by Lisa Samson
“Yes. I don’t know why I don’t get out of the city more.”
“I think we all say that.”
“The city is no place to raise a child.” Nina thought about the test strip and suddenly her life had become so important once again, as if all the things she’d stripped away of her own volition were back in play and in danger of being stripped away again by unwelcome circumstances.
“The fact is, I’m not a dancer, and I wasn’t in danger of becoming one with the way my life worked out.” Okay, that was a little random, she thought, but José didn’t seem to notice. He just kept walking along, hands in his pockets, breathing in the sea air just like she did.
She continued forward past well-kept houses and thick lawns bearing springtime flowers, some obviously in some sort of yard war. Nina never saw such perfection.
They rounded a corner and came upon a yard with more lawn ornaments than she’d ever seen. “I like those kinds of people. They don’t realize that lawn ornaments aren’t classy. They just like them. Nobody ever told them ‘less is more’ so they think more is more, and the more lawn ornaments the better. I’d like to be that person, José. I’d like to not care what other people think.”
“You don’t seem like that.”
“Maybe not to you.”
They came to an intersection, and José pointed across the street to a white Dutch colonial with a perfect yard. “There it is. That is my parents’ house.”
“Okay . . .”
“Don’t worry.” He took her arm as they crossed the street. “You will love it here.”
A man came barreling down the drive with an empty handcart. He stopped at the back of a red pickup filled with shrubbery.
“Qué paso, Papá?”
The man turned. His black eyes widened, then filled with concern. A flood of Spanish came out of his mouth as they approached. Nina felt a sick wave of uncertainty mix with the sea air.
Of course his father was surprised. José hadn’t been home since he moved into the city to work at Manny’s restaurant. It seemed he could only be one place at a time, live one life, and traveling out to Long Island regularly was not part of that life. His life was sleeping, praying, going to church, cooking, and coming home to read and sleep. That was enough. In fact, sometimes if the resolve it took to accomplish all that gave any indication, he was downright heroic.
Manuel Suviran Sr., olive skin weathered from days outside on his ranch in Mexico, spat out his worry. José felt badly that Nina wouldn’t understand, but his father refused to speak English. “José, where have you been? Your brother’s been calling all day. He said you walked out.” He looked at Nina and then back at his son. “What’s happening, Son?”
José replied in kind. They all suspected Manuel understood more than he let on, but they respected him too much to push the language issue. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Don’t worry, old man.”
His father embraced him. When most of his friends decided they were too old for hugs, their fathers acquiesced, but not Manuel. He saw it through.
“Remember Nina?” José asked. “From the restaurant?”
Well, of course!” He turned to Nina with a little bow. ““This is your home.”
Nina looked back up at the tidy home, so neat and well cared for, and José was proud. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“At your service.”
Nina tried replying in Spanish. “Gracias.”
He laughed. “Listen to her. With that dress she looks like a real Mexican lady!”
Nina drew her brows together. “What did he say?”
“He said you look like a Mexican.”
She smiled. “Oh, thank you!”
José reached for a bush. Looked like an azalea. “Is Mom inside?”
No. She went shopping. I’m going to cook an oyster plate. “You’re staying for dinner, right?”
“He’s inviting us to dinner,” José said to Nina. “Should we stay? He’s making oysters.”
“Sí. Gracias,” Nina said.
José nodded. “Sí. If you insist.”
Manuel spread his hands. “Of course I insist.”
“What are the trees for, Papa?”
“To plant them, beard man. Don’t just stand there like a lump! Yes. Three male sons and none of them can help me plant a tree. ”
“Where’s Eduardo?” José asked.
Manual laid his hands on the root-ball of a small tree. “Eduardo? You’re joking. He’s too busy buying clothes and wooing his new girlfriend.”
“He has a new girlfriend? When did that happen?”
“You know your brother. I haven’t met her either. He’s bringing her for dinner tonight.”
José leaned against the side of the truck. It had been several months since he’d seen Eduardo. “Good, I’ll get to meet her. Is he here?”
“No. Just me.”
José pushed off the truck. “Let’s get these trees in the ground then. Nina’s as strong as Eduardo.” He turned to Nina. “Aren’t you, Nina?”
She scrunched up her nose. “What?”
Manuel hefted the root-ball, and José rushed to help him put the tree on the cart. “The holes are done, we only need to plant them,” he said.
“What are we doing?” Nina asked.
“He said he wants you off his property.”
She looked at him through her lashes. “Cut it out.” Then smiled. Then sobered. “Did he really say that?”
José couldn’t help it. That smile was infectious. He returned the grin to reassure her. “Seriously, we’re just going to help plant these trees.” Wow, did José actually crack a joke?
José helped his father unload the rest of the plants while Nina set her backpack on the back porch.
The Prodigal Son returns. Your mom will be so happy to see “you.”
José gripped the handle of the cart with Nina and pointed to his father. “He’s gonna help us plant these trees, all right?”
Manuel laughed, joined in on the lighthearted banter. “You’re slower than a one-legged man.”
They stopped by the back fence.
Manuel spread his arms to indicate his living canvas. “There’re going to be azaleas, a lemon tree, tuberoses, irises, margaritas . . . it will be paradise!”
Nina nodded.
“Did you understand that?” José asked.
She shook her head.
You know,” Manuel continued, “I wooed my wife with “flowers. You like flowers?”
“What did he say?” she asked José.
“He asked if you like flowers.”
She nodded, this smile wider than the one before it. This must be doing her good, he thought. “Yes. I do. I love flowers.”
José was reasonably sure Pieter rarely brought her flowers. He thought Nina was smarter than to go for a guy like Pieter.
“See?” Manuel said. “All women like flowers!”
They dug into the black earth, turning over the moist soil with their shovels. And they planted the lemon trees, José and his father hefting the heavy plants and settling them in the holes while Nina packed the soil around them. Next they planted three azalea bushes and the rest of the perennials Manuel had brought home with him.
You see, Nina”—Manuel patted the earth back into “place around an iris—“right now these plants are small and just a shadow of what they will be.”
José translated.
“This garden will be amazing in a few years,” she said.
Gardening! Food for the soul,” Manuel said. “Let’s take a “break.”
He came back with some cold drinks and sat on the cool grass. José and his dad talked about nothing really, but Nina seemed to drink it in. Finally they drained their glasses.
José said, “Dad, do you have the keys to my car?”
Manuel hesitated, closing his eyes.
Nina noticed, giving José a look of curiosity.
“The key
s? What for, son?”
“I want to show it to Nina.”
Manuel looked at Nina, then back at José. In his gaze José read a three-hour conversation. Why her? Is there something you’re not telling us? Are you in trouble? Are you healing? Are you ready to get on with your life? And if so . . . why her? “They are in the bottom drawer of my desk.” He stood up. “I’m going to shower and change.”
José sipped his drink.
“What just happened?” Nina asked.
José shook his head. “Nothing.”
He thought about the women he used to bring home and wondered if they would think Nina was a step down. He hoped not. Truthfully, the more time he spent with her, the more he liked her, the more he hoped she’d find somebody who appreciated her more than Pieter had. Of course, knowing who Pieter was, that wouldn’t be too hard to do.
Nina entered the carport. Something hung in the air, and she wasn’t sure what it was. But it seemed important, weighty, and full of consequence. She wasn’t very religious, but it felt almost like a shrine of sorts.
A car ran down the middle of the room filling up almost the entire space, a dustcloth draped over most all of it. José began to remove it. Nina ran her forefinger down the front fender, the only part exposed. Her finger cut through the dust of many years.
She loved old cars, and this Bel Air was a beauty. Sleek and old but in perfect condition. “Wow! Does it run?”
José stood on the other side of the car, by the driver’s door. He removed the last bit of tarp with a flick of his wrists. “Let’s see.”
Nina hopped in, jumping onto the passenger’s seat. Cars were so big and roomy back in the day; it was almost like entering a theater box. Could she imagine Pieter in something like this? Something unusual, something fun? No way. “My dad used to have an old Ford.”
Oh no, he’s gone again, she thought, looking over at José, who gripped the steering wheel as if searching for a port in a storm. After just half a day with him, she wished she could share some of that heavy load. Even just a pound or two if he’d let her.
“Is it yours?”
José looked up. “Yeah.”
“Wow.”
He slid the key into the ignition.
Nina decided to make this fun. She had no idea why this car was important, why it had the power to steal José away, but maybe she had the power to bring him back. She pulled the scarf out of her pocket. “I’ve got the scarf.” Placing it around her head, she thought about all those old movies she used to watch with her mom, movies where Grace Kelly, the most beautiful woman in the world as far as she was concerned, tied on a headscarf, set a pair of sunglasses on her nose, and headed off down a windy, coastal road. “We should take a road trip across the country.”
He turned the key, the result a series of rapid clicks.
“Doesn’t look like you drive this much.”
“I used to.”
“When was the last time you drove this thing?”
“Last time I drove it, I went to jail.”
Oh boy, she thought. Here it is.
She didn’t know if she was ready.
Sixteen
José figured Nina was in his life for a purpose. Yes, he cared about her and what happened to her baby, but he also knew that he needed help every bit as much as she did. Maybe more. Because at the end of the day, Nina was strong. Whereas he, well, he wanted to be. He used to be.
“You went to jail?” She took off the scarf. “For what?”
He remembered the day, driving down the street with Francisco, having just given the practice ball to the boys in the street, promising to bring back their raggedy ball with a newfound wealth of signatures along its seams.
“About six years ago, I was on my way to a press conference. I had just signed a contract with a new soccer team.”
“You played soccer?”
José nodded.
From professional soccer player to hermit chef ?
“What happened?”
“Everything happened so fast. We were driving down the street, and I had just bought new shoes so I lifted up my foot to show Francisco, my manager.”
They had joked about a foot massage, and José looked down at the shoes, remembering how he’d promised himself years before that the first thing he’d buy when he had the money was a pair of Ferragamos. And he had them. All that money he had plunked down on the counter.
And now they were riding down the street, laughing about the shoes, cigar smoke flying in the breeze from the convertible.
We’re moving up,” Francisco had said. “
I think I’m lost,” José said, looking around. “
“It’s the next right.”
Why did it have to be that street? Any other that day and it would have been fine.
“Those shoes come with the car?” Francisco asked.
José lifted his foot, patting the sole of the shoe. They stood for everything he had worked so hard for. Every practice after school when his friends were hanging out together, every break spent kicking balls in the rain, every holiday interrupted by more practice. And all the running, miles and miles each day.
Yes. He looked at his shoes and satisfaction ran through him like an electrical current.
He heard a cry. And then a thump.
José jammed on the breaks.
There was nothing in front of the car. That they could see.
Was that a dog?” Franciso asked. “
They looked at each other, terrified. José knew. His heart told him it was more than an alley cat or a roaming, stray dog. “What do we do?” he asked his manager.
Let’s get out of here!” Francisco knew too. “
José pushed open the car door, his pulse pounding blood through his ears.
“What are you doing?” Francisco yelled. “Let’s go.”
There José sat with a man in a pink shirt telling him to run, run from whatever it was he did. Did he stay or go? Would he run over whatever it was he hit if he did? What was right? For him? For . . . whatever it was? He felt the sweat pool on his scalp, his entire life before him, all his hopes and dreams.
Francisco took him by the chin. “Listen to me. I’m your friend. I’m your manager. The only way to get out of this is to go! ”
That settled it. Francisco knew too. Even sitting there in the carport with Nina, José wondered if Francisco saw it all. José wondered how Francisco knew that if he wanted to save his career, his life, he’d have to put the car in drive and drive away.
“Let’s get out of here. Now, José! ”
But José scrambled out of the car.
“I can’t.”
He saw her, the child.
“Nina, standing in the middle of the street, looking down at her little body, I felt a terror like I’d never known in my life.
“People began to gather, and the mother rushed at me, hitting me with her fists and crying out, her sobs so loud and long as if she wanted God to hear, and I tried to calm her, me the killer of her child. I can still remember her crying and screaming for God to give her daughter back.”
Nina’s eyes were filling with tears.
“I saw the mother standing in the street, looking down at her dead child.” He rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. He didn’t want to see the expression on Nina’s face. He didn’t even know why he wanted to bring her here. “I live with it every day, Nina.”
Nina rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm and comforting. He sank himself into the feeling for just a moment, then turned to face her.
“I was convicted of involuntary manslaughter. A law called criminally negligent homicide. I was not careful looking at the road and was driving too fast. Manny was there all the time with me.”
“What about her family?”
“She was a single mother. They took four years of my life, but I took everything she had.”
“How is she doing now?”
“I tried to meet with her several times, but she
refused. I go back and put flowers on her daughter’s grave and I ask God for answers to why this happened, and I want to see the woman, but I know all she sees in me is the one who killed her little baby.”
“It was an accident.”
Such a simple statement and one everybody offered. But he heard those words and saw a pair of shoes and a lot of pride. “Doesn’t matter now, Nina. It doesn’t matter. I can go to Lucinda’s grave every day from now until the end of time, and what matters is that I took her life.”
So that was it. This was the story nobody knew. It was much worse than they all suspected. Nina felt her heart sink in upon itself with grief; she wanted to fold José into her arms, but there he sat, pressed against his seat, looking as though his memories formed a shell, clear and hard, around him. Eyes glazed, he stared at the steering wheel.
The door to the carport slammed open, and she started as a young man who, quite frankly, put José to shame in the clothing department rushed in and, eschewing the door, jumped into the backseat of the car. “Qué paso, José? And Nina? All right! I missed you the last time I went to the restaurant.”
Nina wanted to kiss his sweet cheeks. His enthusiasm touched her right then, down in a place where she’d stored the excitement she once felt about living.
“You guys ready to meet the love of my life?”
José turned to his younger brother, craning his neck back. “Is this the real thing?”
“I think it is, hermano.” He sat back, smug and adorable, long lashes curling up as he blinked. “I’m going to marry her.”
She’d always wanted a little brother, and this guy would be perfect.
“How long have you guys been together?” she asked.
Eduardo grinned and cocked his head to the side. “A week.”
Nina turned around, trying not to laugh.
But the silence returned as Eduardo saw his brother’s face and gave credence to the importance of the car in which they sat. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “They want you in the kitchen, hermano.”
“All right,” said José.
Good, thought Nina. Get him out of this place.
Eduardo hopped out of the car, leaving a smidge of his good cheer behind.
“I promised you a bath,” José said.
She smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
