Rafael slapped him on the back. “Good deal, buddy.” He grinned, then saw Esmeralda pause at the door.
“Is she?” Marc’s question was so low he barely heard it, but he nodded.
“Esmeralda, Marc Dryer.” He walked over and closed the door. “Marc, Esme has agreed to marry me.”
“Congratulations.” Marc grinned. “If I were Rafael, I’d make damn sure it was permanent.”
“Thank you.” But she shot a killing glance at Rafael. “Does everybody here know?”
“I had to tell Marc. He’s been involved with the situation in Truth, trying to find out more about some of the people who were there the night Cody died. And he’s my best man. If he weren’t there with me, my dad and mom would see through everything.”
“Just for the record, Esmeralda, I told him the idea was crazy. But his folks really are stubborn about their beliefs. They’ve been trying to marry me off since my freshman year in college. You’ll see when you meet them.”
“I guess. Still it’s kind of hard having perfect strangers knowing you married for money, Marc.”
“I can see that.” He nodded. “But you shouldn’t take it as marrying for money.”
“No? So how should I take it?”
“As a well-paid summer job that lets you live in a country home, with nice folks and no stress.”
“That will sound better on my next résumé.” She smiled at Marc. “Nice to meet you.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Likewise. Don’t take any guff from my bro.” Then he slapped Rafael on the back again. “I’m gone. You’d better pull this off, or you’re toast.”
“I know.” He walked to the door with Marc, who stepped out in the corridor before adding, “And don’t you dare hurt the girl.”
“Ready to leave?” Rafael asked, and Esme nodded.
“Sure. But I think I like Marc more than you, even though he’s a little hyper.”
“He’s a pain. But we love him,” Rafael said easily.
They got back on I-35 and Rafael glanced at the dashboard. “We’ll grab a bite somewhere in Laredo, unload, and then,” he stopped to glance in his mirror before passing another semi, “let’s take your folks out to dinner if they don’t have plans.”
Chapter Twelve
She didn’t want Rafael to meet her family. Her mother and father would be bad enough with their pointed glances and embarrassing questions. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her brother Beto meet him. She’d visited her parents since leaving home—out of duty, and maybe the faintest remnants of love for the two people who had brought her into the world—but she knew they were petty and greedy. At least toward her. She should have asked Rafael what he expected of her family before she signed. With so little time before his parents came, she’d really thought they’d just stay in Truth. Not once had she considered that he’d want to meet her family. She’d have to think of some way to limit the damage knowing her family would do to them both. Her mother and father she could handle for the brief time he would know them. But Beto … she’d never forgotten the gossip, the slurs, and lies he’d used against her from childhood on.
Nor had she forgotten the time she’d been home from college during her freshman year at college. Her parents were out visiting friends, and he’d come home from some friend’s party drunk. She’d looked up to see him in the door, leering at her. She’d already changed for bed and was sitting there in pajamas.
He made some obscene comments and she’d gotten up to shut the door, never imagining that he’d touch her. Instead of letting her get the door closed, he’d stuck his foot in, then shouldered it open again. He’d reached for her, jerking her to him, fondling her, trying to tear her clothing off. Fear and fury had given her the strength to fight him off and shove him out into the hall. She’d locked the door and collapsed in a heap of the floor, crying hysterically. Her own brother had tried to rape her, and she sat there shaking until her mother and father came home.
Her mother hadn’t believed her. She’d sided with Beto, and so had her father. They’d blamed her, blamed the fact that he was drunk. She’d gone home since then as infrequently as possible, and when she went home, she stayed in a motel. She’d never spent another night under their roof again.
He was looking at her curiously when she didn’t answer.
“I really want to meet them,” he said. “I know you said you weren’t close, but surely we’re going to invite them to the wedding.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Look, Rafael—do you prefer Rafa or Rafael?”
“Nice try. Most of my friends call me Rafa, but call me whatever you’re comfortable with. Why don’t you want your parents at the marriage? Wouldn’t that help patch things up, if one of their problems was—well, that you and Toby weren’t married?”
“You don’t know them. Look, you had the pre-nuptial written so you can’t be manipulated and robbed blind, right?”
“Sounds harsh, but yes.”
“You don’t have any protection from them.”
“Are you sure you’re not misjudging old problems?” He reached over and found her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Esme, I just find it hard to believe that your parents are such creeps. I mean, kids usually grow up like their parents. Don’t you think? I mean, professionally, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Maybe generally. But not always, Rafael. You have to know that.”
“Not going with Rafa?” he teased. “Not formal enough?”
“No. Not distant enough, either.” She turned her head and pretended to be interested in the buildings that had sprung up on the outskirts of Laredo in her absence.
“Tell you what. Let’s get these things unloaded so we don’t have to worry, and then we’ll have lunch and the first fight of our engagement.”
In spite of herself, she laughed at that. By the time they’d taken the collected items to the various organizations, she had to admit she was ready for lunch. They wound up at Taco Palenque, the only Laredo mainstay they both loved.
Standing by the high counter to order, the smells made it hard to concentrate on all the reasons why she shouldn’t let Rafael meet her parents. A faint sensation of guilt crowded in. For all her mother’s failings, she missed her now and then. They’d come here for most Mothers’ Days, and after she’d won the district science fair the year before she’d met Toby. And she and Toby had come here on the anniversary of their first date. They’d only been able to order a single taco each, but she’d never enjoyed fajita more …
Rafael and the cashier were looking at her, apparently waiting for her order. She ordered the fajita plate, and filled their glasses while they waited for their order. It took a few minutes, but they finally found a table near the doors that led to the tables outside that were often occupied by teenagers or families with young children.
“Anything you’d like to do this afternoon? You could shop for a wedding dress. And we don’t have the ring.”
“We don’t need all that,” Esme protested. “Rafael—”
“We discussed this, remember? I told you the job included expenses. We need a dress and the ring. And those are job expenses.”
“You’re not planning on a formal wedding, are you?”
“No. But I want to do better than T-shirts.”
“We can go into San Antonio. When is this wedding going to happen?”
He shrugged. “Today’s Friday … how about a week from tomorrow?”
“A week?”
“Two weeks is too long. We could choose a weekday, but who gets married on a weekday? Besides, your parents might not be able to get away if it’s not a weekend.” He smiled at her, but it was a smile that told her he was in charge of her wedding details. “This marriage is about family, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave yours out.”
“Okay.” Esme inhaled deeply. “A week from tomorrow.” She pushed her plate away. “Let me call my parents and see if they’re home.”
/> Don’t be home. Be in the hair salon. Be across in Nuevo Laredo. Just don’t be home.
Her mother answered on the second ring.
They exchanged the usual stilted greetings before Esme said, “Mom, I’m in Laredo. Do you think we could drop by the house and visit?”
There was a long pause on the other end, broken by a heavy sigh. “I suppose it’s some man? I guess you can come by. We’ll be home anyway.”
“Maybe in a couple of hours?”
Her mother agreed and hung up. Esme knew that she’d drag out a broom and mop and clean the living room, dust, and complain constantly about the extra work to her husband. Her dad would sit in his favorite chair watching whatever games were on TV and making occasional grunting sounds of agreement.
“Well, that didn’t sound too bad from this end.”
“No? Wait until the part where I tell them I’m marrying you in a week.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“My mom will demand a million explanations, want to know things about you that I don’t know and probably never will—”
“My parents will put me through all that, just later on. And they’ll be worse, because it will be after the fact. Are we ready?”
She nodded, watched him place too much money on the table as a tip, and pull her chair out. “That’s different, though,” she said, standing and following him. “You’re lying to your parents for a good reason, if there is such a thing, and you were honest with me. I’m just flat out lying to my parents.”
They stepped out into sunshine that made them blink.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “To be honest, I didn’t think about how my fiancée—about how you—might feel. My only concern was keeping Mom and Dad in the dark about … everything.” He opened the truck door and waited for her to climb up. “Pretty selfish of me, huh?”
Selfish? She wouldn’t mind waitressing again for the tips she’d seen him leave. He was willing to pay a fortune for his parents’ and nephew’s happiness. Apart from the snarled death threat she’d heard, he seemed perfect. That worried her: there weren’t any perfect people, only people who thought they were perfect.
He went around and got in, turning the truck on. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill. Any ideas?”
The sunlight streaming in through his window haloed him. His lips were slightly pursed, and the reddish cast the sun gave his dark hair and the sparks in his eyes made him almost irresistible. Oh, she had ideas. She was just under contract not to jump the man’s bones. Regretfully, she shook her head.
He backed out and stopped, waiting for the traffic to give him a break, and apparently debating whether to turn left or right.
“Show me where you lived.” The idea came abruptly, and Esme saw him flinch when she asked, but she wanted to know. “Fair’s fair. You’re going to my parents’ house.”
He didn’t look happy, but signaled a left and headed toward the oldest part of Laredo. Esme catalogued the changes as they drove. Some of the import places were still there, with their colorful Mexican curios displayed on the sidewalk and behind chain link fences—pots, piñatas, ceramics, and metal animals of every kind. There were new tattoo shops, the usual franchises, and old motels apparently under new management. Home, but not really …
They drove downtown, fighting the usual congestion, finally turning onto Zaragoza Street and passing historic San Agustin Cathedral, the plaza in front of it, the luxurious La Posada Hotel on the left. “The other kids and I used to come hang out here sometimes when we knew mass was over. We always thought everyone who’d been inside listening to the sermon would be generous with us.”
“Did it work?”
He shook his head. “Not always.”
He continued down the street until he hit San Bernardo again and pointed at Puente de La Americas, Laredo’s first bridge, which still swarmed with cars and pedestrians going into and coming out of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. “We also used to go panhandle on the bridge—got in scuffles sometimes with the Mexican kids—but mostly it was peaceful.”
“I used to go across a lot. I’d buy gum or a paper, but I was terrified of hitting someone. Kids would just rush out—”
“I was terrified of the bridge,” he admitted. “But at the time, mi tío—or at least some guy who claimed he was everyone’s uncle—made us go every day.”
She sat in silence, trying to imagine Rafael in shabby clothes, avoiding the traffic and trying to eke out a few cents—money which she bet he and the other kids didn’t get to keep.
“I imagine kids can’t get onto the bridge anymore from this side,” Rafael went on, manipulating the tight, one-way streets filled with parked cars and thronged with shoppers from Mexico in search of values in the thrift stores. He finally came to a corner, where he paused a moment, indicating the decrepit houses on one side of the street, across from a weed-covered lot with trash. “That third house down … that was where I stayed mostly. Eventually I wound up at the shelter, but not until right before my mom and dad adopted me.”
She felt sickened by the scene, although she knew there were neighborhoods everywhere that looked the same. She’d known about it when she lived in Laredo, but still remembered feeling ashamed of her parents’ house when friends came over. Compared to Rafael’s beginning, she’d lived in luxury. How shallow she’d been—was she still? She’d agreed to marry a man for money, something she thought once she would never have done.
She glanced at Rafael. He looked pained, eyes mirthless, his lips pressed tightly together. The console separated them, or she would have flung herself next to him and hugged him.
“Funny isn’t it—it really isn’t any different than when I lived there.”
She had no words, so she said nothing about the structure with missing boards, an open place near the roof, a porch that had collapsed on one side.
“I don’t see anyone,” she said finally, hopefully. “Maybe—”
“I imagine we’d see kids if we came after school or in the evening. I’m willing to bet people still live there.”
She wanted to change the subject and managed to reach far enough over to lay her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I’d really love to see where you attacked the Cadillac.”
“Actually, it was right over there.” He pointed to the lot, halfway down. “I saw the car from the porch over there. Some of the kids at the house, and one of the women who was there at the time—we called everyone ‘tía,’ even though I was already old enough to know why she was there and that we weren’t related—started trash talking ‘los ricos.’ Talk about anger toward folks with money! It got ugly. I got mad.”
He turned to her. “You need to know that about me, Esme. Anger used to govern most of what I did. I can’t believe how often I destroyed something even after I was out of here, just because I’d give in to my rage.”
“So, why were you angry at the car? Just the fact that it was so expensive?
“No.” He seemed ready to refuse to explain, and she saw moisture form in his eyes before he turned away. “There was a little girl … we called her Pioja—”
“You called her ‘louse’—that’s awful!” The counselor persona kicked in, outraged that a little girl had apparently been ridiculed by—she controlled her own outrage. The little girl had been ridiculed by children who didn’t know better. Who’d been just as abused and neglected as the little girl had been herself.
He went on, tonelessly. “We rarely went to school. We’d never heard of child predators, and we made the little money we made talking to strangers. Someone had seen her out in the street late one night and … she and I had made stupid, nine-year-old pacts about how we’d marry when we grew up. She … didn’t grow up.”
His voice quavered slightly and he swallowed hard. Without thinking, she unbuckled her seat belt and scooted closer, running her hand over his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, even knowing the words could never help.
Behind them, a horn blar
ed. Few cars apparently used this street, but Rafael pulled through the stop and parked at the edge of the lot. When the car passed, he put the truck in reverse and backed up until he could turn and head back toward the streets that would get them out of the desolation.
“When I saw that Cadillac, all gold and shiny, I just lost it. Todos dijeron—everyone said that some rich guy probably took Pioja. I grabbed an old hammer and ran across the street. Put dents all over it, broke the driver’s side window—I did a lot of damage for a kid. And then the Bentons came out of a house down the block, apparently a house where Pioja should have been, but her parents …” He took a shuddering breath. “They were addicts. Didn’t want her and had three other kids anyway.”
“What did they do about the car?”
“The police came. I never knew who called them, the Bentons or someone who lived around there or what. They insisted the car wasn’t the problem and demanded CPS come. Wouldn’t leave until the police went over to where I lived and started making arrests and calling for medical help and social workers.
“I didn’t know who they were then, of course, but my dad asked what he’d done to me, and said I should save fights for the ones who hurt others. My mom scolded me pretty harshly, for her, for endangering myself. Asked if I knew what would have happened if I’d cut an artery. Then she hugged me and asked if I’d like to go get food. They talked to the police, took me to McDonald’s, and started making arrangements that day to provide for me.”
Tears streamed down Esme’s face unchecked. How did children survive the situations they were so often placed in? She’d seen horrible circumstances in her line of work, even in Rose Creek, but Rafael’s story was unimaginable.
He saw her tears and tried to blot them, but Laredo’s downtown streets were narrow and full of parked cars, and when a car swerved from the curb to cut him off, he cursed and jammed on the brakes.
“There are tissues in the console. And much as I appreciate the company, you’d better put your seat belt on again.”
His Temporary Wife Page 14
