Authors: Lynne Hinton
T
rina was dreaming. There was a field, rows of corn, withered and brown like crops late in the season. The stalks were spindly, mostly devoured by grasshoppers, brittle from the summer sun. She walked through the rows, blindfolded, but she was not afraid. She walked, her arms stretched out on both sides, touching the stalks, feeling her way down the row. It seemed like some lesson she was learning, some means of testing her progress. There was someone near her, a woman, familiar, sweet-voiced, and kind, telling her to keep going, telling her that she was almost there. But Trina stopped when she felt the corn no longer beside her but now in front of her, blocking the way she had been going. She felt around, spinning, reaching out, and feeling the stalks in all directions. They were tall and close, and suddenly she was disoriented and could remember neither the direction she had come from nor where she was heading.
“I’m lost,” she called out, waiting for the woman to answer. There was no response. “Aren’t you there?” Trina asked, hearing nothing. “Wait, don’t go, I don’t know where I am,” she yelled. “Can I take the blindfold off? Is it okay to look?” And Trina was reaching up to remove the covering over her eyes when she awoke to the sound of a knocking on her door.
“Trina, are you awake?”
She shook her head, clearing her mind of the dream that lingered along the edges of her consciousness, the dream she had had since she was a young teenager. She opened her eyes.
“Trina, it’s Roger. Are you up?”
“Yeah,” she shouted. “Just a minute.” And she got up from the bed and hurried over to the door. She opened it, wearing only a T-shirt and panties. “Hey,” she said, blinking at the sun, bright and full behind the man standing at her door. She shielded her eyes with one hand.
“Oh.” Roger quickly averted his eyes. “I’m sorry to get you up. It’s just that I never saw you come in last night, and now it’s the afternoon and I hadn’t seen any sign of life over here.” He cleared his throat. “Alex asked me to stop by.” He glanced down at the bottom of the stairs. Alex was sitting in his wheelchair. He waved at Trina.
“Hey, you,” she said to the boy, stepping outside the door. “You checking up on me?”
Alex blushed. He could see the girl was not dressed. He just shook his head.
Trina smiled. “What time is it?” she asked Roger.
“Four o’clock,” he answered.
“Sunday?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Wow” was all she said. She squinted again against the sun. “That was quite a birthday party, Alex,” she shouted down to the boy.
He nodded. “Yeah, it was fun,” he replied.
“I’m taking him back to Malene’s. We’ve been to Mass and driven over to Socorro for lunch.” Roger studied the young woman. “You need anything?” he asked. “Breakfast, coffee?”
Trina shook her head. “No, I’ve got some cereal. I’ll be fine. Happy birthday again,” she yelled down to Alex.
“Thanks, Trina,” he called back. “And thanks for the card. It’s my favorite.”
Trina smiled. “Yeah, the homemade ones are best, I think.”
“Okay then, again, I’m sorry I disturbed you. Alex just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong. He . . .” Roger paused. “He was just worried about you,” he said.
Trina grinned and winked at the boy. “I like that,” she said. “You can check on me anytime,” she added, stepping out on the landing and leaning over the stair railing. “And one day we’re going to get you up here so you can see what I’ve done to the place.”
Alex nodded. “That’d be nice,” he said.
“Good,” Trina responded. “Y’all have fun and I’ll see you later.” She blew a kiss to the boy. “And you too, Sheriff.”
Roger nodded and headed down the stairs. He watched as Alex waved again at the young woman. “Thanks, Grandpa,” the boy said when he made his way beside the older man.
Roger just shook his head and squeezed the boy on the shoulder as he moved past him. “You and your bad feelings,” he said. “I told you she was fine.”
“Yeah,” Alex responded. “But it was worth the view, don’t you think?” He grinned and spun his chair around to follow his grandfather.
Trina watched from the small landing as the two of them moved toward the driveway and got in the van. She opened her screen door and walked back into the apartment. She glanced over at the clock to confirm what her landlord had said. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. She sighed and went back to the bed, heading under the covers. “What happened last night?” she asked herself. And then she closed her eyes and started to remember.
Trina had decided to walk back to her apartment even though several people at the party had offered her a ride. She explained that she liked moonlight walks and that she felt as if she needed the exercise. That had been almost nine or nine-thirty, she thought. She figured it was about three or four miles from the school to her apartment. That was nothing compared to how many miles she used to walk in a day. She hadn’t gotten very far, a mile maybe, when the pickup truck stopped in front of her. It was an old Ford, red but the paint faded, short bed, new tires. The engine knocked a bit, and she guessed it was because of cheap gas. She had seen the driver before, in town, the second day she was there. She was walking then too, asking everybody she saw about a job. He had been standing in front of the hardware store when she went in to ask the manager if he had any openings. She felt the boy watching her then, but he hadn’t spoken to her. She remembered him from the party too.
She walked just past the driver’s side and looked in.
“You want a ride?” he asked. He had dark hair, brown eyes, tan, muscular arms.
Trina smiled. “Where’s your girlfriend?” she asked, recalling that he hadn’t been standing alone for long in front of the hardware store before a girl came up and stuck her arm through his, the same girl he had been coupled with at the party. She was young, probably not more than fifteen or sixteen.
“I took her home,” he answered, grinning.
Trina studied the boy. He didn’t look much over sixteen himself. A little arrogant, she thought, but safe.
“So, do you want a ride or not?” he asked again, this time looking straight ahead.
“Is there anything else to do in this town?” Trina asked.
He turned back to her, raising his eyebrows. “I know some places,” he replied.
And with that, she opened up his door and climbed over him to sit on the passenger’s side.
She was not a whore, like her father called her. She didn’t sell sex. She didn’t get money or ask for favors when she slept with a man. She didn’t think of the encounters she had as business opportunities or some means to an end. She just liked sex. She liked the way she felt as soon as she realized the flirting had begun. She liked the excitement of it, the pleasure it brought, the intimate way she joined with a boy, their bodies fitting so perfectly.
She was not a slut either. She knew that type of girl too. A slut performed sex while always maintaining some hidden agenda. She slept around to gain access to another world or find opportunities to move out of the world in which she felt trapped. Sex for a slut was a way to better herself, make friends, have people she could call on. Trina didn’t need sex for money or to prove anything or to escape someplace. She had abandoned her messed-up little world a long time ago, and she hadn’t had to sleep her way out of it. She earned enough money to buy a bus ticket out of Lubbock, Texas, and she’d never had to use her body to get anywhere or get out of anything.
It didn’t matter what her father had told everybody in town about her. She was smart. She was resourceful. She was fast on her feet. And she never had and she never would come crawling back to him for anything. He rode and broke her mother until she was nothing but a sorry drunk, lost and gone forever, but he would never get his hands on Trina. Not ever. Not again.
The boy she rode with, the one in the Ford truck, was inexperienced, and in the end they only made out, with him getting his first blow job and her getting the pleasure of being teacher to a very eager student.
His name was Rob—more like Robbie, she thought. “Little Robbie, high school darling, the apple of his mother’s eye, the pride of his hometown football team.” Trina smiled to think of how the boy was bound to be spoken of at home or among his friends. She thought about his girlfriend, a good Catholic girl who would only let him touch her outside her clothes, the one he had promised that it didn’t matter that she wasn’t ready for sex, the one he would eventually marry and cheat on by the time she was pregnant with their first child. Trina knew all about the Robbies of the world. She had met her fair share of them when she was in high school. A Robbie was the main reason she had left after tenth grade. By the time she had visited California, lived in Phoenix, and worked in Amarillo, she had discovered that there were Robbies everywhere. By the time she was nineteen, they no longer irritated her so much, and in fact they entertained her. After she left Texas for Tucson, she had learned everything there was to know about the Robbies.
Trina rolled over on her side, recalling how he had driven her out to the high school and the field where he played football, the cemetery where he said his baby brother was buried, the path out to a few of the old settlement quarters, mud houses, some of which still stood, and finally to the church, the one place she asked to go, even though she didn’t explain, because she wanted to see where Father George was living.
It appeared as if he wanted her to see how easy it was for him to get inside the sanctuary. He had been an altar boy, he explained, and knew where they hid the key. She could see his plan. He intended to take her around back and let her inside, but she really wasn’t that impressed with the church or the boy who guaranteed her he could break in. She didn’t want to see the sanctuary or steal the communion wine. When they pulled up and she saw the station wagon with the driver’s door opened and the headlights on, it became clear, at least to her, why she had wanted him to drive her up there. She wanted to check on the priest. She knew he had gotten drunk on the punch. She knew he didn’t realize what he was drinking. And she was concerned. She wanted to make sure he’d gotten home safely.
She got out of Robbie’s truck, turned off the pastor’s car lights, and quietly closed the door, hoping not to wake him. Robbie was stupid enough to get out as well and stand right beside the window, probably near his bed, and talk loud enough for him to hear. Trina had to pull him away from the house and back over toward the church. She promised he’d get the blow job only if he came away from where the priest was sleeping.
Robbie was happy to oblige at that point. He led her around back, located the key, found the bottle of wine. She drank most of it, and he had the religious experience of his young life. Trina smiled when she realized that Robbie would never think of church in the same way again. She pulled the covers over her head. She figured Robbie would be back at her door soon enough, and she would have to deal with him and maybe even his girlfriend at a later time. For now, she just wanted to get back to sleep.
S
he was still asleep,” Roger explained to Malene after she asked if his tenant was okay. They were in the kitchen, Roger and Alex having just come in.
Alex had pestered Malene all morning after Oris brought him home. He wanted her to call Roger and make him go up to the apartment and check on Trina. He got worried as soon as his great-grandfather told him that she had walked home from the party. Oris said he wasn’t calling Roger, that if Alex wanted to check on the girl he would have to get his grandmother to make the call. Malene made him wait until after church before she would let him talk to his grandfather about Trina. She tried to convince him that she was sure the girl was fine. If she wasn’t, they would have heard something. Alex had heard everyone’s excuses and had waited until four o’clock. Roger finally had to do what Alex wanted.
“Granddad woke her up,” Alex chimed in. He glanced over at Roger with a big grin.
Roger closed his eyes and shook his head, a sign not to say anymore about the visit.
Malene noticed the exchange between the two. She studied them, watching them for what they might share, but she didn’t ask anything else. She didn’t mind the fact that her grandson shared secrets with her ex-husband. She actually sort of enjoyed the idea.
“She’s okay then?” was what Malene asked.
“Yep,” Roger answered. “Did you get everything unpacked from last night?” It was obvious that he wanted to change the subject. He glanced around the kitchen. He didn’t notice any of the boxes or coolers that she’d had with her when he dropped her off after the party.
“Oh yeah, she’s just fine,” Alex added, emphasizing the word “fine.” He grinned and then, unable to help himself, laughed out loud.
Roger stared at the boy. He cleared his throat. He wasn’t so sure Malene should hear how the young woman had answered her door. He worried that she might keep Alex away if she knew.
Malene waited before answering the question. She kept watching the two of them. “I did it after service, while you were gone to Socorro. We’ll just have leftovers for supper, if that’s all right.” She kept her eyes on Alex. “You okay eating another burger tonight?” she asked her grandson.
“Sure, Grandma, they were excellent. Papa’s beans and cornbread were good too.”
“Yeah, all that got eaten before I had any,” Roger noted.
“Probably me,” Alex confessed. “I think I ate two bowls and four pieces of bread.”
“And a hamburger?” Malene asked, surprised to hear the boy had eaten that much at the party.
“Yep,” he answered. “And two pieces of cake. A growing boy needs his food.” Alex wheeled around the table and moved right beside Malene. “Thank you again for the party. It was awesome.” He leaned up and Malene bent down so that he could kiss her on the cheek. Then he backed up his chair. “Now I’m going to go to my room to check out my gifts again. I don’t even remember everything I got.” He waved at his grandparents and headed down the hall.
“You were right, he sure got a lot of stuff,” Roger commented. “He’ll be busy for the rest of the year with all those games and things.”
“Some of the people just gave him money,” Malene noted. “I think he must have gotten two hundred dollars.”
“This town loves that boy,” Roger said. He stood at the doorway for a minute. “I don’t know what would become of us if something happened.” He shook his head, deciding not to consider such a thing. “So what did you think of Father George’s performance today?” Roger asked Malene, changing the subject. He moved over and sat down at the table and stretched his legs out.
She scratched her forehead. “He seemed a little nervous, got lost in the order of service a couple of times, forgot to pray at the end, but I guess he’ll do okay.” She stood at the counter. She was slicing tomatoes. Her back was to Roger, but she knew he was watching her.
“What was he talking to Miss Snow about before service?” Roger wanted to know. He had noticed the priest spending a lot of time with the president of the Altar Guild. They both seemed upset about something.
“The wine was gone. He thought it was somewhere else in the church, but she told him where it was kept, and they apparently looked everywhere for it. They were both surprised that it was missing.”
“Don’t they keep extra?” Roger asked.
Malene kept her back to the table. She nodded. “Yes, but all three bottles were gone. He finally thought there was a bottle in the rectory. That’s what they ended up using, I think.”
Roger considered this bit of news. “Anything else missing? Was there a break-in?” He was the sheriff after all.
Malene turned to face her ex-husband. “I didn’t overhear that much of the conversation. But maybe you should check it out yourself. You didn’t go over there early to make sure Father George was all right today, did you?” She recalled that she had asked him to look in on the pastor before Mass.
“I called him. He seemed a little hungover, but other than that he was fine. Didn’t mention anything about missing wine,” Roger replied. “Maybe he hadn’t noticed yet.” He thought for a minute. “Hey, you don’t think Father Joseph took a couple of bottles when he headed out?” He smiled at the thought of the exiting priest stealing the wine from the church he had served.
Malene turned back to her kitchen work. “I doubt that,” she answered. “But Miss Snow did seem a little suspicious.” She smiled.
Roger laughed. “Well, maybe I should ride out there this evening, see about changing the locks on the door, talk to him about security issues.” He placed his hands on the table. There was a pause. “He seems awful young, doesn’t he?”
“We’re just old, Roger,” Malene responded.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“But really, how old do you think he is?” Roger asked.
“Twenty-four, twenty-five, I’m not sure,” she responded. “I know he was in seminary about five years, and he’s been out just a couple of months. I know that this is his first call.”
“Well, that much you can tell,” Roger noted. “Shouldn’t these young men work with another priest before they’re given their own church?”
Malene shrugged. “I guess they need all the help they can get,” she answered. “The Catholic Church is running low on priests.”
Roger nodded. “I hope he can make it here. We’re not known for our generous hospitality to new folks.”
“What’s that mean?” Malene asked, turning to look at her ex-husband.
“Oh, you know, we gave Christine a hard time the other day, but she wasn’t far off the mark about this little community. Pie Town is kind of a rough place, especially on folks who weren’t born and raised here, people without family ties here. We’re not all that friendly to strangers.”
“You think that? Really?” Malene sounded surprised. “I thought we were a very welcoming place.”
“Are we talking about the same town?” Roger asked.
“If we’re talking about this one we are,” came the reply.
“What about the Peterson sisters?” Roger asked, referring to the proprietors of the bakery. “They finally got tired of everybody being so haughty toward them and moved over to Quemoda.”
Malene hadn’t heard this theory. “I thought they left because they could make more money over there,” she said.
“They left because they couldn’t get anyone to buy their pies!” Roger replied.
“I never thought about it.” Malene took a sip of her drink. “Guess I’m not much of a pie person.”
“What about that young couple who moved here a few years ago, tried to farm? The wife was starting a preschool.”
“Well, nobody liked them because they were uppity, thought we didn’t know anything about growing crops and raising children. She kept wanting to hold classes on breast-feeding and how to sterilize bottles and toys.” She rolled her eyes. “Ridiculous.”
Roger shook his head. “And then there was the guy trying to start a tractor business and that couple wanting to open a furniture store.” He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “They all left within a couple of years of getting here. Let’s face it, Malene, our record on hospitality ain’t too great.”
“Well, Father George is the new priest. We’ll do right by him, I’m sure.”
Roger shrugged. “I hope so. And I hope we’ll treat the girl okay too, but I got my doubts.”
Just then the phone rang. Malene lifted her hands to show that she was too messy to pick up the receiver. “Can you get that?” she asked Roger.
He got up from the table and picked up the phone on the third ring.
“Hello,” he answered. There was nothing. “Hello,” he called out again. And that was when he heard her voice.
“Daddy?”
“Angel?” Roger responded. He glanced over at Malene, who had turned quickly to him.
“Um, hey,” Angel answered. “What are you doing there?” she asked.
“Having supper,” Roger replied. “You okay?” he asked. He could feel his ex-wife’s eyes on him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I called to wish Alex a happy birthday,” the young woman explained. She hesitated. “You having the party later today?”
“Yesterday,” he answered. “Over at the school. It was real nice.” He kept watching Malene to see if she wanted the phone.
“Oh God, that’s right, it was yesterday,” she said, and then she mumbled something Roger couldn’t make out.
“You play ball?” she asked, clear enough for her dad to understand her.
“Alex hit a home run,” he replied. He heard a sigh or an exhale, he wasn’t sure. “You okay, Angel?” he asked again.
“Me? Oh sure,” she replied.
Roger thought she sounded drunk or high. Her words were a bit slurred, but it was also a bad connection. He figured she must be on a cell phone. Her voice kept coming in and out. “Are you still in Taos?” he asked, hoping to find out she was settled, had made herself a home.
“Nah, I left there almost a year ago. I’m in Denver now.”
“Denver,” he repeated. He blew out a breath. “I didn’t think Colorado worked out too well for you last time,” he commented. Suddenly the thought of his daughter being arrested and serving jail time flashed across his mind. Unlike in New Mexico, his status as an officer of the law had done nothing to help Angel get out of a jail sentence in the neighboring state.
“That was a long time ago, Dad,” she said. “I’m, you know, doing fine.” That was all she said.
“You want to speak to your mother?” Roger asked. He watched as Malene picked up a dish towel and started to dry her hands. She was reaching for the phone.
“Nah, I can’t really talk long. I’m borrowing a friend’s phone. Can I speak to Alex?” she asked.
Roger slid the receiver away from his mouth. “She wants to speak to Alex,” he explained to Malene, knowing the request would not be easy to hear.
Malene quickly understood that her daughter didn’t want to talk to her. She thought about taking the phone anyway. Angel had called her house, after all. But then she thought better of it. They would probably only argue. She turned away from Roger and headed down the hall.
Roger could hear her tell Alex that he had a phone call. He heard the sounds of the boy’s chair moving in his direction. “Well, it’s good to hear your voice, Angel,” he said as a way to say good-bye. And then he handed the phone to Alex.
Malene walked around her grandson and back to the counter to finish slicing the tomatoes. Roger and Malene didn’t look at each other as they listened to the side of the conversation they could hear.
“Hello,” Alex called out and then waited.
“Mom!” he exclaimed. “I knew you’d call.”
There was a pause as he listened to what she said. His eyes lit up, and he had a huge grin on his face.
“No, it’s okay. I understand,” he said to her.
Both Malene and Roger knew Angel was apologizing about why she hadn’t come home and why she hadn’t sent a gift or a card and why she was a day late. They were used to these conversations, used to her always having to explain herself, the boy always excusing her. Malene stared down at her task at hand, while Roger moved back to the table, took his seat, and watched Alex as he talked on the phone.
“Yeah, and I got a guitar from Grandma and Granddad, a computer game from Papa Oris. I got lots of books and cards and a couple of nice shirts.” He stopped. He nodded his head. “Yeah, okay, it’s okay.” He waited. “I’ll talk to you again sometime,” he called out. And then, “Good-bye to you too. I love you, Mom.”
He handed the receiver to Roger. “She couldn’t talk because her friend told her to hang up.”
Roger stood up and took the receiver from Alex and then placed it back on the holder attached to the wall.
“That was nice of her to call, wasn’t it?” The boy smiled.
Roger and Malene both looked at their grandson and then at each other. They were thinking the same thing. Alex was so pure, so innocent, unable to be or stay angry at anybody, even his mother who abandoned him. They both took in a breath and nodded to the boy.
“It was very nice of her to call.” Roger spoke for the two of them.
Malene turned back to finish slicing the tomatoes. She had nothing to add.