Every Waking Moment

by Brenda Novak

  She focused on her call. “Has Larry picked up the car already?”

  “No, I don’t think he has. Milt promised to install a better stereo first.”

  “So it’s running.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll pay you an extra hundred if you’ll sell it to me instead.” Emma felt like a heel trying to buy some kid’s car out from under him. But she knew Larry’s son couldn’t need it as badly as she did.

  “I can’t do that, young lady. I’ve already given my word.”

  “I’d be really grateful,” Emma said hopefully, but the woman hung up.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she crossed off the two-line ad that read “1979 Camaro, rebuilt engine, new tires, only $1500.”

  Unfortunately, Ely didn’t have a big used-car market. She’d already called the small Ford dealership across town. They had no cars in her price range, which wasn’t really a surprise, and there weren’t many automobiles for less than two thousand dollars listed in the newspaper. Two had already been sold. Another three weren’t working. Your husband puts a little elbow grease into this baby and you’ll have yourself a fine vehicle.

  What had she expected for the price?

  She glanced at the motorcycles for sale and wished she knew how to drive one. At this point, she’d risk just about anything, even taking a bus. But, as she’d guessed, there wasn’t any Greyhound service in Ely.

  She fingered her diamond earrings. They’d been a birthday gift from Manuel. They held no sentimental value, but she’d worn them when she left San Diego because she could pawn them under desperate circumstances.

  Circumstances couldn’t get much worse, but there wasn’t anything in Ely’s narrow phone book under “pawnshop.” She’d already checked.

  Her eyes flicked over the For Sale ads again, focusing on newer cars, more expensive cars. Could she talk someone into trading a car for a pair of diamond earrings? The earrings had been appraised at ten thousand dollars, but she didn’t imagine anyone would take her word on that. Maybe if she could find a jeweler in town to corroborate their value…

  She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and turned to the Js. A trade might actually be the smartest way to go. In college, a friend had to pawn his camera and got only ten percent of its value. With a trade, she might net forty, perhaps fifty percent.

  Max knocked on the outside of the booth, even though she’d left the door open. “Mommy, I’m hot!”

  He couldn’t be as hot as she was. At least where he was playing, the slight breeze could cool him. The old-style phone booth cut much of the highway noise, but it acted like a huge magnifying glass in the hot August sun. Beads of sweat rolled between Emma’s breasts, and the air was so tight and close, she felt she might spontaneously combust if she didn’t get out soon.

  She pressed the folding door open another two inches, but it only bounced back. “We’ll buy a diet soda in a few minutes. Hang on, okay, pal?”

  “But we’ve been here forever.”

  “It won’t be much longer.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he kicked dejectedly at a dirt clod that broke apart. “I want to go home.”

  Emma tucked her sweat-dampened hair behind her ears. “Come on, Max, don’t start. I know this hasn’t been an easy day for you, but I can’t fix it right now.”

  “Why can’t we just go back?”

  This wasn’t a good time to have the talk Emma knew they needed to have. But her “pick up and move and Max will simply forget” plan suddenly didn’t seem fair to him. Young though he was, he deserved an explanation for why his life had been turned upside down. Maybe he even deserved a small say in it.

  Holding the door of the phone booth open by putting her back to it, she squatted to face him. “I’m afraid I can’t live with your daddy anymore, Max.”

  His eyebrows gathered over his green eyes. “Why not?”

  “He isn’t nice to me. I—I can’t be happy when I’m with him. Do you understand?”

  He scuffed one sandal against the other.

  “Max?”

  “What?” he said without looking at her.

  “You mean more to me than anything in this world. If I thought you’d be better off, I would’ve stayed with your dad, even though I didn’t like being with him myself. But I don’t think you’d be better off. Your dad is…changing.”

  No response. Emma wondered if she was going too far with her little talk, if she was beginning to unburden herself at Max’s expense. She didn’t want to make the situation any more difficult for him. “At least you and I are together. That’s about all I can offer at the moment. You want to be with me, don’t you?” she asked.

  His chin bumped his chest.

  “I know it’s hard to think about moving and not seeing Daddy…for a while,” she added to soften the blow. “But—” she drew a deep breath “—I hope you can trust me on this.”

  The sun glinted off his bowed head.

  “Can you trust me, Max?”

  His nod was barely perceptible.

  “Now we need to find a car so we can get out of here, okay? Can you be good just a little longer?”

  “What about Preston?”

  Emma pictured Preston’s face, wet with tears. A man like Preston didn’t cry easily, which told her what she’d done to him. “He’s left us behind.”

  “Because he doesn’t like me.”

  “Because I made a bad choice. It had nothing to do with you.” She didn’t want Max feeling responsible for something he couldn’t help. It wasn’t his fault Preston had lost a son. It wasn’t Max’s fault that she’d chosen not to tell Preston about his diabetes. “Do you believe me?”

  He shrugged.

  “Can you be good a little longer?” she repeated.

  “Yeah.” Grudgingly, he went back to digging in the dirt.

  Once again, she had to depend on Max to handle more than a child his age should have to. Pride nearly brought tears to her eyes when he glanced up and offered her a brief smile. Somehow, he understood that she was doing her best. Even at five years old. Or maybe he only understood how much she loved him. She hoped that would give him enough to cling to until she could get their lives sorted out.

  Returning to the phone book, she discovered that Ely had a jeweler who could attest to the value of her earrings. Now if she could just find someone selling a five-thousand-dollar car who might be willing to trade for ten-thousand-dollar studs.

  MANUEL PACED the empty men’s room of the Hotel Nevada, waiting for his call to go through. He’d already sent Hector to Vegas to chase down the lead he’d received from that stupid waitress. He thought they might be on Vanessa’s trail again. But he was angry that he’d come so close—and missed her.

  “Guess who?” he said as soon as Rosa answered.

  Juanita’s sister paused. “What do you want?”

  “Funny thing, but Vanessa didn’t go to St. George, like you told me.”

  “You found her?”

  “Not yet. But I will.”

  Silence.

  “Rosa?”

  “She said she was going to St. George.”

  Manuel wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. It could be that Vanessa had used her to mislead him, and Rosa had no knowledge of it. Either way, it didn’t matter. Now that he knew Juanita had a sister and Vanessa was in contact with her, he could turn it to his advantage. “Has she called again?”

  “No. And she probably won’t.”

  “If she’s worried about Juanita, she will.”

  As before, Rosa began to cry. “Where’s my sister? What have you done with her?”

  “How badly would you like to know?” he asked.

  She managed to compose herself. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you ever want to see your sister again, you’ll find out where Vanessa is and call me.”

  “I knew you had her.” Rosa’s voice broke into a wail. “Don’t hurt her! Please, don’t hurt her.”

  He slam
med his fist into the swinging door of a toilet cubicle. “Shut up! Whether or not she gets hurt is up to you.”

  “But I don’t even know if Vanessa will call again,” Rosa whined. “And asking too many questions will only make her suspicious.”

  The door he’d sent swinging still banged open and shut again. “I thought you cared about your sister. I guess I was wrong. She won’t be happy to hear it. I’d better go—”

  “Wait! I—I’ll do my best. I do know something.”

  The breath caught in Manuel’s throat. “What?”

  “I heard a voice in the background the last time she called. I—I think she might be traveling with someone.”

  Someone. Manuel’s muscles bunched. Was it the trucker the waitress had mentioned? Or a secret lover? Had Juanita held out on him?

  “Is it a man?” he asked, barely able to force the words between his clenched teeth.

  “Sí. A man.”

  He pivoted away from the mirror because he didn’t like seeing the red in his face and eyes, the vein pulsing at his temple. Look what she’d done to him! “Who?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as I heard the voice, she told me she had to go and the line went dead. Now will you set my sister free?”

  Manuel heard the pathetic weakness, the supplication in her voice, and felt his gut twist with derision. Juanita had spit in his eye. As much as he’d made her pay for her disrespect, he had to admire her spirit.

  Rosa, on the other hand, was nothing. Less than nothing. “When you tell me where she is,” he said, and hung up.

  TWENTY MINUTES after leaving the Hotel Nevada, Preston stood at the front desk of the Starlight Motel. “How long ago did she leave?” he asked.

  The manager who’d helped with the emergency earlier, an older, white-haired woman with the last name of McMurtry, consulted the clock on the wall. “It’s been about an hour, I guess.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might’ve gone?”

  “She asked me if there was a car dealership in town. I told her Elton Lee owned one over on the west side.”

  So Emma was looking for a car. That told him something. “And did she and the boy head in that direction?”

  “No, they went plumb opposite.”

  Why? In another few blocks, the town gave way to wilderness. What kind of car could Emma have hoped to find going east? “Can you remember anything else she might’ve said, to you or her son?”

  “She asked if you’d been back.”

  Preston ignored the guilt he felt on hearing this news. Maybe he’d reacted too harshly after what had happened to Max, but he still couldn’t think about the boy lying limp in his arms. Not without wanting to throttle Emma. “That’s it?”

  “Um…let’s see.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “She bought a newspaper at the gas station across the street. I know, because I saw her come out with it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sorry.”

  Preston thanked her and strode across the lobby. The first thing he had to do was pick up the van. It was finally time, and he could cover a lot more ground in a vehicle.

  “From what I saw, she needs to take better care of that boy,” Mrs. McMurtry said before he could clear the door. “What happened this afternoon was awful.”

  “She’s a good mother,” Preston said, then had to ask himself why he’d immediately jumped to Emma’s defense. She’d stranded him with a kid who had a debilitating disease without even warning him of the danger.

  Preston couldn’t forgive her for that; he still felt angry. But not angry enough to leave her to the mercy of a man like Manuel.

  “She seemed terribly nervous when she left,” Ms. McMurtry added. “Do you know what she’s so afraid of?”

  Preston thought of Manuel over at the hotel. “There’s a man in town looking for her,” he said. “There’s no telling what he might say to you, but don’t believe a word of it. He’s dangerous. If he comes by asking about her, tell him she shared a room with some trucker who told you he was on his way to Vegas.”

  Her light eyes narrowed as she sized him up. “How do I know you’re not the bad guy?”

  “If I was the bad guy, I would’ve taken her with me earlier.”

  She thrummed her fingers on the counter. “Sounds like you should have. Sounds like you regret leaving her.”

  Preston didn’t bother to deny it. “I do. Now I’ve got to find her before he does.”

  “Mr. Holman?” she said.

  He glanced back a final time to see her smile. “Good luck.”

  EMMA SAT with Max against the back wall of the mini-mart in the shade of a small bush. Max held a diet soda and seemed to have cooled down, but he still wasn’t talking much. Certainly not like normal. Emma wasn’t sure if his blood sugar was too high or too low—either extreme could cause moodiness—or if his sudden melancholy resulted from what she’d told him earlier.

  “You okay, buddy?” she asked.

  The straw in his soda scratched the plastic lid of the cup as he toyed with it. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you like your drink?”

  He shook his head. A cola was the only diet drink most places carried, and diet cola wasn’t especially popular with five-year-olds. Max preferred orange soda or root beer.

  She ran her hand over the short bristles of his fine hair. “Do we need to test you? Are you going low?”

  “No.” He wrinkled his nose. “It stinks back here.”

  Emma didn’t appreciate the smell of rotting garbage coming from the trash bin a few feet away, either. But, as much as possible, she’d wanted to stay out of view of the highway.

  Craning her neck to look around the corner, she frowned as she studied the road. Going through the rest of the cars-for-sale ads, she’d actually found someone who sounded intrigued by her strange offer. A woman by the name of Amelia Granger was supposed to meet her at the gas station to take a look at the earrings and show Emma the car she had for sale. But Amelia should’ve been here by now.

  Would she like the studs? Would she agree to the trade, let Emma and Max drop her at her house and drive away?

  Only time would tell.

  The minutes dragged on. While Emma felt safer staying behind the building, she began to fear that she’d somehow missed Amelia. It’d been more than an hour since they’d spoken on the phone.

  Deciding to call her again, she stood and brushed off her new khaki shorts.

  “Where are we going?” Max asked, hopping up behind her.

  “To the phone booth out front.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Again?”

  “This time it’ll be quick.” She motioned for him to follow her, but as soon as they rounded the building, Emma spotted a black Hummer parked at the gas pumps.

  She didn’t need to see the personal license plate to know it read Rodriguez-1.

  She reached for Max’s arm, to pull him out of sight, but he’d already spotted his father’s car.

  “Daddy’s here!” he cried, and started to run.

  Emma’s heart leaped into her throat. “Max, no,” she whispered harshly. She couldn’t see anyone inside the Hummer, or near the pumps. Manuel had to be inside the store. But even if he was, he wouldn’t be there long.

  “Max!” Emma called again.

  When he didn’t stop, she darted after him. She’d taken off Preston’s sunglasses while sitting in the shade, and the sudden brightness hurt her eyes. The hot tar filling the cracks moved beneath her feet with the consistency of Play-Doh; she could feel the heat rising from the blacktop. But all of that barely registered. She had to get her son. Keeping her gaze firmly affixed to the back of his head, she closed the distance between them, but she seemed to be running in slow motion.

  At last she felt the cotton of Max’s shirt beneath her grasping hand. She grabbed hold and managed to stop him, had nearly scooped him into her arms to head back the other way, when she heard the sound of an engine coming up from behind.

  A glan
ce at the mini-mart told her Manuel was on his way out. He stood just inside, his head bent as he did something to whatever he held in his hands. In a split second he could look up and it would all be over….

  A brown minivan pulled into the lot, between her and the store. Tires screeched as the driver threw on the brakes and popped the transmission into Park. Then a door flew open and Preston got out. With a cry of surprise, Max was snatched from her and tossed inside.

  “It’s him,” she managed to say.

  “I know. Get in,” Preston snapped as he jumped behind the wheel.

  Emma scrambled into the back after her son, and the next thing she knew, they were careering onto the highway.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MANUEL SQUINTED through a pair of Oakley sunglasses at the back of the old van that had just torn out of the lot. What had happened? Had someone crashed into his car? Had he been robbed?

  Hurrying over to his Hummer, he checked his license plate to see that his registration sticker was still intact, then looked inside. Nothing had been ransacked. Nothing was missing.

  Strange…or maybe not. He’d never understand the stupid rednecks who lived in this godforsaken desert.

  With a shrug, he pulled a cigarette from the package he’d just opened and leaned against the car to light up. When he got hold of Vanessa, he’d make her pay for all the trouble she’d caused him. He was tempted to dwell on exactly how he’d make her pay, but he needed to concentrate on what to do next.

  He sucked the nicotine deep into his lungs, then slowly exhaled. His first impulse was to follow Hector to Vegas because he wanted to recover Vanessa and Dominick himself, or at least be on hand if Hector found them. But there was something about Vegas that didn’t feel right. When he’d left the Hotel Nevada, he’d overheard two people talking about a diabetic boy who’d had an insulin reaction at the Starlight. Thinking it might be Dominick, he’d rushed over to the motel. Sure enough, according to everyone around, Vanessa and Dominick had been there. They were gone when he arrived, but after telling him his son was okay, the manager mentioned the trucker. Only she’d given him a completely different description than the waitress at the hotel had. Why?