Hydraulic Level Five (1) (25 page)

“For the record, I don’t believe Samuel ever slept with anyone else while you were married.”

Oh, that was a good one. “That makes me feel so much better. He’s such a saint. I’m sure he and Miss Brunette were just warming up for a friendly game of Twister.”

“I’m not defending him. I only meant that they never actually—”

“What? That he was
high
when he was pawing up another woman, snorting coke off her stomach? That we were already separated? It doesn’t matter. We were still married. I still loved him.”

“And you don’t still love him?”

“No. Yes. I didn’t say…”

“Straight answer, Kaye.”

I stared out the window, watching as rain began to pelt the glass. The closer the Rockies, the closer the rain. Rain was gentle, soothing. I listened to the buzz of the radio, the quiet thumps of cold drops against the car, everything but my own heartbeat, pulsing through my veins.
Just one word, that’s all you need to say. Why is it so hard?

“Yes. I still love him. Pathetic isn’t it?”

Danita sighed, her head falling back, weary. “No. It’s not pathetic. It’s life.”

“Hey, Trilby, what’s Cabral’s password?” Jaime whispered across Samuel’s bedroom.

Calvino.

“I don’t know anymore. Jaime, I wish you’d leave his laptop alone, that’s his business.” I kept my voice low to avoid waking him. Not that I probably would—the man was out cold, tangled up in his bed sheets despite the chill, woodsy air sweeping through his open window. He hadn’t groaned, hadn’t moved a single inch since we’d—no, Molly, Danita, and Jaime—began to ransack his room with the precision of a Picasso. The Benadryl did the trick, and the only sign he was still alive was the steady rise and fall of his smooth chest.

“Try ‘TedWilliams,’” Danita piped up from the floor. Good guess…if the password wasn’t an author, it was a Boston Red Sox player. I watched as she helped Molly fill his empty Samsonite carry-on with potting soil. I still couldn’t believe they were ruining eight-hundred dollars’ worth of luggage. Then again, Samuel wouldn’t have any trouble replacing it.

Jaime’s fingers clicked over keys, and paused. “Nope, that’s not it.”

“Add ‘nine’ to the end, his old baseball number.”

It’s Calvino. A hundred bucks says it’s Calvino.
I picked up the graduation picture, now sitting on an end table next to the futon. The silver frame was smudged. I polished it with my shirttail, studied our smiling teenage faces, and put it back.

Something nagged me, had since our roller-coaster ride along Ute Highway. Then it struck me. “Dani, was Samuel really beside himself about my name change?”

“It was the oddest thing. He got really upset. And then he was just…glad, I guess.”

Glad? Yes, I could see that. But upset? No.

Molly smoothed gloved hands around another tomato plant and gently patted dirt over the roots, as if she actually thought the doomed thing would grow and thrive in Samuel’s suitcase. “Hmmm. Try ‘Neelie, nine.’”

“Nope,” said Jaime.

She wiped her forehead, streaking it with potting soil. “You know, Kaye, you could at least help a little. There are six tomato plants for that big suitcase over there, and there’s still the Sharpies and powdered milk, though I’m not sure how we’ll manage that one.” She scowled at Danita. “You were supposed to sprinkle it on his mattress
before
he went to bed. It has to be under him for his pores to absorb it, otherwise his skin won’t stink.”

“That’s disgusting.” Jaime’s nose crinkled. “Wish I’d known about powdered milk when I was messing with Juan. His little mistress would have kicked him out of the house—she can’t stand nasty odors.”

“Most people can’t.” Danita slathered the underside of a doorknob with mechanic’s grease, then knelt to check her handiwork. “The stench will wear off before we go camping, right?”

Molly nodded, extracting another plant from its container and shaking the roots loose. “It only lasts a couple of days.” She glared at me over her shoulder. “Oh for the love of all that’s holy, Kaye—do something. You owe me, big time. Years of owing me!” Molly’s face scrunched up in what I thought was anger…I wasn’t quite sure, because I rarely saw Molly truly angry.

“I’m fine where I am. You three have everything under control.”

Danita jerked me up by my elbow. “Look, can you please just screw with my brother tonight? That’s all I ask.”

Molly sniggered in spite of herself.

Danita blushed a beautiful bright red. “Ew.”

“See?” Jaime hissed, twisting around in the desk chair to point at Dani. “I’m not the only one who’s done that. So why don’t you tell her to clean out her mouth?”

“Screwed with Samuel?” Molly giggled.

“Yes! No! Never mind.”

I pointed accusing fingers at all of them. “Every single one of you filthy women had better watch your backs. I know people.”

Jaime lifted an eyebrow. “I
am
your people, Trilby. So if you’re planning to put shaving cream in our hands and tickle our noses with feathers, you’re —” she leered at me “— screwed.”

I jumped up from my unproductive slouch on Samuel’s old futon and scooted across the room. “Son-of-a-frickin’ fruit bat, give me the powdered milk.” Molly handed it to me, then watched as I marched over to Samuel’s bed, assessing the situation.

“Got it. I used to do this when Sam sprawled over my side of the bed and I wanted him to move.” I traced my index finger, ever so lightly, beneath his rib cage. “He’s ticklish here.” Sure enough, Samuel mumbled something incoherent, brushed my finger away, and rolled to his side like a trained puppy.

“No way.” Danita came up behind me. “He’s never been ticklish.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s just very good at controlling it. It got
you
to stop attacking him when we were kids, didn’t it?”

“Huh. So how did you figure that one out?”

I opened the powdered milk and liberally sprinkled it across the bed. “He wasn’t in control of himself quite so much, one time. That, and there wasn’t a lot of space on the top bunk of my dorm room.” Molly coughed delicately, patting the final tomato plant into place. I ignored her. “After ten minutes or so, he’ll probably flop over again. Then the powdered milk should work its magic. Sofia is going to kill us, by the way.”

Jaime peered at me from over the laptop screen, then at Samuel’s half-naked form, then back to me. “Wow, Trilby. Sounds like somebody knows Cabral’s kinks pretty well. Are you sure you don’t want to tap that for old times’ sake?”

A jolt shot straight through my body at the idea, but I quickly recovered. “Jaime, I think we need to have a serious talk about our relationship. I mean, aren’t you supposed to discourage me from ‘tapping’ the male species?”

“That sounds like an inside joke I need to hear,” said Dani. “Please go skydiving with us, Jaime? Or at least camping?”

“Camping, no. I’d smother all of you with your Eddie Bauer air mattresses before the night was over. Skydiving, hell no. You suicidal adrenaline junkies go ahead and jump from a plane without me, and I’ll scream obscenities at you from the ground.” She swiveled back to the laptop and tried another password.

Molly brushed stray dirt from her clothes, then leaned back to observe her work with a small smile. “Kaye, hand me that note card and pen in the bag, please?” I dug through the plastic bag, grabbed the note card, and tossed it to her. She scrawled what seemed like a book and propped it next to her little suitcase garden.

“There!”

I scanned her work—she’d made a care card for the plants. Typical sweet, interfering Molly. If only it were that easy.

Emotivus Drownicus Nixius: Nixius plants deplete the soil of nutrients fairly quickly. But with a bit of knowledge and perseverance, you can eventually have some wonderful blooms. Nixius plants require five hours of direct sunlight and daily watering. Soil care is key: roots need air in the soil just as much as they need water and nutrients. Turn soil frequently, digging deeply to break up dirt clumps and keep roots healthy. Good luck with your Nixius plant!

“That’s cute, Molly. But the whole symbiosis thing…I mean, seriously. You don’t buy that, do you?”

She scowled at me. “Do you want me to make you a copy of the card?”

Before I could answer, Danita snapped her fingers and pointed at the laptop. “The password’s ‘Calvino.’ I used it for emailing several weeks ago.”

Crap crap crap.
I braced myself behind Jaime, ready to shove her out of the swivel chair if it worked.

I was right. It was “Calvino.” Windows whirred to life, giving us entry to Samuel’s most private files if we so chose. For a fleeting moment, I considered searching for an electronic copy of the Planet Bluegrass draft I’d stumbled upon. But there was no way I was going to let Jaime browse through the laptop. I dug my shoulder into her side, trying to unseat her, but she held on tightly while the computer loaded and locked her hands and ankles around the desk.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, staring as the screen flickered to life.

“Shhhh!” the three of us hissed. My eyes flew to Samuel. He groaned and turned over, onto the scattered milk powder. We paused, waiting with bated breath for him to open his eyes, stretch, catch us red-handed. He didn’t stir. I exhaled and turned back to the laptop.

And then I froze, seeing what Jaime saw. I gasped.

Two children’s faces glowed above a handful of birthday candles, a little blurry because the camera kept focusing on the flickering light. Someone had tried to tame the boy’s hair, but it still ran wild, sticking out beneath the blue party hat perched upon his head. His shoulders were hunched beneath his too-big T-shirt, almost as if he were embarrassed to be the center of attention. But his smile…his bright, lazy grin dominated everything about the picture. Everything, save for the girl with tangled blond hair. She chastely kissed his cheek beneath a yellow smiley-face sticker she’d placed there, minutes before Sofia brought out the sombrero cake.

“Oh wow,” Molly breathed behind me. Danita silently swept a hand over her eyes.

Every day. He looked at this picture every day while he wrote, emailed, researched. Tears pricked my eyes. My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a sob.

I felt overwhelmed. I felt elated. I felt angry. I felt…

I just felt.

But something was off…I looked at the date in the corner of the image. May twenty-third…No. Oh no. May twenty-third. Samuel’s
birthday
. Last week, right smack in the middle of Mickey-gate.

I’d forgotten.

Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t Danita or Sofia? Had the entire family eaten Mexican birthday cake and snapped pictures while I…what was I doing? Plotting with Jaime.

Now I felt like a shrew. Samuel had never once forgotten my birthday, even if it was just a simple “Happy Birthday” card tucked in the envelope with his alimony check.

I snapped the laptop closed before we saw anything more, then studied Samuel, his arm now flung across his chest. Asleep, he more closely resembled the boy in the laptop picture…the child I’d befriended and loved so long ago. Same slightly-rounded nose. Same angular face beneath a shadow of grown-up stubble. Same soft lips. His hair was still a frustrated mess from our evening at Button Rock Reservoir. I’d missed this—watching him sleep, searching out the boy in his peaceful features.

“Molly, give me a Sharpie.” Confused, she dug through her bag of toys on the futon and tossed me a red one. I cautiously rested a knee on Samuel’s bed, shifting my weight. When he didn’t stir, I uncapped the Sharpie and leaned over him, slowly marking his forehead. I waited…no movement. Sweeping his hair away, I scribbled the other letters then eased back, gazing at my handiwork:

I'M A NAUGHTY NACKEN

I smiled, satisfied.

Molly laughed quietly. “You do realize he’s supposed to be a guest on
The After Hours Show
Friday, right? Caroline’s going to strangle you.”

“It’s a good thing olive oil takes out permanent marker, then.”

“Only if somebody tells him,” said Jaime.