by Naima Coster
“What are you two doing? Don’t let Hank catch you out here half-naked.”
Lacey May was ordering the girls to go and put on some pants when she saw the bundle of wildflowers, tied up with twine, on the coffee table.
“They’re from Papi,” Margarita said. “He sent them for you. Sorry we forgot.”
“He took us to pick them—” Diane began, but Lacey didn’t have to hear where he’d taken them. White and purple aster grew all along the trail that led to the quarry, the lake where she had taken him when they were kids, where Robbie had nearly drowned. They could have been the same flowers that were growing all those years ago, their skinny, gorgeous buds.
Lacey muttered that she needed to run to the store and pick up something for dinner, and she left before the girls could ask her any questions. She drove in the direction of Valentine Road, trying to remember the name of the motel where Robbie had said he was staying.
Robbie answered the door in his undershirt and jeans, a bottle of beer in his hand. His shirt was thin, and she could see his skin right through it. Lacey May looked at him in a way so that he would understand. He locked the door, drew the blinds. She sat on the edge of the bed, unable to say a thing, and Robbie kneeled in front of her, waiting. She kissed him first. They kissed for a long time, as if they were trying to relearn the taste of one another: his brand of beer, her cigarettes. They lay back on the bed, and Robbie unbuttoned his jeans, made plain what he wanted. It surprised her this would be the thing he craved after so long, but she was fine to give it to him. It was all about Robbie for a while, his pleasure and her seeing to it, which somehow felt right, after everything. He’d suffered. He’d gone away. He gave little sighs, knotted his fingers in her hair.
When it was her turn, she hollered and writhed, as if she didn’t want him to make her come, as if she didn’t deserve it. She let herself rise and crest on the wave of feelings Robbie drew out of her, and soon she was crying. Robbie rushed to hold her, but she didn’t want to be held, she wanted to be fucked, and she said so, and he did, and there was no more crying.
After, he wrapped his arms around her. She was still in her blouse, the long skirt she had worn to meet the realtor. Her hair was heavy with sweat. She smelled. Robbie sank his finger into her belly button, an old habit.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and Robbie spared her the pain of saying for what. He kissed her.
“I thought that was how you’d welcome me home.”
“We don’t have a home anymore.”
“Sure we do,” Robbie said, picking up the bottle he’d set down on the soiled carpet.
“You got another?” Lacey went to the miniature refrigerator and fished out a bottle. She wanted to ask Robbie how many other women there had been besides her in the time since he’d been out, but she knew it wasn’t fair. She wanted to hear zero. She wanted to hear no one. She slammed the cap off the beer with her palm, took a long drink.
“I saw somebody about selling the house today.”
“Now why’d you do that?” Robbie said. His voice was light and lilting, as if they were playing a game. It was that effort he put into making everything seem all right, funny even.
“Look at where you’re living, Robbie. It’s only our house on paper. And it’ll get more complicated once we get divorced.”
“What do you mean divorced?” Robbie sat up in bed. The thing about his humor, his ease, was that once Robbie lost it, he went wild. “You came in here, and you asked me to fuck you, and you’re still thinking about becoming Hank’s wife?”
“I’m confused.”
“Let me clear things up for you.” Robbie patted the spot on the bed beside him. He was all gooseflesh and dark hair, his long limbs. He was beautiful naked, his shoulders broad, a new scar running the length of his ribs. “Come here.”
“We can’t fix all our problems in bed.”
“What else is there to say? Didn’t we just say it all with our bodies? The way we touched each other?”
Lacey didn’t want to talk about what they had done, now that it was over. If there was one thing she had never imagined herself being, it was an adulterer. Who was her husband? To whom did she owe her loyalty, her life? Nothing made sense anymore.
Lacey sucked her beer down to the last drop. “I ought to be going.”
Robbie crossed the room, put his hands around her face. “Lacey May, we’ve still got time.”
“I’ve got to make dinner before Hank gets home.”
“I don’t mean right now. I mean, you’re alive, and I’m alive. Anything is possible.”
Lacey hated when Robbie brought up dying like this, like they had to be grateful no matter what life brought their way because one day they’d be dead. She wasn’t like him—she didn’t need a rush from drugs to feel thankful for her life; she didn’t need a friend to die to know each day was precious. She never would have tired of their old life, even if they could have gone on living forever, the two of them in their little blue house, the girls never growing any older, the leaves never falling from the trees, and Jenkins running circles eternally in the yard.
“Goddamn you, Robbie,” Lacey said. “Why’d you go and ruin everything?”
Robbie shushed her. “We can figure it out. We’ll keep the house—”
Lacey wished she could believe him. He’d make a fool of her, if she let him. She kissed him hard and left before he could say anything else to get inside her head. He had always been the one who led her. Without him, she had no idea what was right.
Lacey May had left him burning. He had tried to be good, to calm himself down, but he didn’t last very long alone. He hit one bar, and then another. First, it was dusk, then night, and he couldn’t piece together all he’d done in the hours since Lacey. And the burning—he couldn’t get rid of that.
The first girl he drew into the bathroom was beautiful, but Robbie couldn’t bear to look at her. He shut his eyes. Her tongue was sweet, made him grow huge, muscular, warm. He asked her how much she liked him, and she said very much. He asked her if she loved him, and she said, yes, very much. Robbie pinned her to the wall, and they slammed into each other a few times. The girl moaned in his ear. His bones were vibrating, his cock enormous. Music streamed underneath the door, accordion and plucky guitar. She took his hand and led him back out to her friends. Of course she wanted to be seen with him; she was proud of what they had done. He bought her a beer, and her friends beers. The girls had dark hair and unbuttoned blouses, and he was making them laugh. He was funnier in Spanish.
How old are you? he asked them, and his favorite girl said, How old do you want me to be, like in a movie. He decided it was fine—these girls were old enough, at least, to be in the bar.
On the dance floor, he saw the devil in the corner—Amado and his big pinkie ring. The girl he had taken into the bathroom led Robbie over to the booth. She was one of Amado’s girls; he called her by her name—something beautiful, a kind of flower. Rosa or Lila or Flora. She slipped a baggie into Robbie’s pocket. A gift. He kissed her, like a man, in front of Amado. He wished it were Lacey May who could see. He whispered to Lila all the things he wanted to do to her, and she laughed. They danced; he held Flora by the hips. Amado bought another round. What more did he need? If Lacey sold the house, if she never came to see him again, he’d be fine, in his new life, with Rosa, and they’d see. They’d all see that he was the one who had given them everything they counted as theirs.
The next weekend Lacey May pulled into the motel parking lot and honked the horn, ordered the girls to get out. She was late for an appointment to get a second opinion on the house. Robbie had never shown up that morning, and she had called and called until he finally picked up. She had wondered if he was punishing her, taking out what happened between them on the girls. She honked the horn again.
“Jesus, Ma, cut it out,” Noelle said.
“Who’s it going to bother? The neighborhood association? Now go on and get out.”
The girls climbe
d onto the hot asphalt and stood together, unmoving.
“Is there a problem?” Lacey May said.
“We don’t know which room it is,” Noelle answered.
“Right.” Lacey May had forgotten the girls hadn’t been here before, and, as far as they knew, neither had she. “It’s that one.” She pointed. “Number forty-three.”
Lacey May honked once more for good measure, then tore away.
The girls had been knocking for a while when Margarita flopped onto the curb and folded her arms. “Can’t you dummies see he’s not in there?”
Diane tried to peer through the blinds. “Where else would he be?”
“He’s probably just passed out,” Noelle said.
“Like asleep?” asked Diane.
“Yes, chickadee. Just like that.” Noelle banged on the door harder.
Margarita rolled her eyes. “Let’s just come back later. I’m hungry. I want to eat that cactus taco again.”
“It’s called a nopal,” Noelle said, “And we can’t go over there by ourselves. Are you crazy?” They knew what she meant—the east side wasn’t safe to wander.
“It’s the middle of the day, Noelle.”
“We can try and catch another snake, too,” Diane said. “Maybe there’s one in those woods.” She pointed across the five-lane road to a chain of businesses: a used tire dealer, a fabric store, a row of squat fast-food huts. Behind the strip mall loomed a hedge of pines.
Margarita took her little sister by the hand, started marching down the stairs.
“Where the hell do you think you two are going?”
“You can stay here and bang all you want. We’re going across the road.”
“You don’t have any money!”
“Guess you better come along then.”
Noelle screamed and stomped her foot. She followed after her sisters, Margarita in her too-short shorts, Diane in an old motorcycle T-shirt that had belonged to Hank. There wasn’t a stoplight, so they had to wait for a lull in the traffic to run for the slender median. They perched on the little island of concrete while the cars rushed by. They waited and ran again.
When they made it across, Margarita was panting, exhilarated. She pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead. “You liked that, manzanita?” she asked, and Diane clapped her hands. Noelle wanted to smack them both.
“Let’s go in the woods first, work up an appetite, then we can find those tacos,” said Margarita. “Nopal, nopal, nopales,” she sang, and Diane laughed. They sprinted toward the stand of skinny pines ringing the lot.
The trees gave way to a clearing, all grass and two silver pipes running aboveground. They followed the pipes to a creek rushing mud brown. Diane announced she was going to look for snakes and edged down the bank. At the water, she started to cross, leaping between the stones jutting out of the stream. Margarita sat on a tree stump to watch.
“It’s pathetic,” Noelle said. “You don’t even like the woods. You’re breaking the rules just to break them.”
Margarita stuck out her tongue at Noelle, turned smugly back to the water.
“I can’t wait to go to college,” Noelle said, louder now, hoping to hurt her. “I can’t wait to leave this stupid town, this stupid family, all of you.”
“I can’t wait for you to leave either. It’s a good thing Mama loves you so much, cause she’s the only one. You’re a bitch, and we all know it.”
Noelle shoved Margarita off the stump. She fell hard on her bottom. She lunged at her sister, tried to wrestle her to the ground, but Noelle was bigger. Margarita clawed at Noelle’s arms, slapped her face, punched spitefully at her growing breasts. Noelle tackled her, and soon they were rolling down the bank, snapping twigs, swinging and kicking. They had never fought before, not like this; it felt good, feral. Noelle took her sister by the shoulders, slammed her head against the ground. Margarita bit her sister’s hand, let out a triumphant scream. They were rolling in the mud when they heard a splash behind them, the sound of Diane slipping into the water, and then a terrible thump, the sound of her skull as it made contact with the rocks.
Robbie woke to the sound of Lacey May. She was knocking, calling. He found his way to the door, opened it. The world was too bright. What day was it? How long had it been? He’d spent one night, two nights, three nights at the bar with Amado, his girls. Robbie wondered if Lacey May could tell. He waited for her to come into focus; he knew the hazy shape of her, her moving mouth, her long hair. Something about the girls. He hadn’t seen them. Why would they be here?
Lacey May pushed past him into the room. She called their names. She swept into the bathroom and out again, while Robbie stood at the door. He was willing himself back to awareness, staring hard at her, trying to tune in. She was naked, she loved him, they were making love.
Lacey May shook him by the shoulders, said a string of things he didn’t understand. And then, too clearly: “You’re useless.”
She slammed the door, and Robbie stumbled after her. The sun had burned the whole sky white, and Robbie could feel the heat annihilating him. He was soaking it up, all the light. He wanted to hide inside, shrink under the covers, but he followed her somehow, fell into the passenger seat of the car. The skin of his head threatened to burst.
“Right now I hate you, Robbie Ventura,” Lacey said. He heard that. He could grasp her more distinctly now. She was all bug eyes, hunched over the wheel, scanning the motel parking lot. She drove out to the road. They had to find a payphone, she said. Lacey was going to call 911.
They had an hour before the officer would call the phone in Robbie’s room, so Lacey said they’d use the time to search the strip mall across the road. They entered every store, checked the aisles, and Lacey begged the managers to make announcements over the loudspeakers. She described each girl, down to the moles on their shoulders, the precise shade of their brown hair: Noelle, ash; Margarita, honey; Diane, Coca-Cola. They had no luck, made it through two more shopping centers, Lacey May a flash ahead of Robbie. She turned around once in a while to egg him on, to curse at him. He tried to keep up, blinking through the fluorescence, her insult revolving in his head. Useless.
When they got back to the motel, Lacey had hardly parked when she sprinted out of the car. Robbie pulled the emergency brake and followed her. He wanted her to notice, to thank him for his soundness of mind. He got out of the car and felt his head balloon. It was the size of a beach ball. He thought he might vomit. He put his head between his knees and breathed until it passed. When he got up, he saw them: the girls and their mother at the top of the stairs. Lacey May had his room key. She swept them indoors, examined them at the foot of his bed.
The girls were covered in mud, shivering, Noelle and Diane holding on to each other. Lacey May was yelling. Robbie asked what had happened.
“They nearly drowned,” Lacey said, and she bared her teeth at him. She was pulling apart Diane’s hair, pressing her palm into the girl’s scalp. Her fingers came away with blood.
Robbie felt again that he might vomit.
“I’ve got to take them to the hospital,” Lacey said. “Girls, you all go on and wait in the car.”
Robbie couldn’t watch them go. He looked at his feet. He was wearing a pair of flip-flops, his feet pale and hairy, his toenails ragged, long. In his sweatpants and undershirt, he was sure he looked like a bum. And his head. If you put a finger in his ear, with all the pressure in there, he’d explode. He needed water. He could fall down dead in front of Lacey and she wouldn’t care. The girls vanished without saying good-bye to him. Another failure. He slumped against the bed. He figured he should speak before she did. He knew he couldn’t bear whatever she had to say.
“How could you come in here and make love to me, Lacey? You tore me up inside.”
Lacey May laughed.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me you wouldn’t sell the house, that you love me, that you could never replace me—I was locked up.”
“Don’t you blame this on me! You go on a bender
and it’s my fault? Please. And I haven’t replaced you. I’d never replace you because I don’t want someone like you in my life! To bring me trouble! To bring me grief! You ruined my life, Robbie, you ruined all our lives, and you had no reason to. You should have loved me more. And if I knew exactly the drugs you needed to do yourself in, I’d give them to you so you could stop wasting our time. We all know where this leads!”
Lacey May was quivering and flushed, her fists balled at her sides. He felt the urge to raise his arms, to cover himself, as if she might hit him. She was glaring at him, her lips pressed together, her head rocking from side to side in a rhythm she couldn’t seem to control. There was a word for the way she was looking at him—asco, like when you see a dead animal on the side of the road, asco, at someone with filthy hands reaching toward you, asco, the sight of a man’s guts, a rotting tree crawling with maggots. Maybe this was how she had looked at him every time she found him high, and he had lodged it away somewhere in his brain, because he recognized it now. It was her deepest feeling for him—he could see that. He wanted to say, It was just this once. He wanted to say he’d clean up his act. He wanted to say, I’ll get help. But it wouldn’t change the way she was looking at him. He could do nothing. Robbie sank to the floor, crossed his legs beneath him, and cried. Lacey May didn’t stoop to comfort him. She left, again.
He looked up when he heard the bathroom door swing open. Margarita emerged from the rear of the motel room with a fat lip, blooming purple, a cut under her eye. He hadn’t known she wasn’t with the others. He wondered what she’d heard.
“Pepita,” he said and crawled onto his knees. “I am sorry, mi hija. I am so sorry. I need you to understand—”
Margarita shook her head, quieting him. “It’s okay, Papi. It’s not your fault. It was my idea. It was me.”