His Temporary Wife (18 page)

“As a well-paid summer job that lets you live in a country home, with nice folks and
no stress.”

“That will sound better on my next résumé.” She smiled at Marc. “Nice to meet you.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Likewise. Don’t take any guff from my
bro.” Then he slapped Rafael on the back again. “I’m gone. You’d better pull this
off, or you’re toast.”

“I know.” He walked to the door with Marc, who stepped out in the corridor before
adding, “And don’t you dare hurt the girl.”

“Ready to leave?” Rafael asked, and Esme nodded.

“Sure. But I think I like Marc more than you, even though he’s a little hyper.”

“He’s a pain. But we love him,” Rafael said easily.

They got back on I-35 and Rafael glanced at the dashboard. “We’ll grab a bite somewhere
in Laredo, unload, and then,” he stopped to glance in his mirror before passing another
semi, “let’s take your folks out to dinner if they don’t have plans.”

She didn’t want Rafael to meet her family. Her mother and father would be bad enough
with their pointed glances and embarrassing questions. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t,
let her brother Beto meet him. She’d visited her parents since leaving home—out of
duty, and maybe the faintest remnants of love for the two people who had brought her
into the world—but she knew they were petty and greedy. At least toward her. She should
have asked Rafael what he expected of her family before she signed. With so little
time before his parents came, she’d really thought they’d just stay in Truth. Not
once had she considered that he’d want to meet her family. She’d have to think of
some way to limit the damage knowing her family would do to them both. Her mother
and father she could handle for the brief time he would know them. But Beto … she’d
never forgotten the gossip, the slurs, and lies he’d used against her from childhood
on.

Nor had she forgotten the time she’d been home from college during her freshman year
at college. Her parents were out visiting friends, and he’d come home from some friend’s
party drunk. She’d looked up to see him in the door, leering at her. She’d already
changed for bed and was sitting there in pajamas.

He made some obscene comments and she’d gotten up to shut the door, never imagining
that he’d touch her. Instead of letting her get the door closed, he’d stuck his foot
in, then shouldered it open again. He’d reached for her, jerking her to him, fondling
her, trying to tear her clothing off. Fear and fury had given her the strength to
fight him off and shove him out into the hall. She’d locked the door and collapsed
in a heap of the floor, crying hysterically. Her own brother had tried to rape her,
and she sat there shaking until her mother and father came home.

Her mother hadn’t believed her. She’d sided with Beto, and so had her father. They’d
blamed her, blamed the fact that he was drunk. She’d gone home since then as infrequently
as possible, and when she went home, she stayed in a motel. She’d never spent another
night under their roof again.

He was looking at her curiously when she didn’t answer.

“I really want to meet them,” he said. “I know you said you weren’t close, but surely
we’re going to invite them to the wedding.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Look, Rafael—do you prefer Rafa or Rafael?”

“Nice try. Most of my friends call me Rafa, but call me whatever you’re comfortable
with. Why don’t you want your parents at the marriage? Wouldn’t that help patch things
up, if one of their problems was—well, that you and Toby weren’t married?”

“You don’t know them. Look, you had the pre-nuptial written so you can’t be manipulated
and robbed blind, right?”

“Sounds harsh, but yes.”

“You don’t have any protection from them.”

“Are you sure you’re not misjudging old problems?” He reached over and found her hand,
giving it a squeeze. “Esme, I just find it hard to believe that your parents are such
creeps. I mean, kids usually grow up like their parents. Don’t you think? I mean,
professionally, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Maybe generally. But not always, Rafael. You have to know that.”

“Not going with Rafa?” he teased. “Not formal enough?”

“No. Not distant enough, either.” She turned her head and pretended to be interested
in the buildings that had sprung up on the outskirts of Laredo in her absence.

“Tell you what. Let’s get these things unloaded so we don’t have to worry, and then
we’ll have lunch and the first fight of our engagement.”

In spite of herself, she laughed at that. By the time they’d taken the collected items
to the various organizations, she had to admit she was ready for lunch. They wound
up at Taco Palenque, the only Laredo mainstay they both loved.

Standing by the high counter to order, the smells made it hard to concentrate on all
the reasons why she shouldn’t let Rafael meet her parents. A faint sensation of guilt
crowded in. For all her mother’s failings, she missed her now and then. They’d come
here for most Mothers’ Days, and after she’d won the district science fair the year
before she’d met Toby. And she and Toby had come here on the anniversary of their
first date. They’d only been able to order a single taco each, but she’d never enjoyed
fajita more …

Rafael and the cashier were looking at her, apparently waiting for her order. She
ordered the fajita plate, and filled their glasses while they waited for their order.
It took a few minutes, but they finally found a table near the doors that led to the
tables outside that were often occupied by teenagers or families with young children.

“Anything you’d like to do this afternoon? You could shop for a wedding dress. And
we don’t have the ring.”

“We don’t need all that,” Esme protested. “Rafael—”

“We discussed this, remember? I told you the job included expenses. We need a dress
and the ring. And those are job expenses.”

“You’re not planning on a formal wedding, are you?”

“No. But I want to do better than T-shirts.”

“We can go into San Antonio. When is this wedding going to happen?”

He shrugged. “Today’s Friday … how about a week from tomorrow?”

“A week?”

“Two weeks is too long. We could choose a weekday, but who gets married on a weekday?
Besides, your parents might not be able to get away if it’s not a weekend.” He smiled
at her, but it was a smile that told her he was in charge of her wedding details.
“This marriage is about family, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave yours out.”

“Okay.” Esme inhaled deeply. “A week from tomorrow.” She pushed her plate away. “Let
me call my parents and see if they’re home.”

Don’t be home. Be in the hair salon. Be across in Nuevo Laredo. Just don’t be home.

Her mother answered on the second ring.

They exchanged the usual stilted greetings before Esme said, “Mom, I’m in Laredo.
Do you think we could drop by the house and visit?”

There was a long pause on the other end, broken by a heavy sigh. “I suppose it’s some
man? I guess you can come by. We’ll be home anyway.”

“Maybe in a couple of hours?”

Her mother agreed and hung up. Esme knew that she’d drag out a broom and mop and clean
the living room, dust, and complain constantly about the extra work to her husband.
Her dad would sit in his favorite chair watching whatever games were on TV and making
occasional grunting sounds of agreement.

“Well, that didn’t sound too bad from this end.”

“No? Wait until the part where I tell them I’m marrying you in a week.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“My mom will demand a million explanations, want to know things about you that I don’t
know and probably never will—”

“My parents will put me through all that, just later on. And they’ll be worse, because
it will be after the fact. Are we ready?”

She nodded, watched him place too much money on the table as a tip, and pull her chair
out. “That’s different, though,” she said, standing and following him. “You’re lying
to your parents for a good reason, if there is such a thing, and you were honest with
me. I’m just flat out lying to my parents.”

They stepped out into sunshine that made them blink.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “To be honest, I didn’t think about how my fiancée—about
how you—might feel. My only concern was keeping Mom and Dad in the dark about … everything.”
He opened the truck door and waited for her to climb up. “Pretty selfish of me, huh?”

Selfish? She wouldn’t mind waitressing again for the tips she’d seen him leave. He
was willing to pay a fortune for his parents’ and nephew’s happiness. Apart from the
snarled death threat she’d heard, he seemed perfect. That worried her: there weren’t
any perfect people, only people who thought they were perfect.

He went around and got in, turning the truck on. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill.
Any ideas?”

The sunlight streaming in through his window haloed him. His lips were slightly pursed,
and the reddish cast the sun gave his dark hair and the sparks in his eyes made him
almost irresistible. Oh, she had ideas. She was just under contract not to jump the
man’s bones. Regretfully, she shook her head.

He backed out and stopped, waiting for the traffic to give him a break, and apparently
debating whether to turn left or right.

“Show me where you lived.” The idea came abruptly, and Esme saw him flinch when she
asked, but she wanted to know. “Fair’s fair. You’re going to my parents’ house.”

He didn’t look happy, but signaled a left and headed toward the oldest part of Laredo.
Esme catalogued the changes as they drove. Some of the import places were still there,
with their colorful Mexican curios displayed on the sidewalk and behind chain link
fences—pots, piñatas, ceramics, and metal animals of every kind. There were new tattoo
shops, the usual franchises, and old motels apparently under new management. Home,
but not really …

They drove downtown, fighting the usual congestion, finally turning onto Zaragoza
Street and passing historic San Agustin Cathedral, the plaza in front of it, the luxurious
La Posada Hotel on the left. “The other kids and I used to come hang out here sometimes
when we knew mass was over. We always thought everyone who’d been inside listening
to the sermon would be generous with us.”

“Did it work?”

He shook his head. “Not always.”

He continued down the street until he hit San Bernardo again and pointed at
Puente de La Americas
, Laredo’s first bridge, which still swarmed with cars and pedestrians going into
and coming out of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. “We also used to go panhandle on the bridge—got
in scuffles sometimes with the Mexican kids—but mostly it was peaceful.”

“I used to go across a lot. I’d buy gum or a paper, but I was terrified of hitting
someone. Kids would just rush out—”

“I was terrified of the bridge,” he admitted. “But at the time,
mi tío
—or at least some guy who claimed he was everyone’s uncle—made us go every day.”

She sat in silence, trying to imagine Rafael in shabby clothes, avoiding the traffic
and trying to eke out a few cents—money which she bet he and the other kids didn’t
get to keep.

“I imagine kids can’t get onto the bridge anymore from this side,” Rafael went on,
manipulating the tight, one-way streets filled with parked cars and thronged with
shoppers from Mexico in search of values in the thrift stores. He finally came to
a corner, where he paused a moment, indicating the decrepit houses on one side of
the street, across from a weed-covered lot with trash. “That third house down … that
was where I stayed mostly. Eventually I wound up at the shelter, but not until right
before my mom and dad adopted me.”

She felt sickened by the scene, although she knew there were neighborhoods everywhere
that looked the same. She’d known about it when she lived in Laredo, but still remembered
feeling ashamed of her parents’ house when friends came over. Compared to Rafael’s
beginning, she’d lived in luxury. How shallow she’d been—was she still? She’d agreed
to marry a man for money, something she thought once she would never have done.

She glanced at Rafael. He looked pained, eyes mirthless, his lips pressed tightly
together. The console separated them, or she would have flung herself next to him
and hugged him.

“Funny isn’t it—it really isn’t any different than when I lived there.”

She had no words, so she said nothing about the structure with missing boards, an
open place near the roof, a porch that had collapsed on one side.

“I don’t see anyone,” she said finally, hopefully. “Maybe—”

“I imagine we’d see kids if we came after school or in the evening. I’m willing to
bet people still live there.”

She wanted to change the subject and managed to reach far enough over to lay her hand
on his arm, squeezing gently. “I’d really love to see where you attacked the Cadillac.”

“Actually, it was right over there.” He pointed to the lot, halfway down. “I saw the
car from the porch over there. Some of the kids at the house, and one of the women
who was there at the time—we called everyone ‘tía,’ even though I was already old
enough to know why she was there and that we weren’t related—started trash talking
‘
los ricos
.’ Talk about anger toward folks with money! It got ugly. I got mad.”

He turned to her. “You need to know that about me, Esme. Anger used to govern most
of what I did. I can’t believe how often I destroyed something even after I was out
of here, just because I’d give in to my rage.”

“So, why were you angry at the car? Just the fact that it was so expensive?

“No.” He seemed ready to refuse to explain, and she saw moisture form in his eyes
before he turned away. “There was a little girl … we called her
Pioja
—”

“You called her ‘louse’—that’s awful!” The counselor persona kicked in, outraged that
a little girl had apparently been ridiculed by—she controlled her own outrage. The
little girl had been ridiculed by children who didn’t know better. Who’d been just
as abused and neglected as the little girl had been herself.