by Dee Tenorio
But, four hours later, she realized she should have emphasized that fact to Raul.
There was no getting away from him. She’d found a quiet place to eat in the living room, near the door where she could see everything and not intrude on any of the groups of adults or kids eating and laughing together as they watched a Spanish-dubbed old western. He’d found her, explained that Chloe was eating on the back porch with her cousins, and promptly planted himself at her side.
She found herself trying foods she’d opted not to put on her plate because he insisted she had to try them off his. His sisters—all eight of them, nine including his sister-in-law—were painfully good cooks. Within an hour, she was stuffed beyond all rational possibility and there was still more food to try.
He’d constantly bring her into conversations, until his siblings all began to expect her to express her opinions on a variety of things. What did she think of Chloe and Danny’s team’s chances of getting to the championship? Did she cook or did she bake? Did she have any tips on colic? Did she remember the time Raul got in trouble for knocking down the beehive at the annual Fourth of July picnic when he was Chloe’s age?
As if the constant attention and the overfeeding she couldn’t tactfully turn down weren’t enough to drive her insane, he found eight million different ways to touch her. Nothing she could directly point at as bad. He didn’t put a hand on her knee or slide his arm behind her head on the couch cushion. No, his shoulder, his thigh, his heat, pressed into her where he sat next to her on the couch. His hand bumped into hers, his fingertips grazing her leg every time either of them shifted. When he offered her food, often a bite from his fingertips, he always touched her lips. And damn if she couldn’t see everyone noticing. Couldn’t see them considering her just another conquest. Another notch on his tattered bedpost. Worse, a notch he’d already made long ago.
Unable to take any more of it, Penelope excused herself as best she could and wandered through the house until she found her way onto the deck, lack of shoes be damned. Cool air breezed over her flaming cheeks, tossing her hair around as she made her way to the edge. Down below, a rich green carpet of grass covered what had to be an acre of gently sloping valley. Kids scrambled over it, kicking a soccer ball like a pinball, screaming and cheering and yelling as they ran from one end of a makeshift field to the other. It would all have been calming, she was sure, if she hadn’t felt Raul step onto the deck behind her. It was a large deck and others had been there when she arrived. She heard them shuffle and eventually pass her to the steps down to the grass below.
Great. He was going to make a scene. Well…fine. She was angry enough to let him. She just hoped he was prepared to get as good as he gave.
Chapter Six
Penelope leaned against the railing, her arms crossed under her breasts. Was it his anger or his warmth she sensed at her back before his dark hands rested on either side of her elbows? His chest pressed into her lightly and his low voice rumbled dangerously in her ear. “Do you want to explain what the hell that was?”
“Do you plan to listen?” Because he certainly hadn’t listened to anything else she’d said.
His silence wasn’t encouraging.
Penelope shook her head, not sure why she expected anything different. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Why? No one’s mistreated you. Or said anything to you. Chloe’s fine. You should be fine.”
“Well, I’m not, Raul. I’m not fine. I’m not fine with you.”
He snorted, moving off her back to settle next to her, his back to the rail, his eyes crackling with temper. He crossed his arms and glared at her. “You insulted them, leaving like that. They only want to know you.”
“They do know me.”
“No, they don’t. No one knows you, Pen. You put on this little smile and you disappear into the fucking walls. How the hell is anyone supposed to get to know you?” He kept his voice low, but it didn’t soften the sting.
“They don’t need to know me.” She wished her whisper didn’t sound like a hiss. “How do you think this looks to them, Raul? The way you’re crowding me. Touching me. Trying to feed me, acting as if there’s something between us when there isn’t.”
His jaw flexed but he didn’t answer. Which meant he knew he was doing all those things.
“It’s bad enough they all know how I got pregnant. I refuse to look like another one of your throwaway women. Or worse, so pathetic that I’d be available to you whenever you came along. I’m neither and I never will be.”
“They don’t think that.” But his gaze dropped to his feet.
“Everyone in this town, particularly in this house, knows the way I felt about you back then. You have no idea what it’s like to be looked at with pity by everyone you know. Do you think it’ll be any different when you move on to your next conquest? Because I’m not like the others, Raul. I’m not going to slink off into the shadows and disappear into the fucking walls this time, am I?”
His head shot back up at her use of his words, eyes wide with shock. Which only served to make her angrier. She spent all her time with Miranda and Trisha growing up—she knew how to swear. Probably better than he did. She just happened to have a better sense of control over her impulses.
“I still have to face these people. And so will your daughter. I’d like a little dignity when I do.”
The corners of his mouth were white and the lush curves were so hard they were nearly flat. Well, fine. Let him be pissed off. It didn’t change anything.
“We’ll finish this later.” His lips barely moved as he growled the words. She didn’t bother arguing more as he pushed off, leaving her alone on the deck.
Or so she thought.
“You have an interesting ability to put my son in his place.” Thomas’s graveled voice sounded amused behind her.
Penelope half spun, catching him rising from a cushioned recliner tucked into the corner of the deck. When he’d come out, Raul probably hadn’t even seen his father sitting there among the teenagers. Until he’d turned around. Well, that explained Raul’s reticence, anyway.
She bit her lip when the older man gestured her to the deck chair next to him. A glance inside the windows revealed no one listening nearby, which meant they’d all already gotten an earful or no one particularly cared about her little tiffs with their brother. They’d care if she upset their patriarch, though.
“I think it’s time we talked, güerita.”
Apprehensive, Penelope crossed the deck to the chair next to him and dropped into it, knees together and facing him. She folded her hands and met his gaze as squarely as she could. “I don’t mean to put him in any place, señor.”
“But still, you do what no one else seems to. No te preocupes. It’s good for him.”
Clearly, Raul’s family had a different opinion on what was good for each other. “If you say so.”
“I do. Mi hijo necesita a una mujer fuerte, alguien quien puede hacer frente a él.”
Penelope gasped, torn between pretending she hadn’t understood and assuring the man that she was hardly the strong woman he seemed to think his son needed. Standing up to Raul wasn’t something she did because she wanted to.
The old man took the decision out of her hands. “Ah, entiendes español, ¿verdad?”
“My mother taught me French from the crib. I learned Spanish in school, like most everyone else.”
Thomas’s dark eyes didn’t miss a trick. “For him, no?”
Humiliatingly, yes. And the Latin-based language hadn’t been very hard to learn. At least it came in handy with many of her patients. Penelope took a lesson from Raul that she suddenly realized was handy. She shrugged one shoulder.
“¿Y la changa?”
Penelope nodded. “Why do you call her a monkey?”
“She climbs the trees at Julia’s. The trees, the shed, the walls. She’s never still.” He sounded proud. If she had to guess, the wild genes had probably come from his side.
&nbs
p; “Children pick up languages best from the onset. She learned all three at the same time. And the busier we kept her mind, the better she minded.” Of course, being fluent in three languages meant it was three times as hard to keep any secrets from her. “She’s very good.”
“Está bien.” He nodded, for once looking surprised. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
She waited, not sure what she was supposed to say.
“You know about my wife’s prejudice.” Well. Never let it be said Thomas Montenga beat around the bush. He didn’t wait for her to agree. “How much do you know about the way things were sixty years ago?”
She blinked at the question. “I…I’m not sure how you mean.”
Thomas nodded. “Sixty years ago, it was a lot harder to be a person of color. Here, it was hardest to be Mexican and though times are better, I think you know it’s still not easy.”
Yes, she knew. The attitudes towards migrants and naturalized Mexicans were often the same. Grudging tolerance. Laws had been passed, of course, but the nightly news was always littered with one story or another of the racial issues still plaguing the county. It wasn’t a surprise that folks tended to stay to themselves. But Ophelia wasn’t doing that. She was blocking any kind of change or choice to her family and nothing Thomas could tell Penelope now would change that.
Still, he seemed determined to try. “Back then, no one asked if you were a citizen. They just assumed you came illegally. And even if you were a citizen, the law had no interest in protecting you. It was our experience that the authorities were more interested in creating problems than solving them. Back then, we had to take care of ourselves.
“The sailors were the worst. They’d cause brawls and riots. They could attack us in the street and nothing would ever happen to them. They would just walk away while we were arrested for disturbing the peace. The police, they were good para nada. The lawyers would rather deport us than defend us. For the men, at least. You can probably guess what happened to the young girls.”
A knot started to form in Penelope’s stomach, a sense that Thomas’s story was going to make her doubt her own resolve. She closed her eyes. Oh, please, do not tell me this.
“Ophelia was thirteen when the soldiers took her. They raped her, beat her and left her for dead in a field.”
She didn’t want to feel pity for Ophelia. Didn’t want shades of gray to alter her perceptions, but both began to seep in.
“Her parents took her home from the hospital and shut her in. They couldn’t press charges, no one would listen. They just wanted to keep her safe, but all they did was make her afraid. Then make her angry. Her whole life, stolen by monsters with white skin. Their hatred and her fear stained her in a way we’ve never been able to change. If I hadn’t known her since we were babies, she probably wouldn’t ever have married. But she trusted me. Only me. She feared everyone else.
“Even then, we had many hurdles to face. Things to overcome and it took time. There was no…cómo se dice…therapy back then.” He said therapy like one would spit out something sour. “But we made it. We got through. We had our children and she found a different kind of peace. Happiness. It’s been a good life. A good marriage. But no matter how good her life has been, nothing could fix what was broken that day in that field.
“The world changed, people changed. It’s better now. They don’t spit at you when you walk by anymore. They still want to sometimes.” Thomas’s chuckle had a world of sandpaper in it, almost sounding like a cough. “But they worry we’ll videotape them and sell it. You know, they pay you better if you can speak espanish now?” That had him slapping his own knee, shaking his head with clear disbelief. “Everything is different now. My children, my grandchildren…they live in a better time and when they’re my age, maybe no one will care what color anyone is because by then everyone will be every color. But Ophelia…” His mirth faded away. She could see the apology in his eyes, could feel him imploring her to accept.
“I understand.” And she did. She knew what it was to feel as if the past would never stop haunting you. “But understanding why doesn’t mean I can condone what she does. I’m sorry, but I can’t. She’s purposely holding a terrible crime against a child who had nothing to do with it.” Penelope shook her head. “It’s no better than what was done to her.”
The hopefulness on his lined face disappeared. But, to her relief, he didn’t seem angry. Just sad. Tired. “My children, they don’t share her views. All I ask is that you give her time to accept the way things are and that you don’t hold her mistakes against them.”
“I don’t,” she rushed to assure him, but Thomas’s face reflected his dubiousness.
“Don’t you? My son was right about that much, güerita. How can you belong if you hold yourself apart?”
Penelope considered a guarded answer, but he’d been painfully honest with her. And while she knew Ophelia had meant what she’d said, Penelope needed to hear from this man in particular what he really planned for her child’s place in his family.
“I don’t know how to be anything else.” She turned her head, staring out onto the hills of his property. It really was beautiful. Lush, full of life and vitality. Completely different from the yellow-tan mountainside behind her own home, rocky and dry and impossible to grow anything on. “Chloe does. She deserves a family that can be warm. That can be open and loving. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. To be secure in knowing that she’s loved and accepted.”
“Do you hear that?” Thomas asked when she faced him again.
“Hear what?”
“The children.”
It took Penelope a second to focus, but the rambunctious laughter, the yelling and good-natured name-calling… She could hear the happiness in all those voices.
“Your daughter is down there, in the middle of all that. Doesn’t that set your mind at ease? She belongs here, just like all my other children and grandchildren. She will always be welcome. Always be safe, I give you my word. I cannot change my wife’s pain, que podría, but I have always shielded them from it and they don’t share it. No one will hurt her here.”
It was a solemn vow. One she knew he made gravely and with all his heart. He wanted Chloe in his family. If the look in his eyes meant anything at all, he wanted it as much as Chloe did. Pen never had been any good at denying that look, not from Chloe, not from Raul and apparently not from the source. She smiled, nodding while he chuckled, pleased with himself for gaining her acceptance.
Even as she agreed, in her heart, she remembered Ophelia’s vow. And worried.
{{{
It was after eight by the time Raul finally got Penelope and Chloe back into his truck and on their way home. Four whole hours of being pissed off and smiling through his teeth had worn his nerves pretty fuckin’ thin, a fact Penelope seemed to be the only one appreciating.
It wasn’t a point in her favor.
She’d stayed out on the deck with his father almost the whole time after their argument. His father. As if Thomas were her personal shield from the rest of the family. From him. It was enough to get his blood boiling. Even now, she kept tossing him furtive little glances, checking no doubt to see if he were blowing steam from his collar. The only satisfaction came in smiling back and her nervous looks shuttling out the window.
Well, that and Chloe falling asleep in the back of the cab. The way she and her cousins had run around like some wild wolf pack, he was surprised she’d made it back into the truck under her own steam. She’d be out for the rest of the night. Which meant he’d have plenty of time to wring her mother’s pretty, swanlike neck.
“Well, thank you for bringing us along,” Penelope said as he pulled up next to her front lawn.
Raul grunted, about the only sound he was capable of at reasonable volumes. Get the kid in the house, close her door, then yell. Best damn plan he’d had all damn day. The others involved either strangling her or stripping her and doing all kinds of other things he shouldn’t. He go
t out of the car and slammed the door.
“Raul!” Her voice was muted, but just short of panic as she scrabbled out of the passenger side. By the time she’d circled the truck, he’d already opened the back door to the cab and unlatched Chloe from the seatbelt. She all but poured into his arms, her limbs dangling in a completely different way from that afternoon. He scooped her close and kicked the door shut. Penelope watched him, eyes wary, but being an intelligent woman, she just led the way up the walk, unlocked the door and let him in before securing it again. Silently, she moved up the stairs and he followed once more, not allowing his gaze to stray to the sleek, smooth motion of her hips rolling left, right, left again with each ascending step. She touched a lamp after opening the door with the chimes, creating a soft glow that illuminated the room enough for him to see where he was going.
The room was almost too immaculate to belong to a kid. A bright red desk took up one corner, a computer set up there with a shelf full of books above it. A basketball hoop was affixed to the wall opposite the door and the twin bed, which he belatedly realized was bumping his knee. Her bedspread was the same red as the desk and her pillow was a giant white baseball.
For the first time in hours his smile was real. In every direction he saw signs that his daughter was a sports freak to end all sports freaks. And Penelope encouraged it. No frilly pink box like the one her mother had forcibly shoved her into. He laid Chloe down when Penelope pulled back the blanket. Pen tugged off the shoes Chloe hadn’t bothered to retie.
“I should wake her up so she can take a bath,” she whispered, sounding torn.
“Good luck with that.” They’d need electric shock to wake this kid up. Raul flipped the blanket over the sleeping girl with a strange feeling spilling through him. As if this was something right, something he should have been doing all along. As if plopping an unconscious kid into her bed with her shoes on was something he’d been missing in his life.
He passed a hand over the softness of Chloe’s cheek, something in his heart tightening almost painfully when she made a sound of contentment and cuddled into her massive baseball.