by Lyn Cote
“New Year’s Eve?” Tracy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “So soon?”
Jill looked up at Luke, winking. “Yes. We’ve already reserved my church and we’ll have the reception there, too, in the basement.”
“We’ll start the new year as man and wife,” Luke said, his chest expanding visibly.
So soon? Marc throttled back the turbulent reactions to this announcement. He forced himself over the few feet to shake Luke’s hand and slap his back. I am happy for you, Luke. I am. Johnny followed Marc and now leaned against him, turning his face into Marc’s waist. How could this news be bothering Johnny? Why?
“But so soon?” Tracy repeated, still showing shock with widening eyes. “That’s just a little over two months. How will we have time to get our dresses and do a bridal shower—”
“You and Bud eloped to Vegas as I recall,” Naomi commented dryly.
“You eloped to Las Vegas?” Jill gawked at them.
Consuela chuckled, exchanging knowing glances with Naomi. “El amor no espera a nadie. Love waits for no man.”
Marc followed the telling of the old family story as if listening to a distant radio program. He was more aware of his own ambivalence and of Johnny hugging him tight. He patted the child’s back.
Tracy pursed her lips and looked chagrined at Naomi’s reminder of her impetuous marriage. “What can I say—it was the 1970s.” His mom made a face. “Okay, I have no right to talk. Thank you for reminding me, Naomi.”
Naomi laughed. “I wasn’t scolding. I was merely pointing out that true love often doesn’t wait for elaborate plans. We’ll find dresses and so will Jill.”
“I’m going to wear my mother’s wedding dress,” Jill announced.
“If you need alterations, I will do it,” Consuela spoke up. “I can still sew even with this new hip.”
Jill went over to Consuela where she sat and took her hand. “Thank you. It would mean a lot to me to have a friend do it. And since Marc will be best man, I want Rosa to be a bridesmaid.”
Jill turned to Rosa. “You will, won’t you? My favorite cousin will be my maid of honor. But since you double-dated with us the first time we met face to face, I think it’s fitting to have you as a bridesmaid.”
Rosa gave a stiff nod.
Marc gazed at her and guessed that this invitation to be one of the wedding party had caught Rosa off guard, too. Johnny wrapped his arms around Marc’s waist tighter. Marc rubbed the boy’s back. What’s wrong, Johnny?
“Well, this is all very nice, but I’m in the mood to roast a few hot dogs,” Naomi announced. “Anyway good news always gives me an appetite.”
“Any news gives you an appetite, Mom,” Bud called out. Laughter followed. The gathering moved to surround the blazing fire within the circle of rocks.
Rosa drew farther away from the light, glad to be able to move. If she didn’t get away, she wouldn’t be able to hold in the hurt in front of everyone. Under the cover of darkness, the happy chatter of the guests and the meat sizzling over the fire, she slipped away. She took refuge in Naomi’s dimly lit kitchen.
She gripped the counter around the sink and stared out the window at the fire. The dark shapes moved around it, all backlit by the golden-orange flames. Fierce and fast, emotions slashed through her. Hot tears welled up, scalding her as they streamed down her face. Jill and Luke would live happily ever after while she…The horrible letter burned in her pocket. Why hadn’t she torn it into pieces and buried it in her trash?
Outside, Marc sat in a lawn chair. He let Johnny face the fire. But to keep him from getting too near the fire, Marc tucked Johnny between his thighs. Arms outstretched, he skewered a hotdog on the boy’s willow stick and handed it to him.
Johnny put his wiener right over the orange flames. Marc looked around for Rosa and then back again. “Johnny, turn your dog over and move it a little way from the direct flame. Otherwise you’ll end up with a wiener burned on the outside and cold on the inside.”
“Like this?” Johnny asked, gazing into the flames pensively.
“Yeah, that’s just right.” Marc glanced around, trying not to appear to be looking for Rosa. The last few minutes had been rough not only for him but also Rosa and Johnny. Marc could hear Johnny’s unhappiness in his voice. Marc wanted to make sure Rosa was all right. And now I can’t see her.
Naomi came over and leaned close to Marc’s ear. “Rosa went into my apartment. Go see what she needs.”
Marc exchanged glances with his grandmother by the golden firelight. Did she sense something wrong, too? He hoped she hadn’t picked up on any of his turmoil. “Johnny,” Marc said, “Naomi is going to help you cook your hot dog.”
Johnny looked up, worry dragging down his eyes and mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Marc squeezed his shoulder. I hope. “I have to go get something. Here, Naomi, take my place.”
Marc stood up and tried not to call attention to his retreat inside. Leaving the crackling fire and the cheerful voices behind, he entered Naomi’s quiet kitchen. The only light on was the one over the stove. Silent, Rosa stood at the sink, gazing out the window.
“Are you all right?” he asked, wary, hesitant.
Rosa whirled around and then sagged against the kitchen counter, glad it wasn’t anyone else. Marc. Yet she did not want to be alone with Marc now; she longed to throw herself into his arms and feel his strength envelop her. Somehow the letter had stripped away her outer shell. She was exposed, defenseless.
“Sorry,” Marc murmured, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He moved toward her, trying to gauge her mood. “Did you need something?” Need me?
“No, no.” She withdrew from him, wrapping her arms around herself. I’m too vulnerable. Stay away.
He tried to think of how to bring up what was uppermost in his mind, Luke’s engagement to Jill. But maybe Rosa doesn’t want to talk about that, either. Could that alone explain her retreating here? “Rosa?” he ventured to say.
She looked into Marc’s shadowed face, yearning for his touch. She tightened her tight grip on herself.
The desire to pull Rosa close and hold her nearly overcame Marc’s caution. “Are you all right?” he asked again, moving still closer to her in the dim light.
Too many answers came bubbling up. She couldn’t speak. She looked away.
“Is it the engagement?” Marc found it hard to draw breath. His eyes adjusted and now picked up the added glow from the back porch light. Rosa’s face came into focus.
“It surprised me,” Rosa admitted. She looked up, blinking rapidly to keep tears at bay. “Me, too.” She’s crying. Marc gripped the back of a kitchen chair and laid the other hand on the counter to keep them from reaching for her. “I mean, man, that was fast.”
“They must be in love.” Rosa leaned against the counter. A tight ball of misery lodged right over her heart.
“I guess.” Marc couldn’t take much more of this enforced restraint. His grip on the chair back had turned his knuckles white. And this conversation was going nowhere on the fast track. He took a chance. “Do you need anything, Rosa?”
“No. We better go back.” Rosa said these words, even while she imagined laying her head against Marc’s chest and pouring out all the hurt inside her.
“Okay.” He didn’t move.
She didn’t move. The long moment hung between them.
Then breaking free, she headed past him out the door.
He nearly stopped her with a hand on her arm. Nonetheless, he let her go.
And she was grateful. Outside the cleansing frosty night air filled her lungs. But her heart remained mired in murky heartache and resentment. She tried to shake these unloving feelings without success. She forced a smile, a false and cold and terrible mask.
Hours of the outdoor birthday celebration crept past. Rosa suffered each minute as an hour. When would it end? Leaning against the tree which supported the tire swing, Rosa stayed out of the circle of light. Everyone else was either
sitting on half-log benches around the burn pit or in lawn chairs.
She’d managed to choke down a hotdog to stop people from urging her to eat. And now she’d never be able to eat one again without recalling this excruciating evening of the “letter.” To her, all the laughter and happy family chatter had been like chewing glass.
Then the long torturous evening was finally, finally coming to an end. A few neighbors had risen to say their thanks and goodnights.
“Johnny!” Rosa called, walking toward the fire. Her pulse sped up now that escape was within reach. “It’s time to go home.” At last.
Johnny was sprawled back on Bud’s lap as Bud lingered in one of the lawn chairs around the fire.
She approached them. “Come on, Johnny.” She forced a cheerful tone. “Time for us to head home.”
“No,” her son said, turning and wrapping his arms around Bud’s waist. “I want to stay here with Marc and Amigo.”
“Johnny,” she said, trying to sound patient, even as her thin patience slipped through her fingers. “Marc’s been very nice to have you spend nights here with him, but tonight you’re coming home with me.”
“No.”
Rosa’s lips pressed tightly together, holding back sharp words. “Johnny, I said it’s time to go.”
“No.”
“Johnny.”
“No!”
Rosa heard the high hysterical edge to her son’s voice. He was definitely overtired. And an overtired child could not behave well nor respond to reason. She knew that. But her forbearance was hanging by a single spider web thread. “Johnny—”
“No!” Her son leaped off Bud’s lap and pelted toward Naomi’s back door.
Rosa closed her eyes, trying to withstand the onslaught of surging frustration, now crashing against her festering resentment over the letter. And she was completely depleted, fresh out of patience, sucked dry. I can’t do this tonight. I can’t.
But mothers had to bear everything. No days off for moms. She turned and began trudging toward Naomi’s door as if wading through deep wet snow. I’m so tired, Father. Help.
When she reached the door, Johnny was on the other side—out of her reach. By the light over the back door and through its window, she saw he was prepared for war. With both hands, he’d clasped the knob in a death grip. With his feet braced against the bottom of the door, he was leaning back, pulling his whole body weight against the door. This made it impossible for her to open it.
“Johnny, stop this right now,” she snapped along with the thread of her patience. “Now.”
“No!” Johnny yelled back.
Tracy appeared at her elbow. “He’s obviously overdone. Why don’t you let him stay tonight? You’ve had a rough month running back and forth with your grandmother.” Tracy laid a restraining hand on Rosa’s shoulder. “You look so exhausted. Go home and go to bed. Relax for a night. If Marc doesn’t want him tonight, we’ll take Johnny home with us. He can bunk in with Luke.”
“No, I’ll keep him,” Marc said, arriving beside his mother, “Rosa, Mom’s right. You do look exhausted. I’ll keep Johnny overnight and bring him to you tomorrow morning.”
Rosa wanted to scream, He’s my son! He has to obey me!
“Listen to them, dear,” Naomi said, joining the group. “You need a break and obviously Johnny does, too. This has all been a very confusing time for him.”
Rosa looked at Johnny’s defiant face. She felt herself losing control just as he had. Before she embarrassed herself by screaming in frustration, she conceded. “Okay. Call me in the morning.” She turned and made a quick getaway, jogging to her car. Consuela called, “Good night!” Rosa didn’t slow up. Angry words hovered just over her tongue, ready to spill over.
She backed out of the drive and headed home. Now the tears poured down her face. She hated them. And even more she hated the lost feeling and then the anger that had come when she’d opened the awful letter. Would her wrong choice at sixteen dog her and her son for the rest of their lives?
Marc watched Rosa rush to her car and drive off. Something more than fatigue and Luke and Jill’s engagement had to be fueling this. He hoped he’d made the right decision to let her drive herself home.
“She looked worn out,” Tracy said.
He nodded, feeling like a traitor for not trying to find out what was the matter earlier in the kitchen. Marc looked through the window at the naughty, unhappy boy. “Johnny, open the door. Now.”
Reluctantly, as if he knew how much trouble he was in, Johnny obeyed. The door inched open. Then he burst into tears and barreled into Marc’s arms. “I’m sorry.” The boy began to cry in an hysterical, disjointed way. “I’m sorry.”
Marc folded Johnny in his arms and went inside. As he carried him up the stairs, he patted the boy’s back. The evening had been sharply unsettling for the three of them, Rosa, Johnny and himself. All the turbulence he’d hidden over the past hours had chafed him raw. But I’m happy for Luke. I am.
He heard the door open downstairs and Naomi called up, “Here’s what the boy needs!” Barking full blast, Amigo bounded inside and clattered up the steps to Marc’s apartment.
“Amigo,” Johnny stuttered between sobs, reaching for the dog.
Marc sat down on the couch where Johnny slept when visiting. Johnny slid to his knees. Amigo panted beside the boy, licking his face, wriggling with happiness.
“I’ll go get your sleeping bag,” Marc said, feeling at least a hundred years old.
Knuckling his eyes, Johnny nodded. A stray sob escaped him. Marc pulled him close for a quick hug and then left. When Marc returned, he helped the boy change into his pajamas and then took him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Amigo trailed after them.
Afterward, Marc lifted Johnny into his arms and carried him. Still crying in a helpless exhausted way, Johnny slid into the Green Bay Packer’s green-and-gold sleeping bag.
“Now go to sleep.” Marc touched the child’s forehead.
“I don’t want to go home,” Johnny mumbled. “Luke is gonna marry Jill. I want you to marry my mom. And then we could live together. I wouldn’t ever have to go home, go away.”
Johnny sounded completely distraught and nearly asleep. But his words hit Marc squarely. So that was what had caused Johnny’s strange reaction. Sitting beside the boy, Marc rubbed Johnny’s back and murmured repeatedly, “Go to sleep. Everything will be all right in the morning. Promise.”
Finally the boy stopped hiccupping and crying. After turning three times, Amigo made himself comfortable on Johnny’s feet. Amigo sighed, happy with his boy.
Marc felt the child’s body relax into sleep. Marc remained on the edge of the couch, gazing at Johnny. Johnny had said, Luke is marrying Jill. I want you to marry my mom. Johnny deserved a father. But was Marc the man who should fill that role? Still haunted by nightmares, could he measure up? Lord, help Johnny, help Rosa, help me…
Rosa unlocked the door of her apartment. Closing and locking the door behind her, she dropped her purse onto the floor and fell forward onto the sofa. Sorrow and hurt weighed on her like brick and mortar. For once, she was alone and didn’t have to be brave for anyone else. She let all the hurt gush out. Sobs shook, wrenched her whole body. The letter had ripped open the past wound of Trent’s rejection of her and Johnny, letting its poison sting and sear her once more. She lay, weeping, weeping.
At last, she was cried out, drained. She lay on her stomach in the dark apartment, gazing at the small round illuminated clock on the stove. Nearly eleven o’clock. And she was too weak to get up and go through even the nightly routine of ending the day. Overhead, footsteps and someone’s pipes gurgled. She lay unmoving, spent.
“I know I have a lot to be grateful for,” Rosa, alone in the dark, said to God. “We’re about to move into a house of our own. Johnny’s in good health. My grandfather is being well cared for and so is Consuela. I’m going to school. But I’m so tired, Father. So tired of going it alone. Of never having anyone here to share t
he load with, share the joy with. I long for a deep voice, calling my name and Johnny’s. I want a man’s love, Father. A good man. I want to be able to give all the love in my heart to a good man. A faithful man.”
Marc’s face came to mind. She acknowledged the fact that she was in love with him. But was he in love with her? Did that matter if he was still wounded from the accident? She recalled those moments in his pickup the day at school that Caroline Mason’s sister had spoken to him. Had he healed? Would he ever be able to love without guilt?
She knew that none of this mattered. She was going to love him anyway. Nevertheless, that wouldn’t solve her problems with Trent and his lousy letter.
Rosa woke up still facedown on the couch. She hadn’t moved all night. Washed out and stiff, she tried to recall why her heart felt filled with hardening cement. The letter. Of course. More evidence of how little Trent valued her or his firstborn son.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the dingy white popcorn ceiling. What am I going to do?
The image of Eleanor Washburn popped into her mind. That’s who I should call. I need a lawyer and she’s a lawyer. Trent had hired a lawyer to write this nasty letter. I can hire one, too. She rolled onto her feet and went to the wall phone in the kitchen. After dialing Eleanor’s number, she sat down at their tiny table. Eleanor came on the line.
The sound of this take-charge woman’s voice bolstered Rosa’s confidence. “Good morning, this is Rosa Santos. Eleanor, I need a lawyer. Can you help me?”
The next morning had dawned as one of those bright, chilly autumn days that made Marc glad to be alive. With not a second to spare, he arrived near Rosa’s apartment in time to get Johnny on the school bus. After waving Johnny off, Marc knocked on Rosa’s apartment door. Today he’d push to find out what had upset her last night. He couldn’t believe it was only Jill and Luke’s engagement. Rosa wasn’t like that.
She opened her door. “Hi, come on in.”
Marc tried to measure her mood. He wanted to say, “You sound better this morning.” But on second thought, he didn’t know if he should even mention last night. After the accident, he hadn’t liked it when people kept asking him over and over, “How are you?”
