True, Maribel knew her surroundings were comfortable — affluent, even. As a girl from the barrios, working the streets in spite of her age, she would have assumed Dell’s family had money. But to identify her as De Cordova instead of Rosales … Dell’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
That left Jovani. There was no way around it. Why had he told Maribel? How could the subject possibly have come up? Her brows furrowed into a frown. Just as disconcerting was the idea that he must have been alone with Maribel if he had confided that information to her. What was he doing alone with a troubled, belligerent woman-child who had been arrested for prostitution?
“Are things really going to be that bad?” Michelle asked suddenly, in a small voice, startling her. She shot a surprised glance at the girl.
“You look — I don’t know. So worried,” she explained, and Dell had to make a conscious effort to relax her clenched lips and smile reassuringly.
“Sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking about court, though. More about the little incident this morning. Is Maribel too much for you girls? Does she — I don’t know — pick on you all? Do things she shouldn’t?”
Michelle looked out the window for a minute, then shook her head and turned back toward her. “She mostly hangs alone. But she likes hurting people. She kept telling me they’d make me leave the ranch.” Her hands knotted and unknotted in her lap. “I feel funny,” she admitted. “What if she’s right?” She paused again for a moment. “What if I have to go back?”
“Judge Ovalle-Martinez is a smart woman, Michelle. I’ve known her for years. It really won’t be too bad. You’ll see.”
Michelle nodded without much conviction, and Dell forced herself to put everything aside but the girl’s worries. She would get through this thing at court and then she and Jovi would talk. But she didn’t think it would be the discussion he’d had in mind early this morning when he had said they would talk. Ruthlessly, she dismissed the image of his face, his eyes intent on her, his lips soft against her skin, from her mind. Something was very wrong with Jovani Treviño. She’d been stupid before. Been fooled. She’d been an unwitting enabler, briefly, for a man she loved. It wasn’t a mistake she’d repeat. Ever.
Traffic picked up as they neared downtown Laredo, and she felt relieved to drop her efforts at cheer and just concentrate on the vehicles speeding around her.
Chapter Eight
It was almost six by the time Dell turned the SUV into the drive and slowed down as three white-tailed deer bounded across in front of the car. Seeing the graceful animals always gave her an unexpected dart of pleasure. They were so exquisitely formed, so much a part of this dry ranch country that still hadn’t surrendered completely to Laredo’s encroaching sprawl. Dell smiled in spite of her weariness. The slight bump as they crossed the cattle guard, put in years ago by her father and never paved over, made Michelle stir and sit up. She wiped a hand across her eyes and looked out. “We’re home,” she said, surprised.
She’d fallen asleep after the tiring day, and Dell wondered if she even knew she’d used the word “home.” She thought back to the most awkward moment of the day, when the judge had spoken to Michelle’s mother alone in her chambers. Apparently, the woman had accused Dell of trying to steal her daughter’s affection, before being confronted by the judge, who reminded the woman sternly that she had thrown Michelle out because the girl had spent the night with her boyfriend — after doing nothing to prevent that situation in the first place. The woman had dissolved in tears and pleas for another chance. She explained she was taking parenting classes from her church, and she was trying to cope with her husband’s abandonment after so many years. Michelle, she sobbed, was all she had, and she needed her back.
The judge had spoken separately to Michelle, who asked to stay with Dell. But, reluctantly, the judge insisted that, if Michelle’s mother continued to take classes and try to overcome her own problems, the sixteen-year-old would have to return to her mother. Meanwhile, she asked Dell to allow weekly visits for Michelle and her mother at the ranch. After the court appearance, Dell took Michelle out to eat and then to the mall, thinking it best that the girl have some time alone before she had to face Amy, Selina, and especially Maribel. Together, they walked the long corridors, not crowded on a weekday afternoon. Michelle refused to look for bargains at first, then shyly stepped closer to a window to browse the costume jewelry beckoning shoppers. Dell smiled when Michelle suddenly grabbed her wrist and urged her in to look at a T-shirt featuring the newest teen idol.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Michelle asked a second time as Dell paid for the shirt. She looked excited and a little abashed all at once. “Mom hated when I needed new clothes.”
“I don’t mind,” Dell assured, letting the remark about the girl’s mother slide.
“Thanks!” They headed back out, and Michelle glanced up at her. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Dell paused to let a group of teens in saggy pants saunter past, and Michelle looked after them a minute, then remembered what she’d been saying.
“Why do you let us stay, Dell? Maribel says it’s about money — ”
Dell shook her head, stopping to peer through the window at a brightly colored sheath. “Not about money.”
“Nah.” Michelle looked at the dress Dell was looking at and wrinkled her nose. “Ugly. No, not the money, I can tell. But why?” She urged Dell away from the pricey store, heading toward the two-story merry-go-round nearby, with its benches and soda machines.
“Our own moms didn’t want us,” she pointed out after a moment. “And you’re nobody — I mean, not to us. Yeah, we like you and stuff, but … ” Another, pronounced shrug.
“You don’t get it.” Dell pursed her lips and ran a hand over her head. “Guess it’s a little to do with what Maribel said,” she answered finally.
“About?” Michelle colored. “All I could think about this morning was me,” she admitted.
Dell grinned at her. “I think you’re entitled to worry a little about yourself now and then.” She walked over to the drink machine and peered in. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah. Water’s good.”
Dell retrieved two bottles and they sauntered on, Michelle quiet as she finished half the bottle in a gulp and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Your mom?” she said finally.
“Yeah.” Dell thought for a moment. “Judge Ovalle-Martinez filled me in on some of your problems, Michelle. Your mother didn’t pay enough attention to you, she said. She thought that was your main problem.”
“Yeah,” Michelle agreed. “No news there, though. Your mother — ”
“My mother … dressed me up. Showed me off. And pretty much ignored me if there wasn’t some special occasion. Some function, preferably with photographers in attendance. After she and my father divorced, I sort of pretended there was only my dad.” Dell smiled at the memory of her father. “He loved me.”
Michelle put out a hand, stopping her, and stared up at her. Suddenly she seemed to realize she was gripping Dell’s wrist and dropped it.
“So you lied?” she asked, in a small, but determined voice. “About home being best? About mothers loving their kids.”
“No,” Dell said with conviction, and reached out to touch Michelle’s cheek. “I meant it. I believe, mostly, home is best. Mothers love their little girls. Just not always, honey.”
“Not always.” Michelle nodded in agreement and pointed. “I think we parked out that way.”
Together they started toward the exit, and Michelle moved close beside Dell as they neared the door. “So … what’s up with Jovi?” she asked with a quick glance up at Dell.
Dell shook her head. “Oh, no. Just as you said — nobody’s business.”
“I didn’t say that,” Michelle pointed out with a quick smile. “Selly did.”
Michelle giggled. “Selina’s always got the good gossip — los chismes,” she retorted. “She’s how we know stuff.”
“Aha! So I go to Selina next time I need a report on you girls?”
“That depends,” Michelle said primly, clambering into the SUV. “Selina for good stuff, or girl stuff.” She pulled the door shut and waited until Dell was in her seat. “But for the nasty stuff, stuff no one should know, ask Maribel.” She flopped back against the seat, the conversation over.
Dell frowned as she turned the key. She didn’t doubt Maribel would poison the waters whenever she could. And again, that nagging wonder — how had Maribel found out about her mother? And how had she known she could use it to hurt?
• • •
“Girls must be upstairs with the TVs on,” Dell concluded when no one rushed out the door to meet them as they pulled into the garage. “I thought they’d be waiting at the door, as long as we’ve been gone.” She smiled at Michelle and switched the ignition off. “They’ll be happy to see you, though.”
Michelle nodded and slid out. “Yeah.”
Thinking about how hard it would be when Michelle returned home to her mother sent a shiver of apprehension through Dell. Could she even imagine losing Becky? The agency had been clear that there were no guarantees in Becky staying with her, and that they tried to return children to their homes if there were any way at all.
Surely in Becky’s case that wouldn’t be possible. Her mother had been in and out of jail, and, according to the case worker, hadn’t even expressed a desire to know where or how Becky was last time the worker had spoken to her. Still, Dell was in a genuinely down mood by the time she got out. She waved Michelle to the rear of the vehicle with a half-smile as she stretched. She dug under the driver’s seat for the low-heeled walking shoes she always kept there. Kicking off her heels with relief, she slid her feet into the loafers and walked back to peer in at the cluster of bags.
“I’ll be in shortly,” she told the girl. “Get everyone to help, will you? Tell them I just needed some air. And give Becky a kiss for me, okay?”
“Got it,” Michelle called, already half way to the door with her bags. Dell left the car doors open so the girls could finish unloading and walked slowly down the drive toward the stable, letting the sun hammer away at her tense shoulders.
The stable door was open wide, and she could hear an excited commotion inside — hooves striking stall doors, Pete’s shouts at the horses to quiet down and for Danny to hurry up. Feeding time — how long had it been since she’d carted food along that aisle? The three men must have it under better control than she and Pete and her father had before, though; she hadn’t heard a single cuss word color the afternoon air. Grinning, she skirted the barn, then the riding arena, and took a path through the nearest pasture, relishing the feel of soft, spongy grass under her feet instead of the ungiving feel of asphalt or tile. This pasture was irrigated and had withstood the summer’s heat well, but other pastures without a steady source of water were already burning and turning brown and dry. Off along the far fence line, three of the mares grazed peacefully, but she ignored them, walking instead in the general direction of the river pasture with its tangle of mesquite trees and tall reeds.
The river pasture was a long strip of sparse pasture hemmed in by the Rio Grande. Stock was seldom allowed to roam here, because no fence prevented animals from coming or going across the river to Mexico. When she had been a child, back when her mother and father had first started creating this south Texas showplace, the riverbank had been a virtual park. The native underbrush had been cleared, although the mesquites and stunted live oaks were left along the banks. Now vines, carrizo cane, and tangling grass were all over again, almost obscuring the picnic tables and grill that had been built near the bank. Nearby, a simple cabaña had provided shelter from the weather and housed party supplies; it was unpainted and relatively unchanged, although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually looked for the key to the padlocked door and gone inside. The windows were boarded up; she had given Danny and Pete strict instructions to be sure no one could get inside the abandoned structure. She wouldn’t have minded so much if the Mexican or Central American aliens swimming the river seeking work had used the cabaña for protection from a sudden storm or cold front, but the entire border was facing an onslaught from alien and drug smugglers.
She looked around carefully, but everything seemed much the same as it had when she was a teenager, riding down here almost daily to hide out from the world.
She had heard entirely too many tales of ranchers who had serious problems when their deserted riverbanks were used as staging areas by smugglers bringing marijuana and cocaine across the river. Although she suspected some of the property owners might not be as innocent as they claimed, she knew of one couple who had given up their ranch after being unable to keep traffickers away.
Relieved to find such calm, she walked down to the very edge of the river. Most of the bank here was steep, falling off with outcroppings of rock and dotted with cactus, but her father had leveled this one section out enough to allow easy entry into the waters. Her eyes stung with memories of her father, working in the sun to build this playground for her. Now the river’s waters were so polluted that swimming was unsafe; factories here and upriver, as well as the maquiladoras, or factories, in Nuevo Laredo, had contaminated the Rio Grande and its banks with commercial toxins, while the area’s burgeoning population had contributed to its pollution as well.
She drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Her father would have had trouble dealing with the loss of his river, she knew. On the heels of that thought, the fleeting image of her mother, uncaring that Samuel Rosales would have given his life for her or that he’d lived a life of loss and heartache without the woman he’d been married to briefly but had loved always. She squeezed her eyes shut, almost seeing her mother, lean and blonde, frowning and brushing imaginary grime from her arm. Her father, kneeling on the blanket there on the riverbank, holding out a strawberry. The smell of strawberry … she’d never forget that picture when strawberries teased her senses. And her mother pushing his hand away, pushing herself up, and slamming into the cabana. She’d been young then, but she could still see the pain in her father’s eyes at yet another rejection.
She sighed and opened her eyes to gaze at the river again. At least he’d been saved the heartache of the river’s demise, of the incomprehensible violence now confronting this one place that had given him peace.
Stepping back, she went back up into the shade of the trees, finding the conveniently bent tree trunk that had once been her throne, and boosted herself up. She felt material snag and belatedly realized she was still in her courtroom attire. Frowning, she extended a leg; the sheer nylon was shredded, and she’d probably just ruined her skirt. Oh, well. She shrugged the damage aside. It had been too long since she’d freed herself from walls and headaches and the daily business of problem solving. She stretched lazily, reclining more comfortably on the trunk, basking in the heated air washing over her body, soaking into her weary muscles. Small animals rustled and birds chirped; she closed her eyes, abandoning conscious thought completely.
She was blissfully near sleep when there was a sudden, heavy thrashing in the undergrowth, as if someone unfamiliar with the woods had stumbled through brush. Startled, she sat up, her heart beating heavily as she slid her feet to the ground, debating whether she should stand her ground or leave. Talk about hindsight. She hadn’t even thought to bring the cell phone with her on this impromptu hike. She licked her lips to moisten them, then stood up cautiously, taking a step or two away from the trunk. The rustling continued, but not as loudly, and she paused, listening. Maybe her drowsiness had frightened her without cause, and the noise was simply a deer or a cow that had come
across the river — some large animal, moving toward the water to drink. Hopefully it wasn’t a javelina — that could be bad news. Her face screwed up at the prospect of facing a wild boar who didn’t appreciate having his territory invaded.
Then the limbs of two closely placed trees parted, and Jovi stepped out into the relatively cleared space around her. She gasped — in relief or in surprise, she couldn’t have said herself.
“You!” he said, obviously startled. And then his eyes swept over her, noting her hair, full of bits of leaves and twigs, which had come undone, as well as the shredded hose and snagged suit skirt. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” The fact she had named a number of possible health hazards just seconds ago was none of his business. Somehow, letting Jovani Treviño know anything she thought or felt seemed inadvisable. But he just stood there, looking at her with a certain amount of derision in his dark eyes, although he answered her in a normal enough tone.
“Well … you’re here.” He stepped closer, then gestured toward her. “And you look … uh … ”
“A mess?” she suggested helpfully, brushing at her hair and coming away with several pieces of debris.
“Maybe not a mess,” he said. “But at least a little bedraggled.”
She laughed, and a bird flew from its hiding place above them. “I haven’t been called bedraggled in a while,” she told him. Then she frowned, tilting her head up a little to see his face through the shadows that darkened it.
Unattainable Page 7
