Fourteeners

by Sarah Latchaw

  “And temporary tattoos for the kids.” I flashed my thigh, which now read ‘Broken Crayons Still Color.’

  She whistled. “Not sure what kids you’re hanging out with.”

  Just as Molly predicted, as the early June sun warmed the towering, red rock mountain faces above Planet Bluegrass, people arrived. They came because the Tripping Marys hauled themselves away from their rounds of retirement golf and played three encores. The came because we’d saturated social media with quirky tag lines and invites. Many came because Indigo Kingsley haunted the food tents. I spotted Indigo just before noon next to a grateful meatball sub vendor, surrounded by security detail and a hundred jostling camera phones.

  “Kaye!” She waved a lily arm over the heads of her admirers. One of her guards maneuvered me through the crowd.

  “What’s up?”

  She pointed to the menu. “Do you want Marinara Parm or Spinach Alfredo? We’re all in for the Marinara, so if you try the Spinach Alfredo, we could go halvesies.”

  How Indigo maintained her thigh gap, I’d never know. I grimaced at the rich, greasy alfredo-smothered meatball and my stomach turned. The vendor handed me a soggy sub sandwich and once we rounded the tent corner, I passed it to the starlet. “Sorry Indigo, but this thing looks as appetizing as the scum my mom dredges from her runoff pond. Anyway, I have a date with Samuel for chicken curry.”

  “The River Styx flows with curry.” She shivered, somehow elegant even with marinara squishing between her fingers. “That’s why Samuel and I never worked out, you know. He eats too much Indian food. That, and he was still in love with his ex-wife.”

  “Minor obstacles.”

  Indigo snorted. “Oh! There’s your heavenly husband now.”

  I followed her finger and saw him weaving around blankets and umbrella chairs, one eye on the stage. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, probably containing his laptop.

  “Crikey, is he wearing cut-off khakis? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Ah, yes. What you are witnessing is the result of what happens when one buys their entire summer wardrobe at REI.”

  “Crikey,” she said again, such an Aussie. “It looks like he’s on his way to a Dave Matthews concert. The Sam I knew would rather cover his bits with fig leaves than shop off the rack.”

  “Was that Samuel’s preference or Caroline’s?”

  “Ooh, good call. Caroline might have dissed buying off the rack and Samuel never corrected her. That happened, you know. He didn’t care enough to speak up for himself, as if they’d skipped over all the romance and went straight to lukewarm. Anyway.” Samuel sauntered up, clasped her hand and kissed her cheek with the elegance of a flamenco king, despite the cargos.

  “Indigo. Kaye.” He brushed his lips against mine, a perfunctory motion he greeted me with every morning. I stood by silently as Samuel smiled at Indigo and gave her his undivided attention. He wasn’t laser focused on his computer screen while she spoke to him. He didn’t offer one-word, half-hearted answers when she asked about the next book. Familiar resentment rumbled inside, but I stifled it.

  Big picture, Kaye. Your husband kissed her cheek, not her lips. He’s respectful. He’s here, supporting you.

  Still, dissatisfaction spread like a slow-growing cancer.

  We reclined on a blanket and enjoyed the twang of banjos and guitars, the whine of fiddles. Dani was beside us, her swollen ankles stretched in front of her. She still had a couple of months to go, but the heatwave was merciless. Sofia took pity on her and offered to babysit Gabe so she could get out, hear the music. I wondered if a lazy boy recliner and air conditioning unit would have been more up her alley.

  To my relief Samuel had not brought his laptop, but he wanted it. His fingers twitched nervously, picked at blades of grass. Relax, I mouthed, and patted my thighs. He lay down and placed his head in my lap, closed his eyes. I watched the breeze play with his soft brown hair and ran my fingers through it, toyed with the ends until his body went slack.

  After a while, Indigo and her detail left to explore the vendors. But not twenty minutes later, she returned, her arm looped around Santiago’s.

  “Look who I found!” Santiago called.

  Samuel scooted over on the blanket, and they plopped down. My eyes widened when I witnessed Santiago’s fingers slowly drift from Indigo’s hip to her back, subtly playing with the strap of her sundress. Marco Caldo would not be happy that the biggest flirt in Lyons was working his game on Indigo. But she didn’t seem uncomfortable, so it was none of my business.

  Samuel was not amused. “Marco find his bighorn sheep, yet?”

  “No. He’s visiting a farm-to-table restaurant, talking to the chef, getting menu ideas.” She took the hint and put an inch of space between her and Santiago. The youngest Valdez boy, though, didn’t notice how Samuel’s icy eyes tracked his every pinky twitch.

  “So then this guy asks when we’ll get the next shipment in, even though I told him we don’t carry Bald Mountain brands because we want our gear to make it through a hike. Ay ay ay, Dani, you look exhausted. Need a foot rub?” She shrugged noncommittally, but he took that as a yes and placed her right foot in his lap, dug his thumbs into her arch. That was enough for Samuel.

  “Fuck, Valdez, if you don’t quit being such a douche, someday some woman is going to hit you with a lawsuit.”

  Fire lit Santiago’s brown eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean, bro?”

  “You know exactly what it means, bro. Indigo, and now Danita? You’ll hit on any female within walking distance.”

  “Excuse me?” Indigo and Dani said in stereo. Both men jumped to their feet and stared each other down, posturing like a couple of alpha dogs. Dani smacked her brother’s leg.

  “Cállate la boca, pendejo, you just insulted every single person in this circle except Ms. Kingsley’s security detail.”

  Said security detail was ready to pounce. “Let it go, Sam,” I pleaded. “Santiago’s just a stupid flirt.”

  “Lay off, Kaye. Someone has to stand up for my sister, with Angel gone.” Crap, here we go again. I’d seen this quick anger before (New York, in his fight with Mr. Avant Garde), but Santiago didn’t know the warning signs.

  “Don’t you dare bring Angel into your crazy, Cabral. You mention my brother again and I’ll beat in your teeth.” Oh wonderful.

  Dani grabbed Santiago’s elbow just as I grabbed Sam’s. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you two,” she said, “cool it down before you get thrown out of here.” But both hot-headed men were too far gone to listen. Samuel shot off his mouth in rapid Spanish, something about Santiago being a self-centered jackass who went through women like cat food (my translation may have been incorrect), and it was game on. With a quick burst of fury, Santiago thrust both hands against Samuel’s chest and shoved, hard. Sam stumbled back into Indigo, Indigo’s security detail swarmed like drone bees around their queen, and both men were bodily dragged to the ground and pinned by a combined six-hundred pounds of muscle. Meanwhile, Indigo’s growing circle of fans cheerily held their phones aloft. This thing would be on Twitter in twenty seconds.

  Dani sighed and rubbed her belly. “With uncles like that, this little one will be incarcerated by the time he’s fifteen.”

  Indigo chuckled. “At least he’s got Kaye to bail him or her out of jail.” I didn’t laugh. “Oh darling, look on the bright side. Once this fight hits YouTube, Samuel’s books will be golden again. That’s what celebs do when they want to take a month off, you know? Do something risqué and then ‘lay low to avoid bad press.’ The gossip sites squawk and speculate, the celeb finds a quiet resort in Kauai, bang. Autopilot.”

  Dani snorted. “Better pack your bags for the beach.”

  Indigo had a way of making the stress of bad press sound appealing. “As lovely as Kauai sounds, I have to make sure Samuel isn’t thrown into the clinker by my event security. Indigo, Dani, enjoy the rest of the benefit.”

  Unfortunately, I did not get to my boys in time to sav
e them from an evening in the Boulder County jail. Just as well, they needed to cool their heads. But that meant Santiago couldn’t return to work at Paddlers. I needed a breather myself, so before my next shift at the concert, I walked down the street to one of my favorite haunts.

  Paddlers bustled with their typical Saturday afternoon crowd. Cassady manned the register, stuck until Santiago returned. Customers browsed through aisles of fishing tackle and life vests. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. I turned to leave but wasn’t paying attention and crashed into another customer.

  “Oh geez, I’m so…” The words died on my tongue as I gripped the arms of the woman I’d plowed into, steadying her.

  “Marieta,” I breathed.

  She wore the same baggy cargos, which couldn’t have been pleasant in this heat, but had stripped down to a tank top. She was painfully thin, lithe like Samuel, but not strong. I searched for tell-tale injection bruising on her arms but saw nothing. She backed away from my scrutiny.

  “Tell Samuel I am sorry I didn’t meet him. I wanted to, but…” She glanced over her shoulder, worried, and I realized she was going to run away.

  “Wait! You’ve been like a ghost to find.”

  “Sometimes I feel like a ghost,” she said flatly. Before I could question her further about her vanishing act, she ducked past me and out the door. As she retreated up the hill toward the music festival, I thought it strange I’d bumped into her not once, but twice, at Paddlers.

  But I didn’t ponder too long, because Hector was already making his way over, just as I prepared to run after Samuel’s sister.

  “Hey mamacita.” He pulled me into his warm embrace and steered me toward the backroom. I craned my neck and peered out the window, but she was long gone. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, with the benefit. What’s up?”

  “I just came by to let you know the sheriff has Santiago cooling his heels in lock-up, so he probably won’t be back until this evening.” Dammit, I’d never find her now.

  Hector’s eyes widened. “What kind of shindig are you throwing over there at Planet Bluegrass? Maybe I need to close up shop and head over.”

  I sighed. “Just a couple of testosterone-driven egos settling a score in the middle of a crowded music festival. He and Sam now have the opportunity to make nice behind bars. Unfortunately, Hippie’s probably stuck behind that register for the rest of the day.”

  “Do you need help over at the benefit, with Sam gone? Seriously, I could just close up early for the evening. You look frazzled.”

  “Thanks, but you can’t give up revenue on a busy weekend. We’re covered.”

  “Let me call Pops out of retirement for a night. Just a sec.’”

  “Hector—”

  “I’m doing this, chica.”

  Fifteen minutes later, once Señor Valdez had jerked an old Paddlers polo over his gray head, we strode up the hill toward Planet Bluegrass. I scanned the crowds, desperate for another glimpse of Samuel’s missing sister, but finding her would be as likely as reclaiming an oar carried away by a swift-moving current. Damn. One more thing to upset Samuel.

  “Time to come clean, Kaye. You could have called to tell me Santiago had gotten himself arrested.”

  I refocused on Hector. “I needed a break. Sam’s...” I paused. Was I willing to go down this road? Talk to another man about my husband? But I needed someone to listen, someone on the outside of this marriage who cared and could speak with bluntness. So I talked. I told Hector how difficult it was to watch Samuel slip into yet another episode and to have my concern thrown back in my face. It wasn’t about the lack of sex, though Samuel had to be just as frustrated as I was. I told my friend that sometimes all I longed for was to have Samuel put his arms around me and tell me he heard my fears and saw my struggles. I told Hector I felt like the ‘bad guy’ if I so much as mentioned my desire for children.

  When we’d nearly reached the gate of Planet Bluegrass, I realized that I’d spent the entire walk yapping like the very female stereotype I despised, while my friend had listened, helpless. I groaned and rested my head on Hector’s shoulder.

  “I feel like an idiot.”

  My head gently bounced as he chuckled. “If I thought you were an idiot, I would have ditched you twenty years ago, when you took that stinky Nutty Buddy I had for youth baseball and used it as a boat for your Barbie doll.”

  I laughed. “Oh man. It sank right to the bottom when water leaked through the air vents.”

  “The boys have to breathe.”

  “Give me a break, I didn’t know what it was. No brothers.”

  “Me, Angel, and Santiago—we were your brothers. Samuel, too.”

  “Yeah.”

  The benefit was still bustling with people of all ages, from babies to geriatrics. A fiddle whined from the stage as the next act tuned up. Another success, and I knew Samuel was mainly to thank. He’d thrown his clout behind our TrilbyJones brain child, even after our first concert garnered mediocre attendance. But the music was good and the day was cloudless. Samuel’s hard work should be recognized, and I would.

  As soon as he was out of the slammer.

  Hector folded his tattooed arms. “Listen, I know sometimes we need to get the crud out. But the stuff you said? Tell it to Samuel, not me, and be loving and respectful about it. You chose to marry him and if he’s a decent guy, he’ll treat you right.”

  “Even when he’s a land mine, like today?”

  “Even then. He might be angry and hurt, but he’ll sort it out when he’s back to himself. If he doesn’t, give this hunk of meat a call. Ay, Dios mío, is that Jaime Guzman?”

  I followed his riveted gaze and saw Jaime staring down a cluster of children who circled her for a free pinwheel. She showed a boy who couldn’t have been more than four how to blow air through the blades and it whirled, much to his delight. Then he tried, with very little success, and showered Jaime in a spray of spittle. I braced myself for a hallmark Guzman hissy fit. But she simply tugged up the collar of her tee shirt and wiped germ droplets from her face. An unguarded Jaime was as rare as a dodo bird.

  Now I saw why Hector had been so hung up on her. He saw too and, for a moment, he forgot he had a wife, whom he loved very much. Slack-jawed, black-eyed...

  I gave his spine a smack. His black Paddlers polo was clammy with sweat under the punishing midday heat. He shook himself out of his stupor.

  “Make sure Tricia knows how much you care, okay? The minute you get home.”

  “Point taken.” His eyes grew distant and his mouth tightened. “I give great advice, don’t I? If only I listened to half of it.”

  The drive home was fraught with unspoken words. Headlights hit the double yellow lines as we curved along the foothills highway that lulled me into a weary stupor. Samuel drummed his knees, messed with the radio until he found a station he liked, then changed it during a commercial break. I searched for that optimism Hector had injected into my spirit during our afternoon walk, but Samuel was crestfallen when I told him about my encounter with his sister. A full five minutes passed. “Are you going to say anything?” I finally asked.

  “The only new thing we know is that she was in town this afternoon, and she’s probably gone again because I landed in jail.”

  “Why did you go after Santiago?”

  “Technically, he went after me.”

  “You threw the verbal stone, Samuel.”

  He clenched the steering wheel and braced for what was rapidly degenerating into another argument. “You know the cause as well as I do. I’m teetering on the edge of an episode again. I can tell it’s coming, but I’m not sure which way it’s going to tip.”

  “You mean manic or depressive?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Do you think the latest meds adjustment was correct, or do we need to try something else?”

  “You don’t need to try anything, Kaye. It’s my brain that can’t seem to keep my mouth and my body out of a damned jail cell.”

  I g
ripped the steering wheel. “Okay okay. Doctor this week?”

  Samuel scoffed. “Which one? Mental health? Therapist? Marriage counselor?”

  I half-smiled in spite of myself. “Maybe we should have all of them over for coffee.”

  Samuel’s mouth quirked. “We could just sit back and let them talk about us to each other.”

  I longed for his hand to snake across the counsel until it found mine, a bit of loving contact for an affection-starved woman. He didn’t. Such a little thing, but as little disappointments go, they add up and you’re left with a big fat pile of unhappiness.

  “Why don’t you hold my hand anymore?”

  Samuel looked puzzled. “I do.”

  “Here and there, and usually only after we have sex. Which has been practically nonexistent as of late.”

  Just like that, those walls of ice went up. “Well, my dear, if you weren’t so prickly, I’d probably want to hold your hand. It’s difficult to hold a hand covered in thorns.”

  “And it’s even harder to have sex with someone who doesn’t give affection.” Ouch. So much for a loving discussion. “I’m just...” I pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes. “I’m so tired of this. I need a break.”

  “From our marriage?”

  “From our animosity.” My sniffles filled the silence in the car, along with that relentless drumming of his fingers. A memory hit me, one not in the too distant past, of a late-night car ride on this very road, in Cassady’s campervan. I’d just told Samuel I was unhappy, that I hadn’t fared well after he left me for New York. “I need you to talk to me. I want you to look into my eyes when I tell you about a stressful client or the next climb. I don’t want to see the back of your laptop screen when I ask what’s troubling you.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m not sure what else you want me to say. I agree with you. Do you want me to argue?”

  My head ached. “No. Fine. That’s...that’s it.”