The Weight of Gravity (28 page)

             
Max stood behind her with his hands resting on the back of the swing.  “He never showed a soft side of himself to me.”

             
“Maybe you never let him.”  She rested her hand on his arm.  "Honestly, I’m not sure who’s more to blame, you or him.”

“Not my fault that he pushed so hard.  He never showed any interest in my writing or told me he was proud of me."

“Maybe not.  Your daddy had a crust on the outside.  When you have two people with thick crust, like you and your father, you never get to see the sweet fruit inside the pies.  Sometimes I wonder whether maybe, if you’d stayed around long enough or not been so angry all the time, you might have gotten to know your daddy better.”

             
“He could have made the first move.  It was never good enough for him ... no matter how hard I tried.”

             
“That was probably the only way he knew how to treat you.”

             
“Pop was always angry ... chewed on me all the time … constantly road my ass.  Why?”

He stepped away from the swing and closer to the windows.  Ir
onic, he thought, that they were arguing about Pop and just below the window was the old man’s vegetable garden.  Max remembered how proud his father had been about his garden, how he’d picked the plants carefully and laid them out just so in the planting bed.  He said that his own father, Max’s grandfather, had taught him how to properly lay in a vegetable garden, and how Max should take notes in his journal.  Maybe the old man did try to reach out to him.  Maybe Max just didn’t listen hard enough.

“Here’s the beauty of the answer to your question, Max.  You’re old enough now to understand him.  I suggest you look inside yourself.  Maybe he was hard on you because he saw himself as a young man, drifting away to pursue his foolish dreams.  He didn’t want you to make the same mistakes.

“He and I were
not
alike!”

“How can you say that?  Look at yourself.  You’re the spittin image of Nathan … your face, your build, the slope of your shoulders.  You even have that edge to your personality.  You’re definitely Nathan’s boy.”

“He never understood my dream to be a writer,” Max whispered.

“More than you realize
, Son.  That scrapbook proves you wrong.  Nathan had the soul of an artist, you said that yourself.  He chased his dream, just like you.  But he chose to give it up, to come back here.  And think about this.  If he hadn't come back and married your mother there wouldn't be a Max Rosen to write all those beautiful stories.  Your daddy lived his dream through you.  He was so proud.  You’ve been wrong about your father all these years.  It’s time to let the hate go.

"I'm not sure it's enough, Doris."

"Like you said, maybe it doesn't matter now.  Nathan's gone.  But you'd be a happier man if you found peace with your father.  Could be why you're having trouble now.  All those repressed feelings coming back to haunt you."

"About my father?"

"Yes, and maybe about Erika, too.  Solving how you feel about Nathan may be easier than settling how you feel about her."

             
“He played the trumpet?”

             
“He played it well.  Probably as good as any man ever wrote a bestselling novel.”

             
“I could sure use him right now.  I’d ask him to play for me.”

             
“I’m sure he would have, too.  Time to let it go,” she said softly, hugging his arm.

Chapter 35
- Erika

              "Jay?"

             
Erika heard the front door, but no one came through to the family room.  It had to be Jay.  She'd just gotten off the phone with Garner, who was still at the office.

             
"Jay?" she called again before he appeared in the doorway.  "You're home early.  I didn't expect you to make the dinner hour … as usual
.
"
Maybe he's maturing.  That’d be a nice change.
 
Now, let's see if you tell me where you've been without me asking.

             
"I was at Carlos' house."

I n
ever cared for that family.  I've heard their home is a drug haven for troubled teenagers.
"How's his mom doing after the surgery … on her hip?"

"She's fine."

This is great.  I'm having a normal conversation with my son.
  "Did you get to see Mandy and Kenny too?"

"Mandy was there.  Kenny wasn't.  I'm tired.  Do you mind if I watch TV in my room?"

"No.  That'd be okay.  Would you like me to bring some dinner up?"

"No … thanks."  He turned to leave.

Erika wasn't satisfied.  Something was wrong.  It wasn't just the civil conversation she was finally having with Jay.  She knew her son, and he had more to say.

"You okay, Jay-Jay?"

"Yeah … sure," he said with his back to her.

"Jay?"  She walked up and grabbed his arm to turn him around to face her.  He winced in pain.  "What?  What happened to you?  Jay, answer me!"

"I was in a fight.  I’m okay."

"Fighting … with who?  Carlos?"  Erika could now see his swollen eye and bruised lip.

"Not Carlos."

"Who hit you, Jay?"

"I don't know their names."

"There was more than one?  I've heard Carlos’ family deals in drugs.  I've never liked you going over there."

"Mom, get real.  His family didn't do anything … except try to make enough to pay their bills.  Problem is, they didn't pay their land taxes fast enough.  The new owners sent some
friends
over to scare his family."

"And you got in the middle of it?"

"What was I suppose to do?  They started pushing his mom and little sister around.  Three of them marched right in the front door without knocking.  They said they’d be back and his family better not be there by the end of the week.  The whole thing is for shit!  Where are Carlos and his family supposed to go?"

"I don't know, but we can't solve their problems tonight.  Maybe your father has some ideas."

"Dad?  You don't get it, do you?  These guys work for dear old dad!"

Erika knew there was a connection between Garner's legal work and the developers, but she never realized how violent they could be.

"Did anyone call the cops, Jay?"

"Carlos and his family aren't in a position to ask the cops to come over.  You know what I mean?"

"Upstairs, Jay.  Wash your face, then come down so I can put ointment on those bruises."  He turned.  "Jay-Jay?"  He stopped.  "I don't like the fact you got into a fight with anyone, but I'm proud of you for standing up for Carlos' family.  Upstairs, and we’ll talk about it later."

Erika was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when Garner came through from the garage two hours later.

"Nice of you to wait up for me.  No dates of your own this evening?"

"Of my own?  Where've you been, Garner?  Never mind, I don't care."

"Believe me, E, I wouldn't do anything you haven't already done."

"Your son is upstairs."

"Home earlier than usual, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, someone beat him up.”

“You’re kidding?  He got into a fight?”

“He was at Carlos’ house when your thugs showed up to strong-arm the family.”

Garner dropped his briefcase on the breakfast counter and loosened his tie.  “They’re not my thugs.”

“No, but they work for your clients.”

“Jay shouldn’t have gotten in the way.”

“They beat up a sixteen year old kid,
your kid
!  Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

“I’ll speak to the project managers in the morning.”

“That’s all you can say.  You don’t even ask how badly they hurt your son.”

“I already said he should have stayed out of it.”

“You scum!  You’re no better than they are.”

Garner jerked his tie from his neck and stepped up to within inches of her face.  “You’re calling me names? 
Me!
  You sleep around with my partners and your old boyfriends, and you call me ‘scum’?  You have balls, lady!”

“Fuck you, Garner.”

“No thanks, honey.  I never cared for sloppy
thirds
.”  He turned and walked away.

“Climb in,” Mel instructed through the open window of the monster truck.

“Let’s take my car this time.”

“Not where we’re going,” she said.  “Your Jaguar would never make it.”

“Then let me drive for a change.”

She slid over in the seat and he got behind the wheel.  “You sure you can drive something this big?  My truck dwarfs that sports car of yours.”

“I can handle it.  Just tell me where to go.”

“Head for Tularosa.”

It was a new experience
driving a large vehicle, but Max had no problem maneuvering the truck down the highway.  They passed through the middle of Tularosa and headed into the foothills toward the Apache reservation.  About ten miles onto tribal land, Mel directed Max to turn off the highway just beyond the ranger station.  The road narrowed as they traveled further into the hills.  Soon they were on gravel, weaving through a forest of scrub oak and dwarf pine.

The truck traveled easily over the rutted and stony
switchbacks.  Rounding a corner they saw the police cruiser, sitting beside the road.

“Pull up next to him, will ya, Max?”

He did as she instructed and rolled down the window.  No one was in the cruiser.

“Hey, George!”

Max turned to see the officer approaching Mel’s window.  He was broad shouldered, wearing jeans, an enormous silver-buckled belt, dark tanned leather vest with colorful beading on the seams, a large Stetson and a shiny gold badge on his left lapel.

“Melody.  Watcha doin up here, pretty lady?”  The officer smiled broadly.  Max was impressed with his perfect teeth.  It was a
warm, friendly, beautiful smile on the face of a very large man.

“Max, meet George Molina, captain with the Mescalero Apache police force.”

George reached through the window across Mel and shook hands with Max.  “Hello, Max.  Nice to meet you.”  His voice was deep and mellow with perfect diction.

“Mind if I tell Max your whole name?”

“Why you always want to embarrass me like that?  Go ahead if it makes you happy.”

“George’s momma held to the old ways.  She named her son after the first thing she saw, just moments after his birth.  When her midwives opened the d
oor to the Hogan, she saw a coyote moving away from her kiva stove.”

“Your real name is Coyote?” Max asked.

“Not exactly,” she said.  “His full name is George Coyote-Butt Molina.”  She began to laugh.  “Coulda’ been worse, George.  You might have been George Duck-Butt Molina.”

“Cut it out, Mel, or I’ll arrest you.”

Without warning a full-grown German Shepherd slammed his paws against Max’s door and stuck his muzzle in the window.

“Ahhhhh!”  Max slid halfway across the seat toward Mel.

“Its just Jessie the Wonder Dog, Max.  He’s George’s partner.”

“He won’t hurt you, Max,” George told him.  “Unless I tell him to.  Get your muddy paws off the lady’s truck,
Jessie!” The dog quietly got down and walked away.

“What’re you up to, George?”

“I asked you first.  You want me to throw you in handcuffs?”  He smiled.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  She patted his arm.  Max noticed the young warrior had strong, powerful arms.  “This here is Nathan Rosen’s son.”  She turned and smiled at Max.

“The writer fella?”

“Yep.  Thought I’d get him out into the country, and bring him up here to the lake.”

“He doesn’t know about our lake?”

“Never been here,” Max admitted.

“It’s about time, Max.”  There was that gorgeous set of teeth again.  Max liked George, but imagined that it would be dangerous to be on his bad side.

“Now, tell me.  What are you doing back in here?” she asked.

“Oh, we had some poachers.  Peter’s Nanna Wilma heard them rooting around in here last night.  I picked up their trail back there,” he said, motioning across the road.  “But it’s cold, maybe six hours, so I think they’re gone now.  We’ll catch them next time.”