by Lynne Hinton
She leaned back, gingerly, trying to keep from aggravating her injuries, and thought about their relationship. She had loved him at one time, that was true. She had left everything to be with him and thought he was the man she wanted to live out her life with. She had enjoyed being with him, and most of all, she had trusted him. They’d had some wonderful months together on the road. And then she had overheard a phone conversation when he stepped out of the motel room in Tucson. Standing beneath the balcony, where he had thought Trina wouldn’t be able to hear him, he had talked with his wife and his two sons, still waiting for him back in Abilene. Trina had heard what he was saying, the lies he was telling them about working overseas, all alone, and she had walked away. Taken his money, packed a few things, and walked away.
After a number of days, she had landed in Pie Town, and the rest, as far as she was concerned, was history. She had never heard from Conroe Jasper again. When she returned to Amarillo for a few days when she was considering leaving New Mexico and staying in Texas, none of her friends recalled having seen the truck driver. None of them knew where he was, and none of them said he had been around looking for her. They agreed with Trina: it was good riddance that he was gone and out of her life. And she was confident that not one of those friends would have told him that she was pregnant with his child. They were just as angry at Conroe as she had been.
The more she thought about it the more it appeared as if his showing up was exactly what he said it was: a crazy twist of fate. He had stopped in Pie Town and heard her name. And now the life she had written off as history had been standing in her living room. He was back, and he wasn’t going away quietly. He had declared his love for her and his intention to have her in his life again.
She drank her tea and placed the glass on the table.
She thought about how it was to see him again. She thought how it was to recognize his face when he leaned up to get close to her while she stood outside his car, how it was to look into those eyes, feel his hand on her arm. It wasn’t all terrible, like she had always imagined it would be. It wasn’t awful.
She had actually felt a bit of delight when he opened his car door and stood next to her, when he smiled that big smile in her direction. She remembered the way he looked at that moment, the things he went on to say.
“I’m sorry,” he had told her as he followed her onto the front porch.
“For which part?” she had asked. And she had opened the door and walked in. He had remained on the porch, watching through the screen, waiting, it appeared, for an invitation to come any farther.
“The lying part,” he answered. “Not telling you about my wife and boys.”
“Yeah, that was kind of important,” she responded. She had not invited him in.
“I was planning to get a divorce when I met you,” he noted, still standing there, still waiting. “I was just trying to figure out how to do it.” He stopped talking at that point. “Can I come in?” he finally asked.
Trina recalled that she had shrugged and he walked in, slowly moving toward her. He had been close enough to touch, close enough to reach up and touch, and she almost did.
She sat at the table and shook her head. “My God,” she said, “I almost did.” And then she laughed, remembering how she had stepped away from him, moved into the kitchen, over by the sink, and how he kept talking, making things worse for himself, explaining why he hadn’t told Trina about being married, why he couldn’t ask his wife for a divorce.
“I knew she would take the boys away from me,” he said, reaching out his hands as if he wanted Trina to take them. And when she didn’t, he continued. “And I was right, wasn’t I? She did just that.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “She took my boys away just like I knew she would.”
And for just a second, Trina had felt sorry for him. She had almost walked over to him, almost tried to comfort him. But she had stood firm even as he went on to say that he should have told her the truth and he was sorry, so sorry, but now he was there and single, and after all, he had said with the tiniest smile, wasn’t she?
And even though she had told him she wasn’t interested, and even though she had acted like a woman in a new relationship, she had never really said that. She had not spoken of Raymond and her love for him. She had only said that she didn’t want to go to Texas and that she was happy in her new place. Without meaning to cause harm, Trina, at least in her own mind, had been unfaithful to Raymond and as deceitful as Conroe had been to her. She had not confessed to her former lover the love she supposedly had for Raymond.
“Maybe I should just go back with him,” she said out loud, surprising herself. “Maybe it would be better for me and Alexandria to be in Texas, to be with Conroe.” And then she shook her head.
She couldn’t think those thoughts. She couldn’t imagine going back with the man who had lied to her, the man who had been married when he told her he was single, the man who claimed she was his first and only love, the man who got her pregnant and never tried to find her when she left. She couldn’t imagine trying to make that relationship work. And yet . . . Trina dropped her head in her hands. It was all so confusing.
Raymond was gone, maybe for good; she couldn’t be sure. He had problems, real problems that love and companionship weren’t going to heal. Maybe he was too broken to be in a committed relationship. Maybe he was too fragile to be an equal partner. Maybe he was too dangerous to be living with a toddler. Trina thought about Alexandria and how her own decisions about who she dated, who she loved and committed herself to, affected not just her but Alexandria and her well-being too. She was a mother. She had a child to think about now. And even if Raymond got this Silver Spur mess cleaned up, even if he got out of any charges that might be filed against him, he would still have the same problems he’d had before he left. He was still wounded from war, still struggling with demons that were far too powerful for the two of them to handle alone.
She thought about Raymond and then suddenly recalled a conversation she’d had with Christine and what her friend had said one night when the two of them were enjoying a dinner together at the diner, just a few weeks before the accident, before Raymond came home. The young women sometimes met at the diner while Malene and Roger watched Alexandria. They were close in age and had discovered that they enjoyed each other’s company.
They had been talking about Danny and Raymond and whether the two men were similar at all, whether they might like each other, and whether the four of them should go out together when Raymond came home, and out of the blue Christine had mentioned that she was worried about Danny. She just blurted out that he had a problem with his anger and that she had called off the wedding because she was concerned about his temper. Trina had been surprised that Danny had an issue like that and that Christine had been smart enough, she thought, to recognize it and ask him to get help.
“I just don’t want to wake up one day and know that I’ve built my life with a man I’m afraid of.” Christine was eating pie and had gotten meringue on the tip of her nose.
Trina was just about to mention it but had been stopped by the sheer force of what her friend was saying.
“You know what I mean?” Christine had said, and then shivered like the thought of living in such fear was too terrible to think about. “I’d rather be alone and living with ten cats in a one-room apartment than be married in a big house to a man who blows up at the least little thing. What kind of life is that?”
Trina had pushed for more. “What’s he like when he’s angry?” she asked, wondering if he had ever struck Christine, wondering if violence followed the rage, wondering if he was anything like Trina’s father.
“It’s just scary to me, but he says it’s like nothing he can explain, like it just takes over, like his anger suddenly becomes everything he is, everything he feels, thinks, knows. And what’s the scariest,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper and glancing around to see if anyone was listening, “is that he says that I’ve never even seen
him when he’s really mad. And let me just tell you, that worries me, because the mad I’ve seen is pretty mad.”
Trina had leaned in to hear her friend and then sat back. “Do you know why he’s that way? Do you know what made him like that?”
Christine shook her head. “He says he doesn’t know. His dad doesn’t have a temper like that. He just says he’s always been that way. As a kid, he was always in trouble because of his problem with anger.”
After Christine explained that Danny was getting help, going to some anger management classes and talking to a counselor, Trina had asked her friend one last question. It was the one that she thought of as she sat at the table making a decision about Conroe, about going to Texas to see him.
“How will you know if he’s better?” she had asked. “How will you decide that it’s safe to be with him?”
Christine had taken another bite of pie. “Well, now, that’s the million-dollar question, right?” She put down her fork. “And I don’t have a clue to the answer.”
Trina had thought she had finished and was about to change the subject.
Christine continued, however. “He wants to be better; that ought to be worth something. His getting help isn’t just all my idea. He knows he has a problem. And he doesn’t like it any more than I do when he loses his temper. He told me that he doesn’t like how it feels to be out of control, and he doesn’t want to put me through that and be married to him.” She shrugged. “So I guess we’ll figure it out together. I just hope for the day when he says the spell is broken, the curse is gone, the day when I’m not afraid.”
“And what if that day never comes?”
“Then I know that I’m happy in my one-room apartment,” Christine answered. “And since I already have made a nice home for two cats, I can always get more.” She had then realized that she had pie on her face, laughed hysterically, and moved on to talk about something else.
At the time Trina had agreed with her friend completely, telling her that she was absolutely making the right decision to postpone the wedding and that if she felt pressured to marry Danny before being convinced that he was better at dealing with his emotions, to make sure she went to talk to Trina. “I’ll remind you of this conversation and what you’ve said,” Trina told her. “And I won’t let you marry a man who scares you.” And the two of them had made that agreement.
Trina wondered what her friend would say to her if she were sitting at the kitchen table with her at that particular moment, if she had seen the wounds on Trina’s back and knew about the fight the night the lights went out and about Raymond’s drinking. She and Christine hadn’t gotten together much since Raymond came stateside, and she wondered what her friend would say if she knew what had happened to Raymond in Afghanistan, what had become of him since returning, and how the tables had turned for the two women.
She wondered what Christine would say now that it was Trina feeling so afraid of the man she claimed to love. Would she tell Trina it was worth hanging in there with the relationship, worth the work and the wait?
Trina sat at the table and thought about Danny and Christine and their relationship, Danny’s problems, and wondered if the anger management classes were helping and whether or not Christine would eventually decide to marry him, whether she would ever feel completely safe with him.
Trina stood up. She couldn’t think about it anymore. She couldn’t worry about it anymore. It was all too much for her to consider at the moment. She put her glass in the sink and headed to check on Alexandria.
PART FOUR
THIRTY-THREE
It was not hard for Father George to see that the FBI had figured out the scriptural reference that Frank gave George when he visited him at the detention center. He arrived at the Ramah Indian Area to find that there were agents everywhere. Dark sedans, white vans, men and women with “FBI” plastered across the backs of their jackets. It didn’t take a genius to realize who they were, and now that George understood what had happened at the detention center, he knew who they were searching for.
He knew he was spotted as soon as he arrived at the House. Even though he could claim a legitimate reason to be there—Frank Twinhorse’s mother attended Holy Family Church from time to time, and Father George was a pastor to the family and had visited there before—he knew every one of the agents suspected him of being there to find Raymond, their fugitive.
He felt many sets of eyes following him as he drove over to Raymond’s grandmother’s house, and he immediately noticed the car parked at the end of her driveway. He had been used by Cochran and the FBI to bait Frank to share Raymond’s whereabouts. They let him make a visit because they thought Frank would give him information that would help them find his son, and they had been right.
The thought of being used in that way made George angry, and he was tempted to walk up to the agents and let them have a piece of his mind. However, just as he was about to exit his car and walk over to the two men parked in the driveway, Maria, Frank’s mother, came to her door and opened it, inviting the priest inside. He stared at the two men, hesitated, but accepted the invitation.
“Father George,” Maria greeted him. She held open the door while he walked in. “We have many guests on our land today, but only one I recognize. Please come in.”
George shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he apologized and was about to explain that he was the reason for the FBI’s presence all around her house and on her people’s land.
She waved off the apology. “Men like them have been here before,” she interrupted him. “They’ll be gone soon. They’ve shown up at Ramah before trying to claim something they think is theirs. What I don’t understand is why they are searching for Raymond. No one will tell me anything.” She made her way into the front sitting room and cleared off a place for the priest to sit on the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”
George smiled, thinking that the older woman didn’t seem too upset about the agents all around her looking for her grandson, but he decided not to comment. He waited for his hostess to sit in the rocking chair across from the sofa, and then he sat down.
“You have news about Frank and Raymond?” she asked. “I got a phone call from Frank a few days ago that he is being jailed because of this search.”
Father George had planned to stop by Maria’s and let her know of his visit with her son. Originally, he had intended to explain the clue Frank gave him at the detention center, in hopes of earning her confidence so that she would tell him exactly where Raymond was hiding. With the presence of the FBI, that plan no longer seemed worthwhile.
“I saw Frank yesterday,” he answered. “He’s fine. They haven’t harmed him, and I don’t think they can hold him much longer. I don’t even understand how they’re keeping him detained now. I guess they think if they keep him long enough, he’ll tell them where Raymond is hiding.”
Maria shook her head. “And why are they searching for my grandson? What has happened?”
“They want to talk to him about a robbery in Datil a few days ago. They think Raymond had something to do with it,” George explained.
“A robbery?” she asked, now displaying the surprise George had expected to see when he first arrived. “My grandson had nothing to do with a robbery. He’s not a thief.” She paused. “And all these men think Raymond is here?”
“Yes,” George said.
“Even if there was this robbery, and even if Raymond was involved, why is there so much interest from the government? What kind of robbery was it?”
“It was a bar in Datil, about two hundred dollars is gone.”
“This many officers are required for a robbery of two hundred dollars?” she asked.
Father George took in a deep breath. “No, it isn’t just about the robbery. They think he’s dealing drugs.”
Maria laughed. “Raymond?” she exclaimed. “Raymond hates drugs. He’s seen what they have done to his friends, to other young people; he would never be involved with drugs.”
; “I know,” the priest responded. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why they think Raymond is hiding here.” She seemed confused. “He has never lived here at Ramah.”
“Yes,” George said, preparing to share what had happened in Albuquerque during his visit with her son. “I’m afraid somebody was listening to my conversation with Frank. He told me Raymond was here, and I’m sure that’s why they’ve all descended upon you and your family.”
Maria seemed surprised. “Frank told you that Raymond was in Ramah?”
“Well, not in those exact words.” George wasn’t sure he wanted to give Maria all the details just yet.
“Then what did he say?” she asked.
George sighed. He felt it was only right to answer her. “He quoted scripture to me just as I was about to leave. He explained that the prophet Jeremiah was his favorite prophet and that he particularly liked the passage that spoke of the joyful return of the exiles.”
“Jeremiah 31,” Maria said, nodding. It was a passage she recognized.
Father George was a little surprised that Frank’s mother would know the chapter so quickly. He knew she was a devout Catholic who studied the scriptures daily, but it embarrassed him a bit to realize she knew so quickly the location of the passage while he’d had to search for it.
“My people know that Book of Consolation well,” she explained, seeing the surprise in the priest’s face. “My great-grandfather, even though he rejected the Catholic Church, spoke of reading that scripture when he was released from Fort Sumner.”
