Trudy had long suspected that Georgia was her aunt’s favorite. Not because of anything Georgia had done so much as what she didn’t do. She never challenged her aunt for the truth, unlike Trudy who’d badgered her occasionally over the years. Plus Georgia lived in the same town and doted on her, whereas Trudy only popped in every few years, fishing for answers.
As Georgia approached, Aunt Star called, “Where’s Gil?” She seemed to be looking past Georgia as if any second he would come bringing up the rear.
“He’ll be along shortly. He was feeding and brushing the horses last time we talked.” Georgia loosened her neck scarf. “Whew, turned out to be a nice day. Sun feels good.” She sat down next to Aunt Star and reached behind her back like she was resting her arm on the bench. After yanking a strand of Trudy’s hair, she slyly removed her arm and pushed the bridge of her aqua frames up on her nose in a dramatic fashion, her signal to Trudy: Did you show her the glasses?
Leaning forward, Trudy barely shook her head and acted as if something was in her right eye. Then she unwrapped a stick of gum and stuck it in her mouth.
Georgia squinted at her sideways, looking puzzled.
Aunt Star let out a loud huff and slammed her cane down. “You girls think I’m stupid. I know what’s going on!” She took a deep breath, jutting her chin in defiance. “Now here’s the deal. The three of us survived a horrible encounter a long time ago. In the process, some bad stuff happened.”
Trudy leaned back on the bench and watched a young couple roll their suitcases up the sidewalk and into the Plaza Hotel. From the corner of her eye, she could see Georgia fling her scarf over her shoulder and sit back all regal like, her nostrils flaring as she breathed through her nose and waited.
Aunt Star took a deep breath and continued, her voice thick with emotion: “Sometimes love crosses all boundaries…sometimes we must do things to protect those we love.”
Even if it means the unthinkable, Trudy thought, chewing her gum and playing with the foil wrapper, flattening it with her thumb against her thigh. “Even if it means doing things that could send us to jail?” With each breath, her chest caved in a little more.
Georgia twisted on the bench. “Stop it, sis. We need to let this go.” She fanned her face with both hands, her manicured nails painted the same shade as her cape.
“Nobody’s going to jail,” Aunt Star’s voice crackled between them. “Not as long as I’m the matriarch in this family.”
“I felt Daddy’s presence that night,” Trudy blurted. “It’s like he was there and helped me lift that heavy skillet.”
Aunt Star gasped. Her pink lips trembled and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Shep hated Dub,” she spat after a few seconds.
Georgia untangled the scarf at her neck like she couldn’t breathe. “Did Dad know Dub attacked you when you were younger?”
Slowly, the old woman nodded her head. “Jewel told Shep although I asked her not to. But who could blame her. It was right after you kids moved into the house on Seven Mile Road. The moving van had barely left when we got wind Dub had rented a casita within walking distance. That’s when your dad paid Dub a visit. Shep threatened to kill him if he ever hurt one of you kids.”
Trudy rocked back and forth on the bench. A heat welled up within her and she felt like she might explode. “I’m not leaving town until you tell me the truth. Was Dub dead when he hit the floor?”
Aunt Star heaved a sigh and white-knuckled the cane. She stared straight ahead without speaking.
Georgia broke the silence and whimpered into her scarf.
Rigid against the back of the bench, Trudy found her courage. “So if he was dead when he hit the floor, how did he end up on the tracks?”
Aunt Star continued to grip her cane. “What do you do with trash?” she bristled, her voice cold and harsh. “You take it out.”
To the tracks…Trudy thought, closing her eyes against the image of her aunt dragging Dub’s stiff body across the yard all by herself, through the back gate, and up the berm where she laid him across the steel rails while a blizzard howled around her.
Georgia choked out a painful plea: “We must never tell Mom the pervert died in her kitchen.”
Aunt Star cleared her throat and gripped the crook of her cane, repeating the words from decades ago. “You tuck it deep inside of you, so deep your body will absorb it.”
Trudy and Georgia leaned forward, each grabbing hold of the cane. Without saying a word, the three women renewed their code of silence. A silence to protect themselves along with Jewel and the house she worshipped.
Trudy couldn’t help but wonder if the cane they were clinging to was a shepherd’s staff or a lightening rod?
Gulping for air, she pushed off from the bench. “I’ll be right back.” She hiked toward the hotel, passing a tall flagpole displaying three flags: the red, white, and blue of the American flag, the stark black and white of the POW-MIA flag, and the yellow and red of the New Mexico flag.
By the time she reached the hotel lobby, she could breathe again.
After she left the ladies room and lingered by the walnut staircase where a scene from No Country for Old Men had been filmed, she meandered down a wide crooked hallway until she rounded a corner and stepped into an exquisite room with a fourteen-foot tall ceiling. Natural light poured in from two massive bay windows with display cases filled with art. The windows overlooked the plaza and flanked a set of arched glass doors capped by a tall transom. A handful of round tables covered in white linen cloths had been set up for some event.
“They call this room the Old Library.” A woman in a black shirt and white collar sat on a sofa shoved against the far wall. Warmth radiated from her smile.
“Oh, sorry to disturb you,” Trudy apologized. “I didn’t see you sitting there.”
“You’re not disturbing me. I was hanging up with my husband when you walked in.” She placed her phone on the armrest. “This room is peaceful. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Are you a priest?” Trudy fiddled with her purse strap and glanced around. They were the only ones in the room.
“Yes, with the Episcopal Church. My name is Gracie by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Trudy, and I haven’t been to church in a long time.” She bit her lip, feeling shy and awkward. She tried to gauge the woman’s age, but it was getting more difficult the older she got. The woman was long and lean with an athletic build, possibly a hiker or bicyclist.
“I hear that a lot. It’s okay.”
“May I ask a dumb question? I grew up protestant, so I’m not sure what to call you.”
“There are no dumb questions,” she smiled. “You can call me Gracie. Or Priest Gracie is fine. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Priest Gracie had a no-nonsense cropped haircut, an open smile, the slightest hint of lip and eyeliner. She reminded Trudy of a female captain she’d flown with over the years. Smart. Sensible. Friendly. Approachable.
“I don’t want to take up your time, but may I talk to you a moment?”
The priest motioned for her to sit down. “Please, come have a seat. I just got back from conducting a funeral and stopped by here before I go up to my room to change for dinner.”
“Guess your white collar attracts people,” Trudy said, sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
“Or repels them,” the priest chuckled. “What’s on your mind?”
Her hands tucked between her legs, Trudy began. “Do you think God punishes us for our sins? I mean…like the big ones in the Ten Commandments?”
Priest Gracie uncrossed her legs and folded her hands on her lap. “I believe in a benevolent God. A God who weeps when we weep and rejoices when we rejoice.”
Trudy stared at her feet then into the priest’s compassionate eyes. “I walked in on something when I was a teenager, and my actions saved my sister’s life. It was self-defense, but in the process someone died.” Trudy paused, waiting for the priest to say something. Instead,
she nodded thoughtfully for her to go on.
Her throat tight, Trudy continued: “When I was forty, I lost a baby girl at full term. She was stillborn. She’d be eighteen by now. I keep thinking God is punishing me. You know, a life for a life.”
Priest Gracie turned toward Trudy. “God is love, Trudy. Love has no need to settle scores. I’m sensing you have a broken relationship with God because you blame yourself in some way. Guilt can do that. It can cause us to construct invisible walls to keep God and others out.”
Trudy closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She saw herself pick up the skillet…
Her eyes fluttered open and she rose off the sofa and moved toward the bay window, her face damp with perspiration. Aunt Star’s comment from earlier drifted past her mind: How he died is immaterial. I’m just glad he’s no longer a menace to society.
“I believe our creator is in the midst of whatever is troubling you.” Priest Gracie followed her and stood next to her.
Gazing out the window, Trudy sniffled and watched Aunt Star walking arm in arm with Georgia as they promenaded around the Plaza. An overwhelming sense of loyalty surged through her, driving out all other thoughts. “See those two women there? That’s my aunt and sister. My aunt’s a retired nurse. She’s spent her life taking care of people and fighting for women’s rights. And my sister’s a teacher. She teaches dance at the community college.”
“I can tell you’re proud of them. We women need each other, especially during times of crisis.”
Was this female priest hinting at something bigger, something beyond the realm of their previous discussion? Hector had taught Trudy about making assumptions. So she waited, not wanting to offend the woman, in case...in case Trudy was wrong in her assumptions. Finally, she spoke her mind: “We’re all upset about the outcome of the election.”
“Me, too,” Priest Gracie sighed. “Lots of people I know are. Many of my parishioners have been confiding in me. Others, sad to say, are quite happy about the upset.”
Relieved, Trudy gestured to the four-foot-tall Talavera pottery statue of a Franciscan priest in a colorful robe propped on a riser in the bay window, a white dove perched in each palm. “There’s one problem with the Padre there.”
Priest Gracie furrowed her brow. “Oh? I love his vibrant colors.” Her gaze lingered on the statue. “He’s supposed to represent Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals.”
Trudy nodded. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s lovely all right. But I have a hunch if Aunt Star walked in here and met you, she’d look at him and say, ‘Where’s his female counterpart?’” Trudy gestured toward the other display window filled with large metal animal sculptures. “You’re a woman priest. When’s the last time you saw a woman of the clergy depicted in art? And I’m not talking about nuns or angels.”
Priest Gracie studied the padre figure. “Her time will come. It may look insurmountable, but the day will come when women gain their rightful place in society and stand equal with men. I believe we already do in the eyes of our creator.”
The rumble of motorcycles vibrated through the window as two Harleys passed by in tandem in front of the hotel. A man rode a few feet ahead of a woman.
“You know they filmed the movie Easy Rider here,” Priest Gracie said, as she and Trudy watched the riders circle the plaza before they disappeared back down Bridge Street.
Moments later, a silver Ford Dually pickup pulled up next to the curb across from the hotel. An older guy with a salt and pepper ponytail climbed out of the cab, his trademark craggy features unmistakable as he shut the door and swaggered up the sidewalk in a black T-shirt and jeans toward her aunt and sister. He looked as if he stepped right off the set of some action-packed show where he played the assassin.
“That guy looks so familiar.” The priest crossed her arms, one finger tapping her lip as if trying to place him.
“Aw, that’s Gil,” Trudy smiled. “My sister’s boyfriend. He’s an actor. Been in lots of films. Usually plays bad guys, but my sister says he’s a real sweetheart. I’m fixin’ to go meet him.” She watched Gil give her sister a kiss on the cheek before he offered Aunt Star his arm inked in tattoos as they crossed the street in front of the hotel. No wonder Aunt Star was always asking about him. He played the adoring gentleman and she loved the attention. Who wouldn’t? Before stepping off the curb, Georgia bent over her phone texting before she followed after them.
Trudy’s cell pinged and she glanced at her screen: Gil’s here. Meet us in the lobby. Hope you’re ok.
Stepping away from the window, Trudy turned to leave. “Gracie. Thank you for listening. You’ve helped shed some light on a complicated situation.”
Gracie’s eyes glinted with understanding. “Peace to you, my sister.”
They walked out of the room together. As Trudy rounded the staircase by the lobby, she glanced over her shoulder to wave goodbye. Priest Gracie had stepped onto the elevator. She lifted her hand and smiled.
The Plaza Hotel bar was a favorite gathering spot for locals and hotel guests. It was almost dark by the time they found a table for four by a window overlooking the park. At night, Plaza Park glittered with thousands of tiny white lights strung in trees. Even the gazebo’s canopy and rails were outlined in lights, giving it the look of a stationary merry-go-round. From her vantage point at the round table, Trudy could look out the window to her right and see the park and turn to the left and watch the bartender creating concoctions at the elegant bar capped in granite. The place was packed on this Saturday night, a week before Thanksgiving.
Trudy averted her eyes from the big screen television mounted high on one wall across the room, glad Aunt Star had her back to the television where the president-elect was yammering about something, most likely himself. At least the volume was on mute.
Georgia sat to her left and Gil directly across from her next to Aunt Star. Their server had just delivered drinks, and Georgia asked him to hold off bringing menus until they had a chance to visit for a few minutes. No sooner had the server left when all three women’s cellphones pinged with a group text from Jewel. She’d sent a photo showing where Hector had outlined a section of kitchen tile in bold black marker. This is where the new kitchen island will go, Jewel wrote in her text, attaching a photo of Zia plopped on her haunches right in the middle of the rectangle, her left paw dangled in the air as if she were waiting for someone to shake it.
After glancing at the image, Trudy gazed out the window a moment, looking past her reflection. For a split second, her mind replaced the shape of a rectangle with the outline of a body like the ones seen in crime photos. Turning back to the others, she tried to read the expression on Aunt Star’s face, then on Georgia’s. Were they thinking what she was thinking?
The island would sit directly over the spot where Dub died.
Aunt Star held her phone in one hand, typed away with one finger, then smiled coyly when she hit send.
Trudy read the text: Looks good, Sister. Please give my regards to Hector for bringing your kitchen into the 21st century. And tell Miss Zia that Mr. Grumples says meow.
Georgia chuckled then sent her own comment: Can’t wait to see the island, Mom. Daddy would love all the home improvements you’ve made. As Georgia went to put her phone away, she winked at Trudy then tickled Gil in the side. “Sorry, babe. We’re not trying to ignore you.”
Gilbert Miguel Vargas toyed with the sides of his downwardturned mustache going gray around his generous mouth. He picked up his longneck beer and took a tug, his bronze fingers ringed in silver and turquoise. “I grew up in a household of women. I’m used to chattering hens.”
A guy at the next table looked over in recognition when he heard Gil’s gravelly voice.
Their server returned with menus and left.
Stashing her phone in her purse, Trudy asked Gil, “Why did you leave Hollywood? Were you tired of the rat race?”
Gil set his beer down and gazed thoughtfully across the table. “After I realized I coul
d earn a decent living at it, I always said I’d leave on a high note when it was time. And I did.” He gave Georgia a squeeze. “And then this little gal waltzed into my life and turned my brain upside down.” He made a face and they all laughed.
Georgia laid her head on his shoulder. “Aw, that’s so sweet, but tell them why you opened Storrie Theater.”
He scratched his stubble-free jaw and stretched back in his chair. “I grew up a poor Mexican kid from the west side of Las Vegas, still known as Old Town by some. I was always getting into trouble until I discovered theater in high school. So after I returned home, I opened the theater as a form of outreach. We’re between productions, but I’m hoping to get more community involvement. Get kids interested in the arts in general and keep them off the streets.”
“Gil,” Aunt Star lifted her chin in his direction, her elbows on the table as she clasped both hands, “you might think about hosting a wine and paint night for young mothers who’ve been cooped up with little ones all day. The lobby’s a perfect venue for events unrelated to theater. It could help generate income and draw attention when you’re in between plays.”
“Good thinking, Ms. Star. Maybe you can teach a knitting class, too.”
Trudy raised her glass in agreement. “To Aunt Star, knitter extraordinaire.”
Aunt Star eyed Trudy across the table. “Why thank you, lovey.”
Georgia put down her menu and batted her lashes at Gil. “Honey, what’s the best line you ever delivered in a film?”
Gil toyed with the paper napkin under his longneck. “Let’s see, I had lots of good ones over the years, but the line I wished I’d had” — he lifted his beer, took a swig, and flashed a crooked grin — “Some people just need killin’,” he growled in that distinct gravelly voice that caused patrons to turn and stare at their table.
Georgia groaned, looking squeamish. She refused to look at Trudy.
Aunt Star gasped, her pink lips parting as she squinted at something over Trudy’s shoulder. After a moment she reached for her martini and slurped.
The Flying Cutterbucks Page 25