“Honestly, I’d bet your wife would be happy that you’re happy,” Buddy responded. “I’ll be real surprised if my mother changes her mind, Joe. But you know she loves you and that she’s not going anywhere. Besides, it’s the Nineties. It’s okay to not be married and just live together instead. Lots of people think marriage is just a piece of paper anymore.”
“Well, I don’t think that way about marriage. I do know she loves me, son. But just because more time has passed over this old land and all over my face, and just because times have changed in the big city, doesn’t make it okay. I’m a traditional man,” he said solemnly, rising up into his work boots and walking back into the house with a slight limp.
Bob and Tess McLean greeted Buddy as he walked up to the gathering of people. Buddy went to high school with them, and now they were married with three little kids. Honestly, he felt like he shouldn’t be surprised about how many folks were here for this party. Joe himself was this town, the unelected Mayor, he reckoned.
As he grabbed a beer from the cooler, his mother tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and she presented him with a young, beautiful blond with bouncy curls and a slim figure. She wore a white mini skirt and a tasteful salmon colored summer blouse.
“Buddy, this is Jennifer,” she said, introducing him to the young lady. “She’s the law student I told you about who has been visiting our church. She’s from New York.”
Jennifer’s face was delicate and fresh, her eyes a soft green, and she beamed at Buddy with an orthodontics-approved smile.
“Hi,” she pronounced, putting her hand out for him to shake.
Buddy was prepared – in his head – to have an attractive girl tossed at him by his mother. Driving up from Fayetteville, he gave himself a few pep talks. He would try not to stutter, keep to talking about law school about Carolina and what kind of law she was interested in practicing and maybe talk about the Yankees or something else that was New York-ish. He had even read up on current Broadway plays and watched a few episodes of Friends, as if she were nothing but a cliché from a Nora Ephron film. If he kept himself firmly on a discussion path, he wouldn’t pass out onto the grass, needing to be revived with a bucket full of cold water. But, he couldn’t look at her while talking either, or he wouldn’t be able to continue. Damn all the pretty girls in this world.
Looking just past her porcelain face, Buddy’s eyes gazed over her shoulder and into the distance. He took her hand and responded, “Hi. My name’s Buddy. Real nice to meet you.”
“Oh, my God, I’m so happy to meet you. Your mom has just been going on and on and on about you ever since I visited her church. She is so proud of you,” Jennifer yammered.
He thought to himself that maybe he should just let her yammer because that would mean that he wouldn’t have to say much, nod once in a while or utter an, “uh huh,” or, “yeah,” just to show he was listening. But then those awkward pauses started happening, where she expected him to respond like an actual adult man…or a lawyer…and all lawyers talk…a lot…like they really do enjoy hearing themselves…and he couldn’t avoid having to open his mouth and speak.
“Um, yeah, she’s a typical mother like that, I guess.”
“When did you graduate from law school?” she asked.
“Three years ago. I live down in Fayetteville now, have a small criminal practice there. Just trying to get something positive started.”
“You didn’t want to go to a big firm?”
Still peering just over her shoulder, hoping she was falling for this eye contact system he had mastered over the years, he replied, “No, I wasn’t real interested in the big firm life.”
“Yeah, lots of work, that’s for sure. Billable hours and no time off – I’m lucky I can get into my father’s firm easy. I figured if I can just get through those first few years working like a dog as a lowly associate, he’ll make me a partner quickly and it would at least be a lot more money.”
Jennifer was clearly on the high-priced Manhattan attorney track. As a fairly-priced lawyer who was also on the Court-appointed list, the high-priced way was as far away from Buddy’s legal track as could be. He supposed the only way the two of them could be further from each other professionally is if he worked for Legal Aid. Or for the Public Defender’s Office. Or pro bono, which he did sometimes.
“Would you like something to drink?” Buddy asked her, feeling a bit more confident and calm now that he realized they would never be a good fit. He knew his mother would be disappointed.
“Yeah, that would be nice,” she said, eyeballing him rather aggressively.
Buddy reached into the cooler, pulled out a beer and handed it to her. She caught his gaze, forcing him to look at her. She was smirking a bit, and Buddy realized in that moment that she had come here with actual intentions. On him.
“You’re a really good looking guy, Buddy,” she started, taking a sip of her beer. Buddy was not accustomed to women being so upfront and forward, at least not toward him. “Your mom said you were very handsome, but all moms say that about their sons. Not all moms are right, though.”
Buddy started to feel bashful and overly shy. He could sense his face getting hot, but because he was sure that there was nothing special between them – at least on his end – he contained his rising nerves and forced them to submit into a quiet fester instead. Because while his heart was not moving toward feeling anything about her, it didn’t mean that other parts of him were sitting still. Jennifer was drop dead gorgeous. And he was very much a red-blooded American male.
“Do you like it at Carolina?” Buddy asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, I do. Great atmosphere in Chapel Hill. I don’t miss the city too much at all, but it’s early yet, and New York in the Fall is the best. So, I hate that I’ll miss it.”
“You’ll like North Carolina in the Fall, too. I promise you that,” he said, looking around at all the folks talking, drinking and eating. “The best part of the Fall in North Carolina is in the Appalachian Mountains. It’s just incredible up there. All the foliage and colors, I try to go once a year.”
Jennifer stood a little closer to him and her arm was touching his slightly. “Maybe you can take me up there sometime,” she cooed. “I’m still new here, and I hope you’ll be my first friend.
Chapter 3
May 17th, 1975
Hector
“Are you Hector?” Retta asked a very dark-skinned Mexican man wearing a pin-striped short sleeved dress shirt, untucked, and faded blue jeans. The collar had a ring around it, and the top button remained unbuttoned. He stood behind a counter, which had large books piled on top, and was holding a coffee mug up to his mouth with a bushy mustache appearing to dip slightly inside of it.
He looked up and then peered behind her as Buddy walked in the door.
“Si,” he answered.
It was still early, and she was fairly certain that his little car business wasn’t even open yet. He seemed surprised by them, startled even. She was afraid that he would only speak to her in Spanish, so she asked him if he spoke English.
He laughed and took another sip of whatever was in his mug.
“We are not open until later, miss,” he said slowly, enunciating each word so that it was clear to Retta that he indeed spoke English just fine.
She looked around the inside of the building, which appeared as if it only housed this small and somewhat trashed, busy office room with a bathroom attached. A calendar from 1973 with women dressed in provocative clothing and posing on different colored Corvettes was pressed onto the wall, along with a plain white clock that read it was two o’clock. A chalkboard with all kinds of sloppy writing scratched on it was hanging on the opposite wall, and there seemed to be official papers everywhere, strewn about like a wind blew through the space earlier and no one bothered to clean them up. The floor had books piled in the corners, and there
was a desk, a chair and then a blue loveseat with more books piled on top. The guy ran a messy business, and the sight of all the disorder and chaos made Retta cringe.
“Lucinda sent me,” Retta stated, hoping that he would understand she needed to talk with him now and not when he was open.
Hector put his mug down on the counter and walked over to his desk. He picked up a ragged brown folder and then looked up at this harried looking mother and son duo.
“Are you wanting to buy a car from me?”
“No, sir. I am looking to sell my car.”
“What do you have?”
“A Duster.”
“What year is it?”
“1971, I think.”
“Is it with you now?”
“It’s just outside.”
Hector walked past them and out the door. Retta glanced down at Buddy who looked up at her, obviously confused and wondering why they would be getting rid of their car.
“Mother, why do you want to sell our car?” he asked.
Retta looked out the small window on the door and could see Hector walking around the opposite side of the car, ducking down underneath and then looking in the driver’s side window.
“Because son, we need to get rid of it so Kenny can never find us. And so no one else can, either.”
She opened the door, and they both walked outside and onto the tattered asphalt lot. It was warm for this early in the day, but she was relieved that it seemed like Hector was at least interested in the Duster for the moment. There were several other cars sitting around the outskirts of the parking lot and surrounding the small terra cotta building. Some of the cars had seen better days. The sign by the highway that read “Hector’s Cars” looked brand new just as Lucinda said it was, but also out of place with the rest of the business’ appearance.
They watched Hector open and close the doors, look under the hood, but when he got to the trunk, Retta stopped him from unlatching the lock. It was an instinct – she couldn’t stop herself – but now she was afraid that she spooked him off from considering the Duster. Although, Hector didn’t look like the kind of man who could be easily spooked.
He stopped and looked at her directly in her eyes. “Why don’t you want me to look in the trunk?”
Retta didn’t know what to say, so she blurted, “I just have something in there that I don’t want anyone to see.”
“We are just north of the Rio Grande and Mexican border. Do you think there are things in trunks that I haven’t seen before?”
She was scared now. She didn’t want him to see the gun back there. It would make them look like they were running from something – even though they were – and what if he decided to call the police and tell them that there was some woman and little boy with a gun trying to dump a car at his store in New Mexico?
And as if he read her mind, he asked, “Are you running from something?”
Retta didn’t answer and was absolutely no good on her feet, even under normal circumstances. Since she never thought she’d be in such a situation, she found herself unsure of how to handle anything at all.
“From Kenny,” Buddy divulged, out of the blue, completely honest. Just like a kid.
Retta glared at Buddy. They hadn’t talked about anything that happened so far or what exactly they were doing – other than running away, so it was silly for her to be angry at Buddy. He didn’t know what was going on. Or maybe he did and figured that he shouldn’t lie. After all, that is what she taught him his whole life. If an adult asks you a question, you tell the truth.
“Who’s Kenny?” Hector asked.
Buddy looked up at his mother, his face full of trust.
“He’s nobody,” Retta said, feeling defeated.
Hector walked closer to them and asked her to follow him into the building. “I won’t bite, miss. Young man, please stay out here and stand watch over your car.”
She followed Hector back into the building and he asked her to take a seat. Looking around, Retta found that suggestion amusing. The floor? That was the only place that seemed like there’d be space to sit.
“Your son is telling the truth. You are running from someone named Kenny, aren’t you?” he asked.
She felt like a little girl, caught in a lie by her parents. Hector looked like he was a lot older than Lucinda and probably someone’s grandfather. He didn’t seem to want to buy her car anymore. And that was okay. Retta just wanted to get out of Las Cuatro now and find another way to dump this car.
“Look, I will buy your Duster from you. I will give you a fair price. I buy many cars like yours and send them over the border where I can make more money on them. So that is not a problem.” He stopped and looked out one of the windows toward the highway. “But we have another matter.”
“What?”
“Miss, you are running from a man. And I can see why.” He stopped, faced her, walked a bit closer and looked at the large finger laden bruises on her arms and the cut above her eye that had long ago shed its makeup. “He beats you and so you are trying to get away with the boy.”
Retta nodded. If it were only that simple. But since he was taking in all her surroundings and making his judgments about their situation based upon what he saw in front of him, then she would just let him do it.
“What is in the trunk? A gun? A body? A bag of money?” he asked.
Retta laughed at the suggestion that she’d have a bag of money.
“I have a gun for protection. It’s mine and I don’t want you to take it,” she said.
“I’m not going to take your gun, miss. But what I am going to do is call my cousin who will help you.”
Puzzled, she immediately braced her arms around her torso, felt herself toughen up, looked directly into his chocolate brown eyes, with deep, dark wrinkles outlining his entire face. And for the first time, she noticed what it was that he held in his eyes the entire time they had been interacting here. Not intimidation or power or cruelty. But compassion. Kindness.
Hector wasn’t just a business man who sold questionable cars across the border. He was a good man with a big heart.
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling like she had no other option but to put her trust in this stranger.
“My cousin helps women who need to get away from their husbands. She helps them get into a shelter for safety. Helps them get new names and gives them bus tickets. She is a wonderful woman who has helped many ladies just like you.”
They stood in silence for a minute.
“Miss, will you let me call her? I am only trying to help you and your boy.”
Retta knew that she didn’t have many other options. If he bought her car and gave her cash, where were they going to go then? She thought they could buy bus tickets somewhere, maybe to Las Vegas, where she could get work in a casino or maybe in hair and makeup at one of the theatres that puts on the big shows with the pretty dancing girls. But the thought of having a bed to sleep in tonight and a few minutes to sit down and come up with a plan sounded good too.
“Why are you trying to help us?” she asked, drilling right into Hector’s eyes, desperately praying inside that what she believed about him was indeed the truth. Her confidence was shaken, so she didn’t want to trust the wrong person.
Hector grinned, closed-mouthed, his bushy mustache thinning out along his top lip and sighed. “Because miss, I was like your little boy once. My papi was an angry man. Your boy, he deserves to get away from that, just like you do. Just like I did.”
The Underground Railroad
Pilar Rodriguez pulled up to Hector’s in a brown Gremlin. When she turned left off the highway, Retta could hear the horn beep. When she and Buddy got into the car with Pilar, she noticed that every time the Gremlin turned left, the horn beeped. So, making a quiet escape into the bowels of Las Cuatro with a bunch of do-gooder Mexican immigrants didn�
��t appear to be a possibility at the moment.
“You are my first gringo in a long while,” Pilar stated to Retta as they turned off the highway and onto a side road. Her accent was slight. She must’ve lived on this side of the border for most of her life, if not all of it.
“First gringo for what?” Retta asked.
“For my underground railroad,” Pilar responded, which only made Retta more confused. She studied American history in school. What in the world does the Underground Railroad have to do with her situation?
The morning was fully alive; people were working and focusing on their tasks at hand. Another day, another dollar. As she looked out the window of the moving Gremlin and observed the average day outside, Retta didn’t know how to respond to what Pilar said. But she was grateful for this unexpected stroke of luck. She learned that sometimes, the best plan is having no plan at all. If she had a plan, maybe the police would have caught up with them by now, and she and Buddy would be sitting in a jail cell in Texas wondering what number to dial with their one phone call.
They drove up to an old southwestern styled home with an off-peach color stucco siding and a lot of dust. A tall cactus stood sentry outside the front door, almost nodding at them as they walked by. Retta and Buddy followed Pilar inside, each holding their meager belongings like two orphans being sent to a new foster home. Since Hector requested that Retta remove the bullets from her gun, she could feel them crunched down in her skirt pocket. They walked into a hallway and then into a sitting room, where Pilar pointed to a couch.
“Please, sit down. Are you hungry?”
“No, Ma’am, we just ate something.”
“Do you need some water?”
“No thank you,” Retta said, feeling very much like a child in the Principal’s office.
Pilar was a big woman with rich, thick brown skin. She wore a large, burnt-orange, tent shaped dress and flat shoes, with chalky hard creases making their way out of the back of her heels. Her hair was jet black and braided, her face tired but friendly and welcoming. If they didn’t know she was Mexican, they would have thought she was an American Indian. Pilar sat down on a chair across from the couch and smiled at Buddy.
Good Buddy Page 4
