by Ruth Wind
He found it, and nearly broke it in his need, and at last her bare breasts flowed into his palms, a luscious weighty softness, the tips pearled to tight knots. He breathed her name, and bent, then knelt when he could not reach her, pulling her into his lap, her legs straddling his waist.
And only then did he open his eyes, and let himself see what he'd felt, her narrow tanned shoulders, the freckled golden upper slope of her breasts that he'd glimpsed beneath her shirt, and lower, the startling paleness of flesh that had not seen the sun at all. He slid his hands over her ribs, cupped her breasts tenderly in his hands and bowed his head to take the crown into his mouth.
She moaned, and the sound gave new heat to his need. A wisp of memory swirled through and he suckled hard, electrified by the extraordinary taste of her, the uneven pebbled texture, the sweetness against his tongue. The world narrowed to this, to the sound of Sarah's breath as he teased and roused her. Urgently he used his hands to pull her hips tightly against him, needing the weight of her against him, and when she gladly met his thrust with pressure of her own, he let his restless hands move again. Up her back, into her hair, over her arms, down her sides and across her belly.
And his need to see her – see that it was really Sarah, not some dream or wish – made him pull back and look at her. At her passion-clouded eyes, and the look of her mouth, slightly open, at her shoulders and breast and belly. His hands moved with his gaze, reinforcing his knowledge that the moment was real.
"There isn't another man like you anywhere, Eli," she said. "That scares me."
The murmured declaration sent a pain sharp as a hundred razor cuts through him. So many wounds. Small and large. He moved his hands a little on the flesh of her stomach, and a new texture caught his attention, a thin, papery scar on the side of her belly. Startled, he looked down. "She left a mark on you."
"Yes," she said, and he felt her withdraw suddenly, ducking her head away from him.
"No." He caught her. "Don't. Let me see it."
She closed her eyes as he traced the branching faint scar with his fingertips. Soberly he shifted and put his mouth to it, and the ache in his lungs grew so sharp he could barely take a breath. "I wish we knew where she was."
"Eli, don't!" she cried, and pushed him away. She scrambled backward, lifting her arms to cover herself, wounded betrayal in her eyes. "Don't."
"Sarita," he said, reaching for her.
She ducked away from his grip, and hurt rose in him. "Stop running, Sarah!" he cried. "It isn't going to suddenly not be just because you pretend it never happened."
The walls were going up fast. Eli saw them, in the rigidness of her shoulders, the lift of her chin, the cold bleeding of all life from her eyes. "Not it," she said distinctly. "Her. And don't you dare try to force me to talk about it. I won't. Ever. Do you understand?"
"She wasn't only your child, Sarah! She belonged to me, too."
She turned her back. "I think it's time for you to go."
He bent to pick up his shirt, and angrily flung his arms into the sleeves, stomped his legs into his still-damp jeans. "This is not over," he said. "You will not push me away like this. Do you understand?"
She whirled, clasping her shirt to her front. "What are you going to do, Eli? Give me truth serum? Tie me up and torture me?" A tiny, sharp smile curled on her mouth. "I don't know why I never saw how much you and my father are alike. He wants to force me, too, and neither of you will."
The ultimate insult. "Why did you even come back?" he said, and left her.
* * *
Sarah's parents returned home Sunday afternoon, and, glad to have an excuse, Sarah called Eli to reschedule the photo session set for that afternoon, the first one since their encounter in her kitchen. Eli's voice was as cool as her own as he replied that he understood her need to see her father.
Then he abruptly shifted direction. "Teresa is worried, Sarah, and with some reason, that she is not going to be allowed to complete this work. There's a lot of pressure on my sister. I'd like to get this done quickly, if we can."
Sarah frowned, holding the receiver against her ear. "I hate that she might pay the price for all this," she said. "If I have Sunday dinner with my folks, I should be finished by mid to late afternoon. If it's a problem for you to stay, I can borrow my mother's car and meet Teresa in a neutral spot."
A long pause marked the air between them. "You'd rather I stayed away?"
"No, I—" She sighed. "I guess I'm uncomfortable with you right now."
"Don't worry, Sarah," he said with more than a hint of harshness in his words. "I have managed to be civilized once or twice in my life. I'll be there at four."
He hung up. Sarah rolled her eyes. Perfect. It should just be a bang-up afternoon. First her father, then Eli, both sulking. It annoyed her, and as she walked up the hill to her mother's house, she wondered why she had ever put up with either one of them.
It was the best possible attitude with which to confront her parents, she realized, opening the gate. A few days ago, when she'd first learned of the photo, she'd felt guilty and uncomfortable, as if she'd done something wrong. Today she felt less like the girl she had been than the woman she'd become on her travels. The attitude was reflected in the tilt of her head on her shoulders, in the broad swing of her arms. She thought of a warrior goddess charm that a friend had given her, and felt the invisible weapons and shields cloaking her.
The scent of barbecued meats reached her, and Sarah followed the smoky smell to the backyard patio. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "Got any hot links on that grill?"
Her father, a spray bottle of vinegar water in one hand, a long spatula in the other, looked up. "You betcha. Also some trout done just the way you like it – in foil with lemon."
"Must have had some luck at the lake, then," Sarah said. She kissed his balding pate and sat down across the table from him, where the shade of the flowered umbrella would protect her from the noonday sun. "Where's Mom?"
"She ran to the grocery store for some pop."
Critically, Sarah noticed the high flush on her father's face, and checked the size of his ankles, noting with dismay they were swollen. "You still aren't feeling well today, though, are you?"
"I'm fine," he said gruffly. He lifted the lid of the barbecue, a converted fifty-gallon drum he and his buddies had made. Savory-scented smoke billowed out, and he poked the sizzling meat with his spatula, turned a couple of hamburgers and squeezed a shot of vinegar water into the coals for good measure. Carefully he closed the lid and cleared his throat.
Sarah folded her hands, waiting.
"Saw the picture in the paper," he said.
"I assumed you had."
"Didn't you take enough of a beating the first time around?" He lifted one graying eyebrow with that superiority she'd always hated. "Have to go back for seconds?"
With effort, Sarah stalled her anger. What had she expected, after all? That her father would miraculously change his attitude? Taking a deep breath, she said, "I danced with him. That's all. It was the night I went out with my friend Joanna." Even as she said it, she wondered why she lied. There had been more than dancing, even that night. "It was nothing."
Garth narrowed his eyes. "I see him around, you know. Driving that fancy truck like he's some big man around town, and I won't lie to you, Sarah – I still want to throw a rock at him. Slap that cocky grin off his face."
"It wasn't enough that he sat in jail for two months for a crime he didn't commit?" She sighed and held up her hand. "No, don't answer that. I really don't want to argue about this. I want to forget about all of it."
"You know about the jail, huh?"
"Joanna told me."
He scratched a spot above his eye. "You aren't going to believe me, but that shames me now. It was wrong."
Inexorably, he and Eli seemed determined to drag her into the past, whether she wanted to go or not. "Dad, please. Drop it."
"I don't think we can. Not till you and I work out what's still lying betwe
en us."
Sarah looked away, fixing her gaze on the smudges of blue and green and splashes of yellow that framed the backyard.
She lifted her chin. "Fine, Dad. Let's talk." She faced him, her heart hard. "Talk away. Tell me how much you hate Eli and how bad you feel about everything that happened to me. And then," she said, "I can tell you that nothing you say is ever going to change any of it. It still happened. It's still there – and I'm never going to forget about it if you don't stop bringing it up." In exasperation, she lifted a hand. "You can't tell me you would have done things differently."
"I can, Sarah." His voice was gruff. "I would have changed a lot of things. I wouldn't have had that boy arrested and I wouldn't have sent you away."
"Oh, really? And how would you have prevented me from seeing Eli if you hadn't?"
"I don't know. But it wasn't right." He shot a silvery spray of water into the air. "Maybe I couldn't have stopped you. But then I wouldn't have had to sit here every damned day for twelve years wondering if my daughter was ever coming back." He pursed his lips. "Wondering if I'd ever have a chance to make it up to you."
Tears sprang to her eyes and Sarah bowed her head to hide them.
"I really thought," he went on, "that I was doing the right thing. I was trying to protect you. We just wanted you to have a better life than getting married and having a baby so young, with a boy who barely had five cents to his name." He paused. "Aren't you ever glad, Sarah? Glad that you got out of here and saw the world and made a name for yourself?"
Sarah had clung to her anger for so long that it frightened her to feel it sliding away under the reasonable, relentless force of words – not only her father's, but Eli's, as well. "I don't know," she said finally. "I wouldn't be who I am now if my life had gone differently. Who's to say what the right path was?"
"We all make mistakes," he said.
"Yes," she replied, feeling more of her tension slip away. "I guess we do."
The screen door slammed, and Mabel came down the steps, looking sunburned and healthy. "It was a zoo out there, I swear it was! And everybody in town had to stop to talk about that damned picture." She put a six-pack of cola on the table. "I'll sure be glad when something else comes up to take its place."
Sarah sighed. "Amen."
"Everything all cleared up?" Mabel asked.
Garth looked at Sarah. "For now."
"Good. Let's eat."
* * *
The evening photo shoot passed without incident. Eli brought a book with him and kept his nose in it the whole time, and by now Teresa was growing so facile at delivering what Sarah asked that they were finished in two hours.
"Did you develop my film?" Teresa asked near the end.
Sarah shook her head. "I haven't had a chance. I'll do them tonight or tomorrow, so you can see how they came out. How did you like it? Do you feel as if you learned something about being in front of the camera?"
"I think I'd like to try doing it in the studio – just to see how you see."
"We can do that." She knelt to take advantage of a glissando of light over the girl's brow.
"Today? Maybe you and Eli?"
Sarah stood. "No, I don't think so."
Teresa lowered her voice, casting a careful glance toward the shadows of the porch to make sure Eli was still there, reading. He was. In a theatrical whisper, she said, "Did you guys have a fight, or what?"
"Not at all."
It clearly wasn't the answer Teresa hoped for. "What happened to you guys, anyway?"
"What do you mean?" Sarah shifted the cameras in her hands.
"You know, back then. When I was little." She inclined her head. "I remember how happy Eli was then, when he was with you. It was like going to the circus."
The words transported Sarah back in time instantly. Gilded afternoons, riding with Eli in his beat-up old car, the wind blowing through the windows, little Teresa belted in between them. A fierce sense of nostalgia filled her for a moment, bittersweet and yearning. To be so young and optimistic again!
"I got pregnant," Sarah said, baldly. "My father had Eli arrested and sent me to an unwed mothers' home." She stood up and moved to a cabinet on the other side of the room, unwilling to see Teresa's face.
"That's so sad!" Teresa cried. "What happened to the baby?"
Sarah swallowed. "I gave her up for adoption."
Stunned silence met this announcement. Sarah felt a quick press of regret move in her. Now even this one hitherto sympathetic Santiago would take up the torch and hate her along with all the rest. She took a breath. Maybe with good reason. That was the real killer – Sarah knew her actions had earned that hatred
She was so deep in thought that she jumped when Teresa touched her arm. "It must have been terrible for you," she said, and tears glimmered in her wide brown eyes.
Without thinking, Sarah lifted the camera and shot a fast series of pictures. "Those will be priceless."
Teresa backed away. "I don't want to use those pictures. You keep them."
With shame, Sarah saw what she'd done. Impulsively she reached out and captured Teresa's hand. "Wait." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I've kept people at arm's length so long that I sometimes can't even recognize kindness when it's right in front of me." Her throat went tight. "It was terrible."
Teresa's lip trembled. "And all this happened because of that stupid feud?"
Sarah nodded.
"It makes me so mad!" Teresa cried. "I can't stand thinking of that, of your baby and all of it. It's terrible."
"I wish it had made me mad, Teresa. Anger is a much more powerful emotion than despair." She wondered suddenly if it was appropriate for her to be discussing such things with Teresa, and let go of the girl's hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't worry you with any of this."
"I like it."
"Old gossip." Sarah managed a weak smile.
"Maybe." There was suddenly in those expressive eyes a very old soul peering out. Then it disappeared in the impish, sly smile of a young girl. "Maybe not old, huh? You still like him. I can tell."
Sarah couldn't help a swift glance over her shoulder. Through the windows she could see Eli, leaning against the wall, his face tipped up to the sun. The sight of his long brown throat made her want to—
"Sometimes," she said, looking away, "you can't put things right, no matter how much you want to. I made a big mistake," she added frankly, maybe for the first time. "And I have to pay for it."
Teresa only looked at her, gears whirring plainly. But the girl didn't share her conclusions.
Suddenly Sarah remembered something she'd been thinking about since her return to Taos. "Listen, there is something I'd like you to do for me."
"Name it."
Sarah took a piece of paper from her pocket. "My father is very ill and he isn't getting better. I want to find out if your great-grandmother might have a tea for him." She took a breath. "I can't ask Eli – he hates my father. And I can't go myself because it means going on Santiago land." She grinned. "I'm not crazy about getting shot."
Teresa chuckled. "Miguel might cut you up in little pieces."
"Really? He's the worst one?"
"Yeah," she said apologetically, and shrugged. "He hates your guts."
Sarah laughed. "Don't mince words, sweetie."
"Sorry." But she laughed, too. She looked at the paper Sarah had given her. "You just want me to give this to Bisabuela Octavia, and ask her to make a tea for him?"
"Yes. I've written down his symptoms."
"I don't know if she reads English, but I can read them to her." She rolled her eyes. "At least she'll speak English. My grandma won't. She's stubborn."
Like Sarah's father. Like Eli. Like Sarah herself. "It seems to run in both our families."
Teresa folded the paper and stood up.
"I still think you should try to make up with my uncle," she said wickedly, and rushed out before Sarah could answer.
Sarah stayed in the studio, watching them through the window as the
y left. Watching Eli move, so free and fluid, in jeans that fit like a soft, worn glove against his narrow hips. Watching his sober face as he carefully avoided her gaze.
And all she could think of was the taste of his flesh against hers, the press of his rain-flavored mouth, the glide of his hands down her back. The way he'd held her when she cried.
Somewhere in the region of her chest she felt the crumbling of the mortar that cemented her careful walls together. For days the bricks had been falling, until there was almost nothing left. She felt as rawly exposed as a bird without feathers, vulnerable to everything.
And for one long moment she thought longingly of her old life in New York. None of her friends there knew she'd given up a baby for adoption. None of them knew about the ancient war her family had with another one. No one knew anything but what she told them.
Maybe she ought to just pack her bags and leave. Explain to her parents that she couldn't face all this, that— No. The one thing she couldn't do this time was run away. If she started running again now, she would never stop.
But even with that rational voice in her head, panic threatened to overwhelm her. She had to get out of here. She rushed into the main house and dialed the only phone number she knew. "Joanna," she said when her friend answered, "I'm stuck here. I don't have a car. I'm losing it. Please come get me."
Joanna didn't even hesitate. "I'll be right there."
* * *
"Tío," Teresa said when they drove away from Sarah's, "I want to go see Great-Grandma."
"What?"
"Don't take me home. I want to see Great-Grandma." Stirring from his dark mood for the first time all day, Eli looked at her. "I know that expression. What are you up to?"
"Nothing." Her face said otherwise.
"I hope you aren't meddling in things you don't understand."
"Like I'm some little kid who can't see what's right in front of her. You treat me like a baby."
"What's right in front of you?" He turned into the graveled driveway that led to the farms, his nerves acutely aware. "Did Sarah say something?"
"No."
The answer was too fast, too urgent for Eli's taste. "I mean it, Teresa. Don't interfere. This isn't some game. I don't want you to get hurt."