Burning (21 page)

I caught her hand in mine and we waded deeper. I knew where to put my feet, negotiating the uneven pond bed easily from years of practice. Lala kind of clung to my arm and she did her best to step where I’d stepped. A couple of times she stepped on a rock funny and lost her balance and I held her upright. We stopped when she was about chest deep and had found a level standing place about a dozen feet in from the edge of the pond.

Lala loosened her grip on my arm when her footing was secure and we stood there together, quietly, just enjoying not being hot for a change. That wasn’t all I was enjoying, I guess—standing next to Lala like that, alone except for the horses, who’d only taken a few steps away when we’d gone into the water before they went back to ignoring us—that was worth enjoying, too.

My arm wrapped around Lala’s waist. Almost weightless in the water, she floated up against my side. Slowly she shifted until we were face to face, chest to chest, and
she wound her arms around my neck. I felt all of her—her breasts, her belly, her hips and thighs—float up against me, though it seemed that she didn’t want to let her legs touch mine. All her slopes and curves fit against my hard angles and I thought again of what I’d first felt on the bike—that pressing our flesh together just right created something magical, turned some lock that released us both.

Her kiss felt shy at first, but I wasn’t in any hurry to push her into anything, so we just kissed like that for a while, our lips brushing against each other’s, and I did my best not to do anything she didn’t seem to want. But after a little while it was like she melted a little, her mouth softening to me, and I couldn’t help but hold her tighter, and she didn’t pull away, and it seemed to me that her kiss grew eager and open, and even though her body was cool now in the water her mouth was hot. I felt a need that made me squeeze her tighter, lifting her off her toes.

One of my hands held her waist and my other moved into her hair, lost in her wet curls, and I let myself kiss her this time like I’d wanted to before—hungrily.

She was breathing harder now and her hands clutched at my shoulders. I felt the hard, steady drum of her heartbeat. Mine felt wild, frenetic.

I pulled her hair away from her neck and kissed her there, and across her collarbone.

I couldn’t think anymore; my mind was full of the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her flesh in my hands. If I thought at all, it was about how glad I was that I hadn’t slept
with Cheyenne when I had had the chance. I didn’t want anything else to compare this to—anyone else to muddle my thoughts, my feelings. All I wanted was Lala.

For a long time the only sounds were of us breathing, the occasional splash of the water around us. The stillness in the air, the quiet of the late afternoon … I could almost imagine that we’d stepped through that doorway we’d created and out of the boundary of time. Maybe we were floating—in the water, sure, but in space, too, beyond the reach of clocks and schedules, calendars and deadlines. Maybe where we were there wasn’t anyone waiting to wrap up my town in chain link and barbed wire like some kind of demented Christmas present. Maybe we were in a place where there weren’t any angry, disapproving parents and maybe-ex-fiancés watching the minutes tick past. Maybe we had slipped into the picture I had seen on one of Lala’s Tarot cards—the Lovers—and maybe they held the sun and the moon in their hands because together they could make time stop—keep day from turning into night, keep my bus from pulling away three days from now.

It was nice to think so, just for a minute, and with Lala in my arms and the cool water all around us, right then I had everything. But then I heard wheels turning onto the dirt road at the top of the pit mine, and I knew someone was coming for us.

Lala knew it too. I felt her stiffen in my arms, and even though I still held her tight she was already moving away from me. I kissed her again, one more time on her mouth, and then I had to let her go. The front of my body where she
had been pressed against me felt cold now as water filled in the space. I didn’t want to move, but when she started back to shore, I followed her.

Before I looked up to see what car was coming down the hill, I sort of prayed that it was someone from town—anyone, even Hog Boy with his smarmy comments, would have been okay. I just didn’t want to see the Jeep that I knew would bring Lala’s people to take her away from me. I didn’t even want to look up at the vehicle that made its way down the winding road.

But I’m no coward, so I forced my eyes up.

There it was—the faded black Jeep.

It was still too far up the hill for the passengers to see us clearly, but with a little imagination they could have figured out that we’d been in the water together. Anyway, I thought as I shoved my wet legs through my jeans, our wet hair would give us away for sure.

Not that I regretted it—not one bit. But I could see in Lala’s face, though she set it in a steely expression, that this would cost her.

She wrapped her white shirt back around her chest and immediately her wet bra dampened two ovals over her breasts. This would have been funny in some other situation, and I could hear Hog Boy’s abrasive laugh in my head, the comment he would have made if he could have seen her.

She pulled her skirt on, too, and I noticed with admiration that her hands were steady as she tightened her belt.

I managed to fasten my jeans and yank on my shirt, but there was no time to deal with my shoes before the Jeep
pulled into the bottom of the quarry, sending up plumes of dust. I could see there were three men in it—her father, her sister’s husband, and Romeo, of course.

Lala was dripping wet, her hair hanging in ropes around her face. Just before the Jeep’s engine cut out, Lala turned to me and said, “Stay behind me.”

Her father remained behind the wheel of the Jeep. I didn’t know him well enough to read the expression on his face, but if I had to guess I would have said he was furious. Not that he looked mad; it was just that it didn’t make any sense for that tight-lipped smile he was wearing to mean he was actually happy.

Romeo was easy to read. His face was beet red and he slammed out of the car just ripe for a fight. His brother stayed a step behind him, hanging back a little to let Romeo take the lead.

“
Curva
,” Romeo spat at Lala. “Your mother and sisters are sick with worry, thinking maybe you were kidnapped, and here you are with the
gazhò
like one of their whores.”

“Hey,” I said, and I stepped up next to Lala. I didn’t care that she’d told me to stay behind her. There was no way I was going to just stand around and listen to this piece of shit talk to her like that.

Her hand reached out and took mine, squeezing my fingers. “Wait,” she said.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. Romeo didn’t seem to feel much like chitchatting either. He marched right up to us, his brother on his heels.

And then he pushed her—hard. His hand shot out right
to her chest, up on her collarbone, and he shoved her to the ground. She landed on her butt, letting out a little sound like he’d knocked the air out of her. And that pretty much ended any chance for rational discussion as far as I was concerned.

When I stepped up, Romeo’s brother sort of nodded at him as if he was saying, “Go for it.” He didn’t move toward me, so I figured that he was going to let Romeo try to take me on his own, but I wasn’t suffering under any delusions. His energy was all fighter, and I knew that he was ready to step in anytime things looked like they were getting out of hand. There was no way I was going to get the best of this situation. Maybe I could take Romeo—maybe not—but they were brothers, and if things started looking grim for Romeo, I knew his brother would be right there to back him up.

It didn’t matter. I was going to get my ass handed to me one way or the other, but okay. I’d do some damage first.

I didn’t wait around for Romeo to decide to hit me. I cocked back my right fist like I was going to clock him in the jaw, and when he feinted to the left I kicked him hard in the knee.

He didn’t see it coming. It wasn’t fair fighting, maybe, but neither was two against one. He went down hard and made a sound like the one Lala had made when he knocked her down.

It was grimly satisfying—an eye for an eye. He rolled onto his side and clutched at his knee. Lala backed up and stumbled to her feet, looking surprised for the first time since we’d met.

Kicking Romeo sure woke his brother up. I could see from
the set of his mouth that he wouldn’t be as easy to throw off as Romeo had been. He was thicker through the middle than Romeo and a scar bisected one of his eyebrows, a thin white line that he could have gotten anywhere but that I bet he’d earned in a fight.

He came at me with a roar. I felt a sick rush of adrenaline that made everything seem to happen a little slower and a little more sharply than normal. I heard the pounding of hooves on the packed dirt road as the horses galloped away.

I was ready for his first swing and got mostly out of the way, his punch glancing off my shoulder instead of landing in my face like he’d intended. Then I managed to connect a couple of quick jabs, one on the sharp edge of his cheekbone, the next on his midsection.

I was faster than he was and my reach was longer, but I was fighting barefoot at the bottom of a mine, and it wasn’t much of a surprise when I stepped wrong on a loose piece of rock. I stumbled and tried to catch my balance, but Romeo’s brother wasn’t about to miss a chance like this.

He hit me solid in the jaw; my head swung to the side hard and I spun off center. I knew he was going to throw a left hook now, I could see him rotating for it, but I couldn’t get my arms to do what I wanted them to.

I remember thinking that I didn’t want Lala to see me like this—losing.

Sometimes wanting something—or not wanting it—isn’t enough. It happens anyway, or it doesn’t. Some things are stronger than we are. Some things are faster. In that moment, Romeo’s brother was both.

There’s nothing romantic or pretty about a fight. His second hit was just as solid as the first one and there was nothing I could do about it. I was on the ground and reeling, blood trickling into my eye from a cut on my temple.

I scrambled to my hands and knees, trying to figure out which way was up so I could stumble to my feet but having a hard time of it.

Lala was screaming, maybe in English, maybe in some other language, I couldn’t tell, but I heard panic in her voice, and it scared me.

Romeo got up, inspired I guess by seeing me on the ground, and I did my best to pull my arms up over my face before he landed his first kick, his shoe connecting with the side of my head.

Lala’s voice turned pleading. I could hear that she was crying, and I wanted to get up, I wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, but I couldn’t. I got kicked again, this time in the gut, and I felt myself starting to pass out, sick and dizzy from the blows to my head. The next kick would do it, no doubt.

I don’t know why it didn’t come.

Two things happened then—I heard the rattle of Pete’s piece-of-shit truck, and I heard Lala’s voice get closer as she rushed toward me. I didn’t know why, but even though Romeo had already knocked her down once before, all of a sudden he backed away from her—both of them did, Romeo and his brother—as if they were
scared
of her.

“
Curva
,” Romeo said. I didn’t know what the hell it meant, but it wasn’t good, and it made me want to punch
him in the face, if only I hadn’t been so dizzy, if only I could have seen clearly.

Pete’s truck came barreling down the hill. He turned hard and I heard him and Hog Boy slamming out of the truck, the engine still running. The smell of his truck’s exhaust made me nauseated, but it was okay. My boys were there—it felt good knowing they had come. They’d take care of Lala now.

For a little while, then, all the pain went away. I went away, too.

It was like a nightmare to me. There they were—Romeo, Marko, and my father—and their eyes were angry and cold. Of course I had known what would come of my climbing behind Ben Stanley on his motorbike. It would mean that I would become like my aunt Ana,
marimè
, and I would lose everything. It would mean that I would no longer be Romeo’s fiancée, or even my father’s daughter. But I had left in the manner I had chosen for a reason—I had wanted to disappear; I had wanted to avoid causing a confrontation.

Even if they had wanted to find me—which I could not imagine they would have wanted to do—I would not have thought that they would track me here, to this remote place hidden from view of the main road. How they could have found us was a mystery to me; and that they had found us
here
, where we were so vulnerable, seemed like the very worst hand fate could have dealt.

Bad enough that they should come for me. But Ben Stanley, who had been nothing but kind to me, it was not right that he should bear the brunt of their anger. I had wanted
to say this to Romeo—“
Leave him out of this
”—but he had not given me the chance, pushing me hard to the ground as he did.