At the park, I find a bench and sit down, inhaling the scents of juniper and lavender. The sun is a half-moon over the lush hillside and viewing downtown from the commons, the main drag looks like a colorful ribbon cutting through the mountains. Pickups rumble toward the highway, and people walk between the small office buildings sandwiched along the block. Compared to Los Angeles, La Luna is minuscule. But in a few serene moments, I try the town on for size and find it fits my somber state of mind perfectly.
Content to people watch, I pull a sketchpad out of my backpack and balance it on my thighs. My hand instantly takes on its own life, filling page after page with sketches of the hillside above Luna Street. I draw until my stomach starts growling, then finally give in and walk back to Margarita’s.
Inside the small diner, charred wood and fried food smells fill the air. The room is abuzz with people, most of whom, with their cowboy hats and turquoise jewelry, look like regulars. Clutching my sketchbook, I walk down the main aisle to a booth next to a window at the back of the diner. Sliding in as inconspicuously as possible, I grab a menu off the table, pretending I'm completely engrossed by dishes like green chili omelets and huevos rancheros while I try to blend in with the walls. Over the menu, I peek at the patrons, killing time until Liddy shows up.
“What’d you get?” Liddy asks when she arrives, sliding into the booth beside me.
“I didn’t. I waited for you to order.”
As if on cue, a stout young woman walks over to our table. She smiles, and her black eyes light up. Together with the two long black braids hanging over her yellow shirt, she seems childlike and entirely approachable.
“You the newbies?” she asks. “Moved into Chriso’s old place out near Apache Canyon?”
I stare at Liddy before answering. “Yeah.”
“Thought so.”
I bite my lip. “Are we that obvious?”
“It’s a small place.” She taps her pen against her chin absently. “Folks saw you ’round town the other night. They’re already talking about las recién llegadas.”
“The newcomers?” Liddy asks.
“Yes.” She grins.
“How do they know we’re not tourists?”
She nods sideways at Liddy. “You went around and introduced yourself last month. People remember those things. And my sister, Racine, saw you guys in the market the other night. Her bigmouth girlfriend came in here yesterday talking about the new girl with eyes like Spanish olives. Anyways, you’re big news. And news around here travels fast. There’s not much else for people to get excited about. You’ll see. Welcome though.” She tucks her pad and pen into her apron and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m Daisy.”
I smile at her and nudge Liddy under the table, unsure how I feel about being so conspicuous. Too bad for La Luna, if people knew us, they’d realize we’re probably the least exciting big news this week. “Thanks.” It comes out awkwardly. “I’m Ruby, and this is Liddy.”
“You in high school, Ruby?” Daisy asks.
“A senior.”
“My sister, Racine, is a senior. I’ll introduce you.”
“I’d like that.” I grin, hoping she means it.
Daisy coughs abruptly, as though suddenly aware she has a job to do. “Anyways, can I get you ladies something?”
“Want to share a red chili omelet?” Liddy asks me.
When I nod, Daisy writes it down. “Great. I better get to it then.”
She hurries off behind the counter and shoves a piece of paper at the cook, then leans over and whispers to him, nodding back at us. Around the diner, people steal little glances at our table. It’s sort of like being a sideshow amusement, though no one seems to mind us being here. We’re more curiosity than freak.
After Daisy brings us coffee, Liddy pulls out the Sunday crossword and positions it between us. “You going to ask about Leo?”
“Hell no.”
She raises an eyebrow and starts scribbling in words, but when Daisy comes back with our food, she whispers under her breath, “Go on. Ask her.”
“Ask me what?” Daisy smiles.
“Nothing,” I say briskly.
Liddy shoves her elbow into my waist. I shoot her my fiercest scowl, then look up at Daisy. “Do you know a boy named Leo? He said he used to go to Pecos High School.”
Daisy looks toward the ceiling, then shakes her head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“He’s really good-looking,” I add.
“Really good-looking? Nope. But I’m not near as nosy as some folk think I am, Jim,” she stresses under her breath, scowling at a man sitting a couple of seats down the counter. “Ask Racine when you meet her. She knows everyone.”
Daisy walks off to take another order. When she’s out of earshot, Liddy whispers, “You can breathe now.”
I poke her. It’s true I want to meet Leo again, but as a rule, no boy is worth hyperventilating over, drop-dead gorgeous or not. “You’re a riot.”
“You going to eat that?” She reaches out and steals the only piece of toast on the plate before I can answer.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” she mumbles cheerily with her mouth full.
“You sure you’re not pregnant?” I mutter.
Liddy coughs through her bite, then grins at me. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart. Anyway, when would I have had the opportunity?”
Talk about an understatement. My whole life, I’ve watched Liddy watch the dating boat sail by. Forty-three years is a long time to give up romance to care for someone else’s daughter.
“Don’t make that face,” she says. “You worry too much.”
“I swear, Lid, if the teaching gig doesn’t go well, you have a future in mind reading.”
“It’s no big secret.” She laughs. “Your face is like a neon sign.”
“Then you have eyes on the side of your head. You weren’t even looking at me.”
“Ruby, love.” She places a hand on my knee and squeezes. “You’re like my own daughter. I don’t need to look at you to know what you’re thinking.”
She’s right. Constitutionally, we’re nearly identical. She just has about twenty-five years on me.
Liddy gives my forearm a squeeze, finishes off breakfast, and goes back to the crossword. While Liddy fills in words, I sit and read the Santa Fe New Mexican while I listen over its pages to the diner’s ambient chatter. All around, things clank, and scrape, and sizzle.
A small string of bells hitched to the front door adds to the din, and when they jangle violently enough to mimic church bells, I look up from my paper. A gust moves through Margarita’s, and the boy I ran into at the market marches in, moving like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He meets my eyes briefly, keeping his face lowered as he makes his way toward the only space left in the diner—the booth right across from ours. Curiously, everyone seems to purposely disregard him as though his presence is, but shouldn’t be, bothersome. They ignore him, but the tension coming off at least a few of Margarita’s patrons is palpable.
Mom always said, You can catch more flies with honey. I never listened much when she was alive, but I still feel terrible about gawking at him in the market, so it seems like a good time to start. Mustering my nerve, I lean over the table toward him and say, “Hi.”
The boy barely glances up from his paper, squinting as he stares past me. “What do you want?” he finally grumbles.
“Ezra Lucero. Guácala! Be nice!” Daisy demands from behind the counter. “Pay no mind to Ezra, Ruby.” She shakes her head at him. “His bark is worse than his bite, though I wouldn’t heed either.” She comes around and refills our coffee cups, giving him a death stare before walking back to the counter.
Liddy looks up from her crossword, cocking her head at me inquisitively.
“I just wanted to say sorry about the other day in the market,” I continue quietly. “I mean, bumping into you and then … well, the way I acted.”
“Fin
e,” he answers curtly.
“Maybe we could buy you a cup of coffee?”
Ezra drops his paper on the table. He tilts his strong but scarred chin and looks me dead in the eyes. “Why?”
“I just thought …”
“Well don’t think.” He drops his voice a notch. “It isn’t very becoming.”
From all over the diner heads turn toward our table. Their eyes pierce holes through my body. Self-conscious, I pull my sweater away from my neck as a flush of heat spreads from my throat to my cheeks.
“Oh,” I whisper at the tabletop. “I’m sorry.”
Ezra looks around the room. He shakes his head, then goes back to reading. After a moment, he drops his paper, grabs his keys off the table, and slides out of the booth. “Cancel my order, Daisy,” he grumbles on his way out of the diner.
When Ezra walks out of the restaurant, everyone stares. Mortified, I try to slink under the table, riding out the hush that settles over the room.
“Don’t worry about Ezra. He’s a jerk.”
Liddy and I turn around at the same time. Two sheriffs fill the booth behind us, sprawled in their seats like they’ve settled down to watch the Sunday game. The youngest of the two smiles, crinkling his lucent green eyes at me.
“Angel’s right.” The sheriff across the table from him nods. “That boy hasn’t been right in the head for years.”
The sheriff closest to us holds out his hand. “I’m Angel. This old coot over here,” he points to his partner, “is Torrance.”
Angel has a friendly face. His smooth, tanned skin and broad cheekbones dress up his wide, welcoming smile. He also looks a lot like Torrance, except Torrance is wider, and graying slightly at the temples, and maybe fifteen years older.
“I’m Ruby.” I lean over my seatback and shake his hand.
Liddy smiles and nods her head. “Liddy.”
Angel pats the empty seat beside him. “Why don’t you come on over here and sit with us.”
Before I can answer, Liddy’s out of the booth and on her way over to their table. She slides in next to Angel. Hesitantly, I leave the booth and slide in beside Torrance.
“You just moved into Chriso's old place, right?” Torrance’s smile radiates warmth.
“Right,” Liddy answers.
“Have you settled in?”
“We have for the most part. Thank you for asking.”
Torrance’s hazel eyes twinkle. “My sister considered buying it for all of ten minutes when it first went on the market. Been empty now for a while though.”
“Mom didn’t want to live so far outside Santa Fe,” Angel adds.
That’s why they look so much alike. The minute I glance between them again, I see it. Angel is Torrance’s nephew.
As if on cue, Daisy comes over, refills our coffee cups, and places a hand on a rounded hip, holding the coffee pot in the air with her other hand. “Most folks don’t want to live up in Paso de Demonio.”
“Demon’s Pass?” I ask.
Torrance winks as if to excuse Daisy’s snooping. “That’s what the old-timers call the forest up near where you live.”
“They claim it’s haunted,” Daisy adds. “The forest don’t take well to intruders. They say that unless you got ties to the land, maybe some Pecos or Apache blood, it’ll snuff your soul. Tall tales you know, like white folks’ fairies and leprechauns.”
“People have been yapping about everything from ghosts to aliens living on that mountain for decades now.” Torrance raises an eyebrow. His face lights up, punctuated by a huge grin. “These days, though, most of the stories come from kids out sneaking around with Jack and Jimmy Beam. Nothing like a pint of Jack Daniel’s to stir up urban legends.”
Remembering what Leo said on the mountain, I shiver despite my sweater. Great. I’ve exchanged smog and rush hour traffic for a possessed forest. “Fantastic,” I mumble, turning to Liddy. “You never told me.”
Angel puts his coffee cup down and leans in closer. “It’s all just superstition, Ruby. You know how people are. Something scares them, and they find a way to turn it into more to justify crapping their pants. Besides, people around here just love their stories.”
“Ruby isn’t worried,” Liddy assures him. She turns to me, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Despite her mother’s flights of fancy and penchant for moonstones, I raised a skeptic.”
Daisy pulls her dark eyebrows into a knob above her nose. “You should be. That forest has secrets. May not be little green men, but it’s a strange place.” She taps the table with her pen to drive home her point and walks off to take another order.
“Daisy is a little sensitive.” Angel nods Daisy’s way affectionately.
Torrance lets out a hearty laugh. “And a little bit messing with you.”
“Oh. Duh,” I fumble. But thinking about the ruin and what Leo told me, it’s no wonder people tell stories about the forest. How could it not be haunted—even if only by history?
Angel adjusts himself on the seat, leaning in over the table. “So, what’s your plan, Ruby?”
“Well, school starts tomorrow.”
“You going to the university?”
“No,” I blush. “Senior year.”
Angel looks surprised. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be eighteen in two months, in October.”
“Man, I sure as heck don’t envy you.” He laughs. “It’s been four years and I still hate high school. I couldn’t get out fast enough.”
“You’re both pups.” Torrance stretches backward and pats his stomach. “What I wouldn’t give to be a youngster again.”
Angel snorts. “You’d think we already buried him. Torrey acts like he’s a hundred, not the ancient age of forty-two.”
Liddy grins, and I know what she’s thinking. Time hasn’t treated Torrance poorly at all. He’s handsome enough as it is. I can only imagine what he looked like at Angel’s age. Although looking at Angel, I have a good idea.
“Mind if I ask you why you moved to La Luna?” Angel asks me.
I glance at Liddy, who half smiles. “We don’t mind you asking,” she tells Angel. “But it’s a long story.”
“Got it.” Angel winks at me and swipes the last of his eggs off his plate with a tortilla before wiping his mouth with a napkin. Sensitive to Liddy’s answer, he leans back against the seat, crackling like static across the table as he tells us about all the teachers he had at Pecos High, as well as which classes to avoid. Listening to him, it takes me maybe two minutes to figure out I enjoy hearing him talk; his mellow personality complements his mesmerizing voice, laced with Southwestern charm.
“So, what did you say to Ezra anyway?” Angel finally asks me. “I haven’t seen him that riled up in a while.”
“I don’t know? ‘Sorry’?” I shrug. “I bumped into him at the market and sort of stared. I felt bad about it, so I tried to say ‘sorry.’”
Torrance gives me a sympathetic nod. “Don’t feel bad. Ezra was about as nice as a horse’s ass before his accident.” He looks to Angel. “Now he’s a nightmare.”
“Ezra’s always been a jerk,” Angel agrees. “None of his family have ever been particularly friendly. Ezra’s grandparents were so antisocial, some of the old-timers still claim the whole bunch of them are witches.”
Torrance shoots Angel a look. “Angel.”
“What happened to him?” Liddy asks.
“No one knows,” Torrance says. “But he used to be a handsome kid. The girls loved him. Though no one loved Ezra more than himself. I think that boy would’ve stapled a mirror over his forehead if he could’ve.”
Daisy leans over the Formica counter and rests her chin in her palms, joining the conversation from across the aisle. “I don’t think Ezra ever loved himself, Torrey. I don’t think he has it in him to love anything.” She comes around the counter and fills our cups again. “Angel and I, we went to high school with him. He followed some rich-ass society chick out east on scholarship after graduation. Cague cabe
za never stopped talking about his Little Miss Perfect. But he came back two years later with his tail between his legs and a face that looks like someone stomped on it.”
“He was in some sort of accident,” Angel says. “But he won’t talk about it.”
“That’s terrible,” Liddy murmurs.
“You ask me,” Angel nods, “he got what he had coming.”
Torrance clicks his tongue disapprovingly at Angel, then grabs the bill off the table. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and holds out a wide palm. “Gimme yours.”
“That’s very nice of you, but we’re fine,” Liddy says politely.
Torrance is exactly how I imagined small-town friendly, but I’m also not surprised Liddy declined. Liddy would die before she let anyone, much less La Luna’s hot sheriff, pay for our meal.
“We’ve been filling you up with wild stories. Not a very good welcome wagon, you ask me. Hand it over,” he insists.
“It’s okay, Torrance,” I interject. “I would’ve sat around complaining to Liddy about Ezra if you hadn’t invited us over. You have no idea how much we appreciate the company.” I’m not just saying it to be polite either. Ezra’s abrupt exit felt a little like being pummeled by a boxer.
Torrance wrinkles his nose. “Maybe just humor me.” He sets his fine lips in an obstinate scowl, and I suspect arguing won’t make one iota of difference.
Liddy sighs, hesitating before saying, “Only if you let us make it up to you.”
Liddy and I stand up to let them out of the booth. Torrance gets up and throws a few bills on the table. He positions his hat on his head, then tips it as he half bows at Liddy, looking dashing in his tan uniform. “It’d be my pleasure.”
Angel grabs his own hat off the seat and holds it under his arm, waiting for me to step aside. After promising to give me a tour of La Luna in the near future, he semi bows and trails Torrance to the door.
Between Wild and Ruin Page 3