• • •
The drive to Laredo hadn’t changed much—mile after mile of interstate without much to see on either side. They got off to an awkward start, silent and distant, the strangers they really were.
After a while, though, Rafael reached for the radio dial and turned on a Spanish language station. The first song was one Toby used to play over and over when they went anywhere, a young man asking his mother how to know if it was love when he found someone.
“You don’t like Ramon Ayala?” he asked curiously.
“I can listen. I’m not crazy about Norteño—too much accordion. I like steel guitar and twang better.”
“You and my parents both! Tell you what.” He fished around in the console without taking his eyes off the road and handed her a remote. “I’ve got all country in the CD player. You’ll probably like most of it, and I’m fine with it, too.”
“I’ll wait until we’re halfway there,” she volunteered. “Fair’s fair.”
“Okay.” He checked his side mirror, flipped on his blinker, and pulled out to pass a tanker, glancing at the cab’s door as he did, and smiling.
“Yours?”
“The company’s,” he agreed, nodding. “Business is good.”
“Do you ever get attacked, you or your parents? Not everyone’s good with fracking.”
He glanced her way briefly. “We’re not going to have to argue about real issues while we’re married, are we?”
She grinned. “Not if we get ’em out of the way now.”
“The people of Cotulla have jobs, houses, hope, and prosperity. Most of them love to see those Benton trucks and uniforms.”
They fell silent again, and a particularly gory narcocorrido blasted out. Corridos, traditional Mexican story songs, were fine, but some of the music glorifying the drug trade and violence offended Esme, just as gangsta rap about the same topics did. She could deal with vulgarity herself but she’d worked around kids so long that she just didn’t want them exposed. There were no kids in the truck, but she picked up the remote, killed the radio, and turned on the CD player.
He chuckled. “You and I are going to get along great when Justin’s with us.”
“So why didn’t you want to bring me?” she asked, and the smile faded away and she saw his cheek tighten. “If you can tell me.”
“I can tell you, Esme. It’s not a dark, ugly secret. I come down two or three times a year to bring donations for charitable groups I like to work with. The children’s home in Nuevo Laredo that’s really an orphanage—many of the children don’t have parents at all. Others are removed by courts, just as they are in the States. But they work on donations and never turn anyone down. Then there’s Sacred Heart; you know them, of course, since you lived in Laredo.” He turned to smile again. “I especially like the shopping trips they take the children on for Christmas. Letting them experience shopping for themselves or others. It’s such a good thing.”
He turned back to the road, passing another in the unending line of eighteen wheelers headed toward Laredo’s busy land port, and continued, “And there are a few others.”
“Marie said something about Angel Wings,” Esmeralda remembered. “And Angel said something about you having a good heart. Why would you hate letting me see that?”
He huffed indignantly. “You’ve seen the best of me,” he argued. “Did I raise my voice at you when you hooked me?”
“Yes, actually. You shrieked.”
“Shrieked?”
“And cussed.”
“Oh.” He drummed his fingers along as one of the old Brooks and Dunn songs blasted out. “To be honest, Esme, it’s always an emotional trip for me. The memories aren’t all bad, especially the recent ones, but the ones I have from my childhood are. The area around the bridge? Sometimes it’s hard not to be right back there on the street, begging, some of the memories are still so clear.”
She hated the sadness in his voice. Her memories weren’t great, but she’d never been hungry or alone. Still, she wanted to know more.
“Tell me about it,” she urged. “What you can. Were you ever at Sacred Heart, or were you a foster child—what?”
“I suspect things are different now than they were,” he said finally. “But you know our families, Esmeralda—relatives, everyone knows everyone. A lot of times, families step in. My mom and dad tried to sort out my history when they adopted me, and they more or less did.
“My birth mom left me with her mother, my maternal grandmother. But she had diabetes, and they say she wound up institutionalized. I lived in her house with cousins and a niece of hers, and sometimes the woman she used to pay to help with chores. No one was really in charge, and some of the adults were addicts, alcoholics. There were a lot of children. Some must have been cousins, but I really don’t know.”
“And the Bentons found you.” She smiled, trying to ease the memories. “That’s amazing, when you think about it.”
“There’s not a day when it doesn’t amaze me and make me feel like the luckiest guy alive.” He glanced at the mile markers flashing by. “Do you need a bathroom break?”
“No.”
“Then if you don’t mind, we’ll wait until Cotulla. I’m going to pop into our office there and say hi. I haven’t been there much since . . . ”
Since Cody started her career in music, probably. He seemed to have given up a lot of what he wanted to do for his sister. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Was he so overwhelmed by gratitude to his parents that he wasn’t ever his own man? She’d stood up for herself, and it had cost her dearly—but most days, she felt like she’d earned the pride she felt in her decisions and accomplishments.
She just nodded, not wanting to question too much. He didn’t owe her any explanations. Remembering that was hard, though. They’d had fun fishing together. Angel’s insistence on how he was a good man had stayed with her through the night. And their kiss—she hadn’t expected that. The contact had gone from sweet to knee-buckling in seconds. Again, she wondered how on earth they’d keep their relationship platonic.
And if she didn’t want to? If she could forget her pride, and the fact that she would be paid a small fortune for what was supposed to be a mere acting job?
The pickup slowed suddenly and she looked up, expecting to see a slow-moving car or truck, but he put the signal on and exited, and she realized that they’d already reached Cotulla.
“We’re just making a pit stop,” he assured her. “In and out.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Which reminds me, here, we’re just . . . together. I don’t want word about the engagement to hit the company grapevine yet. Everything would fall apart if my parents came back early.”
He pulled into a parking spot marked with his name and walked around to open her door, then held out a hand to help her down. She drove a pickup and could get in and out of one in a miniskirt and heels. Strangely, though, his gesture touched her.
“Rafael,” she said, as they headed up a walk paved with flagstone, “you love your parents. I’m not questioning that. But you told me about Paulette, and well—I’m just wondering how you can be okay with lying to them.”
He faced her, frowning. “I’m not lying,” he said. “That’s why we’re marrying. Legally.”
“So, if they ask about why you didn’t wait?”
“They know I’m impulsive. Dad will worry, until he sees I thought of a pre-nuptial.”
“And if they ask you if you love me?”
“Then I’d have to lie,” he admitted quietly. “But I hope we can head that off by pretending when we have to and avoiding them as much as possible.”
“Won’t that seem strange?” she persisted, stopping outside the door.
“We’ll be newlyweds. We can spend hours upstairs or fishing or something. They’ll respect our privacy.”
But will we be able to keep our hands of each other? She walked into a spacious, well-decorated room. The receptionist looked up and broke i
nto a huge smile. “Rafael!” She came out and hugged him, then turned and hugged Esme before Rafael even introduced them.
“Gwen, a friend of mine, Esmeralda Salinas.” He wrapped an arm around the receptionist’s shoulders. “Gwen’s been with Mom and Dad—I don’t know. Twenty years?”
“Almost thirty,” the woman corrected, still beaming. She reached up and touched her hair. “And I don’t look a day older!”
“No, you don’t.”
“So, what can I do for you? Drinks? You know your way to the employees’ lounge, but come with me, Ms. Salinas. I’ll show you around. Do you want to talk to anyone, Rafael?”
“No, I don’t have time. If you’ll get Esme something, that would be fine.”
“You might want to go by your office, Rafael,” Gwen suggested. “I’ll take Ms. Salinas along after I show her the lounge.”
Rafael frowned. “Why would I go to my office, Gwen? We’re leaving—”
The receptionist smiled. “Just trust me. And go.”
• • •
Rafael smiled and watched Gwen guide Esme in the direction of the lounge. He knew Gwen well, and clearly she wanted him to go to his office. He wondered if she’d remodeled it for him again, or—
He opened the door. “Carnal!” He used the old street slang, knowing that the man walking over to hug him and slap him was his brother in every sense of the word. “Marc, I thought you were in Houston.”
“I just got in a while ago. And I have a flight out in a few hours.”
“Is something wrong?” Usually, Marc arrived to check out problems—employee malfeasance, insurance or regulatory problems. He’d heard people in Benton Energy Resources groan when they saw Marc Dryer appear. The cheekier ones made crosses with their fingers as protection against the Dryer curse.
“No. Your dad and mom loved the story about the Cotulla team that made the national news. You saw it?”
“Sure.”
“So?”
“So for once, I’m the bearer of good news. Bonuses all around and a contribution to the library.”
Rafael slapped him on the back. “Good deal, buddy.” He grinned, then saw Esmeralda pause at the door.
“Is she?” Marc’s question was so low he barely heard it, but he nodded.
“Esmeralda, Marc Dryer.” He walked over and closed the door. “Marc, Esme has agreed to marry me.”
“Congratulations.” Marc grinned. “If I were Rafael, I’d make damn sure it was permanent.”
“Thank you.” But she shot a killing glance at Rafael. “Does everybody here know?”
“I had to tell Marc. He’s been involved with the situation in Truth, trying to find out more about some of the people who were there the night Cody died. And he’s my best man. If he weren’t there with me, my dad and mom would see through everything.”
“Just for the record, Esmeralda, I told him the idea was crazy. But his folks really are stubborn about their beliefs. They’ve been trying to marry me off since my freshman year in college. You’ll see when you meet them.”
“I guess. Still it’s kind of hard having perfect strangers knowing you married for money, Marc.”
“I can see that.” He nodded. “But you shouldn’t take it as marrying for money.”
“No? So how should I take it?”
“As a well-paid summer job that lets you live in a country home, with nice folks and no stress.”
“That will sound better on my next résumé.” She smiled at Marc. “Nice to meet you.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Likewise. Don’t take any guff from my bro.” Then he slapped Rafael on the back again. “I’m gone. You’d better pull this off, or you’re toast.”
“I know.” He walked to the door with Marc, who stepped out in the corridor before adding, “And don’t you dare hurt the girl.”
“Ready to leave?” Rafael asked, and Esme nodded.
“Sure. But I think I like Marc more than you, even though he’s a little hyper.”
“He’s a pain. But we love him,” Rafael said easily.
They got back on I-35 and Rafael glanced at the dashboard. “We’ll grab a bite somewhere in Laredo, unload, and then,” he stopped to glance in his mirror before passing another semi, “let’s take your folks out to dinner if they don’t have plans.”
Chapter Twelve
She didn’t want Rafael to meet her family. Her mother and father would be bad enough with their pointed glances and embarrassing questions. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her brother Beto meet him. She’d visited her parents since leaving home—out of duty, and maybe the faintest remnants of love for the two people who had brought her into the world—but she knew they were petty and greedy. At least toward her. She should have asked Rafael what he expected of her family before she signed. With so little time before his parents came, she’d really thought they’d just stay in Truth. Not once had she considered that he’d want to meet her family. She’d have to think of some way to limit the damage knowing her family would do to them both. Her mother and father she could handle for the brief time he would know them. But Beto . . . she’d never forgotten the gossip, the slurs, and lies he’d used against her from childhood on.
Nor had she forgotten the time she’d been home from college during her freshman year at college. Her parents were out visiting friends, and he’d come home from some friend’s party drunk. She’d looked up to see him in the door, leering at her. She’d already changed for bed and was sitting there in pajamas.
He made some obscene comments and she’d gotten up to shut the door, never imagining that he’d touch her. Instead of letting her get the door closed, he’d stuck his foot in, then shouldered it open again. He’d reached for her, jerking her to him, fondling her, trying to tear her clothing off. Fear and fury had given her the strength to fight him off and shove him out into the hall. She’d locked the door and collapsed in a heap of the floor, crying hysterically. Her own brother had tried to rape her, and she sat there shaking until her mother and father came home.
Her mother hadn’t believed her. She’d sided with Beto, and so had her father. They’d blamed her, blamed the fact that he was drunk. She’d gone home since then as infrequently as possible, and when she went home, she stayed in a motel. She’d never spent another night under their roof again.
He was looking at her curiously when she didn’t answer.
“I really want to meet them,” he said. “I know you said you weren’t close, but surely we’re going to invite them to the wedding.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Look, Rafael—do you prefer Rafa or Rafael?”
“Nice try. Most of my friends call me Rafa, but call me whatever you’re comfortable with. Why don’t you want your parents at the marriage? Wouldn’t that help patch things up, if one of their problems was—well, that you and Toby weren’t married?”
“You don’t know them. Look, you had the pre-nuptial written so you can’t be manipulated and robbed blind, right?”
“Sounds harsh, but yes.”
“You don’t have any protection from them.”
“Are you sure you’re not misjudging old problems?” He reached over and found her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Esme, I just find it hard to believe that your parents are such creeps. I mean, kids usually grow up like their parents. Don’t you think? I mean, professionally, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Maybe generally. But not always, Rafael. You have to know that.”
“Not going with Rafa?” he teased. “Not formal enough?”
“No. Not distant enough, either.” She turned her head and pretended to be interested in the buildings that had sprung up on the outskirts of Laredo in her absence.
“Tell you what. Let’s get these things unloaded so we don’t have to worry, and then we’ll have lunch and the first fight of our engagement.”
In spite of herself, she laughed at that. By the time they’d taken the collected
items to the various organizations, she had to admit she was ready for lunch. They wound up at Taco Palenque, the only Laredo mainstay they both loved.
Standing by the high counter to order, the smells made it hard to concentrate on all the reasons why she shouldn’t let Rafael meet her parents. A faint sensation of guilt crowded in. For all her mother’s failings, she missed her now and then. They’d come here for most Mothers’ Days, and after she’d won the district science fair the year before she’d met Toby. And she and Toby had come here on the anniversary of their first date. They’d only been able to order a single taco each, but she’d never enjoyed fajita more . . .
Rafael and the cashier were looking at her, apparently waiting for her order. She ordered the fajita plate, and filled their glasses while they waited for their order. It took a few minutes, but they finally found a table near the doors that led to the tables outside that were often occupied by teenagers or families with young children.
“Anything you’d like to do this afternoon? You could shop for a wedding dress. And we don’t have the ring.”
“We don’t need all that,” Esme protested. “Rafael—”
“We discussed this, remember? I told you the job included expenses. We need a dress and the ring. And those are job expenses.”
“You’re not planning on a formal wedding, are you?”
“No. But I want to do better than T-shirts.”
“We can go into San Antonio. When is this wedding going to happen?”
He shrugged. “Today’s Friday . . . how about a week from tomorrow?”
“A week?”
“Two weeks is too long. We could choose a weekday, but who gets married on a weekday? Besides, your parents might not be able to get away if it’s not a weekend.” He smiled at her, but it was a smile that told her he was in charge of her wedding details. “This marriage is about family, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave yours out.”
“Okay.” Esme inhaled deeply. “A week from tomorrow.” She pushed her plate away. “Let me call my parents and see if they’re home.”
Don’t be home. Be in the hair salon. Be across in Nuevo Laredo. Just don’t be home.
Nashville Nights Page 74