All She Wants

by Anna Cruise

  “Never mind.” I picked up the stick again and drew it across the sand. “I'm just tired. And grumpy.”

  “Roughing it getting to you?” he asked.

  No, I thought. You're getting to me.

  “Something like that,” I said instead.

  He reached out his hand, settling it on my thigh. He kneaded my skin, his fingers digging in. “Relax,” he said. “Camping is supposed to be fun.”

  His hand drifted higher and I tensed, waiting. But he shifted his hand so that it moved to my waist, then my back. He transferred his other hand and massaged my shoulders. I rolled my neck and leaned into him, sighing.

  “That feels good.”

  “I like that I can make you feel good,” he whispered.

  I shifted closer and he dug his hands in harder. “You do,” I whispered back.

  A loud noise sounded from inside the tent, startling me. I turned, out of Stuart's reach, and looked.

  “Is that...?”

  Stuart stifled a laugh. “I think she's snoring.”

  I laughed, too. “Oh my God. I can't sleep in there. It sounds like a jet taking off.”

  “There aren't a lot of alternatives.” He smiled at me. “Unless you're feeling really adventurous.”

  I raised my eyebrows and waited. “Tell me.”

  “We can spend the night right here.” He reached for me again, but this time his hands fastened on my breasts. “But I can't promise we'll do much sleeping.”

  I didn't want to sleep. I wanted him to make me forget—all the doubts and concerns tat had reared their ugly heads. I wanted him to take me back to something familiar, the feel of his skin on mine, the way our bodies moved together.

  I didn't just want it. I needed it.

  “I don't want to sleep,” I whispered, my lips moving close to his.

  “Good,” he murmured back. “I don't like making promises I have no intention of keeping.”

  TWENTY SIX

  The stick I'd driven in to the sand last night? It felt like I'd woken up with it planted in my skull.

  “What is wrong with you?” Brynn asked. She was sitting cross-legged next to me outside the tent, pulling a brush through her tangle-free blond hair.

  “Caffeine,” I managed, rubbing my temples..

  I wasn't a coffee addict—not even close—but I hadn't had caffeine in 24 hours. No diet Coke, no Frappuccino, no nothing. And my head was letting me know, loudly, that this was completely unacceptable.

  “Pretty sure there isn't a coffee shop within walking distance.” Brynn smiled. “Or anything else, for that matter...”

  I opened an eye and glared at her. She smile sweetly and continued brushing.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked. “Or did you sleep? I wasn't sure if you and Stuart...had other plans.”

  I didn't blush. “You didn't hear us?” I asked, giving her a coy smile of my own.

  Her brush halted.

  “Oh, that's right,” I said. Stuart had produced blankets last night, draping one underneath us and one over us and I let the top one slip down just a little so she could see I was naked underneath it. “You were probably snoring too loud to notice.”

  Her cheeks colored. “I don't snore.”

  I frowned. “No? Hmm. Maybe that was just a freight train I heard, then.” I paused. “Inside the tent.”

  “See?” she said. “Mean.”

  I smiled again. “I know.” I glanced around the campsite. “Where's Stuart?”

  Brynn shrugged. “I don't know. I'm not his keeper. Or his sex toy.”

  A retort was on the tip of my tongue when Stuart ambled up form the water's edge. He had on a different pair of shorts and another polo, a red one this time.

  “Hey, you're awake,” he said, addressing both of us. “About time. Garcia will be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen minutes?” I sat up straighter. “What about breakfast? Getting ready?”

  Stuart reached into the bag. He tossed a package at me and it landed in my lap. A granola bar.

  “There. That's breakfast.” His eyes roved over me and then, in a lower voice, he said “Pretty sure all you need to do to get ready is to put your clothes back on.”

  Brynn's expression morphed into a deeper frown and I smiled. Good.

  I tossed the granola bar to the side and lifted the blanket off of me. Brynn tried to keep her gaze averted but wasn't very successful. I felt her eyes on me as I re-clasped my bra and shimmied back into my shorts.

  “Enjoy the show?” I asked.

  A soft blush lit her cheeks again.

  “Hey, it doesn't bother me,” I told her. “Just as long as you look but don't touch. I don't bat for your team.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips setting in a tight, thin line. I smiled. Good. Squirm a little, bitch.

  Ten minutes later, the tent was packed away and Garcia was idling in the dirt parking lot at the top of the cliff. I'd stuffed the granola bar in my bag. I hadn't had time to eat it, much less brush my teeth or throw some make up on. And my head now felt like it was ready to explode.

  Garcia was dressed in a different suit today, a navy blue one that looked one size too big on his ample frame. He adjusted his tie, shoved his phone into his pocket and waited for us to climb up the hillside. Once in the parking lot, he spoke to Stuart, his words spitting out like the bullets in a machine gun. Apparently they'd decided it was easier to communicate in Spanish. I didn't understand a single word he was saying.

  He loaded the tent in the trunk and slammed it shut, then motioned for us to hop into the car. Brynn slid in and I followed. She was wearing the same shorts as yesterday but a different shirt, a black one with a pink ribbon emblazoned on the front. For a brief second, I wondered if she had someone in her life who'd battled breast cancer. And then I decided that I didn't care. There were more important things on my mind.

  “Hey,” I said to Stuart. “Can you ask Garcia if we can stop at a gas station? Do we have time?”

  He turned to look at me. His chin was covered in stubble after a day off from shaving and it was easy to see how he could morph into the Neanderthal-looking person I'd seen in the photos.

  “Why? You offering to fill the tank?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Mine.”

  His lips twitched. “Oh? I thought I did that last night...”

  If Brynn was paying attention to our conversation, she didn't let on.

  “The other tank,” I told him. “I need caffeine.”

  “Huh. Thought that was the only tank that mattered to you.”

  “Do you want me to be nice to the kids this morning?” I asked.

  “I always want you to be nice, Annika.” He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Well, almost always.” He turned so he was fully facing me and mouthed, “But I like it when you're naughty, too.”

  His smile was so wicked, his eyes alight, and I immediately flashed back to the night we'd just spent together. We'd had quiet sex but doing it outside and under the stars, the waves crashing behind us, someone else sleeping only a few feet away? There had been something deliciously naughty about it.

  “I'm serious,” I said. “I'll throw books instead of handing them out.”

  He chuckled. “Alright, alright. We'll stop.”

  He spoke to Garcia and the driver nodded his head and I breathed a sigh of relief. Within minutes, we pulled into the cracked driveway of an old gas station. There were bars on the window of the small convenience store, the front door propped open with a large rock. The blue stucco exterior was chipping away, like someone had taken a hammer to different sections, whacking off chunks. Bits of stucco littered the pitted concrete slab that served as a sidewalk into the building. Piles of stucco, actually, and I wondered if the owner was saving the pieces, intending to somehow stick them back on. Two gas pumps sat out front, both deserted and both looking like they were installed in the sixties. I wondered if the interior of the store would look any better.

  I grabb
ed my bag and opened the door. “Be right back.”

  A young Hispanic man sat behind the counter, a toothpick between his teeth, his eyes trained on a small black and white television mounted on the wall. He glanced at me when I walked in, then did a double take and smiled. I smiled back and headed toward the bank of refrigerated cases that lined the back wall of the store. It was more grocery store than convenience store, the shelves lined with bags of rice and dried beans, canned goods and bottles of spices. There were pre-packaged foods, too, but not like the stuff at home. A package of little fried donuts on a styrofoam tray, plastic wrap covering the top. It looked like the guy sitting behind the register had packaged it.

  I pulled a diet Coke out of the refrigerated case and took it to the counter.

  “Do you have a bathroom here?” I asked. I'd suddenly realized I hadn't gone since our visit to the school the day before. Not that I'd had much to eat or drink since then, but I still had to pee. Unlike my travel companions, I was not down with going in the ocean or further down the beach.

  He stared at me blankly.

  “Bath. Room,” I said, enunciating each word, as if that would somehow help him understand. He smiled and shook his head.

  “Bano. Donde esta el bano?” Stuart said from behind me.

  I whirled around. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Keeping an eye on you.”

  “I don't need a babysitter.”

  “No, but apparently you need an interpreter.” He glanced at the guy behind the counter, who pointed to the far corner of the building.

  I stood on my tiptoes so I could see over the racks of shelves. A barely visible sign: Banos. I left the bottle of soda on the counter and hurried to the back of the store.

  I squatted over the toilet and peed, trying not to make contact with the surface. There was no seat attached to it and a puddle of grayish water on the floor surrounding it could have been any number of liquids. Judging from the smell coming from the small space, I didn't want to investigate.

  I flushed, then headed over to the sink to wash my hands and work on my appearance. No soap and no paper towels, just a basin with a cracked bowl that only offered cold water to rinse with. I dug a bottle of hand sanitizer out of my purse, rubbing it hard into my flesh, then pulled out the make-up I'd stashed inside. I glossed my lips and applied some eyeliner before venturing back to the counter.

  Stuart was waiting for me, a package of the donuts set next to my bottle of diet Coke. There were two more bottles—one water and one Mountain Dew.

  “I'm not that thirsty,” I told him.

  “They aren't for you.” He pulled his wallet from his shorts pocket and handed the cashier a twenty. The guy quickly made change, lifting the drawer and pulling out a stash of U.S. bills.

  Stuart thanked the man, scooped everything off the counter, and handed me the diet Coke. I yanked off the lid and took a long drink.

  “Oh my God, that's good,” I said, swallowing down another mouthful.

  We walked back to the car and Stuart adjusted the other two bottles so they were tucked under his arm. He ripped the plastic wrap off the donuts and held the styrofoam tray out to me.

  “Try one.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What is it?”

  “A donut.”

  “Made of?”

  “Not dog.” I narrowed my eyes and he laughed. “Fried dough. Cinnamon. Nothing that you'd object to, I promise.”

  Right on cue, my stomach growled and he thrust it closer. I picked up one of the donuts and held it to my nose.

  “Oh, that's right,” he said, opening his car door. “You're like an elephant.”

  “Shut up.” I took a dainty bite and it was like biting into a soft churro. I stuffed the rest of it in my mouth and reached for another.

  “Knew you'd like it,” Stuart said as he slid into his seat. He handed the Mountain Dew to Garcia and the bottle of water to Brynn and I wondered why he hadn't gotten anything for himself.

  “Where's your drink?” I asked.

  He held the tray of donuts out to Brynn and she took one. “I didn't need one.”

  He picked one up and gave it to Garcia, who popped the entire thing into his mouth. He chewed, his cheeks bulging. There were a handful left but Stuart didn't take one, just offered the tray around again until they were all gone.

  “Alright,” he said, dropping the empty styrofoam tray into his lap. “Today is going to be a little different than yesterday.”

  “How?” I asked, draining the last of my drink.

  “We're going to something that functions as a sort of community center. Very rural. Very poor.”

  “I thought yesterday's school was poor.”

  He shook his head. “No, that's pretty average for around here. Solid building, electricity, paid staff. The kids wear uniforms and have access to school supplies.”

  So where we're going is different?”

  “Very.”

  “How?” It was Brynn's turn to ask.

  “It's impossible to describe,” he said. “You'll see soon enough.”

  Garcia kept driving, the radio playing softly. The windows were cracked and the breeze filtering into the car quickly turned warm as the sun rose over the mountains. We drove into the foothills, the city of Ensenada disappearing, the paved streets giving way to dirt roads. The terrain was rough and we bounced in our seats, the shocks on the car feeling nonexistent as he navigated rocky and pitted roads.

  I looked out the window, watching the scenery fly by. There were fewer houses, just stretches of nothingness and I wondered how anyone could live in such a barren wasteland.

  Garcia made a quick left and I slid across the bench seat, brushing up against Brynn. She'd fallen asleep, her head lolling against the window.

  “Are we here?” she asked, blinking a couple of times.

  “Almost,” Stuart said. He glanced at his phone and I could see he had a map pulled up. “Just a couple more miles.”

  We were still in the middle of nowhere. How were there houses, much less a community center, within fifteen miles of here?

  A row of shanties suddenly appeared, houses with half walls made of cinderblock, tin roofs supported by wooden posts. There were no windows, just open space between the walls and the roof, and it was like we were looking at a cross-section of a house. Or, rather, a shack. Privacy didn't exist here and I saw a woman standing at a basin, washing dishes in one house, a family gathered around a rickety wooden table in another, rolled up tortillas in their hands. They watched us as we drove by, their faces reflecting open curiosity.

  Garcia turned again and pulled the car into a dirt clearing. Directly in front of us was a cinderblock building with a red-tile roof. Real windows, a gravel path leading to the white-washed wooden door. A rooster patrolled the front of the building, eyeing us as the car approached.

  “Is that the community center?” I asked as Garcia killed the engine.

  “No. That's their town hall. Their jail. They're courthouse. Their doctor's office. Everything all rolled into one.”

  Stuart got out of the car and circled toward the trunk. I reached for my bag and followed him. The heat slammed into me and I lifted my hair off my shoulders, trying to find a breeze. He lifted the hatch to the trunk and wrestled a box out and on to the ground.

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “Books.”

  “Why weren't they delivered?”

  “Because there was no place to deliver them to.”

  “I'm not following.” I was confused. “We're going to a community center...”

  Stuart straightened, shielding his eyes. He pointed behind me. “We are. It's right there.”

  I turned to look.

  There was no center behind me. There was no building. Four sheared off trees served as poles, with cording wrapped around each, holding up a thatched roof to make some sort of makeshift canopy. Dirt floor. No walls. There were three rusted metal folding chairs, a brightly colored blanket spread in f
ront of it.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “The community center,” Stuart answered, hauling out another box. “Welcome to the real Mexico.”

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Brynn joined us at the back of the car and peered into the trunk. “Want me to grab one of these?” she asked, already wrapping her hands around one of the remaining boxes.

  “That'd be great.” He jerked his head in the direction of the community center. “Just set it next to the blanket. Not on it. That's where the kids will sit.”

  Brynn heaved the box out and walked it over. I glanced inside the trunk. There was one more box. “Should I get that one?”

  Stuart picked up the stack of boxes he'd piled on the ground. His forearms strained as he balanced them in his arms. “Only if you don't mind the possibility of chipping a nail. Otherwise, I'll come back for it.”

  “I'm not worried about my nails,” I said, frowning. I pulled out the box.

  “No?” Stuart was already walking toward the canopy and I followed him. “Thought you might be.”

  “Well, I'm not. I might be vain but a chipped nail isn't going to kill me.”

  “I didn't know. Appearances are important to you.”

  I wasn't going to just flat out agree with him. “How would you know?”

  “Annika.” We'd reached the canopy and he set his boxes down. A cloud of dust billowed up and I turned away before I inhaled it. “You had to put make-up on before we came here.” He waved his hand around, motioning to the thatched roof and to the barrenness surrounding us. “Here. Where make-up and nail polish and all the other things you think are so important just...don't matter.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  I set my box down on top of his. Brynn stood by one of the pillars, her phone outstretched, taking a picture of something.

  I lowered my voice. “And I didn't have to put on make-up. I wanted to.”

  “Why?” He offered a smile. “Hoping to woo Garcia?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Or maybe you're hoping to find some hottie here in the village.”