“I don’t understand what you want, Zia. Are we playing true confessions? Do you want to hear my ugliest, deepest secret? Is that it?”
“Yes. I guess I do.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “Because I think I’m about to tell you mine.”
Ruben shut his eyes tight for a second. “So we’re making a trade.”
“I guess.”
Ruben took a deep breath and headed for the intersection with Route 240. The clusters of low adobe and stucco buildings spread out before them in the sunlight.
“I found my parents.”
She pulled back and frowned. “What?”
Ruben kept his eyes on the town traffic. “I was working. I had the police scanner on in my car and I heard the report of a plane down. I was nearby, so I headed to the scene. It didn’t even occur to me that it could be them, until I saw the blue stripe along the side and the numbers on the tail.
“The plane went down near the road. It didn’t catch on fire. My dad apparently did a good job of landing it, but it had been rough. It was crumpled up bad, and I saw them both.”
“Oh, Ruby. No.”
“I’d seen enough dead people to know right away that they were gone. I reached in and touched my mother, then went around to touch my father, and went back to my truck. I just disappeared. I was numb. I drove for hours. Finally I came back to town and I went straight to Gina’s.”
“Ruby. I’m so sorry.”
“That happens every once in a while. I get to the scene before the police or fire department. It really pisses them off.” Ruben smiled slightly.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Wait. There’s something else.” Ruben stopped at the traffic light. “You were right about me and women, Zia. Dead right.” He turned to her. “I have a routine that works, and I never felt any reason to change it. I love women, but I never felt the need for a permanent companion. I told myself I didn’t want that.”
The light turned green and he drove on into town. “The truth is I am afraid that if I have a woman in my life, I’ll lose her somehow, and I never wanted to open myself to that. I’m not sure I could survive that.”
“Ruby…”
“So there you go, my two big, hairy, dark secrets. That’s all I’ve got. Now you know all about me.”
Zia felt herself go numb. She ached for Ruben’s loss. She loved him for telling her the truth.
“Now what was it you were about to tell me?” he asked.
She pushed her hair away from her face with trembling fingers. “Things are worse than I thought.” Her voice was quiet and shaky and she touched the key again.
“I ran away from my dancing, Ruby. Whatever happened had to be so awful, so terrible, that I ran away from my whole life, which was dance.”
She took a deep breath before she continued. “Why didn’t I just go the police? Why did I think I had no choice but to leave my home, my life, my dancing? Why did I dye my hair? Why did I shove money down my shirt and carry only a stupid key?”
Obviously, she wasn’t expecting Ruben to provide answers. She was thinking out loud, coaxing the information from its hiding place. Her let her go on.
“It had to be more than just the murder, Ruby. It had to be so bad that I had to completely disappear.”
Zia turned to him squarely. “But at this point, so many people have seen me—the police, Gina Kravitz, the hospital staff. And then your friend Cooper, every store owner in Santa Fe, your aunt and uncle, the dance studio. How long is it going to be before he finds me?”
She rubbed her mouth with worry. Her hand was still shaking. “What if I can’t stay here even if I wanted to, Ruby? What if it’s so messed up that I have to keep running, even if I don’t know what I’m running from?”
Ruben pulled the truck onto the edge of a convenience store parking lot and cut the engine. He turned his body in the seat to face her.
“What do you mean something more than just the murder? What could be worse than a murder?”
She stared out the window. “I’m not sure, exactly.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I stole papers. I put the papers in boxes and I sent the boxes somewhere. That’s what I remember.”
Ruby was getting a headache. “What kind of papers?”
She turned back to him, shaking her head absently. “I see them in my hand.”
“Zia, what are we talking about here?” He looked incredulous. “Come on, tell me!”
“I don’t know! Don’t fucking push me!” She turned to the window again, fighting back tears. “I hate feeling lost! I hate not knowing who I am! I hate being scared! I hate what’s happened!”
Ruben felt like a total shit. “Let’s just go back to Albuquerque.” He touched her shoulder. “Zia, I can find out who you are if I really try. I can use the newsroom resources.”
She turned a worried face to him. “You can?”
“With everything you’ve told me in the last couple days, I can find you. I have absolutely no doubt.”
Ruben watched a shadow fall over her face as she studied him. He saw fear at first, then need, and she wrapped it up in a shy, sad smile.
“This is Taos, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Then I want just one more day and one more night with you. Then you can find out who I am.”
Ruben took off his seat belt and scooted across the seat to her. She removed her belt and she climbed on his lap. His hand went up the back of her sweater and he lay his head on her breast.
Zia tenderly kissed his hair. “I’m so sorry you had to find your parents like that. Does anybody at the paper know?”
“Just you.”
“You never told anyone? Not even Cooper?”
“Just Gina and you.” Ruben buried his face into her sweater and felt the comforting touch of her hand upon his neck. He breathed in the scent of her.
“I want you,” she said, pulling his face up to meet hers. “I want to comfort you. I want to give you my body. Do you think we can check into the hotel early?”
“Damn, I hope so,” Ruben whispered.
It was as if he’d never seen the place before, as if there’d been such a shift in him that these weren’t his eyes anymore and this wasn’t a place he’d seen a hundred times or more.
Zia’s hand was in his today, and maybe that was the difference.
They were coming to the end of the newer hut houses just outside the pueblo wall and were walking in. He watched Zia’s face light up in wonder and curiosity as she took in the two halves of the old village – two huge clumps of ancient earthen buildings that stared at each other across a small river and a dusty plaza the people called “The Middle.”
Ruben had explained that most of the Taos Pueblo people lived outside the old walls now, and only a few families remained in these apartment-like adobe structures as old as the earth itself. His grandfather was one of the stragglers.
Old Gallegos’ place was on the second level of the east section. Ruben had warned Zia that there was no electricity, no running water and no sewers here, because the people believe modern conveniences separate them from the earth.
“It looks kind of drab this time of year,” Ruben said, scanning the winter palette of adobe and dirt under a thin dusting of white snow. “I wish you could see it at one of the Feast Days, maybe the Corn Dance in June.”
“I think it’s magic,” she said. “Why was it built like this?”
“The pueblo was arranged on either side of the Ma wha Luna,” Ruben said, pointing to the narrow river running through the plaza.
“It’s the source of all water here and starts at Blue Lake, about twenty miles up.” He pointed to the snow-crowned mountain that loomed over them. “Blue Lake is the most sacred place of all for the Taos Pueblo people. In Northern Tiwa, it’s called Pa whe chal mu.”
“Pa whe chal mu,” she whispered.
Ruben let his hand trail down her back. She responded with a hum of delight.
In the hotel room ju
st an hour ago, he’d once again felt the magic of her touch. Her hands had cupped him and her mouth went to him, wet and soft, drawing him out and up with tenderness.
She’d moved her body against his like no woman he’d ever known, with the most fascinating combination of force and elegance. She was appreciative, willing, and surprised him with her ability to be light-hearted one second and dead-serious the next. She took his breath away. She took his heart away.
Ruben stopped walking. He nodded politely to a group of women now walking through the middle, multi-colored blankets clutched to their heads and shoulders in the brisk mountain air. They stared at him – and at Zia – as they walked past, giggling.
“Hey, Zia?” Ruben kept his hand at the small of her back. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
She turned her face to him, and he saw her fine-boned beauty against the raw winter landscape.
“I’m glad for each day I’ve had with you,” she whispered. “Each minute, Ruby.”
“Albuquerque Star, this is Olivia Richards.”
“Liv? Hey, I just got your message! It’s Patty!”
Thank God, Olivia thought. She could finally figure this whole thing out and get on with her life. It was maddening. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the woman’s name!
“Patty! Thanks for calling. Did you find it?”
“Well, not yet. I haven’t had time to look. How about I get it now, take a photo, and text it to you before I forget?”
Olivia was relieved it was going to be this simple. “Wonderful,” she said. “And I need to ask you a big favor.”
She explained to Patty that she needed the feature article so she could get a good look at the photo of the poor girl who made it big with the Philadelphia Ballet.
“Do you remember the story I’m talking about?” Olivia asked. “All the rude comments from the guys in the newsroom?”
“That doesn’t narrow things down much,” Patty laughed. “I’ll send the hard copy to you as soon as I can.”
“Great.”
“Hey – I could even try to snag a print from the photographer who shot the story. Would that help?”
“You’re an angel!” Olivia said. “Send everything Fed Ex and I’ll pay for it.”
“Will do. So, what are you working on out there? Are you on deadline?”
“No, not really,” Olivia said. “But the sooner you can get it to me the better.”
Oliva waited by the fax machine for fifteen minutes before it came through. She saw the Philadelphia News fax cover sheet first, which included a little note from Patty: “Found it! Keep in touch! Two additional pages attached.”
The next sheet shot through the machine and she laid her palm beneath it. Here came the headline: “Philadelphia’s Cinderella Story.” Then in her hand materialized a black-and-white image of a beautiful young woman, laughing.
“Shit! I knew it!” Olivia said through clenched teeth. “How bizarre!”
“What’s bizarre?” Dave Kovac stood right behind her, peering over her shoulder. “Are you busy, Liv? Is there any way you could pick up a feature I need for tomorrow’s local page?”
Oliva smacked the papers against her leg and stared at him. “Uh, sure.”
Kovac reached out and grabbed the third page as it came through the machine. He glanced at the photo of a ballerina flying through the air, her legs split horizontal to the floor. “Wow, how do they do that shit?” he asked. “Here you go.”
Olivia waited, holding her breath.
“And thanks for helping me out. I already put the info on your desk.”
“Grandfather, this is my friend, Zia.”
The old man’s rheumy eyes crinkled up in amusement and he placed a thick, knotted hand on her forearm. “Welcome. You are both welcome.”
Zia’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the inside of the apartment and to the sight of the old man himself. He was stout and shorter than Ruben and wore beat-up Wranglers and a red and black plaid flannel shirt. His head was covered by a thick coat of white hair, combed back and long at the collar. In his face she saw only a trace of Ruben, mostly in the eyes, like his Uncle Frank.
The apartment was small, whitewashed and tidy, but was like no other home she’d ever seen. She tried not to show her surprise. It was dim and cool, and the floors, walls and ceilings were made of the same adobe that seemed to be everywhere here. Ruben had told her people had lived in these rooms for a thousand years or more, making only repairs to the original structure.
A sudden flash of another place raced through Zia’s mind, but when she tried to catch it, hold it, it was gone—another splinter of memory she didn’t know what to do with.
Zia felt Old Gallegos’ eyes on her. She smiled at him nervously.
“So tell me how you got a that Indian name. It’s a strange name for an Anglo woman, but it’s a Pueblo word, you know.”
“It’s kind of an interesting story, grandfather,” Ruben said, winking at Zia.
“I like stories, boy. You’re a good storyteller, so tell me.”
Ruben and the old man spoke softly in a strange combination of English, Northern Tiwa, and Spanish. Zia continued to look around the rooms while she listened to the sing-song of their conversation. The English and Spanish flowed, then stopped at blunt Tiwa words that to her ear sounded we if they’d ended before they were fully spoken.
Ruben was obviously explaining her situation in great detail, and she felt ridiculous, like an oddity on display at a curiosity shop. The old man laughed then, rather loudly, and Zia turned to see him studying her with glee.
“Lots of outsiders come to New Mexico to find themselves,” Gallegos said, his face crinkled up in a smile. “You’re the first one I know who lost herself instead.”
Zia looked to Ruben for guidance and he gave an amused shrug.
Ruby’s grandfather gestured to the small wooden table near the gas cooking stove. “Have a seat. Would you like a Coke?” He rummaged around in a cabinet for three room-temperature colas.
“Ruben says you dance,” he said, placing the bottles upon the tabletop with a chuckle. “We have dances here throughout the year for the ceremonies. The Turtle Dance, the Deer Dance, the Corn Dance—maybe you could come back and see our dancing.” He grinned at her.
“I would like that, Mr. Gallegos.”
He chuckled, which he seemed to do nearly every time he looked at her. “You would be my guest.” Then he turned to Ruby. “Well, boy.” Old Gallegos reached out and grabbed his hand.
“It’s good to see you, grandfather.”
He patted Ruby’s hand. “It’s been too long, Ruben. Much too long.”
“How have you been feeling?” Ruben studied his mother’s father for signs of frailty, but found none. He was as sturdy and solid as he’d always been.
“Strong. Good health and good mind. And how is your job?”
Ruben flinched a little and took a sip of Coke. This was the usual routine between them. The pleasantries came first, followed by questions about Ruben’s chosen lifestyle, then pressure to return to the fold.
“My work is good, grandfather,” Ruben said. “Very busy. Long hours.”
The old man nodded. “You are enrolled Ruben, and it hurts me to see none of my children and grandchildren still with the people. There are less than fifteen-hundred of us now, just over a hundred at the Tua-tah.”
“I have a busy life in Albuquerque, grandfather. I come when I can.” Ruben saw Zia frown in confusion.
“The Indians here call the pueblo the Place of the People of the Red Willow,” Ruben explained. “In Tiwa, it’s Tua-tah.”
She nodded.
Gallegos looked at Zia and chuckled again, then continued grilling Ruby. “And you only now have time to come see me? After almost a year? That means you are too busy. You need to cut something out of your life so you can live it.”
Ruben stared at the Coke bottle.
“The pain between your mother and me doesn’t
have to be between us, Ruben. I’m a very old man now.”
Ruben looked up and sighed. He turned to Zia. “Would you like to walk around a little? Just a few minutes? Would you mind?”
“Sure.” She stood up and nodded to Old Gallegos and touched Ruben’s shoulder gently. He looked sad to her.
“Don’t go too far, okay?” Ruben asked. He briefly placed his hand over hers.
“Okay.” She closed the door.
Ruben leaned back in his chair. “Grandfather, maybe I don’t come here because I know this is going to happen. You try to make me feel guilty about having made a life for myself.”
Gallegos nodded softly and pursed his lips, watching his grandson carefully. “Did you know I am eighty-four this year? It would do my heart good to see you take up some of your privileges here as one of the people.”
Ruben shook his head. “I live in Albuquerque. That’s my home and my life.”
“I’m not asking you to live here, just accept who you are, that you’re part of us, Ruben. Unless you marry a Taos Pueblo woman, your children will not be enrolled. They will be outsiders, and...”
“Grandfather, we’ve been talking about this since I was sixteen years old!” Ruben got up from the table but there was nowhere in this low-ceilinged room to go. “I don’t plan to marry a Taos Pueblo woman, all right? I don’t have plans to get married at all.”
Old Gallegos looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, then why did you bring Zia here to see the place of your mother’s people? I thought you wanted me to meet her and approve of her.”
Ruben’s mouth hung open and he laughed. “Grandfather, she asked to come. She wanted to see it. She wanted to meet you.”
“She asked to come see me?” The old man grinned and rubbed his palms on the faded denim at his knees. “I thought for sure you came to show me who you’d chosen to marry. I can see that you love her. She is a beautiful woman with a good spirit.”
Ruben squeezed his eyes and summoned enough patience to get through this interview. No wonder it had been nearly a year since his last visit.
“And when she remembers, what will you do then?” Old Gallegos’ question hung in the still air. “Does she love you enough that it won’t matter who she is or what complications she carries? Do you love her enough?”
Collision Course: A Romantic Thriller Page 12
