Land of Entrapment

by Andi Marquette

  “Don’t need it,” he said in his gravelly baritone.

  “Luke might. He gets used to it at school.”

  He didn’t respond. I had let him off the hook with that and he didn’t need to answer.

  “I’ll go check on the fences tomorrow,” I added. I knew he needed to say something so I waited, perched on the railing.

  “You going to call Melissa, then?”

  I didn’t say anything at first. We were a lot alike, he and I.

  “Sounds like she needs some help.”

  “Yeah. It does.” What a sneak!

  “Long way to drive to ask you in person.”

  “Twelve hours, maybe.” I picked at a splinter in the wood underneath my hand.

  “She did you wrong,” he said softly. I heard him take a pull on his pipe. He smoked tobacco that smelled like vanilla. “And she knows it.”

  Does she? Does she really? I stared up at the approaching storm, watching flashes of lightning in the roiling clouds.

  “She made a mistake.”

  I looked at him, surprised. He couldn’t see my expression in the dark. I tried to read the meaning between his words.

  “Forgive and forget.” He exhaled slowly and I caught a whiff of tobacco. “Or the past’ll poison you.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  “You’ll do the right thing,” he said. “Just remember who you are and where you came from.

  It’ll get you by.” It was the closest he would come to saying “take care of yourself,” to saying that he was worried about me and please could I not get myself into a major loony-toon fuck-up situation.

  “Yes, sir.” He was old school and I often addressed him as such. I envisioned him smiling in the dark, looking up at the sky. I smelled the tinny, moist odor of rain. “C’mon,” I urged him quietly.

  “Let’s get in before it storms.” Wordlessly, he entered the house ahead of me, Barb and Dan materializing simultaneously and darting around his legs into the parlor as the first discontented whispers of thunder caught my ear. I called Jane and Perry in and latched the screen door. I left the heavy inner door open, since Grandpa and I both liked to hear the rain.

  Lightning flashed in the distance, big electrical pogo sticks glancing off the plains, and I shivered. God, I hope I do the right thing.

  THE MORNING ROLLED in on a stifling fog, residue of last night’s monstrous storms. Leaving the house was like walking into a Swedish steam bath even this early. Muggy, moist, and threatening to get hotter. I hated days like these, when the sun swam in a thick, turgid sky and everything moved listlessly in a humid fishbowl.

  Grandpa left the house at seven to check on a couple of fields. He’d said what he needed to say the night before and we both knew where we stood. Too bad every relationship couldn’t be handled the same way. I went to saddle Ol’ Jim up for today’s fencing inspection. “Sorry, Jim,” I muttered as I tightened the cinch and checked his bit. “We’ll get done as fast as we can and come back.”

  He might have understood because he grunted softly. I swung into the saddle and coaxed him out into the heat, my legs already sweating underneath my jeans. Dan and Perry decided to accompany us, though after a half-hour, they gave up and headed home. I ended up walking most of the fence lines, Jim following along. We stopped at every watering tank for both our benefits. I drank from the spigots and soaked a bandanna that I tied around my neck.

  Nothing out of the ordinary, though I ended up ratcheting a few strands of fencing tighter.

  By one o’clock I had nearly finished with the last stretch. Jim munched on some nearby grass while I adjusted the tension on a lower strand. I had spent most of the morning thinking about Melissa and what she had asked me to do. I hadn’t heard from her since the break-up, and all of a sudden, here she was. Still, Melissa was pretty diligent about things. If she felt there was any other way to deal with this situation, she would have done so. I was sure of that. And she didn’t call me or try to e-mail me. She drove down and talked to me in person, even though we had ended on bad terms.

  I pulled my gloves off and clicked my tongue at Jim. “Let’s get the hell outta here, buddy.” I climbed aboard and steered him toward home. He didn’t need any extra urging. At the barn, I removed his saddle and blanket and rubbed him down as he munched on what Grandpa called “horse chow.” I made sure the saddle was clean and wiped off before I slung it over the sawhorse in the corner and then I stood and watched Jim eat for a while.

  If Megan was mixed up with white supremacists—

  and from what Melissa told me, it sounded like she was—what were the options? Megan was twenty-one.

  She could run with any group she wanted as long as she wasn’t doing anything illegal. Melissa, however, suspected that this group was on its way to doing something scary. Well, so what? Why was it my problem? I wasn’t involved with Melissa anymore. I didn’t owe her a damn thing. Not after the shit she pulled with Hillary. I sat on a bale of alfalfa and absently chewed a stalk while I tiptoed through that corner of my mind.

  My cell phone rang. I stood so I could pull it out of my pocket and check the number. “Hey, Detective Gutierrez,” I answered, rolling the r’s with extra inflection. “¿Como estás, mi amiga bellisima? ”

  Chris laughed. “Esa, you crack me up. Spanish and Italian in one sentence. What the hell do you call that?”

  “Italish.”

  “That’s why I keep you around. Ten years and counting. Jesus. You’re my longest relationship.”

  I laughed. “Holy hell, you’re right. That’s my longest, too. Why don’t we just get married?”

  “What, and ruin a perfectly good friendship?” she countered, though the warmth in her voice was palpable.

  “Good point. Promise me you’ll reserve a spot on your porch for me and my rocking chair.”

  “And a pan of green chile lasagna.” Before I could respond, she continued. “Got your message last night but got in too late to call you. What’s up?”

  I exhaled slowly, settling into a more serious mode. “Melissa showed up yesterday.”

  Long pause. “There? At your grandpa’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell for?” She sounded more puzzled than pissed. Chris didn’t have much love for Melissa after the break-up, but she never directly insulted her.I dug the toe of my boot into a bale of straw.

  “Megan’s gone missing and Melissa thinks she’s with her boyfriend.”

  “And you’re supposed to care because—?”

  “Her boyfriend seems to be a neo-Nazi.”

  Chris didn’t respond for a while. When she did, she was using her “just the facts, ma’am” tone. “And Melissa wants you to come back to Albuquerque to help her find Megan.”

  “And that’s why you’re the detective,” I said dryly.

  “So presumably in the discussion she outlined why no other course of action would work.”

  “She’s pretty thorough, as you know.”

  Chris remained quiet, but I knew she was thinking that Melissa was using any excuse to contact me.

  “It’s been three years,” I pointed out. “She didn’t contact me before this. I don’t think it’s about hooking up again.”

  “I’ll leave that to your judgment, esa. What are your feelings about it?”

  I paused, watching Jim munch. What exactly were my feelings? “She needs some help. And it took a lot for her to come down here.” Though she hadn’t brought shit up when we were together toward the end. I sighed.

  “True,” Chris said, cautious. “So—”

  “Yes. I’ll be coming to Albuquerque.” Voicing that sent a little jolt of longing down my back. Going home. That’s what I was doing, essentially.

  “When?”

  I heard Chris’s grin, which triggered one of my own. “I guess...really soon. A couple of days?”

  “Mi mujer favorita vuelve a casa,” Chris said, laughing. “This is some good news, Kase.

  Circumstances notwithstand
ing. I knew you’d come back.”

  “Your favorite woman?” I teased. “Really? And yeah, I suppose I am coming home in a lot of ways.”

  “Are you getting all mystical on me? Damn. I thought Texas might have baked that out of you by now.”

  “Yep. That’s me. Mystic Chick. I’ll go find my crystals and patchouli now.” I rolled my eyes and stroked Jim’s hide.

  “Careful. Don’t make fun of shit like that. Abuelita always says what you ridicule returns to haunt you.”

  I smiled. “I love your grandma. How is Abuelita, anyway?”

  “She’ll be much better now, after I call her and tell her that her favorite gringita is coming to town.”

  Chris paused, then continued. “I am so excited to see you. It’s been a while, esa.”

  “Don’t get all excited just yet. I don’t know what-all’s involved here and I might not be in town too long.”

  “Oh, of course,” Chris said with mock seriousness.

  “Nuevomexico is in your blood. I knew you’d come back.”

  “Chris, it’s a visit.”

  “And isn’t that how you ended up here in the first place?” she asked innocently. “Just checking out Albuquerque for grad school. Not sure you wanted to be here. Two days later, you’d found a place to live and accepted the department’s offer.”

  I groaned. “All right, all right. But this is serious business and the last thing on my mind is moving back. I still have to finish out this damn post-doc, after all.”

  “Details,” she retorted smugly. Then, “And fuck, I’m about to be really rude because I have to go put in some time con la familia and I’m late for dinner. Call me and tell me when you leave?” She voiced it as a question.

  “Definitely. And say hi to your folks and your bros.”

  “Of course. Do you want to stay with me when you get here?”

  “I’m not sure how that’s going to work out. I’ll probably end up at Megan’s, since the shit I have to look at is there.” I wasn’t looking forward to that, either. Someone I considered a younger sister in a lot of ways, involved with racist crap. It made me kind of queasy.

  “If you need a break from that, just go to my house.”

  “Will do. Thanks, mujer. I’ll call you in a few.”

  “Damn right you will. Buenas noches.”

  “Yep. Catch you later.” I hung up and thought a bit more about Melissa. She’d left me alone, like I asked. Until now. I sighed. “Jim, be glad you’re a horse.” He snorted. I watched my hand moving slowly over Jim’s neck. I had the expertise to help Megan. She might not actually like me—God knows, her sister wasn’t all that thrilled with me—and she might resent me for the rest of her natural-born life if I meddled. But I had knowledge that could help her.

  And not doing so did a disservice to her, the rest of her family, and to me. I thought about the researchers Melissa said she had contacted for advice. If it was true that they politely told her to go away, then why the hell did they ever pursue their fields in the first place? Aren’t those of us who get advanced degrees and have all this excess crap floating around in our heads supposed to use it in and out of the classroom?

  I couldn’t not do this. And no matter what had happened between me and Melissa, ultimately it was irrelevant. It was in the past. Megan was in the now and she probably needed help. I patted Jim one last time and went back to the main house. On the porch, I stood holding my cell phone, staring blankly at the business card in my other hand. “Melissa T. Crown, Esq.,” it read. I turned it over and carefully punched the numbers she had written on my keypad.

  She picked up after the first ring. “K.C.?”

  I winced at the hope I heard in her voice. “Yeah, it’s me.” I gripped the railing on the front porch. “I’ll do it.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while but I heard her breathing. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

  “I’ll drive up day after tomorrow. Where does Megan live? I’ll meet you there.”

  “Over behind the Monte Vista Firehouse.”

  “I’ll call you when I get into town. Give me the address then.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you—”

  “Later,” I interrupted. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. I’ll time it so I arrive after you’re done at work.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ll meet you whenever you get here.”

  I nodded to myself, feeling a little pang. Why hadn’t she extended herself to me like that three years ago? “Okay. I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.

  Bye.” I hung up, not wanting to keep the channel open between us. I stood staring at nothing, listening to the hum of summer insects and the rustling of dogs on the porch. I missed some things about her, but I wasn’t able to remember how it had been. When I tried to think about what had attracted me to her, it was always overridden by the shock and pain I felt seeing her with Hillary that night in the parking lot.

  That night that triggered my leaving. I thought about the first time Melissa and I made love but I couldn’t remember quite how it happened. I threw a glance over at Jane and Dan.

  “Am I still in love with her?” I asked them. Jane looked at me with an expression that I would have sworn was canine pity. No, I decided, I wasn’t. I did need some kind of closure, though. Maybe later, Melissa and I would have that talk she mentioned. I sighed. I had some more phone calls to make.

  Chapter Three

  THE DRIVE FROM Central Texas to Albuquerque impresses upon the eyes how huge Texas is and how unrelentingly flat it can be. Perfect landscape for listening to music like Shawn Colvin and Catie Curtis, though I also secretly liked to listen to country when I had to cover long distances by car. I sang along to Trick Pony, watching the horizon retreat behind heat waves and rolling hills only to stretch itself flat along a series of high plains, no matter how fast I drove. I had already counted four dead armadillos, eight ground squirrels, and six rabbits on the asphalt.

  Summer was rough on people, but rougher still on animals.

  Heat swam across Highway 84, which connected Lubbock to I-20 on the Texas side and Clovis, New Mexico on the other. I was just coming into Lubbock at one-thirty. I had left around four that morning to beat as much heat as possible. Granted, New Mexico isn’t a slacker in the summer heat department. Desert natives will tell you, however, that “it’s a dry heat.”

  Which basically means it’s the difference between a steam room and a dry sauna. I prefer a dry sauna because at least your clothing doesn’t cling to you like wet sheets. Like sweat, it dries quickly. The closer I got to New Mexico, the dryer the air.

  I pulled into a gas station and began filling up my Subaru. Chris sometimes teased me about my “sporty little dyke-mobile” and then she’d laugh and tell me I looked sexy in it. While my tank filled, I rummaged around in my car, picking up bits of trash to throw out. I had packed a couple of duffle bags and put them in the back. My laptop rested in its case on the passenger seat and a variety of books and pairs of shoes lay haphazardly in the back seat. Comfortable clutter. I reached for an empty cup that had held Starbucks coffee that morning. As I did so, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the ID.

  “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” I balanced the phone on my shoulder as I walked to the trash can and emptied my hands.

  “Hi, honey. Where are you?”

  “The beautiful thriving metropolis of Lubbock.” I leaned against the hood of my car, watching summer heat float above nearby fields. Semis roared past on the nearby interstate.

  “Sounds wonderful. Did you call Kara?”

  “I did. She’s not still living in a redwood, thankfully.” I scraped the concrete underfoot with the toe of my Birkenstock. “My kid sister. The eco-freak.”

  My mom ignored that. Instead, she said, “Okay, good. She worries about you, you know.”

  I pushed off my car and went to check the gas pump. It clicked off as I approached. I left the nozzle in the tank. “I’m not th
e one sitting in ten-story trees throwing sticks at loggers.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, and researching extremists is—what? A walk in the park?”

  “Point taken,” I said, laughing. “I e-mailed Joely, too, but you’ll probably hear from her first.”

  “And she’ll want to know what else Melissa had to say.” Subtlety was not my mom’s strong point. From staid New England stock, she managed to be both blunt and reserved in the same breath, a true counterpoint to my gregarious Italian father, to whom everything was larger than life.

  I sighed. What is it about sisters and moms all up in your business? “I think she wants to talk.”

  Long pause that broadcast a hell of a lot more than words could. “And?” she said, voice tight.

  “I don’t know. It was weird seeing her and yeah, I’m kind of confused about it. But I know I’m doing the right thing and I know if Melissa thought she could resolve this issue without me, she would have.”

  I watched a late model blue Ford truck with dualie tires on the back pull in at another pump and a kid in jeans, cowboy hat, and boots get out of the passenger side and head into the gas station while a man who was probably his father started fueling up.

  “Are you sure?” Suspicion colored her tone.

  “Yeah.” I said it a little defensively, coming back to attention. “Tell Joely that, too.”

  “Well, what does she want to talk about? What could there possibly be to say after what she did?”

  I stared blankly at my feet, another ripple of confusion in my chest. Why did I want to defend Melissa all of a sudden? “I don’t know.”

  She made a hmph sound. “Just be careful.”

  “Geez, Mom. Don’t you have a paper on some Latin American culture or something to write up for a lecture series? Or some world religions conference to go to with Dad?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, a little more gently. “I just worry. I’m your mom. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  “Shit, you think I do?” I ran a hand through my hair.“Of course not. But sometimes you don’t think too clearly about—” she stopped.

  About the women I let into my life, I finished for her.