Home Before Dark (21 page)

The three of them walked away.

“That's ridiculous.” But they weren't listening. They whispered to each other as they headed off to where the singing was.

And Lila knew she wasn't going to hell. She was already there. Blinded by tears of rage and humiliation, she walked away from the school, her backpack feeling heavier with each step she took. She had no idea where she was headed, and she couldn't see where she was going, anyway. Without warning, she slammed into a tall guy in a uniform.

“Whoa,” he said, stepping out of the way and steadying her with a hand to the shoulder. “I only want to talk to you, not slam-dance before nine in the morning.”

She blinked, trying to orient herself. Buff-colored shirt, crisply ironed. Some sort of insignia on the pocket. “What?”

“Didn't you hear me calling?”

“Calling what?” The letters under the round badge spelled A. CRUZ.

Taking her by the elbow, he steered her to a nearby con
crete bench facing the quadrangle. “Maybe we should start over.”

She regained her balance then. Okay, so he was some sort of volunteer fireman or rescue worker, maybe. But what really brought the world back into focus was his face. He looked like a movie star's favorite son—perfect black hair, white teeth, caring dark eyes. “Good idea,” she said.

He handed her a handkerchief—a real cloth one, folded into a square. Nobody on the planet carried a cloth handkerchief, did he? It was no use pretending she wasn't crying, so she wiped her face with the clean white cloth. “Thanks. Um, am I supposed to give this back to you now? It's kind of gross.”

“You can wash it and bring it back to me. Just make sure you iron it.”

She could tell from his grin that he was teasing. A. Cruz had a great voice, a great grin that made her feel both shy and intrigued.

“Right. I'll iron it.”

He put out his hand. “Andy Cruz.”

“Lila Benning.” She touched his hand briefly and studied the uniform. “Do you go to school here?”

“I'm a senior. This semester, I'm training with the county rescue workers. The reason I yelled at you to wait up is that I think I might have something of yours or your friends—from the accident. I was at the scene.”

She stared at him then, and remembered the moments after the wreck. Someone with a flashlight. Angel eyes filled with heartbreak, never leaving her, never wavering. Voice firm and commanding beyond his years:
This one's conscious. Hurry up with that stretcher.

“Anyway,” he said, “there were a few things left at the scene, and they're at the fire station now. Did you lose something that night?”

“You have no idea,” she said.

“I might. If you want to talk about it…”

She hesitated, passed her gaze over the face, the crisply ironed uniform. He was a senior. A rescue worker. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe I do.”

Jessie needed to go to Austin to keep the appointment she'd made in secret, from overseas, many weeks earlier. The trouble was, her vision had deteriorated so quickly that she couldn't even think of driving. Just making the proof sheets and prints from the photo shoot had been an ordeal.

The solution had come to her from an unlikely source— Nell Bridger, the mother of the boy who had died. Apparently she had contacted Blair LaBorde to say she was interested in making a statement for a
Texas Life
article about the accident. Not only that, Nell and Blair were coming to discuss the accompanying photos.

Jessie found Luz in her big, sunny kitchen, wiping the counter with one hand while changing a lightbulb overhead with the other.

Jessie felt a rush of love so sharp and sweet that it pierced. “How many of my sisters does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“Not even a whole one.” Luz tossed the sponge into the sink. “I learned multitasking back when Windows belonged on houses.”

They discussed Blair's idea over coffee in the quiet morning lull after the kids had gone to school and Scottie to playgroup. “At first, I couldn't believe Nell would want to put her story out there,” Luz said. “I mean, to go public with her grief seemed so incomprehensible. But I talked to her for a long time last night, and I think I understand. She wants to get the word out about hill-hopping, maybe reckless teen behavior in general. That's her way of coping with her loss.”

“What do the parents of the other kids think?”

“I think she has every right to go public, and I promised to support her. Kathy Beemer's family feels the same way—getting the word out could save a life. I haven't spoken to Sierra's or Heath's folks. What do you think, Jess?”

She remembered how she'd felt that night, when Luz had awakened her to say Lila was in the hospital. It was, bar none, the most terrible sensation she'd ever experienced, as if all the air had been squeezed out of her, and she would never breathe again. “I wouldn't wish this on anyone, anywhere. So I suppose I agree with Nell. If making people aware of this keeps even one kid safe, then it's worth doing.”

“Good, because I'm sure she'll want you to do the pictures.”

Jessie tried to find the words to demur. As she was fumbling for an explanation, Blair LaBorde arrived. “I brought Krispy Kremes,” she said, offering a red, green and white box.

Jessie trailed her hand along the railing of the deck as she stepped down to greet Blair. “Our thighs will never forgive you.”

“I made a fresh pot of coffee,” Luz said, leading the way inside. She set steaming mugs with the cream pitcher and bowl of sugar on the table, and the three of them sat down to wait for Nell.

“Good Lord, that's fantastic,” Blair said.

Jessie could tell from Blair's voice alone that she had spot
ted Luz's photo collage and the framed pictures lining the breakfast nook. She beamed with pride. “Luz is pretty good, huh?”

Blair sipped her coffee. “Incredible. So what have you done professionally?”

Jessie could feel her sister diminish, somehow, as she sank down opposite Blair. Only Jessie recognized the strain in Luz's voice as she said, “You're looking at it, Dr. LaBorde. Kids and dogs. School plays and peewee football.”

“You should be published,” said Blair, and suddenly Jessie realized what this was leading up to. The possibility had been percolating beneath Blair's polished surface the whole time.

Luz shifted on her chair. “I don't have any credentials. I never even finished my degree.”

Blair drummed her fingers against her mug. “I wasn't aware of that.”

“I got married, and Ian and I— Lila came along right away.”

Jessie pressed her hands together beneath the table. She wondered about Blair's memory of that time. When Jessie finished school, she'd been five and a half months pregnant. She hadn't advertised the fact, but she hadn't hidden it, either. What did Blair remember?

“You should have come to me back when I was on the faculty,” Blair said to Luz. “I would have worked with you to finish your coursework.”

Jessie touched her shoulder. “Luz never goes to anyone for help.”

“And you do?” Luz's voice was defensive, edgy. But somehow resigned. “It's our mother,” she explained, addressing Blair. “A psychoanalyst would have a field day with us.”

“What, did she lock you in the basement for months while you were growing up?”

“No, that would mean she'd have to remember that she even had kids,” Jessie said.

“Ah, Jess, she did the best she could,” Luz said, ever the mediator. Sometimes Jessie wanted to grab her by the throat and shake her. To Blair, Luz said, “She was on the pro golf circuit, and had to travel a lot. During the school year, Jessie and I lived here, and in the summer we went on the road with her.”

“Well, I'll keep you as busy as you want for the magazine, and we'll see what we can do about those pesky graduation requirements.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a sigh exploded from Luz. “What are you, my fairy godmother?”

“I wave my wand, honey, and make it all better. Right, Jessie?”

Jessie nodded vigorously, hoping neither would notice her preoccupation. She had to deal with what was happening to her. Her doctors overseas had arranged everything in advance, sending her records to the Beacon with a detailed case history and vigorous recommendations for including her in the special program. Today's interview would move her toward the next step in learning to live as a blind person. The very idea made her dizzy, but time was short. She knew that. Soon, she'd be gone for good.

To distract herself, she laid out the proofs from the photo shoot of Dusty Matlock and his baby. Though Jessie could only see them through the narrowing field of her right eye, she knew they were technically sound and would make a handsome addition to the article. But compared to Luz's work, they lacked soul. It was a flaw so subtle that few would notice. Two of those few who would sense the difference were sitting right here at the table with her.

“You should have hired Luz.” Jessie voiced the opinion
neither woman would admit to. She spoke without malice or envy, just stated simple fact. “Families, kids. That's her thing.”

“I couldn't have taken that shot,” Luz said with laughter in her voice, pushing an outtake across the table toward her.

Jessie tilted her head, needing only a glimpse to remind her of the shot. It was Dusty standing alone with one elbow propped on the wing of the Cessna, his eyes, his stance, everything about him exuding sex. Just before she'd taken that picture, he'd brought up the topic of their sleeping together on the first date. His blatant suggestion had affected her timing, and she'd hit the shutter almost by accident. It was, far and away, the best picture in the lot.

Just the thought of him caused a series of warm, smooth ripples to spread through Jessie. He had the most hypnotic effect on her, even when he wasn't around. In his absence, Jessie absolutely ached for him. She craved more of him, more than one night. At the same time, she felt relieved to have some time on her own, because her feelings for him were so intense. She needed to numb herself. She was headed for a destination where she could bring nothing along. She couldn't drag him to the place she was inexorably going.

“I can't use it, alas.” Blair pushed the glossy closer to Luz. “Too sexy for the theme of the story. But Lord have mercy, look at him.”

Jessie rested her chin in her hand. She couldn't stop the dreamy smile that softened her mouth. “I know.”

Blair popped a square of nicotine gum out of its foil packet. “You didn't.”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Really,” said Luz. “So you should actually take credit for being their matchmaker.”

Blair described the article and layout to Luz, showing her
what she'd prepared for the editorial meeting. “It's going to be the cover story,” she declared. “It's absolutely heart wrenching.”

“‘Matlock's Miracle'?” Luz read from the shout line.

“So it needs a little work,” Blair admitted. “But it will be fine. Jessie, you'd better stake your claim to this guy, because when word gets out, he's going to be beating the women off with a pipe. Even Arnufo is going to be bombarded with propositions. ‘The distinguished Mexican male nanny.' He's outstanding.” Blair popped her gum. Then she put her hand over Luz's. “Hon, I hate to say it, but the article on the wreck is going to materialize with or without us.”

“Blair has very few boundaries,” Jessie explained.

“I work for a magazine with a circulation of two million,” Blair stated, unrepentant.

“See?” Jessie said, gesturing at the pictures scattered across the table. “My God, this is about a man taking a baby from his wife's womb and then cutting off her life support. You think she'd hesitate to write about the accident?”

Blair said nothing further. She never made excuses for herself.

“So dead teenagers sell magazines?” Luz asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Blair admitted.

“But we can control this,” Jessie said, using her sister's favorite word.

As Blair gathered up the proofs and slides, Nell drove up in a pockmarked old Dodge Charger. Jessie followed her sister outside and waited while Luz and Nell embraced, then stepped forward. “My heart goes out to you, Nell,” she said, wincing at the inadequacy of the words.

“I appreciate that.” Nell gave her hand a squeeze.

Jessie studied her. How was she even able to stand, to breathe, given the magnitude of her loss? And yet here she
was, forced to face a future without her boy. She was a heavy-set woman with strong features that Jessie supposed looked ten years older than they had just weeks ago. Her no-nonsense hands had short fingernails and no rings. She wore a dark, straight jersey dress adorned only with a sterling James Avery cross hanging from a thread of leather. The scent of lavender and sleeplessness clung to her. “I've been wanting to meet you, Jessie. Luz has told me so much about you.” She stepped back, her haunted eyes studying her. “Wow, you do look alike.”

They went inside, and Nell moved through the house in familiar fashion. Jessie knew without asking that she was a frequent visitor. Nell took out a folded newspaper and slapped it on the table. Inch-tall letters proclaimed, Teen Dies In Twisted Tragedy. The piece was illustrated by stark, tasteless pictures of the mangled Jeep, candid shots of the victims' friends and families and one of Nell herself, making her look like a homeless woman. “Here's what's been published so far.”

Then she opened another folder. “This is Luz's work,” she explained to Jessie and Blair. “I was never good with a camera, so Luz took lots of pictures of my boys over the years.”

Jessie wasn't surprised to discover the same sensitive humanity that characterized Luz's shots of her own family. That was her trademark. These were the type of photos that would make perfect strangers call Luz and tell her about their lives, about their kids and the trouble they got into and the hurt they had caused, and the way they managed to survive after terrible things happened.

Nell gazed steadily at Luz. “I want you to do the pictures for the article.”

“Nell, no.” Luz's voice was low and taut with urgency, and she cast a look at Jessie.

“That wasn't my idea,” Jessie said. She could feel the distress coming off Luz in waves. “I swear it.”

“I need for you to take the pictures,” Nell said. “I want people to know what happened, but not like that.” She gestured at the newspaper. “It's the only way I can give any sort of dignity to what happened to Dig.”

“I can't do the pictures,” Luz objected. “People in this town are not going to stand for me poking a camera in their faces, invading their privacy. The other victims already resent Lila for surviving unscathed, and they're not going to be any happier with her mother.”

Nell shook her head. “That's Cheryl Hayes talking, because her son's missing the rest of the football season. Everybody else feels the way I do. You're one of us, Luz. You've suffered with us, cried with us. You won't make us look like a bunch of backwoods hicks.”

“Nell is right,” Blair said with assurance. “People want their grief portrayed. Remember Oklahoma City? Columbine? They want their story told, and they want it done beautifully. Trust me on this.”

“And you're writing the piece?”

“Actually, I was going to give that over to Jessie.”

Jessie held her breath, waiting. Luz put a hand on Nell's shoulder. “Nell?”

“I think that would be fine,” Nell said softly.

The tension buzzed between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Blair took out her gum and wrapped it in a napkin. “I need a real cigarette.”

Nell stood wearily. “I'll join you.”

As soon as they were gone, Luz turned on Jessie. “Why are you being so pushy about this?”

“Because I'm entitled to be pushy for a change, damn it.”

“What do you mean, ‘for a change'? Are you saying I'm the pushy one?”

“Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“I can't believe you think I'm pushy. You're the one trying to manipulate the situation.”

Jessie almost laughed. “Look, Luz, we both know how it is between us, how it's always been. I screw up—you pick up the pieces. It's always been that way. I skip school. You forged the note from home. I need money for tuition—you put your own education on hold to work. I have a baby out of wedlock—you adopt her. Just a few examples of you bailing me out. So how about I do the bailing, just this once?”

Luz leaned against the counter, stunned into silence. “Where'd all this come from, Jess?”

“Try a lifetime of being the screwup younger sister. Luz, you put your dreams on hold for me. Hell, when was the last time you put a wish in the jar? You're going to do this, like your friend asked you to. You're going to take the pictures for the article I'm going to write.”