The Wilder Sisters (51 page)
turn to take in the scenario. He didn’t look happy.
A light snow was beginning to fall. Hard to imagine that Christmas
was coming, that anyone would ever feel like celebrating. Maybe she’d fly out to California and see Lily’s place, or maybe they’d both go someplace warm, Texas or Mexico. Maybe she’d just stay home and put her feet up. The sound of a motorcycle broke her reverie, and she wondered who was foolhardy enough to ride one of those machines in such bad weather.
Lily took hold of her arm. “Try not to cry,” she advised. “Bite the inside of your cheeks; that always works for me.”
“Lily,” Rose hissed. “I’m perfectly composed. Stop ordering me around.”
“Sure, right now you are. But you won’t be in a minute. Here comes your son.”
The priest was speaking. So far the service was in Spanish, and she knew she had to be quiet or appear disrespectful. Later on the eulogies would be delivered in English, friends would share memories, and people would relax, even laugh, but Shep had strong ties among the community, as well as some Spanish blood that rated him this service. Nevertheless, the sight of Second Chance after so many months of not knowing where he was proved to be too much for Rose to hold herself together. Great soundless sobs began to shake her body, and she pulled away from Lily to go to him. So handsome—that dusky olive skin, the dark hair shaved close, the cheekbones that echoed his father’s—she had loved Philip, she
had
, for a long time, and Leah Donavan couldn’t take that away. That ridiculous skull-and-crossbones earring, however, had to go. Despite his screw-ups, her son had somehow managed to grow into a man. “Mom, why are you crying?” he whispered, putting his arms
around her shoulders as they embraced. “Because I’m your mother and I love you.”
Mami came over to them and took hold of Second Chance’s gloves. Pop smiled from where he stood between the priest and the shaman, who was intent on getting his two cents’ worth in, smiled, too. The Wilder family stood up straight and did right by a man who had always done right by them. “
Achaques quiere la muerte
,” the priest intoned.
“What did he say?” Second Chance asked.
Lily’s beeper went off, and she thrust her hand into her pocket to silence it.
Rose opened her mouth to tell her son she wasn’t sure, but Mami spoke right over her. “That death needs no excuses to take the corpse. It’s shameful that you’ve forgotten your languages. If this weren’t an important part of the service, I’d box your ears.”
Then everyone was praying, the first of many invocations that would be said today:
Hail Mary, radiant splendor, intercede with Christ for us and the soul of Shep Hallford
…”
Rose bent her head to recite the words. When she looked up, her gaze wandered over to Austin. He was still staring at her, and he didn’t look any happier than he had the last time she’d looked. Chachi was pulling on the leash. Austin had picked Joanie up and held her in his arms. Her sleek coat looked newly laundered, and she was wearing one of those ridiculous dog sweaters that they had on sale on the rack across from Paloma’s desk. Nobody ever bought them. It was unfair, him using the dogs like that. He had to know how much that got to her.
The man who ran the hardware store and eight of his cronies all removed their cowboy hats and held them over their hearts. After calling out a single note that seemed to lift and take wing in the chilly air, the others joined in and began singing “The Cowboy’s Lament,” which was neither a hymn nor particularly resonant of Shep’s life, but had been his favorite song. If you had a heart, and mostly everybody here did, this was the moment that tipped you over into tears. Even Austin was blinking. The light snow began to fall more thickly now, a thin crust building up on the pine casket. Her father gestured, and the singers skipped the last verse and went straight to the chorus. Six men took hold of straps attached to a large canvas on which the coffin rested, and lowered the box into the ground. After the Wilder family walked by, throwing in yellow roses, every person attending the service scooped up a handful of dirt and tossed it into the grave until the casket was covered. Rose watched her father, his shoulders dusted white with snow, cross his arms in front of him and clear his throat as he stood at the foot of the grave. Without faltering once, he said, “Your foot’s in the stirrup, your pony won’t stand; good-bye, old partner, you’re leaving Cheyenne.”
Next to her, Rose heard Lily snuffle and say, “Now
that
Shep would have loved.”
It took about half an hour before the party got into full swing. Lily and Rose stood in Mami’s kitchen, taking hot dishes from the oven, opening drawers, searching for serving utensils, mopping spills when the room got too crowded and people bumped into one anoth- er. Second Chance sat on the counter eating a two-inch-thick peanut- butter-and-cheese sandwich.
“That is beyond disgusting,” Lily told him. “If you had any idea what that crap does to your arteries, you’d throw it in the trash.”
“I’m young,” he countered. “I burn twelve thousand calories a day. I can eat like a caveman, Aunt Lily.”
“How on earth does riding a motorcycle burn calories?’ He winked. “I didn’t say riding motorcycles was all I did.”
Rose held up a wooden spoon. “Hold it right there. If we’re ven- turing into any discussion of your sex life, let your mother leave the room.”
Second Chance and Lily stared at her blankly, obviously waiting for her to do just that.
“Just let me get this platter, and then I’ll be out of your way.”
The enchiladas she carried into the living room were immediately taken from her hands by Benito. “Those look wonderful,” he said. “Did you make them?”
“No. I think one of the neighbors must have. I make my own red sauce. The store-bought stuff is too salty for me.”
“I agree. I’d love to try yours sometime.”
Rose helped him clear a place on the table for the tray. She felt that distinct discomfort of the double-entendre lurking in his words. Even if it was unintentional, how could she go to work for a man who had the hots for her? “Maybe I’ll bring some by the restaurant.”
“Or you could teach me to make it in your kitchen.”
“Maybe,” she said, looking for a graceful exit. “I’d better get back to the food.”
“
Uno momento, por favor
?” Rose stopped. “What is it?”
Benito took the hot pads from her hands and led her into the foyer, where Mami’s best Navajo rug hung on the wall. “I brought my camera. I was hoping you’d let me take your picture.”
“Some other day, Benito.”
“It won’t take long. I had this idea the day your mother brought
you to lunch. Of how I could shoot you to bring out your cheekbones.”
“Not today. I look awful. I cried off all the makeup I was wearing. I have mascara ground into my cheeks, plus I’m not wearing any lipstick.”
“Most of the magic happens in the developing, Rose. Just let me stand you against this blanket like that. I promise, when I’m done with the portrait, you’ll look beautiful, not that you don’t already. Just a couple of quick shots.”
Now she couldn’t take the restaurant job. Office romances never worked into anything except a real bad deal: Witness Austin. People walked by, headed in either direction, and rather than create a scene, she decided to make the best of things. “All right, but do it quickly.” Benito posed her in a three-quarter view, stepped back, then reached over and gently rearranged her hair, tucking some of it be- hind her left ear, pulling a few tendrils down so that they touched her eyebrow. It felt no more intimate than being touched by a hairdresser. Then he was all business, shutter clicking away, and it was as if she were no more fascinating than the pattern in the rug.
Rose forced a smile.
“I don’t want you to smile,” he said. “Relax your face.”
Austin walked into the foyer, Joanie still in his arms, though he’d removed the dopey sweater, thank God. He stood behind the pho- tographer, and Rose felt her breathing quicken.
“Yes, that expression exactly,” Benito said. “Whatever you’re thinking of, don’t stop. Just a few more pictures, Rose. I can’t quit when it’s this good. Let me finish the roll.”
Austin allowed him to fire off six or seven more shots, then he moved in front of the camera and grabbed her hand roughly. “I think you’re done, pal,” he said, pulling Rose outside onto the porch, where several men stood drinking from coffee mugs. Rose could smell the spicy odor of cinnamon schnapps, and she wondered if that scent made Austin’s mouth water.
“That was polite of you,” she said, taking her hand from his. “What kind of manners does it take to act like a cover girl at a
goddamn funeral for somebody who was close enough to be your uncle?”
“Shut up, Austin. I hate it when you swear. Give me my dogs.”
He stepped back. “No. I’m holding them ransom until you start behaving yourself.”
Rose sighed. She folded her arms across her breasts. He’d yanked her outdoors before she could put on a coat, and the black dress she wore, one of Mami’s, was thin and low cut. She shivered. “Austin, do you think this is funny?”
“Never said I did.”
“You’re really starting to piss me off.” “Ditto back at you, Mrs. Flynn.”
A part of her wanted nothing more than to step right up and slap his handsome face. But Joanie had seen enough trauma, and she didn’t care to make a scene. “Fine, whatever. Tell me what you want so I can go back inside before I freeze to death.”
He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. She could see the vein in his temple pulse. “I want you to come back to work.”
“This is why you behave like a boor and yank me outdoors? This couldn’t have waited for a phone call? No.” She took hold of Chachi’s leash and grabbed for Joanie, but Austin stepped back before she could reach her.
“Please, Rose.”
“I said no. I found another job.”
“Does it provide you with insurance benefits and a decent enough wage so you can make your house payment and buy a new dress now and then? Does it come ready-made with animals who appre- ciate your kind touch and people who care about you?”
“All I need is a paycheck.” She was lying, and Austin knew that, too, but that didn’t stop either of them from pretending that this argument concerned employment.
He sat down on the porch swing and nervously twisted Joanie’s collar. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I want another chance, Rose.”
“When was the last time you were at Chimayo?”
“Hell, I don’t remember. What’s that got to do with my question?” “Nothing.” Rose looked him over, trying to see him objectively. Other women wouldn’t find that thin, angular face and little beard compelling. What was he? Sober a week? Two? Aching to get laid, and Leah out of town? Leah, who’d bedded her husband, and Lily’s boyfriend, too. “I think we had our chances, Austin, and they passed
us by. Give me back my dog, and let’s get on with our lives.” After awhile he nodded. “Guess I was a horse’s ass to ask.” Rose set Chachi on the porch and looped his leash around her
right hand while she took Joanie in her arms. “Oh, I don’t know if I agree with you. Actually I think you were a horse’s ass a long time before today.”
Austin put both hands on his waist, as if bracing himself against her words. Then he stood up, his mouth drawn tight, and pulled her to him, hard, close enough so that Rose could feel the sharp protrusions of his hipbones, the curve of his hand against her waist, his fingers opening and closing there in deliberate familiarity. He kissed her once, on the forehead, then pushed her away. “Please accept my condolences on your loss,” he said. “If you can stand to.” He hurried down the steps and made his way through all the pickup trucks and four-wheel-drive Jeeps and the few sports cars parked there toward his own truck. Rose listened to his boots crunching in the snow, each footfall coming down so hard it broke through the thin crust and met the gravel. He opened the driver’s- side door, got in, and slammed it twice as hard as he needed to. The engine caught, and, like a teenager, he spun his wheels in the snow
before he drove away.
She pressed her face against Joanie’s coat and stood there watching the space where his truck had been parked for God knows how long, when she noticed a girl making her way up the drive. She was dressed in a green cape, her face obscured by the hood, and she was waving. Rose squinted. It was Amanda, a day late as usual.
“Some freak in a truck just tried to run me down,” she said.
Just once—it wasn’t as if it would kill them—Rose wished one of her children could start a conversation with “Hello.”
can’t believe how mean I was to Austin just now,” Rose said as she led her daughter into the kitchen. “I’m thoroughly ashamed.” Lily abandoned the mushrooms she was slicing and rushed for- ward to give her niece a hug. “If he smarts a little, maybe he’ll learn some manners,” she said to Rose over Amanda’s shoulder. As she pulled back to look at her niece, her expression softened. “Amanda
the panda. You’re hell to track down, you know that?”
Behind the China girl pale makeup and the black lipstick, Amanda was still the same kid Lily remembered, snapping her gum, riding horses through the center of town, getting into trouble just like her aunt had. “We’re always on the road, Aunt Lily. That’s life with a band.”
Second Chance laughed out loud. He’d finished his big cheese sandwich, and now he was eating cocktail olives out of a jar. He looked at his sister for a few moments. “Jeez, Mando, whatever happened to your hair, I’m really sorry about it.”
Amanda protectively cradled the dreadlocks with her fingers. “Screw you, Chance. They’re called dreads.”
“A man we all loved has just died,” Rose quietly reminded them. “Do you think maybe you could watch your language?”
“It wasn’t me swearing,” Chance said. “Anyway, they look more like deads, what’s left of the roadkill when the buzzards are done.” Lily put her arm around her niece. “Kids, here’s an idea. If you’re going to get into a knock-down-drag-out, at least do it in the living