“She’s with Eduardo at the stables.”
Cate nods her thanks and I lead on toward the sand corral. As we get closer, I see Hope on a pony being led around by one of the ranch hands. Eduardo sits on a wooden fence cordoning off the enclosure. As we get near, he removes his Stetson, smooths back his hair and re-seats it.
“Get you,” Cate says to him, her eyes fixed on his hat. It’s obvious she has forgiven him, unlike me.
“She’s doing well.” He nods towards Hope, who is concentrating hard on the ride, her body swaying with the cadence of the pony.
“Shouldn’t she be wearing a helmet?” Cate asks, leaning onto the fence and studying our daughter.
“Yes, she should,” I agree with her, concerned for Hope’s safety.
“She’s fine, she’s in good hands,” Eduardo reassures us.
On the next circle of the paddock, Hope spots us and releases one hand from the saddle to wave. A small wobble has me hopping the fence. She quickly plonks her hand back on the horn but the handler steers her to me, anyway.
Her smile softens even this inked-up fighter's heart, especially when she holds out her arms for me to lift her from the horse. There’s no holding back with Hope, even though she has no idea I’m her father. There’s a natural bond neither of us are reading too much in to yet.
“Was I doing good?” she asks, her eyes alight with enthusiasm.
“Real good, Sweet Pea.”
“Did Momma see me?”
“Yes.” I stride with her in my arms to her mother. Wishing I could make all of this all right but knowing it’s beyond me. Especially now, with how I’ve handled everything.
“Momma.” Hope tips out of my arms to Cate. “I can ride a real horse.”
Cate nods with a smile as she reaches out to take Hope from me. The hug she gives her as she smooths over the back of her head says everything.
“Are you riding a horse today?” Hope asks me over her Cate’s shoulder.
“No. Way.”
Eduardo laughs. “That would be the day. I don’t think there’s a horse big enough.”
Cate looks around to me, and I swear there’s a faint smile on her lips. “Or dumb enough,” she adds, unable to hold her sarcastic tongue.
I smile, as my stomach dips with hope.
“I’m hungry,” Hope announces.
“Lunch is ready,” I say.
“Ooh good.” Hope curls and uncurls her fingers, as if she wants to come back to me.
I look at Cate, who nods and releases her over.
The three of us walk to the courtyard as Mamá brings the last of the dishes for lunch.
“Please.” Mamá gestures at the table and we sit around it.
At first, Cate concentrates on Hope, making sure she has everything she wants on her plate. But when Hope takes her food and sits in the shade next to Eduardo, it leaves Cate and I sat next to each other.
Her leg jiggles under the table, hands held together between them. I’m desperate to soothe her but resist putting my hand on her knee for fear of the reaction.
Mamá looks across at me and takes charge. Using tongs, she puts a chicken tostado onto Cate’s plate and holds up another dish to her. “Pico de gale?” she asks.
“Go on Momma,” encourages Hope. “It’s yummy.”
“Have you tried it? It’s spicy?” Cate’s eyebrows lift as she takes the dish from Mamá.
“I like spicy.” Hope grins.
I smile inside. Hope loves it here. But then the smile turns sour when I think of how I’ve ruined it for everyone.
My nieces and nephew jostle towards us, followed closely by my half-sister, Maria, and her husband, Joaquin. They each kiss my mother and Eduardo, then I introduce Cate to them. The children take a place at the other end of the table and Hope looks over at them longingly.
“So pleased you are feeling better, Cate.” Maria says, sitting next to her and passing food to her children.
“Thank you,” Cate says politely, as she studies Maria.
I was surprised too when I first met her. She has the same eyes as me, whereas Eduardo only has a slight air of my looks, which people have said they fleetingly catch when I first turn around or laugh. As I don’t laugh often, there’s not much to compare.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and after looking at Mamá for approval, I step away from the table to take the call.
“Hello,” I say in hushed tones as I stride from earshot of the gathering.
It’s Cate’s aunt. After an update on Cate’s parents, she asks to speak to her.
“Cate,” I call over.
She excuses herself from the conversation she is having with Maria and comes to take the phone from me.
“Your aunt,” I say, handing the phone to her and leaving her to take the call. She will say what she wants and I will comply with any request she will have. There’s no way after this, I can ask her for anymore.
When Cate eventually comes back to the table, her shoulders are less slumped and her chin held higher than before. I follow her gaze over to Hope, who has moved again to be with Maria’s children, before Cate sits.
Cate eagerly eats the tostado and accepts another one, this time drowning it in the spicy relish. I swear I even hear her hum an approval to the taste.
“Everything okay?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she replies curtly, looking up to me for a few seconds but not saying anymore.
The lunch is pleasant enough and, if it wasn’t for the strained atmosphere between Cate and I, it would be viewed as a typical family gathering. But there is a tension between us and it won’t go away on its own.
First the children drift off to play. Then Mamá clears the table, assisted by Maria and our trusty housekeeper. When Cate tries to help, Mamá places a hand lightly on her forearm and she sits back down.
“Are you guys gonna talk this shit through then or what?” Eduardo finally asks, when everyone else has left the table.
Cautiously, I turn to Cate. “Do you want to take a walk?”
She shrugs her shoulders and climbs off the bench when I do. Crossing her arms so she’s in no danger of reaching out to me.
“Dad is out of intensive care,” she says, as we walk away from the table.
“That’s a relief.”
“Yeah. Mom’s okay too. They think it was burglars. They couldn’t understand what the two guys were saying to them and it escalated quickly. They seem to think they were only in the house five minutes.”
I pause for a moment, not knowing what to say, so she turns back to me. “It’s probably best they think that.”
“Okay.”
“I want to visit them.”
“Sure. When?”
“Whenever it’s safe.”
I resist the desire to tell her it will never be safe. “Tomorrow?”
“Okay.” She studies me carefully. “So, everything’s taken care of?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Who will take us?”
“I will.” I’m the only one who can look out for them. And the only one who should.
She stops to sit at a wraparound bench in the shade of the tree. Watching on as Hope and her cousins play.
“She seems to enjoy it here,” she whispers my thoughts.
“It’s easy to do.” Looking around at the space a child can roam.
“Hmm.” She bends her head forward and rests her chin on a hand.
“Did you always intend to bring us here?”
“Eventually,” I admit. “I wanted you both to see it, and for my family to meet you.”
She continues to gaze at the children, a smile appearing on her lips when Hope shows the other girls how to cartwheel.
“But not in the way it happened,” I add.
“No. Don’t suppose you did.”
She kicks her feet in the dust and I rest back onto the gnarly bark of the sturdy tree trunk.
“So, you told me you found out about your mother in prison. How?”
/>
“The guy I struck a deal with, needed to know who I was before he would pull me into his inner circle. He easily traced my roots back through the San Diego authorities to a couple who initially adopted me and from there to my biological father.”
“You were adopted? I didn’t realize.” She sits on her hands as if she wants to comfort me with them. But daren’t.
“No, neither did I.”
“So, who was your father?”
“A scumbag who deserted my mother in Mexico and stole me at two months old. Selling me to a couple who couldn’t have children under the pretense my mother was dead.” I shake my head aware my voice is lowering to a growl and my mood darkening. “He frittered the proceeds of my sale in the Bahama’s before repeating the whole charade. He fathered several children.”
“I don’t understand? Why didn’t the couple raise you or give you back to your mom?”
“They found out my mother wasn’t dead and to hide their own guilt gave me up anonymously. Buying a child on the black market carries a heavy sentence. They didn’t deserve children. And I’m relieved the whole episode killed their marriage.”
“And couldn’t your mother trace you?”
“No. My father was an American and my mother never knew anything about him. Nothing which turned out to be the truth, anyway. He said he was a buyer of electrical transformers and had applied for her US citizenship.”
“And where’s your father now?”
“Weighted down in the El Capitan Reservoir.” My face devoid of emotion.
A gasp prefaces her question. “You didn’t?”
“No. I didn’t.”
31
Cate
I’m in Isaac’s room tonight. Again. On my own. Again.
Hope was insistent on sleeping in the bedroom she slept in the previous night too. She said she could see the pony from there, but I doubt she could as the horses are stabled overnight. However, her independence is something I’ve created and a state I have to learn to live with.
I listen to the noises of this unfamiliar place. The creaking of the roof tiles, the whinnying of horses, and the chatter of the men sat in the courtyard playing Conquian and drinking.
The bed creaks as I turn over on to my side and stare at the painting of the cowboys; parts of it lit by the shafts of moonlight peeking through the cracks in the wooden shutters. The simplicity of it. The way of life. This way of life.
No-one here has spoken about getting up for work, or moaned about chores. Family come and go. No compartmentalized boxes surrounded by panel-wood fences. Even the men with guns I saw when I first came here, are not evident.
Under different circumstances, I could grow to like this place.
But I’m going home tomorrow.
◆◆◆
I awake to the sound of cockerels, and it’s not my phone alarm either. I pad across to Hope’s room and she’s still asleep. Mr Rat next to her. I take in her room in the daylight. It’s bright and homely, full of floral prints. Cozy striped rugs cover the boarded floor, and she looks a real princess in the hand-painted bed. A canopy above her head, trails white organza fabric in soft pleats around the bed head.
For a good few minutes, I kneel beside her bed until I realize I’m staring at Isaac’s daughter. And gasp.
“Momma,” she mumbles, coming out of her sleep, her little arms stretch across to me and I pull her to the side of the bed.
“We’re going home today,” I whisper into her hair. Inhaling the unfamiliar floral scent from the shampoo someone must have cleaned her hair with while she’s been here.
She wriggles away from me, her lips squeezed into a small puckered pout. “No. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here and ride Rio again.”
“We need to see grandma and grandpa today.”
“Tomorrow,” she demands.
“No, today,” I whisper.
She shakes her head and sits up in the bed. “Nope. Tomorrow.”
“Do you know what tomorrow means?” I ask her, knowing she will put it off each day.
“Yes. Not today.”
Not wanting to make her dig her heels in harder than necessary, I concede. “Let’s discuss it again after breakfast.”
With that, she clambers out of bed, her nightdress falling to below her knees. “Come on. I’ll make pancakes for you. Like I did yesterday.”
“You made pancakes yesterday?” Hope eats nothing but cereal normally for breakfast.
“Yes,” she tells me as if I’m stupid.
We go through to the kitchen and Isaac’s mother is there, busying herself with pots, pans, and a multitude of ingredients.
“Ah,” she exclaims with joy when she sees Hope, who rushes over to her and hugs her around the legs. The sight surprises me. She hardly knows this woman and yet, like with Isaac, and Elliot before him, she’s taken to her immediately and without reservation.
“Hey,” I greet her. “Can I help with something?”
“Sure. Come here.” I receive the same warm greeting as Hope and settle in next to her, shelling boiled eggs and stirring fried peppers and onions into a huge bowl of rice.
Hope stands on a chair at the side of me, using both hands to whisk a bowl of milk. Isaac’s mom steadily pours pancake mix over the whisk.
“Do you want to get the blueberries, Hope?” she asks, and while Hope hops down and runs into the pantry for blueberries from the cooler, Isaac’s mom furiously whisks the lumps out of the mix. Looking across at me with a wink and a smile.
When Hope rushes back with a colander full of berries, the mix is frothy and ready for ladling on to the skillet. She lifts Hope onto her hip and angles her away from the hot metal, pouring a circle of batter onto the sizzling plate.
“It’s ready for the blueberries now.”
Hope banks over to the colander and sprinkles a handful onto the pancake.
My heart aches. For this moment. And the people in it.
One by one, the house awakens, each coming into the heart of the house and showing their gratitude to the matriarchal head. Each taking a bowl, or a stack of plates, or silverware out to the table under the Jacaranda tree. There’re no grumpy morning moods, or yawns from lack of sleep.
Finally, Isaac appears, but not from inside the house—jogging across from the edge of the ranch. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s been for an early morning run.
While everyone else takes the last of the breakfast items outside, I stare across the courtyard from the frame of the window. Isaac is shirtless and his muscles move gracefully with his gait—four abs on one side moving up, while the other four move down. He jolts to a fast walk, rubbing his tee across his forehead.
I’m mesmerized. A hot and needy mess. With a hugely fucked-up head.
He stops by the table and waves his tee toward the house, briefly ducking to kiss his mother on the head.
I rake my fingers through my hair, scooping it into a hair band from my wrist and quickly wipe the pad of my thumb underneath my eyelashes. Running my tongue quickly over unbrushed teeth and taking a quick swig of a glass of lemon and mint water his mom gave me earlier.
“Hey.” He stops with a surprised but pleased look on his face as he steps into the kitchen.
“Want some water?” I ask, heading toward the jug, with a glass from the counter.
I turn and he takes it from me, both our hands on the glass while he searches my eyes for a sign of my current mood, before glugging the drink in one go.
“More?” I ask.
“No. I’m good. I’m going to grab a shower,” he says, pointing a balled-up tee at the door.
Without thinking, I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and cross my legs. Shower. Isaac. Naked. Stop it!
“Okay,” I murmur, the fluster obvious.
“Ask Hope to save me some pancakes,” he says.
“Sure.” I nod, not able to look at him any longer.
When Isaac comes out of the shower, breakfast is mostly finished. Everyone talking about w
hat they’ve got planned for the day.
I keep quiet. We’re going home.
His mother serves a large portion of the rice and Hope proudly brings him a stack of pancakes she’s patiently saved for him.
The image is too much.
I made this happen when I thought I was being selfish. Now I’m confused.
“Do you want to help with the dishes?” Isaac’s mother asks Hope.
“Yes.” She jumps on the spot.
I run my slack jaw off my hand.
“Mamá has a spray attachment for the faucet. Hope loves it,” Isaac tells me.
I smile as I watch Hope and his mother trot off to the kitchen.
“So, when do you want to leave?” He asks me in between forkfuls of rice.
I shrug my shoulders. “As soon as I can convince Hope to leave here.”
He nods, stabbing a fork into a slice of avocado and adding it to his plate.
“But she’s not too eager. She wants to go horse riding again today.” I tell him.
“And what do you think of that?”
For a couple of minutes, I watch him eat, the muscles in his square jaw working away and his throat bobbing as he swallows. Eventually he swerves his eyes across to meet mine, as if to remind me I need to answer his question.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
He lays down his fork. “She can always stay here.” He snags a napkin from a filigree-metal container, the contents weighted with a pretty hand-painted stone. “It might be better if she doesn’t see your parents at the hospital.”
He’s right. But leaving her here? That means coming back.
32
Isaac
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yep.”
Cate stares through the open car window at Hope who’s pulling Eduardo back into the ranch. She’s desperate to ride on the pony again and although Cate didn’t push it, leaving Hope here is tearing her apart.
I’ve promised we will be back here tonight and they are free to leave whenever they want after that. Providing, this visit proves everything in San Diego is fixed. And if it’s not… then we’ll deal with it then.
My attempts to push Cate away to begin with, were useless and my attempts to keep her now, are an equal failure.
Bad Ink Page 21
