The Last Chance Ranch

by Wind, Ruth

  One of the counselors stuck his head into the kitchen. “Ramón, can I see you in here?”

  “Be right there.” He stood up and washed his hands. “Are you all right for dinner? Shall I send some more help?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ve been a big help already. Thanks.”

  He winked. “My pleasure.”

  At the door to the dining room, he paused. “Tomorrow, barring bad weather, we’re slated to harvest apples, so what about Monday for our trip to the library?”

  “Fine.”

  “Have you ever harvested apples?”

  Tanya shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “You might like it. Why don’t you plan to come with us down to the orchards?”

  “Great.” Several boys had filtered into the room, dropping book bags in the usual corner before putting on aprons. Tanya lifted her chin to Ramón, and he left.

  The boys who had drawn KP today ranged in age from ten to sixteen. Tonio was not with them, she noted with a little sense of disappointment. Sometimes he stayed in town to visit his girlfriend or go to debate practice. A van from the ranch would pick him up just before supper, along with athletes and others who had to stay at school for one reason or another. One boy who did show up made Tanya considerably less happy, particularly since Desmary wasn’t here. At fifteen, Edwin Salazar was not the oldest boy at the ranch, but he was the biggest, both in terms of size and height. He had a brilliantly handsome face and shiny ebony hair combed straight back from his forehead. His eyes were beautiful and mean. A three-inch scar marred his cheek.

  He also knew he made Tanya nervous. Coming into the kitchen today, he met her gaze with that almost invisible, insolent smirk. “Hey, teach.”

  “Hi, boys,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. The timer dinged and she bent to look at the chilies in the oven. In the bald light of the oven bulb, they swelled and shivered, and she had to smile. How had she avoided noticing their breathing before this?

  Behind her, the boys snickered at something Edwin said. She realized she was bent over in a rather provocative position. But just how else would she get the chilies out of the oven? A tight knot of fear tied itself in her chest. This was the kind of dilemma Victor had made impossible. He would become insanely jealous if a man looked at her—and woe be to Tanya if she had encouraged him. But bending over? In a work environment?

  She breathed in the strong scent of chilies for a moment. Edwin, speaking in Spanish, made a filthy comment about her. A spark of old anger, ignited by the wind of self-respect, burst into flame. Very, very slowly, she straightened. And turned.

  In prison she had learned the best way to deal with the inevitable bullies and bosses was to meet them head-on. The more you ducked, the more they singled you out. You had to stand up to bullies—and that’s all Edwin was, a big bully who’d never been taught any manners.

  Narrowing her eyes, she simply stared at him for a moment. His little friend, standing alongside, snickered, and Edwin lifted his chin. He didn’t speak.

  Tanya said, “Bad language is against the rules here. Did you think it didn’t count in Spanish?”

  “How was I supposed to know you understood it?”

  “Maybe you should assume people can always understand you.”

  Again the little friend snickered. Tanya cocked her head at him. “Disrespectfulness is also against the rules. Go. Tell the dorm master you have to have another chore today.”

  The smallest flash of triumph crossed Edwin’s face. He started toward the door. “Not you, Edwin,” she said. “Your friend. What’s your name?”

  The youth lifted his chin. “Mike.”

  “Mike, you’re dismissed.”

  “Why? ‘What did I—”

  He didn’t argue anymore, but she could tell he was angry. So be it.

  The other boys hung back, pretending to get started on the dishes, but she could see them watching how she would handle this big, mean boy.

  She didn’t know. She didn’t want to make a mistake, ruin whatever chance he had to make his life better here. But especially in light of the harshly sexual aspect his comments took, she couldn’t let him think he was getting away with something, either.

  The beautiful mean eyes glittered. Fear touched her and just the faintest wisp of memory… Victor making that panting animal sound in his throat when he was going to beat her severely.

  The memory lent her insight. She reacted strongly to this boy because he reminded her in some way of Victor. Fair enough—as long as she knew it, she could make decisions with clarity.

  She willed herself not to cross her arms. He stood still as a sword, returning her gaze implacably. “C’mon, teach,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  Trust your instincts, a little voice told her. If she sent him away, he’d get what he wanted—out of KP. If she didn’t, she’d have to deal with him here for more than two hours.

  In a split second, she chose. “Wash your hands. You can peel chilies. Another word and you’ll be in the kitchen every day for the rest of your stay here.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Try me.”

  His eyes flashed, but he turned the water on in the sink, washed his hands, then flung himself down at the table. Tanya put a new bowl of roasted chilies on the table. Then she leaned close. “Let me tell you something. Where I’ve been, they eat babies like you for a late-night snack. Mind your manners with me. Is that clear?”

  Without Edwin lifting his eyes, Tanya couldn’t tell what expression they held, but he said in a voice seemly devoid of emotion, “Yes, ma’am.”

  The battle was over, Tanya thought, an old blues song running through her mind. The war would continue.

  But today she had fought well.

  * * *

  Desmary was still tired at dinnertime, and took supper on a tray in her room. Tanya sat with her for a little while, listening to stories of the ranch in the old days as Desmary drank an herb tea the curandera in the hills above Manzanares had prepared for her.

  When she was finished with the tea, she said, “Go on, child. I’ll be fine in the morning. A battery this old just needs some recharging from time to time.”

  Tanya laughed. Collecting the dishes, she said, “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

  “Sure.” She wiggled into her pillows more fully. “Thanks for your help with the chilies, Annie.”

  Tanya froze, her hands gripped tightly on the tray. Annie. The name carried painful associations with the past. “What did you call me?”

  “You don’t like it? It suits you, you know.”

  “No, I don’t.” She leaned on the door. “How does it suit me?”

  “Annie is softer. Tanya just isn’t the right name for you.”

  She swallowed. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but please don’t call me that anymore. It brings back bad memories.”

  “Put those dishes down and come here.”

  Tanya reluctantly did as she was told. Desmary took one smooth hand into her gnarled grip. “Don’t let the past hold you. Not even a tiny piece of it, you understand?”

  “You don’t understand, Desmary, that name—”

  “Oh, I understand all right. I remember Annie Quezada and how they clucked their tongues over her being in the hospital.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been around forever, child. Back then, Ramón’s mother lived here, taking care of her father. We gossiped like old women will about our children and nieces and nephews and dead husbands. She used to worry about you.”

  “I don’t really remember meeting her.”

  “It’s hard when you don’t come from such a big family, to keep everyone straight. She met you several times, though, at family things. Victor was the child she worried about even when he was little. He stayed at the ranch sometimes when they were all children. He was mean, Annie. Mean to the bone. And jealous of every scrap of attention anyone else ever got
.”

  The soft conversation brought too many things bubbling to the top of the steaming cauldron of memory. “I really don’t like to think about these things anymore,” she breathed. She thought of Edwin in the kitchen this afternoon, his beautiful eyes hard, and knew that many adults had probably seen the same thing in Victor’s eyes.

  And yet—

  “I really loved him, you know,” she said to Desmary. “A lot of people don’t understand that. But I did.”

  “I know you did, child.”

  “If there had been any other way to free Antonio and me from him, I would have taken it. I tried.”

  Desmary stroked her hand, slowly, and the gesture was deeply comforting. “I know.”

  Tanya looked down. “Every time I hear of some woman being gunned down in a parking lot, or at work, I’m so thankful that didn’t happen to me.”

  To her amazement, Tanya felt tears streaming over her face. Tears of relief. Tears of anger—outrage for all those girls and women who still lived with that paralyzing terror. “You know what’s evil? When I hear those stories, I get so angry I want to get a gun and kill all of those men who think they can love you to death.”

  “That’s not the way, Annie. Violence begets violence.”

  “I know.” She nodded, bowing her head against her arm, which was still stretched to meet Desmary’s hand. How could it still hurt so much after so many years? How could there still be tears inside of her? “I know. I know it does.”

  Slowly the papery thumb moved on Tanya’s knuckles. “You need to know that when Ramón brought Tonio here, he didn’t speak for almost a year. We worried for a while that he’d been beaten, too. That he would be retarded.”

  Tanya frowned, sniffing. “He was talking pretty well by then.”

  Desmary nodded. “It hurt him, losing you. He didn’t understand. One day, I was making cookies with him, and he just looked up and said, ‘Mamma’s dead.’”

  Tanya looked down.

  “I told him you’d just gone away for a long time. He would see you again one day. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Mamma’s gone.’”

  “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

  “For one thing, you get as old as me, you know you could go in the blink of an eye.” Desmary pursed her lips. “And if somebody doesn’t give you some little pushes here and there, Annie, you’re gonna live on the very edge of your life, scared to live, forever. That would be a shame.”

  Tanya nodded. It was true. She was afraid of everything. Except survival. Surviving she knew.

  “Tonio never talked about you. Ramón brought you up sometimes, just to keep you in his mind. Tonio just ignored him. He never wanted to talk about it at all. When he was ten, Ramón sat him down and made him listen to the story of what really happened to you. It didn’t help. Tonio still felt unwanted.”

  An ache burned in Tanya’s chest. “I wanted him safe.”

  “One day, he’ll understand that.” Desmary’s rheumy eyes were compassionate. “First, he needs to remember his mama, the one he loved. Her name was Annie. That’s what I’m going to call you.”

  Surprised, Tanya smiled. “All that for one declaration?”

  Desmary chuckled. “I’m an old woman. I’m allowed to take my time rambling around the point of my stories.”

  “I guess you are.” Tanya kissed her forehead. “Thank you. My own mother was always too afraid of my father to be much of a comfort to me.” At the look on Desmary’s face, Tanya hastened to add, “Oh, he wasn’t physically abusive—he was just a jerk.”

  “Ah.” She slapped Tanya’s thigh. “Go on out there now. Grab on to your new life and start living it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  Ramón was a little late coming in to dinner. He found Tonio and Tanya already seated. “Sorry. I got caught up,” he said, sitting down.

  Tonio shrugged. Tanya stood to ladle stew into his bowl. “No,” he said, “I’ll serve myself. You eat.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said simply, and filled the bowl, then gave him a napkin-lined basket of rolls. Their hands brushed on the basket. Silly as it was, Ramón thought he felt a charge of something—it startled and pleased him. He looked at Tanya. She simply smoothed her hair back from her face and sat down.

  He was an idiot.

  Spreading margarine on the roll, Ramón looked at his son. “How was school? Did you get that report done on time?”

  Tonio scowled. “Why do we have to talk about school every time? Don’t you have anything else you want to talk about?”

  Ramón frowned. “Sure—after you tell me about school. Is there something wrong?”

  “No.” Tonio’s utterly sullen teenage scowl darkened. “I just want to talk about something else. Is that a crime?”

  From the corner of his eye, Ramón saw Tanya lower her head and cover her mouth. For a minute he thought she was upset, then he caught her eye and saw the dancing light in the dark blue irises. Her nostrils flared dangerously.

  Ramón looked away hastily, afraid her amusement would trigger his own and they’d both laugh, making a vulnerable teenager feel even worse. “We don’t have to talk about school then.” He wondered if the annoyance had to do with the report he had mentioned. “How is your girlfriend—Teresa?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said. “She’s going out with Edwin Salazar now.”

  Tanya’s head came up. Ramón saw the wary coyote expression cross her face—alert and skittish. He frowned. Edwin was the worst case they had at the ranch, and there had been a lot of debate over whether to let him come in. In the end, Ramón had voted to allow him at the recommendation of a social worker he trusted. Edwin had been abused by not only his father, but also other relatives, and the social worker hoped that Edwin had a chance at rehabilitation if he could see a normal environment. Ramón made a mental note to ask Tanya about the boy, but in the meantime, he had a wounded child. “I’m sorry, son,” he said.

  Tonio shrugged, his face thunderous.

  “That doesn’t help much, does it?”

  “No.” He lifted his eyes. “I want to know how to get her back.”

  Ramón took a breath. “Is that what you really want? She’s chosen someone else—that means her feelings aren’t the same as yours, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “So wouldn’t it be more satisfying in the long run to let her go and find somebody who likes you as much as you like her?”

  Tonio’s lip curled. “Jeez, Dad, do you think you could be anymore wise?”

  Ramón glanced at Tanya. “You’re a female,” he said. “Tell him what you think.”

  The wariness had made a mask of invisibility over her features. Her mouth was without expression, her eyes opaque as if there was nothing at all behind them. A single wisp of streaked hair hung next her cheek. Her gaze slid from Ramón’s to Tonio’s. “I think there’s nothing that will make it better except time. And nothing we say will make it hurt any less. Just let it hurt and go on.”

  Tonio stared at her for a long minute, then stood up abruptly and left the table. Ramón started to go after him for his lack of manners, but Tanya stood with him and touched his arm. She shook her head. “He doesn’t want to cry in front of us.”

  Her nearness slammed into him. She was so much smaller than he—her head just came to his shoulder—and her body was lean on a frame of surprising strength. Her hand was on his upper arm and he could feel the press of her fingers against his muscle like four small round brands.

  Slowly, he looked at her, looked down into her piquant face and thought again of the Madonna in his old parish church. As he looked into her eyes, the opaque shield fragmented, and he saw the heat below. She wanted him, too. While he was thinking of her mouth, she was thinking of his. While he imagined lifting his hand to gauge the weight of her breasts against his palm, she was thinking of his chest and what it would be like bared. He wanted to offer a trade, but she was still far too skittish.

&nbs
p; Instead, he just looked at her, and let the heat of their close bodies mingle, let his gaze touch her mouth and her neck, let her fingers move on his arm ever so tentatively. He let his desire show. And waited for her to run away.

  For a long time, she didn’t. She just looked up at him with that stricken expression, her fingers lingering on his arm. He didn’t move.

  At last she looked at her hand on his arm and removed it. “That’s twice today I’ve touched someone willingly,” she said. “I don’t do that.”

  He winked. “I’m irresistible.”

  In gratitude, she smiled. “Let’s eat, O Magnificent One,” she said. “My eyes are well fed, but my stomach still needs some filling.”

  For an instant, he wondered if he could make her forget her stomach. He wanted to try. Instead, he sat down and put his napkin in his lap.

  After dinner, they played chess and told jokes. And it wasn’t until he was turning out his light many hours later that he realized he’d forgotten to ask her about Edwin.

  Chapter Six

  Dear Antonio,

  The leaves are falling again—another cycle passing. I sometimes watch the wind blow across the desert and wonder what you’re doing. Third grade now. You’re probably a pretty big boy. My friend Naomi’s boy was in to visit her last week, and I saw him. He was up to her chin.

  Sometimes, now, I get so angry. For a long time, I didn’t feel anything at all. But now I get so mad at the unfairness of all of this that I can’t breathe. I just want to see you. For five minutes. I wouldn’t even have to talk to you. I could just see you walk by. I get angry at Victor’s sisters for pushing to keep you away from me. I’m angry with myself for agreeing to a legal adoption. I thought it was the right thing, but I don’t think it is anymore. I just want to see you. It hurts like a wound.

  There’s nothing to be done about it now. I guess I can hope to get out of here and see you. They’re moving me to medium security next week. It’s a step in the right direction.

  Love, Mom

  The weather Saturday morning was overcast and cool, perfect for picking apples, Desmary told Tanya, who felt a little thrill of anticipation at the coming activities. She wore her new blue sweatshirt and her good running shoes and a pair of jeans, her hair pulled back in a barrette. With good cheer, she put on a pair of silver feather earrings and took pleasure in the swing of them against her neck.