he was talking about his granddaughter Angel.

Frank had not asked about Alex’s mother in a long time. The news never seemed to change, and it always appeared to be an uncomfortable topic for Oris, and Angel’s parents, Roger and Malene. At first, everyone in town thought she would give up whatever she was chasing and come home. They all agreed it was just that she was trying to figure things out, needed a little break from Pie Town, suffered from postpartum depression, or was trying to find the baby’s father. But that was ten years ago. Frank, like most of the others in town, quit asking about Angel once Alex was old enough to understand the questions and understand his family’s embarrassment or discomfort in answering them.

He nodded at his older friend.

“Ah, but that’s the way of being young, isn’t it?” Oris asked, not expecting an answer. “Lord knows I did my share of stupid things when I was a teenager.” He laughed and shook his head. “And if my memory serves me, seems like you did a stint in the army. Doesn’t look like it screwed you up too bad.”

Frank glanced down at the ground. “There wasn’t a war when I signed up,” he said. “The worst thing I saw in four years was some of the recruits suffer from heat stroke at boot camp. I was stationed in North Carolina and Georgia. It was just boarding school for me. Raymond’s likely to face a whole lot more that I don’t think he’s cut out for. He’s soft.”

Oris considered Frank’s assessment of his son. “The boy might surprise you, Frank,” Oris concluded. “Could turn out to be a hell of a soldier. My boy’s done okay.”

Frank just looked at Oris.

“ ’Course, it doesn’t matter anyway, everybody has to find their own way. Seems like I remember you telling Roger that a few years ago.”

Frank nodded, remembering the conversation he had with the sheriff when Angel left town after Alex was born. He and Roger had been friends since they were kids.

“I suppose you and his mother have carried him strapped on your backs for as long as you can,” Oris added.

“I guess you’re right about that,” Frank responded.

Neither of the men spoke for a few minutes, and then Frank glanced up at the sky behind Oris. “Looks like yesterday’s storm is finally coming in,” he noted. “Or bad company.”

Oris didn’t even turn around to look at the sky. “I’m not falling for that Indian crap. If you can’t hear the rattle in my engine, I’m not going to believe that you can read the sky for a weather report or ghost sighting.”

Frank shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The two men glanced at the street. A car was turning in their direction.

Following it with their eyes as it stopped and pulled in, they both recognized the car and the driver.

“Mrs. Romero needs her tires rotated,” Frank said, acknowledging his next customer.

Oris watched as the car pulled in behind his Buick. He turned back to Frank. “Mrs. Romero has had those tires since the 1980s,” he commented. “Seems like to me they need more than just rotating.”

Both men waited as the woman steered her car around them and then stopped beside Oris’s, parked, and stepped out. “Hello, Oris,” Mary said as a greeting to the man she had known all of her life. She was carrying her purse on her arm. She was wearing a pink dress and high-heeled shoes.

“Mary,” he said in reply. He made a slight smile. “You going to a wedding?” he asked. “Or did you get dressed up for Frank here?”

“It’s Wednesday, Oris,” she replied.

He waited, not understanding her reference. “What? Nobody gets married on a Wednesday?” he finally asked.

She made a
humph
and turned to Frank. “Can you fit me in?” she asked the mechanic.

“Of course,” Frank replied. “Oris, always a pleasure,” he said as he nodded at his other customer. “You should get out of this heat,” he said to the older man, whose face was reddened by the sun. “It’s not good for white skin.”

Oris wiped his forehead but stayed where he was. “I’ll see you at the birthday party,” he said, referring to Alex’s weekend party. “Hey, how about bringing me a soda from your cooler?” he asked. “A little service can go a long way with customer loyalty.”

Frank grinned and walked over to Mary’s car and sat down in the driver’s side. The keys were still in the ignition, and he cranked the car and pulled it into the open garage bay.

Oris stood at his car next to Mary Romero. “So you’re going to have to help me out here, Mary,” he said. “What happens on Wednesday?”

“I go to Mass in the morning, and then I drive out to be with Clarence,” she replied, appearing as if she didn’t care to talk to the man questioning her.

“Mary,” Oris responded, trying to sound sympathetic, “Clarence is dead.”

“I know Clarence is dead!” she shouted, pulling her arms around her waist, her purse slamming against her hip. “I go to the cemetery and eat lunch with him every Wednesday,” she explained.

“Somebody serves food at the cemetery?” he asked, appearing bewildered.

She blew out a long breath and rolled her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I take my own lunch, an enchilada and some chips,” she said.

“You take Clarence anything?” Oris asked. “Or do you just eat in front of him making him even more envious of the fact that he’s dead and can’t have lunch?”

A young boy, a summer worker at Frank’s garage, came toward Oris and Mary with a couple of cans of soda. “Mr. Frank says you owe me two dollars.” He handed them the drinks.

“Well, for God’s sake,” Oris complained. He pulled out his wallet and got two one-dollar bills. “You should find somewhere else to work, young man. Frank Twinhorse is a bad influence.”

The boy shrugged and turned away, stuffing the bills into his pockets.

Both Oris and Mary popped open their drinks and took long swallows.

“So what were we talking about?” Oris asked. Before Mary answered, he recalled the conversation. “Oh, that’s right. You’re eating lunch at your husband’s grave, and you were getting ready to tell me what you take him to eat.”

“He likes posole,” she answered.

Oris smiled. “Well, now that’s the truth,” he noted. “Green chile on the side?” he asked.

Mary turned to face the man. She seemed to soften. “Of course, green chile on the side. How else would I serve my loving husband?”

Oris laughed.

“You used to eat lunch together every week,” she said, recalling the friendship her husband had with Oris.

He nodded. “At the café. Tuesday special. He’d get his posole and green chile. I’d have a burger.”

“He used to tell me you were always trying to find somebody to pay for your meal.” She laughed and took another swallow.

“That is not true. Clarence is the cheapest man I ever knew. I was always having to pick up the check for him.” He shook his head. “He said he never had any money because you spent it all on shoes.”

They both glanced down at the woman’s shoes. They were dressy sandals, and they looked new.

“I have my own money,” Mary said. “Always have. And besides, you’re the one who’s cheap,” she added. She glanced behind Oris. “Except for your cars, Oris Whitsett. When did you buy this one?” she asked.

Oris looked behind him at his new Buick. “Got a nice trade-in a few weeks ago, down at the dealership in Albuquerque. She’s a beauty, isn’t she? You should see the size of that trunk.” He took a sip of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “A man is only as good as the car he drives.”

Mary shook her head. “Clarence said you wasted a lot of money buying so many cars and trading them in.”

“Clarence drove a pickup truck that didn’t have a floorboard. He never bought a new car his whole life.”

“Clarence liked tractors,” Mary commented, remembering her husband and how he spent his money.

Oris nodded. “Well, yes, he did. Clarence did not mind forking over money for expensive farm equipment.” He turned to Mary. “He ever take you out in his tractor?” he asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. “I wear high heels, Oris. I don’t ride in tractors.”

Oris laughed, drinking some more of his soda.

“I remember when the four of us used to go out. You always had to drive. Do you remember that?” she asked, but before he could answer she added, “Alice was so beautiful. She always got so dressed up for dinner.”

Oris didn’t respond at first. He just nodded his head. “She was like you about that,” he noted. “Alice loved to get dressed up and go out.”

Mary took a long swallow. She reached in her purse and took out a tissue, blotted her lips.

“So, you waiting here for Frank to finish and then driving out to the cemetery?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“Yes, I was planning to wait,” she replied.

“Well, why don’t I drive you?” he asked. “Maybe I’ll stop and get a burger, and we can eat together and really piss Clarence off.” He smiled.

Mary knew Alice was buried in the same cemetery. She guessed that Oris wanted to go so that he could visit his wife’s grave. “Did you take the driver’s test this year?” she asked, eyeing him closely.

“I did not,” he answered. “But I’ve been driving seventy years, and I’ve never even as much as run over a skunk or landed in a ditch.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Mary said.

“Not in my new Buick,” he replied. “You’re safe as a Catholic schoolgirl at choir practice.”

Mary smiled. “I’ll just go and tell Frank that I’ll be back to pick up the car.”

Oris nodded and finished his soda. He crushed the can and tossed it in a garbage can near the building. He was back at his car not long before Mary. They both got in, and he started the engine and backed out of the driveway.

After stopping at the diner for his lunch, Oris headed down Highway 60, toward the cemetery located about ten miles out of town. They had made the curve, just past the cutoff to the dirt road that meandered down to the creeks, just a couple of miles from their destination, when Oris swerved and slammed on his brakes. Another car, coming from the opposite direction, had suddenly veered into his lane and Oris almost hit it.

The two of them, Oris and Mary, were so shaken by the near miss, so rattled by what almost happened and didn’t, that they never even noticed who was walking on the other side of the road. They never saw the girl who stood watching the entire event, the one standing in the dust, her thin arms wrapped around her belly, the girl who seemed to come out of nowhere. Neither of them saw her standing near the other car, the one that almost hit them, now stopped, which, just like the girl, had been heading right straight into the center of Pie Town.