Today was tamales from Sofia. Santiago, Hector, and Cassady were all in town instead of leading an adventure group. Danita was in her spattered jumpsuit, legs crossed, and Molly sat next to her in a pencil skirt. The boys tore into another pile of stuffed corn husks, save for Cassady. Not that Cassady didn’t eat meat. But because of his diet, grease tended to make him woozy. I thought it was funny. Molly thought it was adorable.
I scouted the plate of tamales.
“Looking for something?” Angel asked, grinning from ear to ear. He knew what I wanted.
“Any chance there’s a bean and potato lying around?”
“Over here, Kaye.” Hector held up a hot corn husk. “Hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think you could eat the entire stash yourself.”
I dropped next to him and he handed me the tamale on a paper plate. “You’d be surprised. I tend to be an emotional eater when it comes to Sofia’s tamales.”
“Bad day?”
“Kind of a roller coaster week. I’m realizing I have a lot more leftovers to clean out of the fridge than I originally thought.”
Hector gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Have I ever told you what a turn on your food analogies are?”
“Hmm. Men and food. It’s spot on, though—that old saying about the quickest way to a man’s heart?”
Danita lifted her tamale in a toast. “Hear, hear.”
“That’s so true,” Molly chimed in. “It always ties back to basic needs, doesn’t it? Food, sleep, sex. You meet those three, you’ve got a happy man.”
“C’mon, Molly, you make us sound like cavemen,” said Cassady. “We have brains, you know. We like to use them, even.” Molly’s face fell. Cassady nudged her gently.
“And we want someone we can laugh with,” Hector added. “When everything else, er, peters out down the road, you’ll need that.” Hector didn’t remove his arm from my shoulders. It made me uneasy, but I didn’t scoot away. This was normal for us, and I’d never once felt anxious about it until the past week.
“We like to feel useful, too,” said Santiago. “I had a girlfriend who would ask me to gauge the air pressure on her Camry’s tires. She knew how to do it herself, but then I got rewarded when I helped.”
“Good one, hermano,” Angel said, giving Santiago a fist-bump. “Don’t forget our Superman instincts.”
“Superman instincts?” I asked.
Danita looked heavenward. “Superman instincts—a man’s need to protect his woman. Angel has this bizarre fantasy that I’m Lois Lane, ready and willing to fling myself over the railing at Niagara Falls, just so he can swoop in and rescue me.”
“We’re saving that one for the honeymoon. I’ve got my red underwear and cape packed and I’m poised for action!”
The women groaned, the men whooped it up like…well…cavemen. This conversation was starting to take a turn for the worse, so I steered it back. “Speaking of food analogies, anyone up for the Band Game?” A chorus of refusals rippled around the room. I scowled. It wasn’t that bad of a game. The idea was to use a food analogy for a band. Rolling Stones: beef sirloin marinated in Jack Daniels whiskey. Samuel and I created it when we were kids.
Hector manned up. “I’ll play, Kaye.”
“In,” said Cassady.
Molly was in after that. The rest cleared up the tamales and dug through boxes of new equipment, trying on a shipment of yellow life vests.
“Okay.” I started them out easy. “Harry Connick, Jr.”
Molly snapped. “Shrimp Etouffee with a side of red beans and wine.”
“Niiice,” said Hector.
Molly pumped her fist. “All right! The Beach Boys.”
“Simple,” said Cassady. “Your archetypal cherry-flavored snow cone. Mamas and the Papas.” My eyebrows shot up. These guys were getting better.
I snapped, barely beating Hector. “Ambrosia salad, extra mandarin oranges.” I grinned, ready to take it to the next level. “Voodoo Loons.”
Only blank stares met me. No one had heard of them. I was about to pick another band, when I heard his voice behind me.
“Bangers and mash with a jug of bootleg moonshine to wash it down.”
Oh for the love of…it was the unholy cliff-hucker. I swiveled around and saw Samuel leaning against the doorframe. His arms were folded across his chest, a fitted T-shirt and jeans casually clinging to his lean frame, and his normally coiffed hair was unruly—it must have been an off-day. His eyes sparked with quirking lips to match. The game was forgotten, and everyone around me, save for Hector, jumped up to hug Samuel or slap him on the back, greeting the prodigal son with open arms and dragging out the fatted calf, calling for a feast.
But Danita embraced her brother with the warmth of an ice sculpture. Yes, there was definitely something going on there.
“How on earth did you manage to shake Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum?” she asked. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were two photographers who kept tabs on Samuel, popping up whenever he strolled around Lyons.
“Disguise.” He shrugged, as if people snapping pictures of your every move was perfectly normal.
“Groucho Marx glasses?”
“Tempting, but no. My old baseball cap and sunglasses.” He held up his familiar Lyons High ball cap, now frayed around the bill. “How’s the head, Angel?” I noticed that his eyes kept drifting to me instead of Angel. Ha, I’d been right—I’d warned him about mini-golfing.
Angel rubbed the knot on his forehead where Hector’s golf ball had nearly knocked him out. “Much better. I told that mini-golf chick I didn’t need to go to the hospital after Hector beaned me.”
“You could have had a concussion, mi ángel,” said a concerned Danita.
Samuel made his way over while the two continued to bicker and sat next to me.
“Hey, Kaye.”
“Um…hey?” How much more awkward could this get? “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t this Friday lunch?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Danita asked me to swing by, but I won’t stay long if it makes you uncomfortable. I just want to catch up with everyone.”
Hector leaned around me to glare at Samuel. “Hombre, you just can’t show up like this after all this time.”
Samuel lowered cool eyes on Hector. “I didn’t know I was uninvited.”
“You kind of uninvited yourself when you skipped out on—”
“Hector.” I laid a calming hand on his inked forearm.
Hector took a deep breath, then tried a different tactic. “So, Sam, ¿dónde está tu hermosa dama? She didn’t want to come along?”
The other conversations died away and everyone focused on Samuel and Hector.
“Caroline couldn’t make it. She’s caught in a PR mess with several regional TV networks in LA. Actually, an odd thing happened.”
Suddenly, my flaking nail polish was extremely interesting.
“What happened?” Danita asked.
“Well.” He glanced at me sideways. “Do you remember that guinea pig I had back in sixth grade—Mickey?”
“The one Kaye named after an Irish penis?” said Dani. Flippin-A. My face began to burn. I hopped up and walked across the room. “You poisoned it.”
“For the last time, I didn’t poison it! Not on purpose, anyway—but that’s beside the point. Someone made an extremely large donation to a charitable fund that specializes in guinea pig rescues.”
“And…?” Dani waved him on.
“And, they did it in my name. Mickey’s too.” The entire group broke into raucous laughter, save for Samuel and myself. “I ask you, who with that kind of money could possibly know about Mickey?” He looked at me.
“Samuel, you brought that thing to science class every other week,” I countered. “Any one of those students could have spilled the story.” I tacked on a laugh to avoid suspicion, but what was the point? He obviously knew it was me.
“So, how much money are we talking about, Sammy?” Angel shouted over the laughter
.
“Enough to build a brand new center, complete with office space, a small research lab, and a guinea pig ‘learning lounge.’ The LAGPCF—I think that’s the acronym—wants to name the center after me.” More laughter. He waited until it died down before continuing. “Anyway, someone alerted the media to this ‘human interest’ story. Caroline’s been on the phone all morning, putting out statements, press releases, talking to the charity to convince them to name the center after Mickey instead of me. And now someone at PETA has expressed interest in the story…”
Crap, crap, crap—we hadn’t considered PETA. Or I hadn’t, anyway. Something told me Jaime might have.
“You’re going to end up in a PETA campaign, Samuel!” said Angel. “Now you’ll have to pose for one of their magazine ads—you know, sprawled sexy-naked across a floor while guinea pigs crawl all over you?”
“Be sure to cover your nethers, there,” Cassady deadpanned. “I’ve read that guinea pigs are vicious.”
Laughter erupted ten-fold. Hector held his sides. Tears streamed down Molly’s face. Even Samuel couldn’t help himself and chuckled quietly. A part of me was relieved he didn’t seem to be angry about Mickey-gate.
“Anyone up for celebrating the newly-christened Mickey Cabral Center for Rescued Guinea Pigs at my apartment this evening?” Molly asked as the laughter died down.
“Sorry, can’t,” Danita said. “I have an early morning tomorrow at the shop. I’m putting in extra hours before the wedding.”
“Got a group heading over to the national park tomorrow, but could swing by for a coupla hours,” said Cassady.
Molly turned to me.
“Um,” I straightened a photo on the wall. “I have plans.” Seven set of eyes fixed on me with astonishment. I felt a bit offended. “Really, guys, is it that strange to have weekend plans with someone outside of our circle?”
“For you? Yes,” Molly shot back.
Come on, Molly, not in front of the ex. “It’s not like that, seriously. Just meeting a colleague for dinner.”
My friends’ simpering faces told me they didn’t believe it. But really, I couldn’t reveal I was meeting with Jaime Guzman, my former divorce lawyer and self-proclaimed people-hater. They’d know something was up in a heartbeat. Suddenly, the photo in front of me became the most fascinating photo in the world. I studied it intently until they went back to their own conversations.
“This is in Glenwood Canyon?”
I jumped. I hadn’t even noticed Samuel come up behind me. But now he was so close, I could smell his aftershave. Too close. I took a small step away.
“Yes.”
“Do you like it out there?”
“Yes.”
“I’d always wanted to spend time on that stretch of river, more than just passing through. I think it’s beautiful.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He smiled at my one-word answers. I certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Is this a whitewater rafting trip?”
“Yep.”
“I never pegged you for an extreme sports enthusiast, Kaye. But in retrospect, maybe I should have. You certainly have always had a fearless temperament.”
Okay, now he was baiting me, and dang it, I wanted to bite.
“Come on, Kaye. Talk to me.”
I bit. “What, Samuel, you want to have an in-depth conversation, despite—how did you put it in Water Sirens? ‘What came out of her mouth was so awkward, it made the comparison farcical’?”
“All right, I’ll give you that—it was a mean thing to write. But the phrase doesn’t work without the rest of that sentiment, Kaye,” he said gently, his smile growing bigger. Smug male, he wanted that reaction from me. “You, however, seem determined to recall only negative.” Oh, I remembered the first half of that sentiment—‘soft mouth of an angel’—but I wasn’t about to toss it around in front of him. “I’m trying not to be patronizing,” he continued. “I’m just a little worried, I suppose.”
“You don’t need to play Superman to my Lois Lane, Samuel,” I whispered roughly. “In fact, you shouldn’t. You gave up that right a long time ago.”
“That’s true. But it doesn’t mean I can’t worry. Or shouldn’t. Class five whitewater, chasing the perfect snow…that’s nothing to mess around with.” His eyes grew serious as he tapped a different photo—one of Hector and me—snapped in Vail backcountry after a day of crazy skiing, our poles held up like winners’ trophies.
I huffed, feeling like a fifteen-year-old kid again. Samuel had the power to do that, and he still did it well. Of all things, worrying about extreme sports…in Colorado! And then I remembered the draft story I saw in his bedroom, the one about whitewater hydraulics. Something clicked into place. “Samuel, how do you even know about that class five hydraulic at Glenwood Canyon?”
“Angel told me.”
Et tu, Angel? My friends occasionally kept in touch with my east coast ex, though I never thought they’d discuss me with him. I frowned. “You probably would have surfed that damned hydraulic the first time out.”
He paused, caught off-guard by my comment. “I’m not faultless, Kaye. Far from it.”
“I never thought you were.”
“Yes, you did.”
What to say? I felt his hand rest, ever so carefully, upon my shoulder. “I’m sorry I disappointed you,” he whispered.
My fists tightened. This was my chance for answers. Caroline was busy with Mickey-gate, he even freaking apologized. Why the heck wasn’t I taking my chance? Come on, Kaye, just ask him.
Samuel glanced down at his watch and my window passed. “I’ve got to run. I’m supposed to do a telephone interview with ABC7 in LA for their news broadcast tonight and they want to know Mickey’s story. Maybe a little bit about my latest book, too.”
“Oh…sure.”
He laughed quietly. “Have fun on your date tonight.”
Before I could spill my guts about Mickey or anything else, he brushed my shoulder, waved goodbye to the others, and was gone.
Jaime was right. I was sabotaging myself.
I grabbed my purse, also ready to head out but Danita grabbed my elbow. There was a no-nonsense glower on her face. “Oh, Kaye, we need to chat.”
Busted. Mickey-gate would sink me yet.
Chapter 8: Riffles
Little waves caused by shallow water
and rocky riverbed.
“MOM, I’VE GOT A THINKING question for you.” I crated dozens of spring produce items spread across the counter while my mother, Gail, prepped them for tomorrow morning’s farmers market. After Friday lunch, I wandered over to the farm, killing time before I met Jaime. I tried to read more of The Last Other while Mom scrubbed asparagus, but something Samuel said bothered me so much, the words blurred past. After re-reading with no luck, I closed my book and sought out my mother.
“Sure, what is it?”
“When Samuel and I were growing up, did I think he was perfect?”
My mother huffed—not surprising. My mother huffed at most anything. Either that, or freaked out. “Oh, Kaye, you thought the sun rose and set in that boy—his entire family, really. It was so odd, the way you two had your little made-up games, your pranks and cuss wars…you certainly spoke a different language than the rest of us. You acted tough around him, fought with him, like you were fooling us. But we saw.” Her brown eyes grew distant as she remembered.
“What is it, Mom?” She studied my face. “Just say it, please—whatever you’re thinking.”
She sighed, struggled, then gave in. “Well, I can’t help but wonder if your dad and I handled your engagement to Samuel as best as we could have.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just…you wanted to be married so badly, I think, like you were determined to do the opposite of what Tom and I did. I know our failed relationship did a number on you, more than either of us was willing to admit.” She picked up a bunch of asparagus, smoothing a cracked finger over delicate stalks. “Maybe we sho
uld have tried harder to talk you out of marrying so young, I don’t know. I could tell Samuel was hesitant, but you were so persevering, so enthusiastic. And the two of you seemed to love each other so much.”
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, stewing over what my mother said. Was she right? Had my desire to marry been driven not by my love for Samuel, but my determination to steer clear of my parents’ treacherous footprints? “You thought I was too rash in my marriage. Do you also think I was too rash when I filed for divorce?”
“Well, I’m not sure. It’s hard to make a judgment call like that when I don’t know all of the details.” She misted the crates with a water bottle, glancing at me from the corner of her eyes.
Of course she didn’t know everything. I never told her about the day Samuel left or my very brief trip to New York City. I’d never breathed a word of it, except to Alonso and Sofia. Spilling the painful details of the most wretched moments of my existence was too much to ask, and I opted for dignity over honesty.
Mom still eyed me as she moved on to the strawberries, wiping one on her dark green apron. Maybe it was time to unload a few of those heavy secrets. I drummed up the courage, struggling over a million different ways to phrase my words, not wanting to upset her.
“There are a lot of people who think I filed for divorce too quickly. Dani does. Molly might too, even though she’s never said it. It’s just…there are things…”
My mother paused in her misting. “Like what?”
My teeth craved a thumbnail so I stuffed my hands in my sweater pockets. “What if…something happened that made you think someone wasn’t who you thought they were? And it hurt, really bad. So badly, you just wanted to rip out your heart and hurl it back at them.”
Mom grabbed my arm, smearing dirt on my shirt. “Oh my God, did Samuel hurt you? What did he do? I’ll kill him if he laid a hand on you!”
“No, Mom, geez. Samuel would never do anything like that.” I shook off her hand. I knew she would react badly—that’s why I hadn’t said anything. “I only meant that when I followed him to New York, I saw something…shocking, I guess, and it made me question a lot of things. He’d already been gone for several weeks and I was a head case, half-expecting him to come back, stunned he’d left in the first place. Now I wonder if I was rash in filing for divorce. But when someone says they can’t be married to you, how else are you supposed to take it, right? And then he dragged the divorce out for five months, never signing, never talking to my lawyer, like he couldn’t even be bothered with me, like he didn’t care enough to stop his ‘new life.’ I was so incredibly angry—”
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