Lupi’s eyes softened. “Aw, my cousin’s son, Ruben Sandoval. He was killed in Iraq right after the invasion. He was only nineteen.”
“I’m sorry,” Trudy offered, sad for a young man she never met.
Lupi picked up the coffeepot and turned to leave. “I’ll be right back with your check. You two behave while I’m gone.”
Trudy called after her, “How come your photo’s not on the wall? Didn’t you graduate magna cum laude from Harvard?”
“Yale,” Lupi answered and kept moving across the diner, a woman on a mission with a business to run, a woman who for all her tough talk put others first.
A teenaged girl clad in an apron snaked around the tables and began clearing the booth next to them. Crockery and silverware clanged together as the busgirl dumped everything into a gray tub. Clay excused himself to visit the men’s room while Trudy rooted through her purse for breath mints and her credit card.
When Lupi returned with the check, she whispered to Trudy, “How’s it going with Clay?”
Trudy bit her bottom lip and smiled. “So far so good. Taking things slow. We’re definitely not in high school anymore.”
Lupi looked around. “You should’ve seen his face light up the day I told him you were back in town.”
Beaming, Trudy went to pass Lupi her credit card when Clay walked up and stood with one hand crossed over the other right below his belt buckle. Being in his presence made her feel euphoric. The plan was for them to head back to his place and check on Hercules, maybe watch a movie, and hopefully pick up where they left off the other night.
Lupi took the credit card and turned to Clay. “Any more on the culprits who vandalized Gold’s Department Store?”
He pressed his lips and shook his head. “Nah, but we’ll find ’em. Someone will get to braggin’ and someone else will squeal.”
“Any chance it’s linked to the recent vandalism at the cemetery?” Lupi turned to Trudy. “Remember when that photo ran in the paper? You and your mom were here that day. We talked about it.”
Rattled, Trudy’s heart yo-yoed, but she kept her voice even. “Didn’t Mayor Trujillo think it was kids?” Even as she planted the diversion, she pictured the lady from the Lexus spray-painting rapist on Dub’s grave. Sometimes, like now — when she was with Clay — she wished she’d never witnessed it. One more burden to carry…another burden to cover up.
Fingering his upper lip, Clay cut in. “Benny’s probably right. What happened at Gold’s Department Store…well, given the history of the place and the founder, it feels more sinister than some bored teenaged punks looking for trouble. Rumor is it’s some hate group out of West Texas. Possibly the same one that hung effigies after President Obama was elected.”
After Lupi rang up their order and returned Trudy’s credit card, she said, “We all need to stay vigilant.”
On their way out the door, Trudy observed the diverse clientele — a mixed race couple with two little kids, two young people with tattoos and piercings, an older gentleman in overalls cleaning his fingernails with a toothpick…probably an old railroader.
This is a safe zone, she thought, waving goodbye as Lupi stopped to chat with an attractive young woman in a hijab who’d slipped in unnoticed and seated herself at the far corner of the counter.
Out on the sidewalk, Trudy stopped to fasten her cardigan and read the hand-painted sign that had been on the front of the small stucco building as long as she could remember: Eat At Lupi’s Diner: Authentic Mexican Food. The temperature hovered in the low forties. The snow that fell last week had melted the second it hit the ground. Rain was in the forecast along with the first hard freeze.
“Burr, it’s getting cold out.” Clay zipped up his jacket and they held hands and strolled toward the Tahoe parked in the gravel lot next door to the diner. Lupi owned that lot, too. As Clay went to grab the door handle, Trudy’s phone buzzed.
She reached into her purse and glanced at the screen. “It’s Momma.” She looked up. “I can let it go to voicemail...?”
He glanced around and held the door open. “She’s either checking on you or something’s wrong. Better answer.”
Trudy pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey, Momma, everything okay? Clay and I are just leaving Lupi’s.”
Her mother sounded out of breath. “Sorry to bother you, darling, but there’s a wild animal bedded down at the base of the flagpole. It’s been there all morning since you and Clay left to go to breakfast.”
“Hang on. Let me put you on speaker.” She pressed the display and held out the phone. “Describe the animal, Momma.” Trudy glanced at Clay who stood patiently waiting, a toothpick lodged between his teeth.
“It looks like a coyote. I’m wonderin’ if it’s injured. I don’t see any blood, but it’s been curled up at the base of the flagpole and hasn’t moved. Right in the spot where my jonquils come up every spring.”
Clay took the phone and motioned for Trudy to climb in. “Miss Jewel, are you inside the house?”
“I’m standing at the living room window. I was looking at my rock collection.”
Trudy clicked her seatbelt and pictured her mother doddering in front of the windowsill, picking up each rock and reminiscing about all the places she’d visited in her lifetime.
“Stay put. We’re on our way.” Clay passed the phone back to Trudy.
“What about Hercules?” Trudy asked as Clay fired up the Tahoe and pulled out of the gravel parking lot and headed west on Seven Mile Road.
“Little Man will be fine. You can slip him some extra treats when you see him.” He laughed and shot her a wink and gnawed on the toothpick.
Leaning against the headrest, she gazed at him, wishing she could tell him everything: everything dating back to the night in the kitchen when she saved her sister’s life.
CHAPTER 20
Coyote Yellow
THE MUD-COLORED house with the long front porch came into view. Clay flicked the left turn signal and tapped his foot on the brake. Gravel crunched beneath the Tahoe’s tires as they pulled into the driveway and came to a halt behind the minivan and Camaro parked under the carport.
Trudy’s heart sputtered at the look of worry etched on her mother’s face as she peered out the picture window, her fingers pressed to her lips. “She’s probably been standing there all morning.”
How many times had her mother stood in that same position, waiting for her and Georgia to come home from a school event or date? Or the times as a young pilot’s wife when she waited for her hero, Shep, to fly over the house and rock his wings before touching down on the runway southwest of their home?
“I’ll say one thing about Momma,” Trudy observed as her mother disappeared from the window. “She never stops worrying or waiting!”
Clay shoved the gearshift into park and cut the engine. “That’s some coyote all right.” He chuckled and grabbed the keys. “The only thing that dog has in common with a coyote is his ancestry.”
“And his coloring,” she countered. “It’s coyote yellow.” She whipped out her phone and sent her mother a text: It’s a dog, not a wild animal.
Two pointy ears twitched when her mother cracked opened the blue door and poked her head out, tugging at her knit cap. The creature was curled near the base of the flagpole, a couple of feet from the spotlight.
Clay stashed his sunglasses on the dashboard and got out. “Approach with caution. We don’t know if it’s injured.”
On the drive out, he’d entertained Trudy with stories from his early days as a street cop when he occasionally got stuck with animal control duties. On one call to the rich part of town, a resident complained a skunk was floating in her swimming pool. When the woman answered her door, her face slathered in cold cream, she found a police officer in uniform staring back. Keeping a straight face, Clay held up his badge and announced grimly, “Skunk Patrol. Where’s the suspect?”
Laughing, Trudy had gazed at Clay all the way to the house, mesmerized by his aura. If bucket sea
ts and a console didn’t keep them apart, she’d have slid over and put her head on his shoulder like old times.
Now, not taking her focus off the dog, she unfastened her seatbelt and climbed out and followed Clay. They crept forward, hoping the stray wouldn’t get spooked and run off. A pair of amber eyes locked in on her, following her every move. She’d read somewhere to never make eye contact with a strange dog, but the look in this dog’s eyes wasn’t caution or a warning to stay back. The look was utter exhaustion. A look that conveyed: I’m worn out from traveling. I need a safe place to rest and someone to love me.
“Be careful,” Jewel’s shrill tone pierced the cold air from the porch where she had barricaded herself behind the storm door.
This wasn’t the first time a stray dog had appeared in their lives…
Trudy bit back the bitter memory of the skinny brown dog that had wandered into their yard a few weeks after Bogey died. Panting, the dog with pitiful eyes appeared out of nowhere, its patchy fur barely covering its ribcage. Trudy and Georgia begged Momma to let them keep it, but Momma started cursing and carrying on, calling the dog a flea-bitten rabid mongrel. When Trudy smarted back, “You’re the one foaming at the mouth, maybe you’ve got rabies,” Momma backhanded her and picked up a broom and chased the dog out of the yard and up onto the highway and smack-dab into the grille of an oncoming semi. That little brown dog went flying, broken and bloody, and Momma crying for God to take her, too. The next day, Aunt Star called in sick and took Momma to the doctor. That’s the last time Trudy and Georgia saw her until she came home from the hospital months later, weeks after Dub’s funeral.
“Don’t go crazy on us this time, Momma,” Trudy mumbled loud enough for Clay to hear. He knew about the tragedy involving the brown dog. It’s one of the first things Trudy confessed to him when they started dating in high school. Back then, Trudy told him everything, everything but the night in the kitchen when she took Dub down with a single whack to the head.
“We’ll split off and give it a wide berth.” Clay gestured with his right hand, dropping it to his side. “Don’t go at it head on.”
“Lieutenant Cordova, the doggy whisperer,” she teased, letting Clay be the expert. Men, they think they know everything, Trudy could hear Aunt Star snap.
As they drew closer, the dog lifted its head, panting in Trudy’s direction. “It’s okay, we’re here to help you.” She talked to the dog in the same soothing voice she used on nervous passengers. The dog began to whimper and whine, sounding like Skylar when she’d wanted Trudy’s attention.
With a knot in her throat, Trudy took another step and continued to talk in soft tones. The dog rolled over on its left side, acting submissive, exposing its pale underbelly. Trudy caught her breath at the sight of an old scar where the right foreleg had been amputated at the elbow. “She’s missing a limb, poor baby.”
Clay moved in for a closer inspection, brushing up against Trudy. “Looks like it hasn’t slowed her down though. She got this far on three legs.” He pointed to a spot on her lower abdomen. “And she’s spayed, too. This tells me she had a good home at some point in her life.”
Against her mother’s pleas to be careful — “it might have fleas or rabies” — Trudy dropped to her knees and began to stroke the dog’s head, then her chest and belly. “Is anyone looking for you or worried sick ’cuz you’re missing?”
Clay knelt beside Trudy. “I can check with dispatch to see if they’ve had any calls. We can also call the shelter.”
Jewel let the storm door click behind her as she stepped to the edge of the porch. “My guess is someone passing through dumped her on the side of the road and kept going. Maybe they loved her once then considered her a liability. She’s probably thirsty. You want me to fetch some water?”
Trudy glanced up. “That’d be great, Momma. I found our old plastic cereal bowls still in the cupboard. One of those should work.”
“Don’t fill it all the way,” Clay said over his shoulder. “We don’t know the last time she ate or drank. Best to introduce water slowly, then food. We don’t want to shock her system.”
Jewel pulled the storm door open to step inside. “Good point, Clay. That’s what they did when the POWs came home. They put ’em on a limited diet before they served them a feast. A feast Shep Cutterbuck never got to enjoy.” The storm door banged behind her.
Trudy and Clay exchanged glances and turned their attention back to the dog. She was filthy, the pads of her paws rough and worn. “Looks like you’ve been travelin’, haven’t you, girl?” At the sound of Trudy’s voice, the dog let out a weary sigh.
Jewel returned with a faded plastic bowl and set it on the ground next to the dog. Slowly, the dog scrambled to its feet and lapped some water then circled and bedded back down and rested its head on Trudy’s foot.
Stroking the dog’s fur, Trudy gazed up at the flags swirling in the breeze. The red Zia sun symbol in the center of the yellow cloth captured her attention. In the back of her mind, she remembered Bogey looking up from his encyclopedia where he’d been reading about the New Mexico state flag, explaining how the rays on the sun motif represented the four directions: north, south, east, and west.
“Which direction did you come from?” Trudy said, shifting her eyes from the flag to the dog.
Clay’s voice whistled around her. “Maybe she’s a gift from the plains.”
The dog blinked, and Trudy turned to Clay and her mother. “She needs a name, even if her time here with us is brief.” Relaying Bogey’s findings about the flag, Trudy said, “How ’bout Zia, since she’s yellow like the sun in the sky and we don’t know which direction she came from?”
“She’s probably starving for affection.” Clay massaged the back of Trudy’s neck. “She’ll most likely respond to anything.”
For a second, Trudy couldn’t help but think of her mother. All those years Jewel had gone on alone, without her beloved Shep by her side to share life’s joys and sorrows.
Both flags snapped in the breeze, and Trudy’s gaze traveled up the pole to the POW/MIA flag. “Zia. Zia Mia.” The dog’s head snapped up and she looked straight at Trudy and stuck out her lone front paw.
“Well how ’bout that?” Clay elbowed Trudy in the side. “Looks like you’re the doggy whisperer now.”
Trudy turned to catch the flirtatious glint in his eyes. She felt her bottom lip curl in response.
Jewel craned her neck skyward. “It’s supposed to rain later this afternoon. Could turn to sleet. I know she’s filthy, but I can’t stand the thought of her freezing to death.”
Trudy stared at her mom. Are you the same woman who chased a stray into oncoming traffic? “How ’bout the carport?” she suggested. “We can make her a shelter and she can bed down there.”
Jewel flicked her wrist, dismissing the idea. “We might as well bring her into the house. I’ll grab some old quilts and make a pallet in the kitchen. What’s a little dog hair and dirt when we’ve been living with construction dust?” She stepped inside and closed the blue door.
Leaning down, Trudy patted the top of Zia’s head. “Well, wonders never cease around here. Come on, girl. You heard the woman. Let’s go inside.” Straightening, Trudy turned and stretched. She took a few steps and waited.
Zia trotted along, stopping once to squat and pee. Clay brought up the rear, following Trudy and Zia around the corner, under the carport, and through the side door.
Jewel dropped a stack of quilts in Clay’s arms. “Here, you do the honors.” She turned to Trudy. “There’s some leftover chicken and rice from last night. It’s not spicy. That should work until you take her to the vet or shelter or whatever you two kids are scheming up.”
Zia sat on her haunches, licked her lips, and let out a yelp.
“Don’t look at me,” Jewel stuck her hands on her hips, trying to act tough. “I’m not the sucker here. She is.” Jewel jutted her chin at her daughter, and Zia slowly turned her head and stared at Trudy.
Trudy chu
ckled. “Maybe so, Momma. But who’s the one barking orders?”
Jewel crossed her arms and eyed the dog. “Let’s hope you’re housebroken.”
“She’s not a puppy, Momma.”
Clay bent and spread the quilts next to the refrigerator. Trudy poked him in the side and whispered, “Sorry she’s being so bossy. I think it’s a defense mechanism.”
Retrieving the leftovers, Trudy cut a small chicken breast into chunks and spooned it over white rice. She zapped it in the microwave a few seconds to take the chill off.
When she turned to set the bowl down, she realized she and Clay were the only ones in the kitchen. “Where’d they go?”
Clay grinned and gestured toward the sunroom. “Your mom’s giving her the grand tour.”
Trudy’s jaw dropped. “Zia followed her? Momma never acted this way around Skylar. She always kept her distance.”
“Maybe she’s trying to make up for what happened to that other dog.” Clay brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and kissed the top of her head.
Moments later, Jewel and Zia emerged from the hallway. “I was showing her around. She had to stop and sniff every baseboard.”
While Clay coaxed Zia onto the pallet, Trudy let Zia nibble a few pieces of chicken from her fingers. Zia smacked her lips and whimpered for more.
Jewel clasped her hands under her chin. “Gracious me, she’s a polite eater. I’d be woofing it down. She’s probably been living on ranch scraps and chicken feed.”
Trudy set the bowl on the floor and Zia dived in, gobbling each morsel until the bowl was empty. She continued to lick the bowl, pushing it around the kitchen floor.
Tossing her arms in the air, Jewel chuckled, “Guess I spoke too soon.”
The Flying Cutterbucks Page 18