Lone Star Legend (27 page)

It was Sandy’s turn to glare at Tío Jaime now, although he pretended not to notice. “What did she mean, take the whole foot
off? What happened to you?”

“Nothing. They just took off a couple of my toes that’d been bugging me. Like I said, they just want to run up bills.”

Sandy knew what was going on now. She’d heard before about old people with diabetes having their toes removed. It’d almost
happened to her grandfather on her father’s side, she knew. It only happened to very old people, who never went to the doctor.
“Tío Jaime,” she whispered, aghast. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She thought back, again, to all the cookies and sweets she’d
been bringing him. “And why’d you let me feed you all that candy?”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You didn’t feed me anything. I ate them myself. And I can take care of myself. I know how much
candy I can eat.”

“Apparently you don’t!” Sandy indicated his mummy-wrapped foot, which the nurse had left uncovered.

Tío Jaime grumbled again. “This isn’t because of the candy. It’s because I didn’t have my medicine. I got tired of going downtown
and standing in those long lines, doing all that paperwork, just to see some smart-ass doctor and let him prescribe me more
pills to stand in line for. I decided to just go without it. Nothing but a bunch of damn chemicals, anyway. It’s all a racket.”

Sandy got up and arranged the blanket over his feet, feeling guiltier than ever. She wished she had known he was so ill. Or
that he’d needed help getting his medicine. He’d never
seemed
sick. He’d looked healthy as a horse, working outdoors, at one with nature and all that.

But, then again, she’d never asked about his health or anything else. She’d only talked to him about her own petty problems,
and the petty problems of strangers.

What, she wondered as she took her seat back at the old man’s side, would his uptight nephew say when he found out her part
in all this? Maybe he already knew.

“Tío Jaime, I’m really sorry about what happened. About those T-shirts and the TV show, and people going to your house to
bother you.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I gave you permission. I signed the paper.”

Sandy frowned. “No, you didn’t. You told me specifically not to do it, and I did it anyway. I let my boss do it without your
permission. And then you only signed the paper to keep Richard from suing us. Why? Why did you do that?”

The old man shrugged. “Because you’re the niece of my best friend. You made a mistake, but I didn’t want to see you get in
trouble for it. Besides, that was the chance I took. I knew what might happen. I could have stopped you from taking those
pictures, but I didn’t.” He smiled up at Sandy wryly. “That’s what I get for having a swelled head, thinking strangers needed
my advice.”

He was so good to take it this way. She smiled back weakly and shook her head. “I lied to you, but I’m going to make it up
to you now. I’m going to get my boss to pay you for all your appearances, and for the shirts.”

He shook his head. “No, m’ija. I don’t want any money. Don’t worry about it anymore. I was never mad about it. It was just
my nephew. Speaking of”—he turned and looked at the clock on the bedside table—“Richard will be here soon.”

“I’d better leave, then,” Sandy replied. “He wouldn’t be too happy to find out I’m visiting you.”

“Maybe not. But…” He obviously had trouble forming the words of the request he wanted to make. “Would you come back again,
maybe tomorrow?” He coughed and added in explanation, “It’s kind of depressing, being here by myself.”

Sandy sighed and leaned down to give him a hug that took him by surprise. “Of course I’ll come back.” She stood and took a
notebook from her bag. She wrote her phone number on a sheet of paper, then hid it under the clunky bedside phone while he
watched. “Call me anytime and I’ll come back. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll come back tomorrow, anyway.”

She gave him another hug then and left, wishing she could do more.

Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, April 2, 1968

We drove to Austin this weekend. They were having a carnival. It was beautiful.

The library there is so big. I think it has every book ever written. They let me get a card there and I checked out more books
than I can read in two weeks. I was greedy, but it felt good. In two weeks I’ll go back again, when I go to town with the
eggs and the goat milk.

Ruby wrote to me. She said she’s shocked, just shocked at my behavior. I had to laugh.

Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this happiness. Maybe God was too busy to see what I’d been doing, and he’s forgotten
to punish me for it so far.

Usually, though, I don’t wonder. I just enjoy. Life’s too short for that kind of worrying. Too short and too beautiful.

Entry from Aunt Linda’s journal, September 8, 1969

I got a job. The elementary school needed someone who speaks Spanish, who can also read and write English, to help with the
kids. So I’m a teacher’s aide now. I ride there on my bike in the mornings. It’s six miles.

They call me Mrs. Trujillo at the school, of course, because that’s still my name. But I tell the kids to call me Miss Linda,
instead. They’re all so sweet. I read to them and translate the stories so they’ll understand. They’re so smart and happy,
most of them. It makes me wish I’d had my own. But God had another plan, so that’s okay.

Jaime says that if I want to get married, we can just go to the church and say it, ourselves, in front of the altar. That
God will understand, and we don’t need any paperwork.

But I’m okay with it, either way. If God’s going to understand, then he already does, I figure. I don’t think of myself as
married to Miguel anymore, and I don’t think it matters whether I call myself Mrs. Trujillo or Mrs. Escobar.

I’m just Linda. I’m just me. Take it or leave it—I’ll be fine either way.

I’m reading a book called The Age of Innocence. It’s sad, but good.

S
andy went on vacation the Friday George was rehired. Not from writing her posts, of course; her contract made that impossible.
Luckily, she was practiced enough by now to write Nacho Papi posts in her sleep. All she had to do was string together something
about Amber Chavez’s ass, some politician’s hair, or a hint of what was going on in her personal life lately. She could whip
up a whole batch of posts and e-mail them to Angelica from anywhere. But after visiting Tío Jaime, she called in and gave
all her news segments for the following week to Lori and La Sirena. Then she went home. To hide.

“Sandy?” Early Saturday morning her mother quietly tapped at the garage apartment door, sounding like a cat scratching to
get in. “Sandy, are you awake?”

Sandy rolled out of her sofa and unlocked the door, then went right back to her sofa to sit and endure her mother’s conversation.
Her eyes were blurred with sleep and old mascara. Her head throbbed in a low, insistent rhythm.

“What’s wrong, baby? You look terrible. Did you stay up all night on the computer?”

Sandy shook her head. She hadn’t stayed up
all
night on the computer. Half the night she’d read her aunt’s journal instead. For a split second, she thought about telling
her mother about the diary. But just as quickly she decided to keep it to herself. Aunt Linda had entrusted it to Tío Jaime,
and he had entrusted it to her. There was no reason to tell anyone else about it. Besides, her mom still thought it was strange
that Sandy had made Tío Jaime a mini-celebrity by interviewing him as the Chupacabra so many times.

Her mother joined her on the sofa and was unable to resist straightening the journal, the laptop, and Sandy’s last few coffee
cups on the coffee table as she asked again, “What’s wrong, baby? Don’t tell me nothing. I can tell something’s bothering
you.”

“Nothing. I mean, it’s no big deal.” Sandy wiped under her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to look a little
less pathetic than she must have seemed to her mother at that moment.

“Is it that thing with Danny? Are people still sending you ugly e-mails at your job?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s… my job, itself. You know the guy who wrote that article about me and Daniel?”

“Papi Chulo?”

It annoyed Sandy that her mother knew George’s screen name, but she went on. “Yes, him. Well, Angelica hired him back. He’s
going to be on the TV show with us now.”

“
What?
No!” Her mother couldn’t have been more incredulous if one of her soap opera characters had admitted to killing another.

Sandy was gratified that she at least grasped the gravity of the situation. “Yes. He’s back, and Angelica expects me to just
show up at work like everything’s fine and do a segment with George where we argue about relationships or something stupid
like that.”

Mrs. Saavedra looked puzzled. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

Sandy sighed in exasperation. She should have known her mother wouldn’t understand. “The problem, Mom, is that I don’t want
to be anywhere near that jerk.”

“Why not, though? Why not do the thing with him, and show everybody that he didn’t get to you with his stupid article? Laugh
it off. Make him look bad. Be the bigger person, like they say.”

Sandy sighed again and fell back against a throw pillow, taking the other to hold against her chest. “It’s not just that.
It’s…” How could she explain it so that her mother would understand? Her mother, who loved gossip and drama and was proud
to have a daughter whose job embroiled her in gossip and drama? “It’s that the show’s not about other people anymore, Mom.
Suddenly, it’s about
me
and my personal life and my issues with George and the other writers. People are only watching now to find out more about
my love life, or because they’re hoping something bad will happen to me. It’s like I’m a soap opera character all of a sudden,
you know? Not a real person anymore.”

“Well, you’re famous now,” her mother said matter-of-factly, as if she’d fully expected this trajectory to take place in her
daughter’s life.

“But I don’t want to be famous for
that
,” Sandy said plaintively. “Not for who I’m sleeping with or not sleeping with, not because people are arguing whether or
not I’m a whore or a bad person. I wanted to be famous for my
writing
. And my reporting.” Explaining to her mother, she realized, was helping her crystallize these thoughts in her head for the
first time. “I wanted to be recognized for my
work
, and now it’s too late to do that. I ruined everything. I went too far and I can’t go back now.”

Her mother made a sympathetic noise and put her hand on Sandy’s shoulder. Unlike Angelica’s recent gestures, her mother’s
hand was warm and somewhat comforting, even if it couldn’t fix her problems with a single touch.

At least I’m not stuck in the Valley, in the sixties, with a husband I don’t love and a lover I can’t have.
Sandy laughed bitterly at the thought. Some people her age had to endure
real
problems, she knew. But knowing that didn’t make her petty problems any less unpleasant. She chuckled again, causing her
mother to give her a worried look and to apply a hand to Sandy’s forehead.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Sandy gently pushed away her mother’s hand and stood. It was time to get up and get it together.
“How’re you doing, Mom? Have you heard any news about Dad since his wedding? Is he completely miserable?” It had been three
weeks since her father’s wedding, but so much had happened to Sandy since then it felt like only a few days.

Mrs. Saavedra shook her head and stood as well. “I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. I’ve stopped worrying about that man.”
She helped Sandy pick up the empty paper cups and crumpled napkins and carry them to the trash can in the kitchenette.

“Oh. Well, good.” Sandy wondered what else to say. She wanted to keep her mom from worrying about her. “So what are you doing
today?”

“Working. I traded shifts with Hazel today. I’m going in from two to ten.”

“Oh.” Sandy felt bad all over again. Here she was feeling sorry for herself, and meanwhile her mother had to spend her Saturday
evening working at a bail bond office. “Well, that sucks.”

Mrs. Saavedra laughed. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, baby. I traded with Hazel so I could have tomorrow off. I’m going to the movies.”
She glanced away, uncharacteristically shyly, and added, “With a friend.”

“Oh, really?” Sandy’s interest was piqued, but not rewarded.

Her mother hugged her and then turned to the door. “Take care of yourself, baby. Take a long bath—you’ll feel better.”

Sandy watched her mother hurry out of her apartment and back to her own life with all its little secrets. She wondered if
she’d have that for herself, too, someday.

She turned and looked at her laptop, which sat innocently on the table. That was where all her trouble had started, and she’d
been the one to start it.

Maybe, she thought, if she couldn’t have secrets anymore, she could at least have a life she wouldn’t be embarrassed to live
under her real name.

S
he went back to the hospital Saturday evening. Tío Jaime had called and said that Richard had been there that morning and
so most likely wouldn’t be back until the next day. The coast was clear.

She was worried about Cano. It’d occurred to her the night before. How was the dog taking his master’s absence? Was Richard
going over there to feed him? To pet him? To sit on the porch with him, in the breeze?

She arrived at the hospital shortly after seven, when Tío Jaime was sure to have had his dinner. Bearing a gift of gourmet
sugar-free chocolates, she rode the elevator up to her friend’s room.

As she walked down the hall, her heels clacking past the nurses’ station to his room, her phone shook and buzzed in her bag.
Taking it out, she recognized the hospital’s number. Instead of answering, she hurried to Tío Jaime’s room and saw that it
was, as she suspected, him calling her.