His Temporary Wife

by Leslie P. García

  Esme dried her face and threw the tissue in the bag he had hung from the glove compartment. She wanted to smile at the incongruity of the fabulously appointed pick-up and a plastic bag from a local grocery store hanging by a corner from the compartment door.

  But she had a final question she needed to ask about the loss of his friend, sensing that the change from penniless street urchin to successful heir couldn’t have been easy. “Did you ever find out who killed your friend?” She couldn’t use the nickname Pioja, would not insult any child with the name of a blood-sucking, socially embarrassing parasite.

  “Years later, I found out that her name was Laura,” he told her. “Her stepfather was in prison until recently … died there for what he did to that poor little girl.” He drew a ragged breath. “I also found out that my mom and dad had gone there after they heard about the murder to offer to pay for her burial and hire investigators to track down her killer if the police had any difficulties.”

  “Oh, my god,” she murmured.

  He managed a short laugh. “Do you see why I would do anything—anything—for those people? And why I cannot let them down again?”

  “But you were a kid. You thought you were defending … or …” she couldn’t remember the English verb for seeking vengeance, and switched to Spanish, “vengando a Laura. How can that be letting them down, if they didn’t know you?”

  “No, but then there was Paulette. And Cody.” He wiped a hand over his face, roughly, and stopped at a light. “Think we can swing by your parents’ a little early? Maybe we can find a nice place for dinner, if they’d like. I do need to head back to Truth tonight.”

  “We’re not far. I guess we might as well.” She gave him directions that would take him to the Heights area, where beautiful old homes in lushly landscaped yards had been the “in place,” the residential area of doctors, politicians, and the very wealthy.

  “So we take Clark Street?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “We can see how badly worn the guacamayas are,” she said gravely, using the Spanish name for the red and blue macaws decorating boulders along the busy street. The artwork had been painted originally by high school students and came under scrutiny off and on, with supporters defending the birds as an integral part of Laredo, and detractors labeling the faded painting a major eyesore.

  They drove down the broad, tree-lined street, both glancing instinctively at the former Martin mansion, now purchased by someone new and completely changed from its simple lines and beautiful front yard. Wrought iron circled the formerly unfenced property and benches and statues cluttered the yard.

  “Signs of the time that those fences are there?” he asked, and she shrugged.

  “Probably.”

  A few blocks later they parked on the curb of a corner lot. Esmeralda looked out the window at the plain brick building, low to the ground, with little in the way of landscaping. The grass was mostly gone, the victim of heat and lack of care, and she might have been more embarrassed than she was if she hadn’t just heard Rafael tell her his story.

  They walked up to the door together and Esme found herself clutching Rafael’s arm for moral support, which she thought was ridiculous because this was her house, not his. He didn’t seem to mind, smiling down at her reassuringly and tucking his arm in closer so that her arm was pressed into the solid warmth of his torso.

  Just before she reached the door, she saw the flutter of a curtain off to the side. Her mother, undoubtedly, who had already noted the truck, Rafael’s casually expensive clothes, and his good looks, and reported them dutifully to her father.

  “Smile,” he whispered as the door swung open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Esmeralda had expected the worst of her family, and they hadn’t disappointed. Her mother and father sat down stiffly and tried to make conversation, but her mother’s look of suspicion never changed, nor did her father’s constant channel surfing to find sports games.

  Her mother called her into the kitchen, supposedly to take tea out to everyone, but really to ask the question that Esme had known would come.

  “Did he get you pregnant?” her mother hissed, the minute they reached the refrigerator and were somewhat out of sight of the living room.

  “No. I’m not pregnant.” She snatched the tea pitcher and filled a glass, not volunteering any additional information.

  “Call me Adriana,” her mother ordered when Rafael called her “Mrs. Salinas.”

  “Ernie,” her father put in gruffly, then went back to his game.

  Just when Esme counted herself lucky that Beto wasn’t there, he walked in, smelling of beer and cigarette smoke. Her mother introduced him to Rafael in glowing terms, and he perched on the edge of the sofa and interrogated him.

  “So, Benton. That’s not a Hispanic name. Anglo, right?”

  Almost before Rafael could explain he was adopted, Beto started on the pick-up, about how expensive it was, how nice it must have to be money.

  And when Rafael invited him to join them for dinner, and his mother said she thought maybe he’d like to go with them to a reasonably priced chain that had started in Laredo, Beto was indignant.

  “My sister’s getting married! Is that the best you can do, bro?”

  After protests and complaints and an argument that had given her a headache, Beto had convinced Rafael to try the Tack Room, a well-known, high-end restaurant on Zaragoza Street. Part of La Posada, the restaurant served quail and similar delicacies, and featured steaks named after classic horse races like the Belmont and Preakness.

  Her mother and father sat across the table looking around furtively at the wait staff and elegantly dressed customers, many women sporting expensive jewelry. Beto kept gulping down wine the waiter brought and whispering crude observations until Esme managed to kick him under the table. He glared at her, but perhaps because Rafael was sitting so close to her, an arm loosely along the back of her chair, he didn’t say anything.

  “So, what do you do, Beto?” Rafael asked, conversationally.

  Beto flushed and huffed. “I’m between jobs. No one’s hiring right now.”

  “He was manager at a big auto parts store,” her mother interceded. “They decided to make some cuts, and you know how Laredo is.” She nodded. “They let him go because they could hire someone for less.”

  Esmeralda could feel Rafael’s tension through the micrometers separating his skin from hers. Clearly he found Beto as insufferable as she did, and he didn’t know the half of it.

  The strained atmosphere lightened a little with the arrival of the appetizers. Beto had demanded bacon-wrapped shrimp, a local version of crab cake, and panchos with tenderloin. He reached immediately to serve himself, but Esme plucked the platter away, hissing a little at the burn, and offered them to her mother first. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rafael smile and pass another tray to her father.

  “So, as we mentioned back at your house, Esme and I have decided we want to marry next week,” Rafael said, while they waited for the steaks to come out. “We’d love to have you there. It’ll be a simple wedding at my place, but I want Esme to have her family with her.”

  Esme doesn’t want them there, though. Rafael had claimed to have anger management problems, but he was as cool as a cucumber while fury bubbled through her. She hadn’t thought she could think less of her brother, but the way he was behaving was inexcusable. And her parents had brought him up like this, selfish and demanding and never accountable for any of his actions. Disgust filled her. Maybe Rafael would have second thoughts about having her as his wife. She wouldn’t blame him.

  The entrance of the waiter with their steaks cut off her train of thought. She let go of the resentment and worry and waited until everyone was served.

  “Dig in, folks,” Rafael invited.

  “Good,” Beto grunted. “Thought you might be one of those jerks who’d make us pray.”

  Rafael sent him a scathing look, but said nothing.

  “That was unc
alled for, Beto,” her mother chided, and her father nodded, but was already busy on the sizzling meat.

  “We’ll try to go,” Adriana said eventually, addressing herself to Rafael. “It’s kind of hard for us to get away.”

  “My car’s in the shop and theirs is pretty old,” Beto offered.

  “It’s not that old,” their father protested. “I’m older than it is. Just don’t like to travel much anymore.”

  “What if I had a car drive down from the Cotulla location and take you up? We’ll be sure you have transportation while you’re there.”

  “If the wedding’s on Saturday, we probably should go up early,” Beto said immediately. “I mean, don’t fancy weddings have rehearsal dinners and stuff?”

  “We’re not going to, but just let Esme know when and we’ll make arrangements,” Rafael promised, but to her parents. He never even glanced at Beto.

  A little later, the group wandered out, crossing the almost empty street to the bright lights edging San Augustin Plaza. The cathedral towered over the plaza, lights soft around it. The plaza still had strollers, many of them from out of town, some who came to the cathedral regularly.

  “Still one of the prettiest places in town,” Rafael murmured, as Esme waited to climb into the truck until her family was settled.

  She looked at him with some surprise, since she’d learned how he’d spent his childhood here, but he shrugged.

  “Beauty just is. The cathedral was never to blame for anything.”

  Back at her parents’, Rafael firmly refused an invitation to go in for coffee or a drink, insisting they needed to get back to Truth as early as possible. Esmeralda climbed into the cab, hoping to hurry the process along. Her mother and father went inside, but Beto stayed planted where he was on the other side of the truck. She saw him say something to Rafael, adding an exaggerated wink, and held her breath as Rafael turned away suddenly from the truck, stepping close to him and leaning into him. Whatever he said had Beto moving away, face contorted with anger, but his movements also indicating nervousness.

  “What happened?” she asked as they swung out onto a street heading east toward the interstate accesses.

  “Nothing,” Rafael muttered. “Just forget it, Esmeralda.”

  Embarrassed as usual by her family, Esme turned away and leaned against the back of the seat, letting the darkness and light play out as the truck streaked along.

  Eventually, Rafael seemed to notice her silence and withdrawal. “He was drunk, Esme. Why let him get to you?”

  “He got to you, didn’t he?” Esme demanded. “I did warn you about my family.”

  “I’m not marrying—hiring—your family. Nothing they can do to me can hurt me. I just hate that you all don’t seem to have a great relationship.” He smiled as she turned on the CD player. “How did you pull off a day at school without music?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Miniscule MP3 players during lunch, planning, and restroom breaks. No one in Rose Creek knows I live for my country music.”

  He laughed. “I find that really hard to believe. Anybody who has seen you at Tía’s would know. Speaking of which, how’s your relationship with her coming?”

  She frowned. “None of your business, and fine.” Not true, but she didn’t want to discuss it with Rafael, when he seemed to be such a central part of everything to do with her aunt, good or bad.

  The lights of Laredo receded and darkness prevailed, although Esmeralda knew they’d run into the always daylight-bright Border Patrol checkpoint any time. She preferred the darkness, liked the peace it provided. And the intimacy with Rafael.

  “What do you have against my aunt? I mean, you said that she helped destroy Cody, but your sister was a grown woman.” She saw his face tighten, and the corners of his mouth turn down. “I don’t want to hurt you, but it involves Tía as well as Cody. How did they meet? I saw a picture of you, Cody, and my aunt. You could swear Cody was her daughter.”

  “They did seem to have some strange bond. I never understood what Cody saw in her. She had the best mom in the world.”

  “Was Cody adopted?”

  “I suppose you need to know some of the story,” he admitted unhappily. “Wouldn’t seem real that we could be together and not talk about her. Mom and Dad tried for years to have children and couldn’t. They adopted me, but as all the procedures to aid in conception improved, somehow they had Cody.”

  “Were you jealous? You were—”

  “Twelve. And no, surprisingly, I wasn’t. Maybe a little afraid when I misbehaved that I might get sent away somewhere, even though Mom and Dad never threatened me or said that I would. I think maybe I wasn’t jealous because I already had so much more than I’d ever had that I didn’t mind sharing. And even though I’d never had parents, really, I’d never been alone before I was adopted. I’d been used to having kids around, so I was overjoyed when Cody came along.”

  “Was she always into music?”

  “Not the way you are, no. But she could always sing. I thought when some friends heard her in middle school and she got a lot of attention, it really changed her. She suddenly wanted to sing.” After a moment’s silence, he said, “Let’s stop at Cotulla, just there at the Big Wells exit. I need to stretch and get gas.”

  “Would you like me to drive? I can.”

  “If you hauled a horse trailer through the hills, you sure can.” He shot her a grin as he slowed to exit. “Cody wouldn’t let me move her horses. She paid a guy who used to drive the Clydesdales to do it.”

  “Wow. She had horses?”

  “Still does. Well … they’re Justin’s now, I guess.” He pulled up to a pump and turned off the truck, stretching and smothering a yawn with his arm. “Long day. Do you need anything?”

  “Well, we’re here, so …” She slipped out of the cab and went inside, immediately spotting the restroom sign. When she came out, Rafael was walking up and down selecting junk food. “Chips, chocolate—what’s your vice?” he asked. “They also have chicken legs, but they looked a little overcooked.”

  “You have room to eat again?” she asked immediately.

  “Maybe not eat, eat. But snack, probably.”

  She got a bottle of water, which he promptly took away and paid for, then smiled and handed her the bag. “Make yourself useful.”

  She smacked him on the arm with the bag. “Careful. I might still change my mind about wanting to work for you if all I’m going to do is carry bags. It insults my intelligence.”

  When they were on the road again, she asked about the information he’d tossed out. “Where are her horses?”

  “They’re both at Witches Haven. I never thought to show you the stable. That rock fence that sits back from the house? The stable’s behind that.”

  “One more question about Cody?” she pressed.

  He sighed but didn’t refuse. “Last one.”

  “Why do you say you’re responsible?”

  “Because I was just like Mom and Dad, but worse—I could never say no to her, either, and I kept thinking I could get through to her. I let them think I was controlling the situation. And I introduced her to the bastard who hurt her the most. He worked for me. I hired him in spite of the fact our human resources manager said not to.”

  She tilted her head. “Why?”

  Lights flashing by from the oncoming traffic across the median showed the anguish in his face. “I liked him. I knew he’d been in trouble, but I wanted him to have another chance.”

  “Like you got?”

  “Yes.”

  She stretched and shifted. There was so much more she’d like to know, but she’d told him she wouldn’t ask. Tonight. She closed her eyes, thinking she’d just relax and forget the stress of the trip and the emotional turmoil of the past several days. The music from the CD faded away and then was gone.

  • • •

  She was asleep, her face in profile, almost angelic when light fared momentarily over her face and then dissipated in the darkness. Damn, sh
e was beautiful. He wondered again how he thought marrying her was a good idea. For Justin, undoubtedly, and she might have as good a chance as anyone of seeming to be the perfect wife in front of his parents. She was smart and tough, and they’d like that. But he wasn’t ready to risk commitment yet. He’d promised himself—and her—a safe, non-physical relationship. No sex. No making love. Right now, tempted as he was to pull into the next rest area and wake her with kisses, he couldn’t imagine having her in and out of his bedroom without breaking all the rules. She’d suggested that might happen.

  He swerved at the thought, without meaning to, and the tires thumped along the lane dividers meant to wake up sleepy drivers. He glanced at her, but she hadn’t been startled into awareness. He sighed with relief. A few more miles and he could say goodnight. There were no residents to impress tonight, so he could skip the kiss. Definitely safer that way. She hadn’t minded, though.

  What had he let himself in for? He was especially glad that her family would be gone by the time his parents arrived. They’d be hurt he hadn’t waited to marry, but he could explain that away. How did you explain Esme’s family to two adults who regularly gave the shirts off their backs and the cash in their pockets to anyone who needed a hand up? Esme’s stories of her youth and her lost love made him hurt for her, and he could see the lack of warmth her parents showed to her, to each other. Sad.

  And the brother. Anger bubbled through him as he thought about Beto, clearly his parents’ pride and joy. How could they show her so clearly that she didn’t exist on the same plane he did? He found it hard to believe it was all about Toby. Hadn’t they changed at all? He’d almost ended the evening by smashing his fist in Beto’s ugly mouth. As he’d been going around the truck to get in, Beto had inched in closer. “Be sure you get her good tonight, Bro. She owes you.”

  He’d turned enough that he hoped his back and shoulders shielded him, and pressed a finger into Beto’s throat. “Don’t you ever insult Esmeralda again,” he warned, pushing the finger in until Beto coughed. “I grew up on the streets,” he added, and while that wasn’t entirely true, Beto seemed to accept him at face value.