Happy That It's Not True (8 page)

              “Hello?”

              “Hi Dad—it’s Alex.”

              “Who?”

              “Alex!”

              “Alex who?”

              “Your son, Alex.”

              “Oh—oh! Alex.”

              “We’re with Mom in the hospital.”

              “Hospital?”

              “Luciano almost killed her.”

              “My God—are you and Cara all right?”

              “We’re fine Dad.”

              “You mind if I come by?”

              “Of course, Dad—of course you can come.”

              “Mind if I head over right now?”

              “Yes Dad—come.”

              “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

              “Sounds good Dad—we’re at Memorial South Regional.  We’ll be right outside the emergency room.”

              “Say hi to Cara.”

              “Yeah, see you in a bit.”

              The next few days, Cara and Alex would see a lot of Octavio.  The kitchen was unusable and presented him a purpose—food delivery.  He also changed the lock on the door.  Octavio took Cara to South Beach where they both got matching tattoos.  Alex declined, out of fear of infection or allergic reaction.

...

              One evening, Octavio came to visit Adriana.  He walked in the hospital room with his hands in his pockets, biting his lip, unsure whether or not to look directly at her. 

              “Hey,” Adriana said with difficulty, her tone conveying affection.

              “Hey girl—glad to see you awake.  How you feeling?”

              “Not so bad—hard to talk—my jaw—.”

              “The kids are good—brought ’em some food.”

              “I see—Thanks Octavio—for helping us out.”

              “Don’t mention it.”

              “I’m sorry about everything.”

              “Sorry—what are you sorry about?”

              “You know, Tavi.”

              “No, what?”

              “You never hit me.”

              Octavio nervously wiped the bed rail.  “You’re never going to see him again—are you?”

              “No.”

              “Good.”

              “When are you going back?”

              “Very soon—I’m actually looking forward to it.”

              Adriana looked at him for a while. 

              Octavio sat down and crossed his arms.  “What I’ll never understand is why you married him.”

              “I don’t know.”

              Octavio shook his head and spoke softy.  “Damn girl, he really messed you up.  Want me to take him out?  It would only take me a second.”

              “Don’t get into any trouble Tavi.”

              “All right—we’ll let him live.”   Octavio looked at her for a long while.  “Maybe when I get back from Afghanistan again—maybe it’ll be my last time.  Maybe I’ll take you somewhere.”

              “I’ll wait for you.”

              “Adriana—I’m so sorry I let you down.  We lost the house—we lost everything.  Thanks for taking care of the kids—they’re so beautiful.  Sorry I didn’t spend more time with them.”

              “Tavi—I understand you not wanting to see me, but  it’s not fair to the kids—they will always need you.”

              Octavio’s eyes filled with tears as he held Adriana’s hand.  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.  I want to die in your arms one day—not in Afghanistan.”

...

              In the distant baseball diamond, several players stretched, while a man in a windbreaker sprayed the infield with water.  Luciano parked and moved quickly to the trunk to get his duffle, hoping not to draw attention.

              “Luciano!” Tyler Bobs, a silver haired, leather-faced Texan in his early sixties leaned against his SUV and gestured emphatically for Luciano to come.

              Luciano trotted as if advancing to first base after a walk, dressed in a yellow button down shirt with jeans, his face obscured by a cap and sunglasses.

              “Let’s talk in the car—let’s get out of the heat.”

              The engine was running with the AC fan on low, the interior smelled of tobacco and upholstery baked by the sun.  Tyler Bobs was wearing khaki shorts and a white Polo.  He took a long look at Luciano and turned to stare out into the diamond.   

              “Wassup boss?” Luciano said.

              “Remember Bobby in triple A?—college world series MVP.  I don’t know if he’ll ever get to the majors.  He’s been in triple-A forever.”

              “Uh huh.”

              “Remember Juannie baby?  He got lucky—in the majors for almost three weeks, ‘til El Venezolano came back from DL.  Even with his .385 average—it didn’t mean anything to anyone.”

              Luciano had never heard Tyler Bobs speaking in such a plain tone before.  It was always assumed that the obvious would forever be ignored—that this was a tough business—that no one on the team, not even Tyler Bobs himself wanted to win games.  The players only wanted get out, and climb the system to get a shot at the majors.  Tyler Bobs’ only job was to farm talent, any rhetoric about a team playing well in the A class short season was meaningless talk.  Luciano grew concerned as his livelihood was reduced to mythology.

              “Do you know any of these young guys?  The roster is constantly changing.  The only reason they’re here is ‘cause they’ve been playing with aluminum bats in college and they’ve never hit with wood before.  I don’t care how good they are, Luciano, they probably won’t make it to the majors.”  Tyler Bobs nodded for a moment, chewing on his lower lip.  “You’ve got some friends in double-A making pretty good money.  They have no idea how soon that money’ll be gone.  They’ll live large for a while—buy mommy a Cadillac—but it’ll be gone soon enough, and some of them—all they have is a high school diploma and no marketable skills.”

              Tyler Bobs looked at Luciano with his head lowered, peering over the rims of his sunglasses—conveying sternness.  “Luciano, I’m talking to you now like a brother—como un hermano.  Your double-A friends bailing you out of jail—for beating your wife—Luciano.  You don’t even make hardly any money here.  After you pay the club house dues and tip everyone—what do you have?  Some of the players might think you’re just a fat and ridiculous old man.”

              “I can lose the belly-”             

              “And some of them look up to you.  That’s why you can’t be around them.  As of this moment, Luciano, I hate to tell you—your baseball career is over, my friend.”

              “Boss—”  Luciano’s right eye twitched once as he swung his head to the diamond, moving the bottom half of his jaw back and forth like a saw.

              “We’ve been good friends—that’s the only reason you’ve been here this long.  And it’s not even up to me.  Management has already decided.”

              Luciano tapped his pinky on the door.

              Tyler Bobs smacked his mouth and breathed in slowly.  “All right—now that we got this disgusting business out of the way—tell me what the hell happened.”

              Luciano plopped one hand across his forehead and closed his eyes, moaning.  “I was drunk.  I don’t even remember anything.” His face tensed as if deep in thought, trying to understand his own nature. 

              Tyler Bobs massaged the stubble on his face, scanning the baseball field.  “Well, I have to tell you—you’ve earned the right to be a true friend.”  Tyler Bobs paused to give Luciano time to look confused, which took a moment—his furrowing brow signaling his absorption of an old man’s words.

              “I don’t like perfect people, Luciano.  And now that you’ve humiliated yourself, I don’t think you’re gonna think too highly of yourself for a while.  At least I hope you don’t—life has a way of showing us that deep down we’re just animals—actually I don’t want to offend the animal kingdom, but you know what I mean.  And now that you know what you really are, I don’t have to be around someone who thinks he’s perfect.  Nothing gets on my nerves more than that.  I hate perfect people.”

              Luciano rolled his eyes.  “Wha—huh?”

              “I knew someone who lost everything he ever had.  One day everything is fine, he’s at his best friend’s house and he’s alone with his friend’s under-age daughter for a little while.  Seventeen.  Later the girl’s parents are furious—they press charges—his world crumbles—the wife leaves with the kids—”

              Luciano noticed Tyler Bobs’ eyes tearing, his breathing deepening and gave him an angry and contemptuous look.  “Seventeen, eighteen—it’s just numbers!  I don’t want to hear any of your stupid-ass stories!  Eres un co-me-mierda!  First you fire me and then I have to sit here and listen to the confessions of a dirty old man?  Viejo idiota!” 

              Tyler Bobs recoiled in his seat, fixing his eyes on the dashboard, shaken from the shouting of a large man so close to him.  He heard the door squeak open and slam shut and then noticed Luciano walking away and then returning to the car.  To his dismay, Luciano opened the door again.

              “Hey—sorry boss—I’ve got a bad temper.  Do you by any chance want some cats?  I’ve got some cats—.”

...

              The door of the motel rumbled at three in the morning with incessant pounding.  Luciano tired, his eyes burning, body half asleep stumbled to the window to see two uniformed police officers.  He opened the door dressed in his white t-shirt and underwear, glaring with defiance as he held one of his cats.

              “I’m officer Velasco—I arrested you a few days ago.”  He spoke with his hand on his gun, his partner clinging even harder to his.  “I just wanted to make sure you were sleeping well.”  Officer Velasco grinned.

              Luciano shook his head with scorn and grunted. 

              Officer Velasco abruptly frowned.  “You know, I usually only like to mess with sex offenders that move into the neighborhood—but you beat your wife up pretty good.  I think you’re just another type of garbage.  Sometimes these sex offenders are smart and move out of the area; maybe you should do the same.”

              “So are you going to pound on my door every night?”

              “Hijo de puta!  You’re scum, Luciano—that’s the only thing in the world that you need to know.  Glad you’re sleeping well.  Good night.”

              The door closed, followed by the sound of cursing and objects breaking.  The two policemen walked back to their patrol car.

Chapter Nine

Cara went to her room.  In the mirror, she saw a young woman veiled in the intention of remaining mysterious—unknowable.  Wanting to be in complete control of what she would reveal about herself, Cara would determine what signs of affection to offer or when to be audacious.  She was apprehensive, second-guessing herself by the minute, at some points almost persuading herself not to go, but then remembering that she had already made her decision.  Nervous yet resolute, she applied makeup, wearing her best pair of jeans, and tonight, a champagne colored silk tank with a pleated ruffle neckline, another gem from her days of retail—a striking wardrobe purchased with a significant store discount—clothes that she would rarely wear, except for momentous occasions.

              “I forgot Cara!  I'm sorry!” Alex shouted above the sound of explosions created with his game controls.

              Cara thickened her eyelashes.  “I really thought that Mom had thrown away my drawing book.  I was so mad at her I wasn’t returning her calls.”

              “You know I had every reason to believe Luciano would destroy it—”

              “Mom almost died with me hating her.  How could you forget to tell me?”

              “I’m sorry!”

              “Just wish you wouldn’t be so much in your own little world—where you forget about others—know what I’m saying?”

              “Yeah—so why are you going to that thing tonight?”

              “I was invited.”

              “Matt invited practically everyone on the Internet.  That was a group invitation—it’s not like he’s actually expecting you.”

              “Just wanna go.”

              “You’re gonna go alone?  Who goes alone to a party?  Don’t you have any friends?”

              Cara came and sat on the bed while Alex sat on the floor frantically pressing the attack buttons.  “Don’t you have any friends? Besides all those chatroom people you’ve never met?”             

              Alex paused the game, trying to think of a response, his eyes shifting.  “Why don’t we have any friends?”  

              Cara fell back into the mattress and stared at the ceiling fan.  “I think that when everything happened between Mom and Dad and the house—and everything that’s happening now—I think that makes us different.”