Lone Star Legend (25 page)

Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, December 23, 1966

Jaime says if I wanted to leave Miguel, I could go up to the Hill County with him, where his cousin works on a goat ranch
or some such thing. I’d have my own house, he said. No funny stuff. I told him there was no way. No, I’m not happy here. But
I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. Besides, Rudolfo lives in Austin now and if I went up that way, he’d probably drag
me right back home.

Mom says Ruby’s doing good up in California. I’m glad for her. Even though we aren’t close, I always wanted better for her.
She’s young. It’s not too late.

It’s almost Christmas. Think I’m going to try pyracantha berry jelly. That’s what that bush is outside. Found a book about
it at the library and they had the recipe, too.

L
ater that week, Sandy sat in her car in the parking lot of a south Austin diner. It was 10
A.M.
on a Thursday, not a likely
time for any Nacho Papi readers to be indulging in pancakes. There were only a few elderly types inside, in fact. But Sandy
was reluctant to go in nonetheless. She felt shell-shocked, afraid to show herself in public and risk getting yelled at.

So she sat in her car with a drive-through latte, holding her aunt’s journal. She’d opened it to a random page in the middle
and was puzzling out the words. Rudolfo was her grandfather on her mother’s side, of course. Miguel was her mother’s late
uncle, Miguel Trujillo, whom Sandy had never known. The Jaime in the journal was very obviously the man Sandy knew as Tío
Jaime. But what had happened? Had her great-aunt left Miguel for Jaime? If so, no one in Sandy’s family had ever talked about
it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone’s ringing. It was a number she didn’t recognize, area code 212. New York City.

“Hello?”

“Sandy?” A man’s voice. “How are you? This is Jacob. Jacob Levy.”

Sandy sat and listened to Jacob Levy talk. It was the first time he’d ever called her. He talked fast and clear, like a radio
DJ hurrying through a sponsor’s message. He was proud of the work she’d been doing. He was glad she was staying strong through
the surprise publicity about her love life. He hoped she’d seen the latest page views and ratings, and that she was proud
of how much attention she’d brought the show and the site. His voice reminded her of Angelica’s: he was professional and upbeat,
without any break in the flow.

“Yes, Mr. Levy. Thank you, Mr. Levy.”

“Call me Jacob. Okay, Sandy, I have a meeting to get to now. You keep up the good work. I hope to see you in town soon.”

“Yes, sir. Jacob.”

He hung up and Sandy sat still, absorbing the moment. Jacob Levy was happy to be getting ratings and page views. It made no
difference to him whether it was Sandy’s life they were talking about or a made-up character who had the same name.

She looked at the time on her phone. It was just past 10
A.M.
now, and she was scheduled to record her show segment, a quick
overview of the news and then an interview with local activist Tito Z., at two that day. She really should have been on her
way to the office right then, to check in with everyone and see what was going on. But instead she started her engine and
drove off in the opposite direction.

T
HERE WAS A
strange car in Tío Jaime’s driveway.

“What are you doing here?” someone said through the screen door before she could even get close enough to make out the face
behind it. The door opened and nephew Richard emerged. Sandy stopped in her tracks, in the yard. “You aren’t supposed to be
here,” he said loudly, as if to keep her from coming any closer solely with the force of his voice. “My uncle has filed a
cease-and-desist.”

Sandy crossed her arms and swallowed hard. He was right. Of course he was—he was the one who’d written the letter on his uncle’s
behalf. But, at the same time, he
wasn’t
right. He was wrong about
her
.

“Where’s your uncle?” she said. “I came to visit him.
Not
for the Web site.”

“Right. Where’s your camera? In your bag? We don’t want you here anymore, so you can go find someone else to mock for profit.”
He stood there like a tall, leafless tree. He wasn’t wearing a suit this time, but even in a golf shirt and khakis he looked
formidable. Righteous and ready to argue his case to the death.

But in this instance he was wrong. Sandy swallowed again and took a step forward. “I wasn’t mocking him for profit, and I
didn’t come here for the Web site. I visit him all the time. You wouldn’t know because you hardly ever visit. He’s my… My
great-aunt was his… He’s my friend. You don’t know.”

Richard scoffed audibly. “Well, he can’t see you, so you have no reason to be here.”

Sandy was worried then. “What do you mean, he
can’t
see me? Where is he?” He said nothing, only tightened his jaw and looked at the distant, omnipresent goats. Sandy took the
few steps to the porch so she wouldn’t have to talk as loudly. “Is he okay?”

“No, he’s not okay. Ms. Saavedra, my uncle is very old. He might risk his health working outdoors all day, and he might perk
up when pretty young girls come to visit him, but the truth is, he’s in very poor health and the last thing he needs is the
stress of being made into some kind of
online celebrity
.”

The way he said that phrase, almost in a sneer, made Sandy wonder how much Richard knew about her. How much he’d read about
her. Still, she wasn’t going to back down now. “What do you mean, poor health? What’s wrong with him?”

“What’s going on?” Tío Jaime’s voice came from inside the house.

Sandy exhaled slowly. He was here, then. “It’s me, Tío Jaime.”

“Sandy? Richard, why didn’t you tell me Sandy was here?”

Sandy wondered why the old man hadn’t come outside. And then the screen door was bumped open and she saw.

He was using a walker. For some reason Tío Jaime couldn’t walk. Slowly—painfully slowly—he hobbled through the door in short
clunks of the metal walker. He bent over the contraption in frustration, trying to force it through the narrow doorway.

“What happened?” Sandy gasped. “Why are you—?”

“Tío Jaime,” said Richard, “you need to stay inside. It’s almost time for us to go.”

The old man wasn’t wearing his hat, and his thinned gray hair fell over his eyes. He shook it away impatiently as he finally
cleared the doorway and joined them on the porch. “I don’t need to stay inside. I heard Sandy and came out to see her.”

“Tío Jaime, this is the woman who sold the T-shirts with your picture. This is the woman who put you on TV without your permission.
It’s because of her that those boys came over here the other day.
She’s
the one causing all the problems.” Richard’s voice had become loud again. He seemed to think Tío Jaime didn’t understand
what was happening—that he wasn’t in his right mind and didn’t know who Sandy was.

Did he?

Silence fell over the group on the porch and Sandy replayed Richard’s words in her head.

Yes, she was the one who’d used Tío Jaime’s image—who’d made him into a celebrity—without his permission. She had tried to
rationalize it to herself but, at the end of the day, yes, it was her. She had done it all.

He was right. She was definitely the one who had caused all the problems.

Sandy felt her face heat up. She looked down at the floor and felt the two men looking at her.

It was true. She’d been the one to cause all the problems. Not just for Tío Jaime, but for herself. The hard realization of
it made her face burn.

And what was she doing here now, Sandy asked herself. True, she may not have been planning to record Tío Jaime for the site
or for the show—not
this
time—but she’d been about to interrupt whatever he was doing that day. She’d come to visit him because doing so always made
her feel better… about the problems she had caused for herself.

And here he was now, in poor health. The man was too weak to walk. And she hadn’t even noticed the strain he was under this
whole time. She’d been too self-involved.

Sandy felt tears well up in her eyes. She wished Richard wasn’t here watching her. But, despite his presence, she looked up
at the old man and said, “Tío Jaime, I am so sorry.”

His eyes met hers, but he said nothing. Sandy had to squint to keep from crying outright. She had lied to him. He’d given
her so much, and asked for so little in return, and she hadn’t even been able to honor his wishes. Tío Jaime had been nothing
but kind to her—and to her aunt—and she had used him for her own selfish needs. “I’m sorry,” she said again. What else could
she say?

Tío Jaime looked away. He turned away, dragging the walker in the direction of his front door, and began the long hobble back
the way he’d come. Sandy stumbled forward to open the screen door for him, but Richard was already there. He held the door
until the old man had gone inside, and then he closed it quietly before turning to face Sandy.

“You need to leave now.”

With a sniff, Sandy nodded. She should leave. He was right. She had no right to be there.

But… “Richard, I just want you to know. I’m sorry for any trouble I caused your uncle. Truly, I am. But I need you to understand.
I didn’t do anything… I wasn’t trying to do anything that would—”

“Save it,” he said. “The damage is done, and the sooner you’re out of here the better.” He was staring into the distance again,
like he always did when talking to her. As if she was too horrible a person to look at.

It hurt.

Sandy felt like she couldn’t leave until she’d made him understand. “I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t mean to cause your
uncle any trouble. I know it’s hard for you to believe it, seeing it from the outside, but I really care about him very much.
I wasn’t trying to use him to make money. I just thought that, if other people could get from him what
I
get from him—his words, his humor, his perspective on life—then maybe they’d—”

“Give you more money?” He did look at her now, and Sandy wished then that he hadn’t. She could see it in his eyes: he
did
think she was a horrible person. She wished now that she had left when he’d asked her to. But because she hadn’t, she got
to hear what he’d say next. “Or maybe that they’ll tune in to hear the latest installment of your sex life and make you more
famous?”

Sandy was rendered speechless. He was so rude. So very hateful.

And yet what could she even say? How else could it look to him, what she was doing? Putting her personal life online and on
the air for strangers?

It was no wonder he didn’t want her anywhere near his uncle. In his place she would have felt the same way.

Finally Sandy turned to go. She walked down the steps and halfway to her car, and then she heard the screen door open again.

Tío Jaime came through, clutching a piece of paper in his hand, against the handle of his walker. Richard hurried to help
him through the door, but his uncle pushed him away. He made it out onto the porch again and then, balancing himself against
the walker with one hand, he held out the piece of paper for Richard. Sandy watched the whole thing, wondering what was going
on now.

“Sandy, you wait,” Tío Jaime said. Then, to his nephew, “Look. Look at this.”

Richard took the paper and skimmed it with his eyes. He sighed in apparent exasperation. “Tío—”

“That’s right,” his uncle said. “I gave her my permission. So you can leave her alone now. It’s not her fault.”

Sandy was baffled. What was going on?

With a roll of his eyes, Richard walked down the steps and thrust out his hand at Sandy, handing her the crumpled, spotted
paper. It was the release form she’d given Tío Jaime two months ago. He’d signed it. Sandy ran her finger over his signature,
causing the blue ink to feather.

He’d apparently
just
signed it. For her. To save her from getting sued. To keep her from being a liar.

This time Sandy couldn’t stop the tears, and she hurried to wipe her eyes before Richard could see. This was wrong, she knew.
She
was in the wrong, and now Tío Jaime was going back on what he’d said, on what he believed in, in order to help her.

“Happy now?” Richard practically snarled at her. “Would you please just leave? My uncle has things to do.”

“Sandy, I have to go to the hospital,” Tío Jaime called to her. “But I’ll call you when I get back.”

“But—” Sandy wanted to ask why he was going to the hospital, but Richard’s look kept her from saying anything more. “I’ll…
I’ll…”

Hadn’t she done enough already?

Finally, under one man’s glare and the other man’s too-kind smile, she left.

Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, March 11, 1967

Lost another one. Didn’t go to the hospital this time—the whole thing took care of itself. I couldn’t even cry. I thought
Miguel would be mad, but instead he used it as an excuse to go to the bar all weekend and leave me here alone.

Saw Jaime and told him what happened with the baby. He said he was sorry and I said I was sorry, too. I know he understood,
since he lost Graciela before they could even have a baby. He’s like me. He never complains.

That was all we said. I don’t feel like talking to anybody lately, not even him. But I am glad that he’s nearby, just in case.
It makes me feel safer.

Went back to the library and got Jane Eyre again. Sister Jane. I know she must have secretly been a mexicana, because she
was strong enough to go through everything she did.

Back to work now.

Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, September 8, 1967

I’m only going to feel sorry for myself here, for a little while, where nobody can see it, and then I’ll get back to work.
But lately I can’t help spending a little time every day thinking about the way my life might have been.

What if I had married someone else? A good man, and not a handsome good-for-nothing. What if Jaime and I had met first, before
he’d met poor Graciela and before I’d gotten stuck with Miguel?