by Karen Harter
The deputy did not seem at all excited about the idea. Sidney avoided his dark eyes as she approached. “Oh, Amilia. Thanks for the offer, but—”
Amilia pushed herself up from her folding lawn chair, gripping the metal bars of her walker for support. “Oh, I don’t want to hear it. We hardly had time to visit last time you were here.” She glanced at Alex and the other man. “There’s something special about this girl and I’m going to find out what it is. Alex, where are your manners? I don’t believe these two have been introduced.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve had all day to do it,” he retorted. “Sidney Walker, this is my pop, Enrique Estrada.”
The old man’s face crinkled into a smile. He dropped a knife and the hunk of wood that he had been whittling to his lap and pushed the straw cowboy hat up from his broad brown forehead, revealing a handsome lined face with a slim gray mustache. Except for the warmth in his eyes, he could have been Alex in thirty or forty years. A guitar leaned against the side of his chair. He stretched out a dark, weathered hand. “Mucho gusto,” he said. “Happy to meet you.”
“El gusto es mio,” she replied, pleased to think that she had not sat through two years of Spanish in high school for nothing. So far the only good it had done her was to be able to impress friends when ordering at Mexican restaurants. The only problem with that had been waiters who assumed that she was fluent and began conversing with her so fast that she couldn’t keep up.
“Ah, hablas español,” he breathed, glancing over at his son as if the fact that she could speak his language should come to him as good news. “¡Y que bonita!”
Now she was embarrassed.
“Yes, very pretty,” Amilia agreed. “I could use your help, Sidney, if you don’t mind.” She scooted her walker toward the open door.
Sidney glanced at Ty. His dark, choppy hair hung on his forehead and over his ears. His eyes widened, silently imploring her to get him far away from there, fast. “Ty, I’m going to help Amilia for just a little bit.”
His shoulders dropped.
“You can work some more if you want to,” the deputy said. “You might as well knock off more of your time.” He stood, pushing up his sleeves and turning to Sidney. “I think I’ll take a look at your car. By the way it sounded when you pulled up, you might not be going anywhere for a while.”
“Oh. Well, if you don’t mind . . .”
“Come on, Pop.” He reached for his father’s arm, helping him to his feet. “Give me a hand.”
Ty followed the women into the house, veering off down the hall toward the bathroom. “Something smells wonderful in here,” Sidney said.
“That’s apple pie. Enrique’s apple trees keep me busy this time every year.” Amilia leaned on the stove top, turning the oven dial to 350 degrees. “I didn’t want to warm the tamales until you got here. They’re no good all dried up.”
Sidney wondered how long it might take and then realized it didn’t matter. Alex was right. If he couldn’t get her car running again, she would be stuck—or have to impose on someone for a ride home. “What can I do to help?”
“Get that pitcher of tea from the fridge.” Amilia produced a couple of tall glasses. “I’ve been waiting for this visit all week,” she said as Sidney poured. “Female company is rare around here.” She pushed her walker out to the living room, backing into her chair.
Ty came down the hallway, sighing as he saw Sidney pass Amilia her tea and sit opposite her. “I guess I’ll get some more work done,” he said.
Sidney smiled at him. “Good for you.”
“We’ll call you when the tamales are done,” Amilia said. “You like my tamales, don’t you, Tyson?”
Ty began to nod, his head freezing in midair. His eyes widened and blinked before locking on Amilia’s.
“Come here,” she said. He hesitated, then approached cautiously. She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “Nobody can resist my tamales,” she cooed. “Grown man or boy, the aroma pulls them off the street, out of the woods. It was silly of me to put them out there on the back porch to cool.” Her thumb caressed his jaw before she let him go.
He straightened and backed away. Sidney wasn’t sure what was happening but the look in her son’s eyes told her he wanted to run. He turned but stopped with his back to them before reaching the door. His head dropped. “I took the rope out by the backdoor,” he murmured, “plus a tarp and a machete. Also a sharp knife from your kitchen drawer.” Sidney watched her son’s shoulders rise as if a burden was being lifted from them. He turned, his eyes going from Amilia’s to his mother’s. “I can get everything back—everything but the tamales. It’s all hidden in the woods.”
Tears flooded Sidney’s eyes. Come on, Ty. Get it all out. She waited, holding her breath. Amilia smiled patiently.
“I don’t know who stole your jewelry, but it wasn’t me.”
Amilia’s head dropped momentarily, her chest and gauzy blouse rising as she filled her lungs and lifted her face to Ty’s. “All right, then.” She sighed. “Perhaps I had two burglars on the same night.”
Ty’s face went cold again. “I guess you did.”
The porch floorboards creaked as he stormed outside.
Sidney was shaken. He should have said he was sorry. She should make him come back and say it, but what good was a forced apology? And as much as she wanted to believe that her son had stolen only those few items, logic told her that he was not coming clean. Was it because he knew that admitting to taking the diamond ring would be the confession of a felony as opposed to petty theft? “Amilia”—her voice faltered—“I’m sorry.” The tears came then. She dropped her face in her hands.
She heard the creaking of Amilia’s chair and felt the older woman place her hand on her head. “Cry. It’s good for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Sidney sobbed when she could catch a breath. “I’m just having a rotten day.” Amilia passed her a tissue and she blew her nose. “He’s not really like this.” She looked up into Amilia’s understanding gaze. “He’s a good boy at heart,” Sidney said. “But he desperately needs something that I can’t seem to give him. Something is just eating away at him; it has been for a long time. Please sit down, Amilia. I’m okay now.”
Amilia complied, supporting her weight on a lamp table and dropping back between the arms of her brown overstuffed chair. “Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him so,” she said. “He’s got that wounded look in his big brown eyes, like Alex did after his mother died. Sometimes I wondered if that boy’s heart would ever heal up.”
Sidney was not encouraged by her words. From the looks of it, Alex was still brooding after all those years.
“It did, though,” Amilia continued. “It just took time and a lot of love.”
Sidney leaned forward until she could see out the front window. Alex and his father were draped over the front of her car, peering beneath its hood. A red toolbox rested on the gravel beside them. Ty had just begun pounding nails into what must have been the framework for part of the wheelchair ramp, though it was lying unattached on the lawn. She was surprised by the confidence in her son’s movements. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Alex glanced over his shoulder at him and then back to his task at hand. Apparently he too believed in Ty’s competence. “Did his heart heal up, Amilia? I hate to say it, but sometimes he seems so . . .” She grappled for an inoffensive adjective. “So cold. I don’t know; maybe it’s just me.”
“He’s afraid of you,” Amilia stated with a slightly annoyed tone as if Sidney should have been able to discern that for herself.
Sidney laughed despite the tears still dampening her face. “Afraid of me?”
“Because you’re so pretty. It automatically makes you suspect for a thousand crimes.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the story?”
Amilia took a deep breath before looking away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She clammed up, but Sidney suspected that Amilia wanted to talk about it in the worst way. “Ma
ybe he’ll tell you about it someday.”
This made Sidney chortle again. “Fat chance. The only thing Alex and I have in common is that we both like you.”
Amilia grinned. “Well, that’s a good start. And I like you. I knew it for sure when you tried to stifle that laugh after Alex smashed his thumb.”
They both chuckled. “It’s not good to delight in another man’s adversity.” Sidney’s eyes fell on the dust bunnies peering from the shadows beneath the TV console by the window. She wondered if it would be rude to offer to help Amilia clean her house. They hadn’t known each other that long.
“That old TV doesn’t work anymore. Hasn’t in years. I just use the console for holding up my plants.” There were a lot of them—African violets, a spider plant, and several small ferns. Amilia tipped her head back for a long swallow of the sweetened iced tea. Layers of beaded necklaces hung over her orange blouse, and dangling turquoise earrings picked up the color from her paisley skirt. “So what made your day so rotten, Sidney Walker?”
Sidney stared at the water droplets on the outside of her tea glass. “My ex-husband showed up. We haven’t seen him in a long time.” She didn’t know how to wrap up the sordid details of their past and offer them in a neat little bundle. She shook her head. “He’s bad, Amilia. He’s done nothing but lie to Tyson and my girls. He’ll charm them all when he visits, make all kinds of promises about the things they’re going to do together, and then just disappear. He doesn’t call them; he doesn’t write.” She turned her head away, embarrassed by a new flood of tears. “He’s moving back to Ham Bone. All of a sudden he wants to be a family man—or so he says.”
“Are you sure he hasn’t changed?”
“Oh, he’s changed. For the worse.” Sidney glanced up at an old framed print on Amilia’s bookshelf. Jesus the Good Shepherd. She averted her eyes. “The thing that breaks my heart is that Tyson is so vulnerable to Dodge. No matter how many times the man has disappointed him, or how angry Ty gets, when his dad comes around again, he eventually lets his guard down. He wants to trust him. Tyson needs a father so bad.” She shook her head. “That’s what I’ve been praying for.”
Amilia leaned forward. “Well then, things are certainly going to get better.”
Sidney tried to laugh. “I don’t know, Amilia. I’m not sure of anything anymore. It feels like my life is spinning out of control.”
Amilia dropped her glass to the cluttered table beside her with a loud thunk. “Well, there’s your problem. You need to decide. Are you going to go by your feelings? If so, then you’re absolutely right. Your life is spinning out of control.”
Sidney stared at her, utterly confused.
“You said you prayed. Are you going to trust God to guide you or not?”
They heard Sidney’s car trying to start. The engine fired up for a moment and then stopped. She watched as Enrique stuck his head out the driver’s window to say something to his son. Alex answered in Spanish, grabbed another tool from the bumper, and went under the hood again. All she could see of him were his faded blue jeans. Tyson was hard at work on the ramp, working at a speed that belied his supposed intention of just whittling off some of his required time. If Sidney hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn her son was enjoying himself.
Lord, I’m sorry I doubted, she prayed silently. Save my son. I don’t care how you do it. Just save him from Dodge and heal his heart.
“Well, I’m sure those tamales are done.” Amilia pushed herself up just as they heard the engine kick in. It wasn’t exactly purring, but it was a definite improvement over the grumbling sounds it had made earlier. “¡Ya está lista la comida!” she called from the front door.
While the men washed their greasy hands in the laundry tub on the back porch, Sidney helped Amilia fill a cloth-lined basket with the hot corn-husk bundles. They gathered paper plates and other supplies along with chips and bowls of fresh green chili peppers and salsa, setting them on a small patio table on the front porch.
Sidney wondered if her eyes were still red from crying. It didn’t matter. She felt more peaceful now, actually glad that Sissy and Rebecca would not be home until much later so that she and Ty could relax there on Amilia’s porch for a while, enjoying this mid-October afternoon with the scents of corn masa and wood smoke wafting through the air.
Sidney scraped the beef from her tamale, which Ty scooped onto his own plate, hopefully before Amilia noticed. She piled chili peppers and homemade salsa on the remains and enjoyed the result thoroughly. Alex conversed off and on with his father in Spanish, while Amilia pumped Sidney with questions about the girls. The older woman spoke of Enrique’s grandchildren as if they were her own, and Sidney couldn’t help but wonder about this strange relationship between two neighbors, specifically why they had never married. By the sound of it, they were all just one big happy family, with Amilia playing the role of mother to Enrique’s four children and even cooking most of his meals.
“Your sister called me today, Alex,” Amilia said. “She said to tell you not to forget about Manuel’s school play.”
“I already forgot,” he replied. “When is it?”
Amilia huffed indignantly. “Oh, I don’t know. In two weeks, I think. She said she already told you.”
“The fall play at the elementary school?” Sidney asked. They nodded. “It’s not this Thursday, but the next one. The twenty-seventh. Rebecca and Sissy are in it, too.”
“Oh, how nice.” Amilia smiled, seemingly pleased that they had yet another thing in common.
“Tyson,” Alex said, leaning forward in his chair so that he could make eye contact. “You got a lot done out there today. Have you ever formed up concrete?”
Ty shook his head. “Nope.” He was demolishing his third tamale.
“You’ll like that part. What we’ll do is form a sidewalk between the base of the ramp and Pop’s porch. If I can get the rest of the ramp built this week, we can start that next Saturday. We’ll pour it in sections.” Sidney could see that the worn gravel path that currently existed between the two houses was definitely not wheelchair- or walker-friendly. With all the rain they got around there, the low yard was probably prone to puddling.
Ty reached for a handful of chips. “Don’t we have to set the posts in concrete?”
“Yes. But I’ll have the framing done, so all we’ll have to do is clamp the ramp sections together and dig some holes. Then we’ll pour those along with the sidewalk.”
Ty nodded as if he understood. “We’d better cut the posts then. I can do it if you want.”
Alex nodded. “Sure. That’ll be great.”
The little exchange may have meant nothing to a stranger passing by, but to Sidney it was significant. Tyson had become interested in this project. Her son, despite himself, was beginning to participate, growing, learning about being a man. Amilia noticed, too. They exchanged subtle smiles.
Alex went into the house, returning with a bottle of cerveza for his father and a fresh pitcher of iced tea, which he poured into glasses all around. As he refreshed Ty’s empty glass, Sidney saw them speaking but couldn’t make out the words. Amilia had been making her laugh, and once she got started, it was hard to throttle the volume back. Ty stood and headed down the steps with Alex.
“Whoa,” Amilia said. “Where do you two think you’re going?”
“He’s going to show me how to fix Mom’s car in case it happens again,” Ty said.
“Oh, poo! That can wait.” Amilia reached for the guitar leaning against Enrique’s chair.
Alex shook his head, still avoiding Sidney’s eyes. “Not today, ’Milia.”
“Yes, today. You promised if I made you tamales—”
Alex looked at Tyson and shrugged. “Women rule the world, you know.” He obediently trudged back up the steps. “Pop, where’s your violin?”
“It’s just inside against the bookcase,” Amilia answered. “You’ve walked by it ten times today.”
As the men tuned their instruments, T
y finally pulled up a folding chair, joining them on the porch instead of the steps, where he had sat through most of their meal. Alex began to pick out a song on the strings of his guitar, a melody that immediately caused Sidney to relax into the cushioned back of her chair. Enrique removed his straw cowboy hat momentarily to wipe his brow, revealing a surprisingly thick head of silver-streaked black hair. He replaced the hat and began to slide his bow across and down the strings of the violin, melting into Alex’s melancholy tune. Sidney closed her eyes, feeling as if she were slipping down into the healing mineral waters of a hot spring. The sky was fading to violet-gray, and without direct sun the chill fell quickly in the shadow of the mountains. When goose bumps appeared on her arms, she slipped into the house, found a fleece throw and an afghan, and returned to the porch. Amilia’s eyes were half-closed, a smile of contentment softening her ruddy face. She squeezed Sidney’s hand when she tucked the fleece blanket around her.
Sidney snuggled back into her own chair with the colorful afghan, the music itself a bright and intricate weaving of sounds that enveloped her in comfort. Alex’s deep brown eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched his father’s hands and vice versa, both of them skilled, their rhythm so tight that Sidney knew intuitively that they had been doing this together for a long time. The next song was a ballad in a minor key. Alex began to sing with a voice so deep and buttery that she had to catch her breath and look away. The song felt hauntingly sad. Enrique’s clear tenor harmony blended in with his son’s voice on the chorus. Sidney didn’t recognize all the Spanish words, but she knew it was a love song. The melody was plaintive, Alex’s voice conveying a lonely longing as if the words came from his own heart. Crinkles formed around his closed eyes, his white teeth flashing between full, smooth lips. And then she saw it. She saw what Micki had seen earlier that day when Alex had met her in the driveway. Alex Estrada was an absolutely beautiful specimen of a man.
The bow of the violin sliced through her soul like a sharp blade. It was almost too much to bear.
