by Maddy Barone
While she struggled to find the right words to explain, he laid a gentle hand on her wrist. “I understand. Last night, I dreamed of Iraq. I used to dream about it all the time, but not so much lately. It’s one of those things that most of us who served have to deal with.”
Anxiety she hadn’t even been aware of removed its hooks from her shoulders. She looked up at him with something like wonder. He did understand. She didn’t think anyone else ever had, not even her sister and brothers who loved her. But then, how could they? They hadn’t been through it. Dusty had. “I suppose it is.”
Dusty lifted his hand from her wrist and held it out to shake. “Can we start over?”
She took it and gave it a squeeze. “Absolutely. Do you want to skip the rest of the class?”
“Nope.” He flashed her a devastating grin. “I don’t back down from a challenge. If a fourteen-year-old girl can do stag head cables, I should be able to make a dish rag.”
Stag head? Oh, he must mean staghorn. Where in the world had he heard that term? “All right, let’s go get some coffee.”
They got coffee and joined Inez and the rest of the class in the sitting area in front of the windows. Joan asked, “Isabel, we all talked about ourselves, but you didn’t say very much. Like why did you learn to knit?”
“Was it hard for you, too, at first?” Anita asked.
Butterflies erupted in Isabel’s stomach. She shot a glance at Dusty, who was sitting beside her on one of the couches, and then smiled at her sister. “Yes, it took me a lot longer than it’s taking you to learn to knit. Inez taught me. It was after I came home from Iraq. I was in the hospital for a long time recovering from this.”
She pulled up the hem of her skirt to indicate her prosthetic leg. From the corner of her eye she saw shock on Inez’s face, quickly smoothed away. It felt unexpectedly freeing to talk about the injury. Was it the warmth and strength of Dusty sitting beside her that gave her the courage?
“I was going crazy with nothing to do except watch TV. I hated to watch the news and I was sick of soap operas. All those people worried about their little problems, which they mostly brought on themselves because they were stupid, made me want to scream. None of those characters knew what suffering was. So one day Inez came to the hospital with a set of knitting needles and some yarn, and forced me to learn to knit.”
Inez raised her eyebrows. “I did not force you,” she said mildly. “I told you that you needed to keep busy.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” Isabel contradicted. “She always was bossy, even when we were kids. And this time, she was right. Before that, I was feeling sorry for myself and I was angry at everyone and everything. Inez told me to shut up and knit. It took me a little while, but once I got a little bit better at knitting I found myself enjoying it. It’s relaxing.”
Inez said, “Did you know that back in the nineteenth century doctors prescribed knitting as a treatment for nervous dispositions? Women who had nervous breakdowns were told to knit.”
“Ha!” snorted Joan. “If you ask me, knitting will cause a nervous breakdown.”
Everybody laughed at that. “Learning to knit can be tricky.” Isabel gave them all an encouraging smile. “It takes time to learn how to hold the needles and yarn, but you’ve only been knitting for an hour. Give yourselves a break.”
During the second half of the class, Joan did improve. Everyone completed a small dishcloth, and had enough yarn left over to make a second one. Isabel thanked them all for coming, and the class dismissed. The two truckers’ wives told her they didn’t think knitting was for them, but Anita and Joan decided to sign up for Knitting 102.
Isabel began tidying the classroom. Dusty stayed behind to help her. “Well?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Did you conquer knitting?”
He held up his dishcloth with a doubtful expression. “I think it conquered me.”
“No, you did fine. There is that one section where you forgot to keep your yarn in back of the needle to knit, but other than that, it’s great.” He didn’t look convinced, so she added, “It’s a dishcloth. Your dishes and kitchen counters won’t care if it’s not a perfect square.”
He made a face of indignation. “I’ll have you know that my dirty dishes are very discerning. They demand only the finest dish rags to clean them.”
She chuckled. “So you’ll have to make a second one and make sure it’s perfect.”
“I will. Hopefully I’ll have better luck with Knitting 102.”
That brought her head up in surprise. “You’re continuing? I thought you were only here to…” Her voice trailed off when he shook his head decisively.
“No. After that nightmare last night, I decided I had to see you again. So many of the people I treated in Iraq didn’t make it. Most of my dreams about Iraq are about them, so I needed to see you alive and well. I don’t know if you can understand that.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I didn’t find out last night where you worked, so I made a list of all the yarn stores in Dallas, and figured I would go to each one until I found you. And when I did find you, you didn’t seem to want to see me.”
“Oh, dear.”
“So I signed up for your class. And now I’m glad I did. I think I might like this knitting thing.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Yep. I already got what I need for the next class.” He reached down to the bag on the floor and lifted it to show her a ball of turquoise yarn. “Hopefully I’ll do well next time, because this is going to be a Christmas present for my mom.” Smugness tipped his chin up. “My mom never had a hat knitted for her by one of her sons before.” The smugness turned to tenderness. “She’s a great lady. When I was growing up, we didn’t have a lot, but we always had enough because she sacrificed to give all of us kids what we needed.”
The obvious love he had for his mom melted her. “It will be great,” she promised. “I’ll help you if you get stuck.”
He flashed a grin. “I’m counting on that.”
They finished cleaning the classroom and went out into the store. It was nearly closing time, so she expected Dusty to leave. While Inez waited on a last-minute customer, Isabel unplugged the coffeepot and carried it into the bathroom beside the classroom to rinse out and refill it to set the coffee up for Monday. She was surprised but happy to see that Dusty hadn’t left. In fact, he was wheeling the vacuum cleaner out of the office.
“Dusty, what are you doing?”
He bent over to plug it in. “I thought I’d give you hand closing up. Inez told me where to find the vacuum.”
Isabel stared at her sister, who shrugged. “He offered,” she explained, going forward to turn the sign to CLOSED and lock the door.
Dusty leaned on the vacuum. “I admit I have an ulterior motive. I was hoping you would come to supper with me. I asked Inez if she wanted to come, but she says she’s got to get home. Something about planning a party for her daughter in the fall?”
Isabel turned to stare at her sister. The plans for the quinceañera didn’t have to be settled for months. Inez wiggled her eyebrows behind Dusty’s back, clearing telling Isabel to go with Dusty. For some stupid reason, Isabel’s heart began to thunder. Was this a date? Isabel hadn’t been on a date in years. No, it couldn’t be. He had invited Inez to go too. Her heart slowed.
“Sure.” She strove for casualness. “Supper would be good.”
Chapter Five
The self-consciousness Isabel expected to feel on her first date in years never showed up. Maybe it wasn’t actually a date, but it was the first time she’d been alone with a man who wasn’t a doctor, a nurse, or a family member in a long time. Dusty opened the door of his big red pickup for her, but didn’t offer to lift her up into the cab. She appreciated the way he allowed her to toss her cane in, grip the top of the cab and swing herself up and in. He waited to be sure she was settled, closed the door, and went around get in the driver’s side.
“I thought we’d go to Rick’s
, if that’s okay with you,” he said, starting the truck.
“Sure.” She glanced down at her chambray prairie skirt. “As long as it’s not fancy.”
“Not Rick’s,” he assured her with a laugh. “It’s one step up from a dive, but I’ve known Rick for as long as I’ve been in Texas, and the food is great. Just burgers and beer.”
“Sounds good.”
He eased the truck onto the freeway. “So tell me about this party your sister is planning.”
She was more relaxed than she had expected to be. “Her daughter Paulita’s quinceañera.”
Dusty sent a quick, smiling glance at her before turning back to the road. “I’ve heard those parties take as much planning as some weddings. When does your niece turn fifteen?”
“September. Inez is pulling her hair out over the arrangements. Our oldest brother Eduardo is hosting. His youngest daughter turns fifteen only a week before Paulita does, so the girls are having a double quinceañera.”
She was sure she had kept her tone neutral, but he glanced at her again. “I take it someone isn’t happy about that.”
She pressed her lips together. Inez’s husband, Manuel, made a decent living as a handyman, but a lavish quinceañera party was beyond his means. Carmen, spiteful witch that she was, complained that her spoilt little darling shouldn’t have to share her special day with her poorer cousin. Eduardo had put his foot down about it, though, and Carmen had given in with bad grace. Dusty didn’t need to know any of that.
“Two mothers with different visions for their daughters’ party are bound to have some disagreements,” she said carefully.
“I bet. I remember my two sisters squabbling over clothes and who knows what all. Linda and Brenda are only thirteen months apart, and they fought like cats and dogs.”
“How many sisters and brothers do you have?”
“Four, two brothers and two sisters, all older than me.”
“You’re the baby of the family. Me, too. Were you pampered and teased?”
“Teased, sure. Pampered? Not so much. Let me tell you what my brother Brian did to me when I was ten.”
They exchanged family stories all the way to the restaurant. More comfortable with him now, she asked his help in getting to the ground. Without comment, he lifted her down and handed her cane to her. How refreshing. Her one pitiful attempt to date after her engagement was broken off had been with one of her brother’s foremen. Chuck was a great guy, but his anxious hovering made her feel one step up from an invalid. Their relationship fizzled right from the start.
Inside, she looked around as the waitress led them to a table. Isabel would have said it had a retro nineteen-fifties feel, except that the Formica table and red vinyl bench seats of the booth weren’t reproductions. What reproduction would have duct tape holding the split in the seat together? The pattern in the linoleum floor had been worn away to a gray shadow of itself. The waitress, a well-preserved sixty-something, wore a pink uniform with a white apron over the skirt and a name tag that said Cynthia.
“Hey, Cindy,” said Dusty. “What’s your special tonight?”
“Just the usual, hon,” the waitress said. “We got the double-decker with fries and a shake for five ninety-five on Saturdays. Y’all need a menu?”
Dusty tilted his head to smile Isabel. “Not for me, but my friend hasn’t been here before, so maybe you should give her one.”
The waitress took a single sheet of paper folded once lengthwise out of her apron pocket and laid it down in front of Isabel. “There you go, hon. I’ll let you take a look at that and be back in a few minutes to get your order.”
Isabel looked over the scant menu. She counted four types of burgers, a couple of sandwich offerings, and soft drinks on one side of the menu, and an assortment of pies, ice creams and other desserts on the other. The back listed a more extensive selection of beers.
A low voice, she whispered, “I bet this place hasn’t been renovated since 1960.”
“That’s why the prices are so low.” He chuckled. “There’s nowhere else in Dallas where you can get a half pound burger with all the trimmings, fries, and a shake for only six dollars. Wait until you taste it. Best beef you’ll ever eat, I guarantee it.”
“Well, we are in Texas, northern boy. It better be good beef.”
The waitress was back with a pen and an old-fashioned order pad in her hand. “Have y’all decided what you want?”
Isabel ordered the smallest burger, which was a mere quarter pound of beef, with cheesy fries and a Coke. Dusty went with the special. The waitress brought them their drinks, promising their meals would be up in just a couple minutes. The place filled up fast. There wasn’t an open table left. Dusty noticed too.
“Good thing we got here before the supper rush,” he remarked. “There’ve been some nights that I’ve waited an hour to get a table.” He nodded at the front, where round stools lined a long counter. “Rick has a rule: if you’re alone and it’s busy, you sit at the counter.”
“I suppose that makes sense. It makes me crazy sometimes when I go to the coffee shop and there are college students at a big table all by themselves, with all their stuff spread out, while me and my friends have to cram together at a table meant for two.”
Dusty was looking over her head toward the entry. “I see my friend has just come in with his fiancée. Would you mind if I invited them to sit with us? Looks like the place is full.”
Looking over her shoulder, she tried to identify his friend. She squashed a niggle of disappointment. This wasn’t a date, where she could expect to have Dusty all to herself. “No, that’s fine.”
Dusty half stood, raising his hand. “Hey! Gunnison! Over here!”
The figure extracting himself from the throng around the door was huge. Isabel stared at him with her mouth open. He was wearing a black muscle shirt that showed off heavily tattooed arms with biceps the size of her thigh. If she met him in a dark alley, she would dial 911. He was trailed by a dark haired woman who was six inches shorter and probably half his weight.
“Hey, Dusty,” the woman said in a soft Texas drawl.
Dusty stood up to give her a hug. “Hey yourself, Denise.” He gave the man a solid punch on the shoulder. “Gunnison. I want you to meet Isabel Ybarra. Isabel, this is my partner, Brutus Gunnison, and his fiancée, Denise Friedlander.”
They exchanged greetings, and Dusty slid into the booth beside her, leaving the opposite bench for his friend and his fiancée. A little zing of shock zipped through Isabel when she realized Dusty’s thigh was pressed against hers. It shouldn’t bother her that he could probably feel the ridge of her prosthetic leg against his knee. To distract herself, she looked across the table at Brutus’ tattoos.
“Fifth Regiment,” she commented, recognizing the Marine emblem.
His quick, pleased smile transformed him from a dangerous hulk to a rather attractive man. “That’s right,” he said. “I did my four in Iraq as a corpsman attached to the Fifth Regiment.”
Seeing the expectant look on his face, Isabel cleared her throat. “I was Army. MP.” She struggled to say more, but after ten years of never speaking of it, the words wouldn’t come, so she latched onto her Coke and drank.
Brutus shot Dusty a speaking glance that Isabel didn’t understand. “You played in the Sandbox? Cool. Denise is still serving in the Air Guard.”
“I did only one tour in Iraq, and that was after the big push,” the brunette said, as if confessing to a crime. “I’m finishing up in the Guard and going to school. Brutie is pretty much supporting both of us right now.”
Brutie? Isabel flicked a glance over Brutus. “Brutus. That’s a name you don’t hear every day.”
“Tell me about it.” He clutched at his heart. “Ain’t it awful? But then again, I guess it could be worse. My older brother is Cassius and my baby brother is named Augustus. Compared to them, Brutus seems downright normal.”
Isabel found herself laughing.
Denise patted his massi
ve shoulder. “But at least they have normal nicknames. Well, Cash and Gus are mostly normal, but the only nickname for you is Brute. All those stupid jokes you get about being the brute squad.” She rolled her eyes.
The waitress returned and took Brutus and Denise’s order.
After Cindy had left, Brutus leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially to Isabel. “My mom still calls me Boo-Boo.”
That set her off again. She had to slap her hand over her mouth to control her giggles. “Boo-boo?”
He shook his head sadly at her. “I revealed my big, dark secret, and you laugh at my pain.”
“Sorry!”
Dusty snorted. “Suck it up, Gunnison. It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“He doesn’t need any more hair on his chest.” Denise waved her arms wildly. “He’s already got a shag carpet growing there!”
A diamond sparkled on her left hand. “What a beautiful ring,” Isabel said politely. “Have you set a date?”
“Christmas Eve. It was the only day both our families could come.” Denise leaned back so the waitress could set her drink down. “How did you and Dusty meet?”
For one second Isabel froze, her mind trapped in the truck on the road in Iraq, pain and terror drowning her. Then she pushed it away and smiled wickedly. “He signed up for the Learn to Knit class I taught this afternoon.”
Brutus inhaled his Coke and fell into a coughing fit. Isabel peeked at Dusty. To her relief, he was smiling. “That’s right,” he confirmed proudly. “I knit a dishcloth. Hey, I know! I can make you guys a bunch of dishcloths for a wedding present.”
Isabel nodded enthusiastically. “Wonderful idea. I can make matching dishtowels.”
Brutus wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re scaring me, Wolfe. Guys don’t knit.”
Before she could protest, Dusty beat her to it. “Some do,” he argued. “This morning I met some guy, who could probably bench press you, who was working on a pair of socks. Said his wife refused to knit them for him anymore, so he learned to do it himself.”