The Governor's Wife (26 page)

"Your mama's fine, Flaco."

"
Yo soy
Rubén."

"Governor, you're a staunch opponent of illegal immigration, yet you risked your life to save those Mexican children. Why?"

"Saving these kids wasn't about being a politician, George, it was about being a man. I wasn't about to let those cartel thugs kill little Josefina here."

Now it was time for the big question of the morning.

"Governor, when you shot those men, how did you feel?"

"Pretty damn good. They were dead and she wasn't."

Josefina turned her sweet face to him as if on cue and said, "
Es el hombre.
"

"You're the man, Governor," George said.

The scene was replayed on the other network morning shows. Little Josefina even repeated her "
el hombre
" line without prompting. On national TV. He needed to put her on the campaign payroll.

Two hundred thirty-five miles south, Jesse Rincón watched the governor's wife pack her black satchel with medicine and supplies and hard candy. He then looked back down at the Laredo newspaper spread across his desk. On the front page was a photo of the governor surrounded by the Mexican children he had rescued from the marijuana farm. Jesse read about the governor then again looked up at the governor's wife. Three days she had been in his life. To see her, to breathe her in, to begin and end each day with her—she had brought hope back to him. Hope for love in his life. But she was married to the governor of Texas.

"El Diablo, he will not be happy with your husband."

"Now he knows how I feel."

They kept their voices low so Inez at her desk could not hear them.

"You do not understand. He will seek
venganza.
Revenge."

"Against the governor of Texas?"

"They kill governors in Mexico every day."

"But this is America."

"Mexico or America, it is just a little river cutting through the land. El Diablo will not be deterred by such formalities."

"But that probably wasn't the same boy."

"No. That probably was not his son. But that was his marijuana."

Lindsay Bonner finished packing her satchel for her morning rounds. The residents did not want to bother the doctor with minor injuries and illnesses, so the Anglo nurse would now make house calls in
Colonia Ángeles
.

It was her third day on the job.

They had worked over the weekend. They had eaten out Saturday evening and in Sunday evening. They had sat on the back porch overlooking the river both nights, and Jesse had told her stories of the borderlands. They had watched the news reports about the governor of Texas killing the three Mexican men in West Texas. No mention was made that one of the men might have been the son of El Diablo, the most notorious drug lord in Nuevo Laredo. The man had a
Los Muertos
tattoo on his left arm, just as El Diablo's son had; but so did the other two dead men, and so did thousands of other young men in Nuevo Laredo. The man's face had bloated after lying dead for hours in the hot sun, so she and Jesse hadn't been able to make a positive identification from the image they had seen on television or in the paper. But she had called Bode and warned him just the same; he was unfaithful, he was ambitious, he was a politician, but he was still her husband.

He had laughed it off.

She had put it out of her mind. What were the odds that the boy they had saved was the same man Bode had killed? What would El Diablo's son—the son of a billionaire drug lord in Nuevo Laredo—be doing at a marijuana farm on a remote ranch in West Texas? And even if he were the son of El Diablo, what could his father do? Bode Bonner was the governor of Texas, not a local politician in a small Mexican village. He lived in the Governor's Mansion in Austin behind a tall fence. He had a 24/7 security detail of Texas Rangers. He was safe.

But still …

The clinic door opened, and a pretty young woman and a burly man holding a video camera on his shoulder entered. Lindsay turned her back to them and pushed the wide-brimmed hat down on her head. Inez greeted the guests. She had dressed in her best clothes and done her hair and overdone her make-up. She hoped to be discovered and taken beyond the wall, like Cinderella of the
colonias
. She was a pretty girl, but not that pretty. She came over to Lindsay and Jesse.

"Doctor, she is Gaby Gomez, with the San Antonio TV station. They are here to tape your interview."

A Houston newspaper had run a story about
Colonia Ángeles
that past Sunday, which had caught the attention of the San Antonio station. They had called Jesse at home and requested an interview, a human interest story for their morning show the following Sunday. Jesse agreed only because it would bring checks for the
colonias
.

"It is so exciting," Inez said. "The doctor, he is famous."

"Perhaps in a few poor counties along the border, Inez."

"I hope to be famous one day."

The poor thing.

"They said it is a 'day in the life of' profile," Inez said. "They will follow you around all day."

"Guess I'll be gone all day," Lindsay said.

She put two bottled waters and two granola bars in her satchel.

"Can I go with you?" Inez said.

"You want to come with me on my rounds?"

"Not with you,
Señora
. With the doctor and the cameras."

"Pancho!" Jesse said.

The dog rose from his position by the front door and trotted over.

"He will go with you."

Lindsay patted the dog's head and said, "You want to go on rounds with me?"

Inez watched as the nurse threw the black satchel over her shoulder and slipped out the back door followed by Pancho. She turned back to the doctor.

"The
señora
, she is shy with the cameras."

"Bode, you need a wife to win the White House."

"I know."

"It's a package deal. Voters size up the first lady candidates as much as the presidential candidates. You've got to get her back."

"I know … I just don't know how."

It was just before noon, and Bode and Jim Bob were strapped into their seats aboard the governor's jet for the final approach to John Ed Johnson's private airstrip. Ranger Hank was again up front with the pilots. Mandy had stayed behind to play camp counselor at the Mansion. Jim Bob fiddled with that fucking phone again.

"Your Twitter followers exploded after the morning shows. Over half a million now."

Bode responded with a grunt.

"Now, listen, Bode, whatever you do, don't talk politics with this reporter."

"Why not? It's an opportunity to share my political views with the American people."

"It's an opportunity to screw up on national TV. We've got to find out how the shooting went down with the Independent voters first."

"Why?"

"Because they're the swing votes. In a national election, the Independents decide who wins. So no politics until I get the poll results in."

"You're the boss, Professor."

"We'll meet the production crew at John Ed's lodge. They flew into El Paso from New York last night and were driving out this morning."

"Why didn't they fly into Austin and out with us?"

"And have all of America see you flying in a private jet on
60 Minutes
when twenty million people are out of work?"

The Professor didn't have a Ph.D. in politics for nothing.

Back in the Governor's Mansion, Mandy Morgan walked into Jolene Curtis' office and shut the door behind her. Jo looked up. Mandy aimed a manicured finger at her.

"You stay away from Bode. He's mine."

Jo smiled. She was very pretty. Which meant there was one too many pretty young women in the Governor's Mansion.

"He's married," Jo said.

"Not for long."

"And you figure you can keep him from straying again?"

"I can keep him … and I can get you fired. Which won't look good on your résumé. Which means you get to go back to pole dancing."

Mandy opened the door then turned back.

"I want you gone by the time we get back from the media tour."

Mandy left Jolene with a look of shock on her very pretty face.

Lindsay Bonner ducked her face against the dust blown by the dry wind and her nose from the foul smell of the river. The stench was savage when the wind blew from the south, and the wind always blew from the south. For an hour now, she had walked the narrow dirt roads accompanied by Pancho. She was the Anglo nurse, not the glamorous governor's wife. She wore a loose blue peasant dress under a white lab coat, the pink Crocs, a yellow scarf, and the wide-brimmed hat.

"
Hola
," she said to each woman and child she encountered. They washed and cooked and played outside their residences. Life in the
colonias
was lived out of doors. "I am the doctor's new nurse," she said in Spanish. "Are you ill? Are your children sick?"

"No, no," was the standard response.

She introduced herself and said she would make rounds each day and would be available at the clinic as well. She urged them to come to the clinic if they or their children fell ill or developed sores or suffered injuries. She knew it would take time for them to trust her. But she wasn't going anywhere.

"
Señor gobernador
, it is very good to see you back again."

John Ed Johnson had wired $25 million to the "Bode Bonner Reelection Campaign" that morning as he had promised then had flown up to the Panhandle to buy more water rights, so Pedro greeted them at the lodge.

"Been pretty exciting around here the last few days."

"
Sí
.
Mucho conmoción.
The cameras, they are here."

Pedro grabbed their gear and led them inside. Jim Bob leaned into Bode.

"Okay, here's the deal. I negotiated an exclusive interview in exchange for another interview when your book comes out."

"What book?"

"Your memoir."

"What memoir?"

"The one I'm negotiating with publishers for right now. Every presidential candidate writes a book these days—Obama, Palin, Paul, Gingrich, Cain, even Bachmann … it's a campaign tool. Course, you've got to donate the money to charity."

"I don't want to."

"Give the money to charity?"

"Write a book."

"You don't have to. I'm going to write it. I'm thinking about calling it, 'Take this Government and Shove It.' "

"That has a nice ring to it."

"By the time I'm through with your memoirs, you'll be a regular Teddy Roosevelt."

"He was crippled."

"That'd be Franklin."

"Oh."

Jim Bob Burnet sighed. The boy got hit in the head on the football field one too many times for his own good. But, it wasn't as if political success required a genius intellect. In fact, smarts often proved an impediment to a political career, Obama being Exhibit A that you can be too damn smart to be a good president. You don't want to over-think the job. Which was not a worry with Bode Bonner.

"
Buenos días
," Lindsay Bonner said to the children gathered around a chicken as if considering how to pluck it and cook it for lunch. The children and the chicken instinctively withdrew from the Anglo nurse. She reached into the satchel and found the hard candies. She squatted and opened her hand to reveal the colorful candies. The children eyed them then debated with each other. She unwrapped a candy, put it in her mouth, and made a yummy sound, as if trying to get little Becca to eat pureed squash. At least the sweet dispelled the taste of dirt. She held the candies out to the children. One little girl in a ratty red dress stepped forward bravely and snatched a piece. She put the candy in her mouth and smiled broadly.

"
Dulce
."

Sweet.

The others now stepped forward and took the candy. They did not withdraw. They gathered around her and petted Pancho. They smelled worse than the dog; they either bathed in the river or didn't bathe. Their hair appeared not to have been brushed in months; their faces were dirty and their feet bare. Open sores spotted their arms and legs. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. She put them on then found the antibiotic cream and the "Dora the Explorer" Band-Aids.

"This will help your sores," she said in Spanish.

She squirted the antibiotic on a Band-Aid and applied it over one child's sore. The girl examined Dora and smiled.

"
Es chula.
"

"Yes, she is cute."

Lindsay soon had applied a half dozen Band-Aids to each child. Their mothers had come to see what the Anglo nurse was doing to their children. They had been suspicious at first, but now they were smiling. Several of the women were pregnant, so Lindsay discussed their prenatal care and recorded their names and expected due dates in her journal. Inez kept a notebook with medical histories of every patient. She now sat at an old picnic table with half a dozen Mexican women discussing their medical issues and drinking Kool-Aid from tall plastic fast-food glasses—even the clean water didn't taste clean, so they made Kool-Aid to mask the taste—as if they were suburban stay-at-home moms drinking mochas at a Starbucks. She had decided not to focus on the living conditions in the
colonia
but instead on the living. She was here for the people. She was here to make a difference in their lives. And in her life.