Made in the U.S.A.

by Billie Letts

  “Let’s go up to your bedroom,” Juan said.

  Without another word, the two of them climbed the stairs to Fate’s room. When they sat on his bed, Juan pulled the note from where Lutie had left it and handed it to Fate.

  As he read, he would, from time to time, shake his head and speak, as if he were talking to his sister. “I knew you did it for me, Lutie. I knew that.” And as his eyes welled with tears, he whispered, “Of course we’ll see each other again.”

  When he finished reading the note, he looked briefly at Juan as if he were about to ask a question, but instead he read the message from Lutie again. Finally, he let the paper slip from his fingers and float to the floor as his chest fell and his shoulders sagged—his spirit crushed by loss.

  Juan gripped Fate’s shoulder, but the boy seemed not to notice.

  “This is my fault,” Fate said, openly admitting his guilt, the guilt he’d been trying to run from all day. “When I told her I loved her, she said she didn’t know how she felt about me, meaning she wasn’t sure if she cared about me or not. I was hurt. I was mad. And the only thing I could think of was to hurt her worse than she’d hurt me. So I did.

  “I said every mean thing I could think of. I made her feel horrible. Humiliated. I told her I knew about some sex pictures she posed for in Vegas, told her I knew about a porn movie she made out there.”

  When Juan tried to put an arm around Fate, offering comfort, he pulled away, knowing he was not deserving of comfort . . . or pity.

  “I talked to her like she was . . . like she was nothing. That’s why she ran away.

  “She’s gone because of me.”

  Just before sunset, the sound of Mama’s GMC brought everyone inside the house rushing to the porch. Though the light was dim, they could see no one but Mama, the driver, in the truck. Dub stuck one hand in his pocket, slid the other around Katy’s waist; Morrell and Tiki pressed themselves against Essie’s sides; Juan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the porch railing, while Johnny straddled his bike, hunkering down over the handlebars.

  Fate flew off the porch and across the yard. When he reached the opened window of Mama’s truck, he saw Lutie curled on the front seat, asleep, her head resting in Mama’s lap. But before he could speak, Mama put her finger to her lips.

  As she slid as gently as she could from beneath Lutie, the girl slept on, undisturbed by Mama’s movement or the sudden silence of the old pickup. Mama walked around the truck with one arm around Fate’s shoulders as she guided him toward the house.

  “Is she okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, Fate, she is. But right now she’s exhausted, and I think the best we can do for her is to let her sleep.”

  “But what—”

  “I know you and Lutie have a lot to talk about. So much to say to each other, but this isn’t the time for it. Okay?”

  “Sure, but can you tell me why she ran off?”

  “I could, but I won’t. That’s something she’ll have to tell you herself.”

  “I just need to know if she left because of me.”

  “Do you trust me, sugar?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then let it be for now.”

  When Mama reached the house and started up the porch steps, she was peppered with questions until she assured them all that Lutie was okay, asleep in the truck.

  “Juan, will you go out and get her while I turn down her bed? And do your best not to wake her.”

  As Juan started for the truck and before Mama could get inside the front door, Johnny said, “Did you have to rescue her?”

  “No, Johnny, I hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t have to do battle with anyone. But I did get to her just after she’d hitched a ride with a boy not much older than she is. No telling what might have happened if I hadn’t gotten her out of that car before the kid took off.”

  “What was he driving?”

  Mama smiled at the question, even though she tried not to.

  “I was just wondering,” Johnny said, an attempt to somehow divert attention away from a question that he knew must have sounded silly. “It doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

  “You know, it could have made a difference, because his car looked . . . what’s that term? Souped up? Yes, that’s it. That vehicle looked souped up to me. It was real shiny like a new car, but it wasn’t. He told me it was a restored Pontiac GTO . . . 1969.”

  “Oh, my God. The Judge.”

  “He was a judge?” Mama asked with surprise.

  “No, ma’am. The car is called the Judge.”

  “I see.” Mama nodded as if Johnny’s information were fascinating. But when she saw Juan coming toward the house carrying Lutie in his arms, she went inside to ready the bed.

  “You all know about the Judge, don’t you?” Nobody responded. “Believe me, the GTO is a real bad boy,” Johnny said to those on the porch who were interested in his knowledge about cars. Unfortunately for him, no one was.

  When Juan came up the porch steps with Lutie, Fate opened the door for him, then followed them into the house, down the hall, and into Lutie’s room.

  Mama Sim took off the girl’s shoes, pulled the covers up to her shoulders, then smoothed her hair as it fanned across the pillow.

  Then she, Juan, and Fate stood quietly watching Lutie sleep for a while. But when Mama and Juan finally left the room, Fate stayed, taking a seat in the rocker, where he would remain until his sister woke up.

  Juan had heard Fate and Lutie talking since just after sunup, though from where he sat in the living room he couldn’t have made out the words even if he’d wanted to. He’d dozed off a couple of times during the night, but when Fate left Lutie’s room a few minutes past eight and closed her door quietly behind him, Juan was wide awake.

  Obviously surprised to find his friend on the couch, Fate swiped his sleeve across his red eyes, then said, “Are you up early or late, Juan?”

  “Aw, just thought I will be sticking around for a while.”

  “Why? See if me and Lutie were going to try to kill each other?”

  “Never thought that.”

  “Well, we didn’t fight.”

  “No?”

  “She talked; I listened. Learned something about her I never knew before.”

  “And?”

  “We’re okay.” The boy smiled then, a smile that made him look even younger than his years. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

  Juan nodded. “Good.”

  “You’re both up,” Mama said with concern as she padded into the living room in her robe and house shoes. “Is it Lutie?” she asked Fate. “Has she—”

  “She’s fine. Probably gone back to sleep.”

  “You two talk? About stuff?”

  “She told me about our mother.”

  “That’s what I was hoping for.” Mama grabbed Fate in a tight hug. “Now,” she said to Juan, “you start the coffee?”

  “Made a pot a few hours ago.”

  Mama made a face. “I’ll put on some fresh,” she said as she started for the kitchen. “Can’t stand stale, cooked coffee. Biscuits or pancakes?” she asked as she shuffled from the room.

  “How ’bout huevos rancheros?” Juan answered. “Or migas?”

  “Might have known better’n to ask,” she called back.

  “Save me some,” Fate said to Juan. “I’m going to bed for a little while.”

  “Will do it. Good night. Or good morning. What do gringos say?”

  “I don’t know. Am I a gringo?”

  “Aw, hell. Go to bed.”

  Fate gave Juan a high five and then, running barefoot, took the stairs to his room two at a time.

  Juan thought about going to his tent for a little morning nap to make up for the sleep he’d lost, but the promise of one of Mama’s Mexican breakfasts was too good to pass up. Just then, the phone rang where it sat on the end table beside the couch.

  “Who’d call this early except for your papa?” Mama yelled. “Get tha
t, Juan. My hands are sticky.”

  “Hello,” Juan said into the receiver. He listened a moment, then said, “Yes, I am Mr. Vargas, but I think you be calling for . . . No. Central time here, but is okay.”

  Minutes later, after he’d let the caller talk, Juan’s look of confusion turned into an expression of disbelief. Finally, he said, “Say again, por favor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  JUAN HAD BEEN asleep for an hour or so when Draco heard Mama Sim’s front door screen slam, causing the dog to race from the tent where she’d been trying to rouse Juan since he’d bedded down.

  With the tent flaps left open by Draco’s sudden departure, Juan looked out to see the dog following Lutie from the porch to the road and off toward the winter quarters grounds.

  More curious to see if Lutie was heading for the ring barn than he was interested in trying for more shut-eye, Juan let the girl and dog get a good head start before he crawled from the tent and took off down the road far behind them.

  Once Lutie reached the grounds, she didn’t seem at all secretive about going directly to the ring barn, didn’t even look around to see if anyone might be watching her. She’d been in and out so often in the past few weeks that she felt totally comfortable about being there.

  Her only concern was to make sure Draco didn’t dart inside when she opened the door. Juan couldn’t hear what she said to the dog, but whatever it was brought Draco’s tail to a standstill and caused her head to droop. Minutes later, when Juan slipped quietly inside, his dog was gone, having spotted a squirrel and taken up the chase.

  By the time Juan reached his hiding place and hunkered down in a spot behind the bleachers, Lutie had already stripped down to her leotard, removed her shoes and socks, powdered her feet, and mounted the highest balance beam.

  Even though she seemed to have no idea she was being observed, she began to perform as if before spectators. She slowly raised one arm above her head, her fingers slightly curled and pointing skyward; with the other arm she made a graceful flourish, sweeping her hand elegantly from left to right to include her entire make-believe audience.

  With both arms moving at the same moment, it seemed as if a puppeteer had pulled ever so gently on strings attached to her hands. When at last her arms were outstretched at shoulder height, palms down, she was a lovely statue, head held high on her long, slender neck, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in front of her that only she could see.

  Juan had watched her for only moments before he felt, once again, his amazement at seeing such talent, realizing that every movement was done without any apprehension, but with absolute focus and confidence.

  Then, her gaze never wavering, she moved forward, the motion so imperceptible that only trained eyes saw her left foot shift position as it found by familiar feel the beam beneath it. In full control, she shifted forward with astonishing concentration and polished gestures. Right foot, then left, her feet finding their way without hesitation until she reached the near midpoint of the beam.

  She stopped, waited for the Zen moment of perfect balance, the instant of flawlessness, physically and mentally, and when it came to her, she performed a forward handspring, then—without pause—two more. And although each was perfect in itself, all three seemed to be of one unbelievable piece.

  Before Juan had even blinked, she suddenly took two quick steps forward, then went into a series of backward handsprings—three of them. Faultless.

  Finally, with total ease, she landed a dismount that was executed immaculately. Moments later, she turned toward Juan’s hiding place and bowed. As he stepped from behind the bleachers, he began clapping. Too excited by what he’d just witnessed, he lapsed into Spanish without realizing it.

  “¡Magnífico! Increíble! Glorioso! He estado observando, pero—”

  “Whoa. English, por favor.”

  “I been watching you many times, but did not knowing until today how big your talent. Is magnífico!”

  “Yeah, I got that part. I don’t know about magnificent, but I figured I must have given you a good performance because this is the first time you’ve applauded.”

  Juan looked confused. “You mean that you been knowing about me being here times before today?”

  “Sure. You’re not very good at being quiet, Juan. And you always ‘hide’ in the same place.” Lutie nodded to the bleachers. “Of course I knew. But until now I’ve just been working to get back in shape, going over and over each movement. See, it’d been months since I’d been on the beam.”

  Lutie reached for her jeans, but before she stepped into them, Juan said, “So, you want to returning to the beam?”

  “No.” She looked up, far above them, at the high wire suspended near the top of the ring barn. “I want to try that. The wire.”

  Something in her expression, a look Juan had not seen before, told him this girl had reached some kind of breakthrough. Her eyes had come alive, her face showed him for the first time that she had hope. Or at least the possibility of hope. And though he couldn’t have known it, his own face was animated with excitement, an excitement he hadn’t experienced in years.

  “Will you help me?” she asked.

  “Help you?”

  “Be my coach.”

  “Entrenador?” Juan asked. His smile spread with each thought racing through his mind. “Okay, big sister. Get up there and show me what you got.”

  “Whatcha up to?” Essie asked as she walked into Mama’s kitchen.

  Mama, at the sink peeling potatoes, said, “Starting supper.”

  “I smell meat loaf.”

  “It’s in the oven. Gonna fry up a skillet of onions and potatoes. You and the kids might as well come over to eat with us. Thought I’d make a salad, maybe open up a jar of green beans.”

  “The ones we canned last summer?”

  “I guess.”

  “Want me to fix a salad?”

  When Mama didn’t answer, Essie asked, “What’s on your mind? I mean, besides green beans.”

  “Your papa called a little while ago. Said they wouldn’t be back soon as he thought. He worked out the Stillwater contract for two days, then he plugged in Cushing and Shawnee, a day each since they’re close. So they won’t be here until next Thursday.”

  “And you sound worried because?”

  “I could tell Ray wasn’t feeling his best when he was home a few days ago. Arthritis is getting the better of him. Looked like he’d lost weight, too.”

  “I noticed he wasn’t getting around as well as when they went out last March.”

  “But the main reason he called was to see if that fella with the Shriners Circus had phoned. What’s his name? Strong?”

  “Stone.”

  “Yeah. James Stone. Your daddy seemed to think he would have heard from him by now with a final offer.”

  “No one else knows about that deal, do they? ’Cause Papa is having a devil of a time worrying about everyone else. I mean, if the Shriners buy Papa out, not everyone with Vargas Brothers is going to have a job. Shriners performers, riggers, stock men, costumers—they’re already in place. So how many of our people will they take on if this deal goes through?”

  “You know I haven’t told anyone, but the word’s gonna get around. That’s for sure.”

  “What word?” Juan asked as he came into the kitchen.

  “Aw, we’re just running some gossip back and forth.”

  “Something smells good.”

  “Your papa called. Said he’d tacked on a few more dates, so they won’t be back as soon as he thought. Maybe next Thursday.”

  “By the way,” Essie said as she washed a head of lettuce, “when are you leaving? I heard that you told Papa you wouldn’t be here when he gets back.”

  “You trying to run me off?”

  “No. You’ve behaved yourself pretty well. Better than I expected.”

  “I’ll be taking off before long, but right now I be helping Lutie out to do something.”

  “What’s that?”
/>
  “Oh, I’m trying to teaching her how to ride the horses.”

  A couple of seconds later, they heard Lutie come in the door singing.

  I think I know you from somewhere

  Are you from a room in my mind?

  I think you know what I mean,

  but I’m afraid you won’t like what you find.

  She continued humming until she stuck her head in the kitchen. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, then I’ll set the table. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Mama said.

  As soon as they heard Lutie shut her door, Essie said, “Well, what’s gotten into our little firecracker?”

  “You got me,” Mama said. “But whatever it is, I’ll take it.”

  Juan didn’t say a word as he grabbed a slice of raw potato and stuffed it in his mouth.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  FOR THE NEXT week, Juan worked with Lutie two or three times a day for as many hours as he could stay with it while she made her transition from the beams to the high wire. He wasn’t surprised by her toughness—she’d shown him enough of that characteristic to ease any doubts he might have had.

  But now, watching her struggle hour after hour until the soles of her feet blistered, he became aware of a different kind of resilience in the girl. He saw her prick first one bubble of watery liquid, then another, squeeze each one dry, slap on yet another Band-Aid, and be ready to get back to the wire.

  She just wouldn’t give up . . . on anything.

  Even when he barked out the same instructions for a difficult movement once too often, he was likely to be rewarded with a good cussing. But she’d stick with his direction until she got it right. And once she had the “how to” down, she owned it. Forever.

  On that first day, the morning Lutie had started to train, Juan suggested she begin with the low wire, which wasn’t more than a couple of feet off the ground. But she’d have none of that. Instead, she climbed to the highest wire. And though the height made her dizzy when she first looked down, she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she felt she was finally in the place where she was meant to be. If not at the top of the world, then at least closer to the top than she’d ever been.

  Even when she took her first fall from the wire into the safety net rigged up some thirty feet below, she dropped with such surprise and speed that she had no time to be afraid. And even before Juan had told her how to flip from the net to the ground, she seemed to know instinctively how to accomplish the move in such a practiced way that it not only looked graceful, but appeared to have been planned.