“Give me your watch,” one of the boys said. His lean face had reminded her of a wolf and he spoke with a distinct Hispanic accent. “The earrings, too, chica.”
“No!” Sara’s dad bought her the watch and she wasn’t handing it over. “I’m not giving you my things. Leave me alone.”
One of the girls in the group had mocked her, repeated what she’d said in a falsetto tone. Another joined in and Sara whirled around to slap her. It felt good, but the last little flicker of teasing had faded out of their faces.
“You made a big mistake, little girl,” the boy who’d first spoken said. He reached for her wrist and locked his grasp around it so tight it had hurt. Another of the boys had stroked her breasts through the tight t-shirt. She had tried to get away. No one had seemed to hear her struggles or cries for help but then, she had realized, twenty-five thousand people were crammed into the stadium, all of them adding to the deafening roar of noise.
“Basta!”
Sara had turned to see who spoke. He looked older than the others, older than her. He carried himself like a man, not a high school kid. He had rattled off a long tirade of Spanish and although she understood a little, he’d spoken too fast for her to follow. After he finished, though, he’d glared at the kids who surrounded her. “Vamos,” he’d said to the wolf-faced boy and they’d all gone.
“I’m Santiago,” the young man had said. He’d held out his left hand to her and displayed a knife, sharp and lethal. “Don’t worry. I had your back.”
Then or now, she’d never doubted he meant to use it if necessary. From that night, they’d been friends, then more. They’d remained inseparable for the rest of high school. Her family moved and she’d attended Garfield her last two years. Her junior year had been Santiago’s senior one. They’d been together, deep and close. They’d even stayed together after he graduated…until he’d shattered her heart. Their break-up had splintered her heart into pieces and changed her world forever. I can’t think about that part, not now. Aloud, she said, “I remember and I do trust you, Santiago, but I don’t understand any of this.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her. Something in his eyes was so vulnerable, she believed him. “But I can’t tell you the details. If I tell you, I put you at risk more than you already are.”
All of a sudden, she understood. “It’s M13 after you, isn’t it?”
“Don’t ask, Sarita, please don’t.”
His expression darkened and she noticed, despite his sleep, how haggard he remained. He’d shaved, though. Fear shadowed his eyes and that scared her, because Santiago had feared nothing – then. “If you stay, you’re going to have to tell me sooner or later,” she said. “But I won’t ask, not tonight. I’ll give you that. Are you hungry?”
He still held her hands in his, but he let go and offered her a tiny grin. Then he reached for a white T-shirt and pulled it over his bare chest. “Si, I’m starved. I haven’t eaten for two and a half days, I think. Tell me you’re making tamales or at least burritos tipicos?”
No one else she knew except Santiago would tease when his life was endangered. “No, hamburgers and frozen fries, but I did buy some beer. Do you want one?”
Santiago grinned. “Que bueno! I hope its Corona.”
“It is,” she said. “I remembered. It’s cold, too. I bought it chilled.”
Sara toted the bags the few steps to the kitchen area. She unpacked them on the counter and opened him a beer. “Aquí Tiene!”
“Gracias, la muñequita.” He pulled out a chair, turned it around, and then sat backwards. She watched as he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank with obvious pleasure. A thought struck her and she spoke it. “You’re legal, now.”
He paused with the bottle in hand. “What?”
She laughed a little. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you drink when you’re legal. You, uh, we were underage before.”
“Salud!” He toasted her with a Latin shrug and drank a long swig.
Within minutes, she had the frozen fries toasting in the oven and three thick hamburgers sizzling in a skillet. Sara sliced a tomato, then an onion. She seasoned the meat and flipped it over. They didn’t talk much as she focused on cooking and he finished the beer. For the first time since his arrival, Sara felt very self-conscious and wonder what he thought. He looked almost the same to her eyes, but her appearance had changed or so she thought. Did she look better or worse? Whatever had propelled him to seek sanctuary in her apartment and the looming danger from M13 concerned her. He has to tell me, all of it, no matter how bad. I have to know.
She’d given her word, though, not to bring it up tonight so she didn’t. Instead, she willed herself to relax and pretend Santiago had come for a social visit. As she sat down across from him after delivering their plates to the table, Sara gazed at him. A rush of old affection surged as she admitted his presence made her glad. She wished he’d come sooner and without any unknown circumstances or tension. “So I guess I can’t ask what you’ve been doing,” she said, without heat or snark.
“No.” He spread mustard across the top half of a bun and added a dollop of ketchup. “Well, you can’t ask about the two and a half years, anyway.”
Sara put an onion slice and tomato on her burger, then handed him the veggie plate. “I thought you’d been here six months.”
“I have,” he said. “But what I’ve been doing, I’ve done longer than that.” Santiago bowed his head and until he clasped his hands, she didn’t realize he meant to pray. The familiar words of the Catholic blessing came from his mouth and after the first few words, she joined in. “Bless us, o, Lord, and these Thy gifts which we’re about to receive through the bounty of Christ, our Lord, amen.”
“Amen,” she echoed. “Do you still go to church?”
Mouth full, he shook his head. “No, not for a long time, but considering the situation, a little prayer seemed right. Do you?”
She didn’t and hadn’t more than a few times since she’d married. Erik had been Baptist and hadn’t been fond of what he liked to call her Popish rites. “I don’t, no. Sometimes I think about it and almost go, but then I talk myself out of it.”
“Maybe when this is all settled, we should go to Mass, together, for old times’ sake.”
Santiago’s dark eyes met hers, serious and somber. He means it, she thought, and decided she liked the idea. “We should. It wouldn’t be like St. Alphonsus, but I’d like that, very much.”
“Would you, la muñequita?” Santiago put down his half-eaten burger.
Without understanding why, she answered in his first tongue. “Si, Santiago,” she told him, then added, in English, “I’m glad you’re here, no matter why you came. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed you until now.”
“Oh, carino.” His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, but Sara heard him plainly. Santiago lowered his gaze and picked up the hamburger. He didn’t speak again for a few minutes, then said, his tone too casual, “So, tell me about you. You have the florist shop but what else?”
Was she supposed to condense her history from the time their relationship ended to yesterday? Sara swallowed a bite, then cleared her throat. “Posies and Pretties is about all I’ve got,” she said.
“How long have you owned it?”
“Almost seven years.” Seven years, she thought, long and lonely. If she didn’t have the shop where she could occupy her time and spend her days around bright, beautiful blossoms, she would’ve given up long before now. “I bought it after Erik died and I moved to Bentonville.”
Sara hated talking about her husband’s death. She didn’t like to talk about Erik, either. He’d been a major mistake in her life, something she’d known long before he died. There were days when she thought coming to Arkansas had been a wrong move, too. She sighed and noticed Santiago’s intent gaze.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said. “I know it’s been a while but Mama told me when it happened. I thought about writing or calling, but I didn’t know
what to say.”
She had the same problem – now. After a few moments of searching for the right words, she spoke truth. “I wish you had,” Sara told him. “It was a rough time for me.”
He caught her hand with his. “I figured you needed time to mourn, la muñequita.”
If she could tell the truth to anyone, it would be to him. Once they’d shared everything and had a code for it, SOS. It’d stood for ‘saving our souls’. Maybe I should share. If I do, maybe he will. “It wasn’t like that, Santiago.”
His eyes darkened. “Meaning what?”
“I had more guilt than grief.” There. She’d said it aloud and the sky hadn’t fallen. Demons hadn’t risen from hell to drag her down into the fires. “Our marriage wasn’t a good one, Santiago.”
One eyebrow lifted in inquiry. “No?”
“No.” Sara said the word with all the dignity she could muster. It’d taken a long time to acknowledge the truth, and she had balked at sharing it with anyone besides her mother and one friend. Everyone else believed she’d been a grieving widow, loyal to her husband’s memory when nothing could be more removed from reality. “Marrying Erik was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I’m sorry he died, especially the way that he did, but I shouldn’t have married him.”
When told the same thing, her mother had argued and when Sara wouldn’t budge, suggested counseling. Her best friend had listened but shook her head, then told her they’d been the perfect couple. Santiago listened and nodded. “Shit happens,” he said, his words basic but somehow eloquent. “And then you move on, get away from the stink and mess. Why didn’t you come home afterward? Why stay in Arkansas?”
Because of you. She’d considered it, but balked at seeing Santiago again. Although their relationship had ended, he’d urged her not to leave and they’d quarreled over her decision to go to college at the University of Arkansas. Their parting words were both heated and bitter. If she went back, Sara had known she’d have to face him someday and if he rejected her, she couldn’t have faced it. But here he was, back in her life, and the connection wasn’t broken. She’d die before she would admit it, though.
“It’s complicated. There’s not much for me in East LA now and the cost of living is tremendous. I’ve come to like autumn and some other things about Arkansas.”
His faint smile was sad. “And you didn’t want anyone to know you messed up. I understand more than you might think.”
Sara frowned. “You haven’t made any mistakes on the scale of mine.”
“No,” he said in a soft voice. “Mine was much bigger.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I’m not up on any gossip from California, so I don’t have a clue. What happened?”
Santiago took a bite of his hamburger and sighed. “It’s a long story and I’m hungry. Let’s eat before it gets cold and I’ll tell you how I fucked up later. Deal?”
“All right, deal.” Sara noticed how his eyes narrowed and the way his shoulders tightened as he tensed. Whatever had happened to him, he’d been through hell and it wasn’t over yet. “I’m sorry I brought up bad memories, Santiago. I’ll tell you about Erik, too, to be fair.”
He nodded and held up the hamburger. “This is good, Sara. “
She swallowed a bite of hers with effort. “Thanks. There’s another one for you, if you want it.”
“Gracias,” he said. “I’ll split it with you if you want.”
“No, I’m good. Go ahead.”
After a few brief awkward moments, they talked about the past. Santiago remembered their trips to the beach and the day they’d gone to visit Disneyland together. Each word he spoke evoked their shared past. As she answered back with memories, Sara realized the old bond between them, the powerful emotion and the intense attraction remained. It lurked just below the surface.
She could easily love him again, she thought, if she didn’t now.
The idea pleased her on some levels but most of all, it terrified her.
Santiago, the man he’d become, remained a stranger and although she trusted him, she didn’t dare give him her heart or he’d shatter it. Again.
Chapter Three
Santiago’s presence loomed so large that it made her apartment feel small and tight in comparison. She curled up in the armchair beside the window after supper, feet tucked beneath her body. He sprawled on the couch, more relaxed than he’d been since he arrived. If she hadn’t known him well, once, she might’ve missed the small indications he remained edgy. He bounced one foot up and down in a fast rhythm. Every few moments, Santiago scratched his face with one finger and he yawned. “Are you still tired?” she asked, curious and without condemnation.
He nodded. “I didn’t sleep for a long time today. I cleaned up first but once I stretched out, I had trouble settling down. Every time somebody came up the stairs or went down the hall, I jumped. I’m winding down now, thanks to the food and the beer.”
The walls were thin and sound carried so she wasn’t surprised. “Would you like another beer?”
His lips curled into a half-smile. “I’d love one, but I’ll pass. I need to keep my mind clear, just in case.”
Sara hated to ask but did anyway. “In case?”
He shot a hard look her way. “If anyone hot on my ass figures out I’m here, la muñequita. If they do, it could be ugly.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “How ugly?”
Santiago’s grin was more of a grimace. “Worst case, you could be mopping my blood off your floor or wiping it off the walls after you watch LEOS zip me into a bag. Or, it could be someone else’s splatter instead of mine. Or, I could run and you’d be caught. If so, rape would be mild compared to some of what they’d do to you, but I would never leave you like that.”
Deep within, Sara knew he wouldn’t. But she didn’t like any of those choices. “Then I’m in as much danger as you are.”
His steely gaze never wavered. “No, you aren’t, because I’m here to protect you.”
When she glanced down at his duffle bag, open on the floor at the end of the couch, Sara saw the Glock 17 9 millimeter beside his discarded clothes. “Is it yours?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, it’s Yosemite Sam’s. Of course it’s mine.”
If she knew him, he had more than one weapon. “I imagine you have a knife or two, as well.”
“Si, I do.” To demonstrate, Santiago pulled a long, lethal knife from the rear of his jeans and a switchblade from his front jeans pocket.
Most women, she thought, would be alarmed, but finding him armed and dangerous reassured her. “I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s not a good idea.” He concealed the knives in one smooth motion.
“You can trust me.”
“I do or I wouldn’t be here.”
Sara believed him. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t. “I won’t tell anyone, Santiago. I swear it.”
This time, he grinned. “Chingao! You’re gonna pick until I tell you, aren’t you?”
She smiled back. “Yes, you know I will. So you might as well get it over with. I’m not telling whoever you work for, and I won’t turn you in to the law.”
Something flickered in his eyes. He’s going to tell me. I know he is. Her certainty faded when he spoke. “You go first,” he said. “Tell me about your husband, what was his name, Edward…”
“Erik.”
“Erik, then,” he said with a shrug. “I’d like to hear why you followed him back to Arkansas, why your marriage was no good, and why you live like this.” One arm swept outward to include her living room and everything within view.
His words prickled her nerves. “Like what?” She planned to bluff through his questions with bravado and bullshit. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I live.”
Santiago snorted. “No? Use your eyes, amiga. A nun’s cell is more personal than this. You own a florist shop, but you don’t have a single plant or bloom in the place. I’ve seen motel
rooms with more individual style than this. Your walls are bare. I don’t see any pictures of anyone or anything. No posters, no decorations, hell, not even a calendar on the wall. You own a bare minimum of DVDs and there’s an inch of dust on the stereo. Some of the CD’s haven’t even been opened. You have a couple of books on your nightstand but no more than five or six. I looked in your closet…”
He had no right to pry. “Asshole!”
“Guilty,” Santiago said with a grin. “Anyway, your clothes are all brown or navy blue or black. There’s no red or yellow or green or purple. You own multiple pairs of sensible shoes. Your shampoo is the cut rate discount store knockoff and the closest thing you have to perfume is lavender and rose scent. If I didn’t know different, I’d think you were the one on the run, la muñequita. Or, I’d think you had just moved here and hadn’t settled in yet. Yet you tell me you’ve lived here for what, almost seven years. I assumed you meant here, in this antiseptic apartment, but maybe I’m wrong. Did you just move?”
Sara resisted an urge to slap him or use her nails as claws. God, but he’d always been able to bring out the most powerful emotions, good and bad. She ached to hit him but deeper, she wanted to fuck him more. “You know I haven’t,” she said. “I’ve lived here for years.”
“No one could tell it,” he replied. “Sara, you were full of life, you loved color and music. You wore red and other bright colors. Now you dress like Sister Mary Joseph, you live like its temporary housing, and you don’t appear to do anything but work. This isn’t you, not the Sara I knew and…”
Santiago bit off the last word, but she heard the echo in her head. He meant to say “loved”, I know he did. And, Lord, he’s right. I have retreated from everything. I don’t have a life, just an existence, but it worked until he showed up at the door. “It’s who I am now,” she lied.
His long look penetrated into her soul. Santiago shook his head. “Bullshit. I don’t buy it. What is it? Is this some kind of self-inflicted penance? Tell me.”
Stranger Danger Page 2
