by Chris Fabry
“Your job is to stay here and get warm,” his father had said. “Don’t get out. Understand?”
Teeth chattering, he nodded, then watched the snow fall from the driver’s door as it closed and his father climbed back into the storm and disappeared.
Minutes seemed like hours. First his fingers began to move, blood coursing and stinging his toes. He rubbed the windshield, searching the landscape for his father and brother. He closed his eyes and prayed that if God would answer and save them from this bitter wind, he would never say bad words again and wouldn’t stick his gum under the seat at school or try to look up a girl’s dress and a thousand other promises.
Just this once, he prayed. Listen to me and answer me.
How long would it last? How long could he hold out? What if the car died? What if his father froze and his brother lost his way? What if some car came with mean people? What if no car ever came? He couldn’t decide which was worse. There was no sound but the whir of the heater and the soft tick, tick of ice.
His father had climbed back to find a tree stump and no Tyler. He followed the track to a gully and found his oldest son near a frozen creek bed, pulled both back to the car, tied the trunk closed around the tree, and got in.
“You didn’t think I’d make it back, did you?”
J. D. stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“Going to take more than a little snow to kill us.” He looked in the rearview mirror. “Isn’t that right, Tyler?”
Looking at a Christmas tree sent a shiver through J. D. after that. His father would cradle a coffee mug in his big hands and smile, knowing how close they had been to not coming back.
The first day of school after Christmas break, his pencil had rolled off the desk—it really had—and when he bent over and saw the flowers on Karen Lohr’s underwear, he remembered his promise and at the same instant a word slipped out. He sat up straight, knowing he had just broken two of his promises. It felt like the spell had broken. He would be punished the rest of his life.
“I thought you said this couldn’t happen here,” Maria said in his ear. She was shouting but it sounded like a whisper.
“There are a bunch of things I never thought would happen,” he said.
“It’s okay. This is protecting us. What is meant to harm us is helping.”
“Always looking at the positives, aren’t you? Does that run in your family?”
She spit out some sand and burrowed deeper into his chest. “Our family does not know the concept of positive thinking. We are realists.”
He tried to speak again but got so much sand in his mouth he coughed and spit. Every time J. D. looked up, he had to retreat like a turtle into its shell. In fact, he wished he were a tortoise right then and could burrow back into himself.
Maria spoke gently to the boy and patted his back. J. D. listened to her voice through the howling wind and it reminded him of Alycia. Maria would make a wonderful mother someday, if she made it through. If she gave up her illusion of hunting down Muerte.
She was right. Maybe this windstorm gave them a chance.
“Tengo miedo,” Ernesto said through the backpack.
“Todos tenemos miedo,” Maria said. “But God will take care of us.”
A half hour later the cloud moved north. The three of them were a sight. Sand and dust everywhere—their hair, down their backs. Sand piled around J. D.’s legs and the same with Maria. Sweat popped out and ran down J. D.’s cheek. Maria’s jet-black hair was filled with bits of sand and debris, and her face had a layer of dust that made her look clown-like. Ernesto took off the backpack and laughed.
“I could use a shower,” J. D. said. “Either that or the two of us can put on rubber noses and apply to Ringling Brothers.”
She was busy helping Ernesto get sand out of his shoes. “How much farther?”
“A long way just to the edge of the Slocum property,” he said. “Let’s go back to the car.”
“No,” she said, picking up the plastic water jug. “We can do this. We must do this.”
“Maria, you don’t have to prove anything.”
She grabbed Ernesto’s hand and turned, bewildered. “You go back and get the car. We will meet you at the Slocum ranch. Or leave. If you can’t do this, I understand.”
Ernesto looked at him with eyes as big as Texas. They were the sorriest-looking bunch he had ever seen, but something inside said this was the way to go, the way to life. He grabbed the boy’s other hand and they walked behind the dust cloud as if it were leading them to the Promised Land.
25
THE THREE OF THEM were dusty shells of humanity when they came in sight of the Slocum ranch. They had gotten water from the back line—not by puncturing it but by turning the spigot, like anyone could if they bothered to find it. Or could wait long enough for water. They filled the empty gallon jug and kept walking.
J. D. could see why people would discard much of what they carried. They had only been going a few hours and he could hardly stand to hold anything, though he had picked up Ernesto several times when the boy couldn’t go farther. They crossed dry washes where clothes and backpacks lay. Plastic jugs. Empty bottles of formula. Diapers. He’d seen the e-mails Slocum sent out with pictures of this debris and figured it was lazy people not caring about litter. But when you were so tired you could hardly pick up one foot and so hot your brain basted, he could understand discarding things that weighed you down. Didn’t make it right, but he could understand.
They didn’t spend much time in the wash because of the rattlers. The boy was scared of snakes and held on to Maria’s hand until the cactus became too thick and they had to walk single file. When they made it onto the cattle trail, J. D. began to have some hope. He pointed out where he had found Maria in the distance, and if they hadn’t been so hot and tired, he would have walked to it. It was a sacred place now, where their story had begun.
J. D. knew Red would see them and bark when they neared the farmhouse, so he found a cottonwood and planted Maria and Ernesto beneath it and neither protested. Her feet were blistered.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said but they were too exhausted to respond.
He managed to make it to the schoolhouse before Red barked. He knelt and patted his leg and called him. The tail wagged and he growled, but soon the dog recognized him and came with his tail and head down.
J. D. watched the farmhouse closely for any movement and hoped they were eating dinner. He scratched the dog’s ear and the thing rolled over in the dirt in surrender. It only takes a little love to make something innocent believe.
Yellow police tape surrounded the schoolhouse but the door hadn’t been locked. He walked inside the darkened room and wondered how he’d ever slept in such a place. There was no air to speak of. He went straight to the spot on the wall behind the rickety bed where he’d stashed his cash. As he moved the bed, he noticed a bloody bandage by the sink, but most of the evidence that Maria had been there was gone. The money was there and he stuffed it in his pocket and replaced the wood over the hiding place.
As he pulled the bed into place, the door opened and light flooded. A silhouette trailed by the dog.
“Is that you, Mr. Jessup?”
The boy, Cooper. “You’ve got a lot in common with lizards, you know that?”
“How’s that?”
“Creeping up on people. You ought to get a job with the CIA.”
“What’s the CIA?”
“It doesn’t matter. How’s your family?”
The boy shrugged.
“Your daddy get the water pump fixed?”
Cooper was wearing the same frayed, dirty jeans but he had a shirt on. All that was left of the Adidas iron-on was a little of the first A and slivers of the i and the s. “No, he’s been busy with the police.”
“I’m sure they needed his help.”
“Did you see that big cloud of dust?” Cooper said. He seemed overcome by the fact that J. D. was talking to him, paying atte
ntion for once. “It came over the house and we had to get inside. I thought we were going to get blown away.”
“I can see it messed up your mama’s clean windows. You’ll be sweeping the front porch for a week. Maybe your allowance will go up.”
“Were you out in it?”
J. D. nodded. “Right in the middle. And I don’t recommend it.”
Cooper stared at his dust-covered clothes and the dirt streaking his face. The kid’s eyes were moon pies and his face showed an uncommon level of concern for his age. Finally he said, “People in town are talking about you and that Mexican woman.”
“People will do that.”
“Where’d she go?”
“She’s still around. What are the people in town saying?”
“That they knowed you were trouble when you first got here.”
“Is that from people in town or is that what your daddy’s saying?”
The boy looked at the floor. “The police say you’ve done a bad thing. People are dead because of you.”
J. D. sat on the bed and the springs creaked loudly. “And what do you think?”
“I don’t think they care what a little kid thinks.”
“I do.”
Cooper looked up. “They must have some reason to think you’ve done something bad.”
“The police can make mistakes. They don’t know everything. But I don’t blame them for thinking I’m part of the problem. Sometimes I think it’s my fault too, and I know different.”
“You didn’t kill anybody?”
“No. Well, not directly. I tried to protect somebody and hit a guy with my truck. He was shooting at the girl.”
“And you ran him over?”
“I wanted to stop him from shooting.”
“I guess if somebody was shooting at me, I’d want you to try and help.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“But then you ran.”
“Do you think it’s wrong to help people in trouble?”
“It’s wrong to help illegals.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they don’t obey the laws.”
“I can’t argue with you there. But illegals are people too.”
“I guess so. But they’re taking our jobs. And my dad says there are too many at the hospital.”
“He may be right,” J. D. said. He wanted to say more but he didn’t want to come between the boy and his father, so he just sat there.
“Are you leaving us, Mr. Jessup?”
“I believe I am, Cooper.”
“Why?”
“It’s not something I planned. Things have just worked out this way.”
“You told me you were going to take me to the county fair.”
The fair had been in April, when he first arrived, and wouldn’t be back until next year, but kids Cooper’s age didn’t understand the ebb and flow of time nor the seasons of traveling fairs.
“Your dad will do that. Or your mom. Wouldn’t be any fun with me—I’d upchuck on the tilt-a-whirl.”
Cooper didn’t smile. “You said we’d have cotton candy and caramel apples with nuts on ’em. And drink lemonade.”
“I had good intentions, Cooper. But good intentions don’t always get you to the county fair. I’m sorry.”
The look on the boy’s face was worse than the windstorm, at least in what it did to J. D.’s heart. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from his stash. “I want you to take this and tell your mom I said to take you to the movies. And get the biggest tub of popcorn you can find, okay?”
Cooper looked at the bill like he had never seen so much money in one place. “Do they sell cotton candy there?”
“They just might. Tell her to get you some of that, too.”
Cooper fell onto J. D.’s neck and the dust on his shirt flew in the air like Pigpen’s on Charlie Brown. While they hugged, Cooper whimpered, “I wish you’d stay with us. It’s not the same without you. You’re the best WWOOFer we’ve ever had. Mama said that the other day. The very best. She couldn’t believe you were in so much trouble.”
J. D. pulled the boy back so he could look at him. “You’ve got a good mama and a real nice family, Cooper. I wish I could stay longer, but it doesn’t look like that’s in the cards.”
A tear leaked from one eye and J. D. nearly had to look away.
“If you could do me a favor, I’d appreciate it.”
The boy wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt. Freckles and red eyes and teeth sticking straight out that should have been growing down. You don’t get orthodontia on a farmer’s salary. “What is it?”
“Wait a little while before you tell your dad I was here. Can you do that?”
Cooper’s eyes showed fear. “He already knows. He seen you coming.”
“Did he call the police?”
Cooper shook his head and looked at the floor. “He called somebody else.”
“Who?”
Before the boy could answer, the door opened and Slocum stood there, his face clouded by his hat brim. “Get back in the house.”
“But, Dad, he didn’t kill anybody. He just hit somebody with the truck.”
The man grabbed his son by the arm and slung him out the door. Cooper tumbled into the dirt and the twenty-dollar bill fluttered away. He was crying when he gathered it in and ran, but not toward the house.
“It’s not enough for you to bring the law down on us? You have to corrupt our kids, too? Why did you give him money, to keep him quiet that you’re here?”
“Mr. Slocum, I’m not here to make excuses. I chose to help somebody and it didn’t turn out.”
“There’s an understatement. Bodies are strewn from here to the border. I got a call from Win before noon saying one of his best friends was dead and they think it’s because of this.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, some reverend at a church. A bullet in the head. Secretary found him this morning.”
“Was his name Ron?”
“Yeah, I think so. That sounds like him.”
J. D.’s mind spun. He had been sitting with the man, face-to-face, only last night. Speaking heart-to-heart. And he had no doubt been questioned by the police after what he had said on the telephone. Had J. D. gotten him killed?
Maria. This would be crushing to her. And Win.
“Where’s the girl?” Slocum said.
“She’s not here.”
“I can see that. Where is she?”
J. D. looked at the man. Reading his face was like trying to decipher a newspaper through the plastic bag thrown on your driveway.
“She’s safe. That’s all that’s important.”
“Well, I’m glad she is, because everywhere else you go, oxygen and blood flow stop. How do I know you’re not here to take me and my family out?”
“I would never harm your family, Mr. Slocum.”
“You can stop with the mister business. You don’t have to put on airs.”
“I’m not putting on airs. It’s how I was raised. It’s how I’ve always treated you. I came here—”
“Yeah, just why did you come here, J. D.? You came here and worked, but you told us nothing about your past. That you were some kind of entertainer.”
“How’d you find out?”
“The police.”
“My past isn’t important. I came here to work hard and learn as much as I could from you and your wife.”
“You didn’t learn much about how to treat illegals.” There was disgust on his face as he spat the words. “If you’d have done what I said, you wouldn’t be in this mess and people wouldn’t be dead.”
“I couldn’t leave her to die. You wouldn’t have done it either.”
“We make our choices, don’t we?”
J. D. stood from the bed and nodded. “We do. And for what it’s worth, I’m grateful. You’ve taught me a lot. I’ll take that with me. You’ve got a wonderful family. Your kids are smarter than whips.”
>
Slocum ignored J. D.’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know why you came here. I don’t know why you lied to us—”
“I never lied.”
“You lied every time you ate with us and didn’t tell us who you were. You lied every time you slept in this little bungalow. You lied when you got on that horse and took off in the morning. You’re not a farmer; you’re a pretender.”
J. D. shook his head. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree about that. Which reminds me—there’s a heifer pulled up lame back near the water line. Didn’t get close enough to find out why.”
Slocum stared at him. “Is that the way you came? You walked through there?” The light went on for the man, something swirling around in his head. J. D. searched hard for something to say and didn’t recognize the rumble of tires until brakes squeaked and dust rolled through cracks in the wall.
When J. D. moved to the door, Slocum put a hand on his chest. “I wouldn’t go out there yet.”
“Who is it? Who did you call?”
“I saw you when you first came up, heading toward the schoolhouse. I called friends. Welcoming party.”
Something deep in the well rose. Slocum had always represented something J. D. didn’t want to be, even though he knew a lot about planting and how to raise cauliflower without spraying pesticides. He also represented the easy way out, the shortcut across the mountain, a man who judged by skin color and language.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” J. D. said. He pushed past Slocum and walked out. Dust hung in the air from the truck that had approached and there were two others coming up the driveway at a fast clip. Two men J. D. recognized as farmers he’d met at the feed store got out of the first truck.
