THE SECOND MILAGRO (n/a) Read online

  The door opened with a pop. “Well, while the cat’s away . . .” Luis Hernandez stood in the doorway, a crooked grin shifting his trim beard to one side.

  “What do you want?”

  “Relax, Mainland. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  A shot of freon coursed through Jim’s veins. He smiled, waited.

  Luis pirouetted a tight turn taking in the room. “Can’t blame you. It’s quite a showplace. Of course, I’d be more interested if the catch of the day was young Max, not his bitch mother.” He laughed, sat down in the high-back mahogany chair.

  Jim felt a mixture of relief and disgust. Correction, he thought, Tomas’s chair wouldn’t be the first thing to go.

  “And, I guess I might need to spank the kid a little for causing us so much trouble. I guess when you get to be step-pa you’ll take care of that, won’t you, Señor Mainland?”

  “Luis, you’re a disgusting little prick.”

  “And you’re a disgusting grande one? Is that what the Señora likes?”

  Jim slammed the chair back against the wall, shaking the windows. Before he breathed again he was on the other side of the desk hauling Luis out of the chair like a fork lift.

  “If you have anything to say about the profit and loss of this company, spit it out, Luis. Otherwise, don’t open your fuckin’ mouth again.”

  Luis struggled to free himself from the fist that gathered his tie and shirt into a noose. All his pumped up muscles didn’t make him a match for Jim. “Loss. Your loss. Thought you’d—want to know— Patricia’s gone.”

  Jim relaxed his hand. “What do you mean, gone?”

  Luis shook himself out of Jim’s grasp, straightened his tie and grinned. “Up, up and away. The Señora is on her way to Mexico via the company plane.”

  Jim stomped his foot as if squashing the bug he’d been toying with. “Get out of here Luis, before I throw you out.”

  * * *

  The door to the Lear opened as quickly as it had shut. Jim stormed through, bringing a blast of damp air with him. “What th’ hell are you two doing?”

  Patricia knew now it had not been the weather keeping them from departing. Jim must have telephoned the pilot. “I told you I was going to Mexico. Don’t act so surprised. But, of course, you are. Too bad your sleeping pill made me throw up.” Patricia folded her arms as he put out his hands.

  “I was just trying to keep you from being as crazy as Max. What do you think you can do?”

  “Well, Jim,” Rachel spoke up, “I don’t know whether to be impressed with your opinion of Max or your faith in Patricia.”

  Jim narrowed his eyes at her. “This has nothing to do with either, Rachel. I don’t want Patricia getting herself hurt.” His lips squeezed together, clamping down on the word.

  “I’m a big girl, Jim,” Patricia said. “I think it’s time you recognized that I can take care of myself.” She wanted to say more, but Rachel was baring her teeth. She didn’t want the two of them to get into one of their fights. She needed all of them concentrating on Max. “Now if you’ll be kind enough to tell the pilot you’re leaving, we can get underway.”

  Jim stared at her for what seemed like minutes. Finally, he turned on his heel and went to the cockpit. Patricia was afraid he might be arguing with the pilots, but he reappeared in a moment and left.

  “Did I hear right? He tried to drug you?” Rachel asked.

  “It was just a sleeping pill. And it didn’t work. Let’s forget it.”

  “That son-of-a-bitch!”

  “Don’t be so hard on him, Rache. He’s under pressure, too. There’s a lot at stake for him.”

  “I’ll bet on that,” Rachel said.

  Patricia thought about her words. Jim’s future depended on Morelos Enterprises. No doubt he would protect his interests, but she also knew he cared. “Rache, I’m sure he is concerned about my safety.”

  “Sure, St. Pat, think the best of the lout. I won’t argue.”

  Once the jet reached its cruising altitude, Patricia unfastened her seat belt and moved to a lounging chair. She still felt sleepy. There was a bed in the rear of the plane where Tomas had often slept on flights, but she wanted to stay in the cabin. She was glad now that Rachel had come along. She enjoyed the nearness of her best friend. Rachel had left the subject of Jim and was doing what she did best, talk about her daughter. She had managed not to tell Annie about Max and had come up with a good story about the short trip she and Patricia were making to Acapulco.

  “I know being a girl makes a difference, but can you imagine my Annie running off to Mexico alone?” Rachel laughed. “She needs at least three friends with her to go to the Seven-Eleven.”

  “I don’t think Max has ever needed anyone. Not even me.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s because he’s just like you. Independent, resourceful. Know-it-all.”

  “Well, I didn’t grow up in the lap of luxury you did. You learn, when you have to.”

  “Strange, isn’t it? Max did. He had the best handed to him, yet, he’s more independent than you. Tomas sure tried to spoil him. He must be turning in his grave to know his son went to Mexico to ‘champion the poor’.”

  “And what about me? Here I’ve lied to Max all these years, telling him about a fairytale childhood I had, thinking I was protecting him from my ‘tobacco road’ experience. If I’d known he was going to become so enamored with the poor, I could’ve bragged my heart out.”

  “First time I’ve heard you mention that in a long time.”

  “Well, I try to forget.”

  In the silence that fell between them, Patricia’s words circled in her mind, closing in on her memories like a descending spotlight. As they came into focus, she could smell wet pine, a pigpen, an outhouse. She could feel rough cotton ticking stiff with dry urine, hear a screen door slam, taste dust. She saw herself, a little girl with dirt-curled ringlets in a hand-me-down dress with tattered lace, eyes the color of acorns, face still baby-round. Her name was Dorothy Tucker.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ALABAMA 1954

  Dorothy peered around the side of the wellhouse at a woman and man she’d never seen. Her look went past them to the car.

  “We come for the girl,” the woman said to Preacher Johnny.

  Dorothy had planned to run away before the people came. Now she was glad she’d forgot to. She wouldn’t walk to her new home like her brothers would. They were just going to the next farm. She was going a long way off. All the way to Talladega. And she’d get to ride in a car.

  “Does she have a clean dress?” the woman asked.

  “Nope, ain’t had time for no washin’. Only laid their ma to rest yesterday,” Preacher Johnny said. “My wife’s been takin’ care of the new one and the twins. That there’s a handful. But Dorothy Mae here, she’s a big help. You’ll see she’s no trouble. Go inside, girl, and git your things. These folks’ll be wantin’ to git on their way.”

  “You want some help, honey?” The woman blocked out the sun. “You poor thing,” she said. Her big arms squeezed Dorothy’s shoulders tighter than Billy did when he was being mean. She ducked down and slid from the woman’s grasp. Jackson and Hank had taught her how to do that. As if summoned, her brothers tore around the side of the house. Billy chasing the others, throwing dirt at them. He missed, splattering the man’s trouser legs.

  “Weeohh! Look at that!” Hank shouted and hit the car, making thumping sounds.

  “How ’bout a ride, mister?” Billy rubbed his hands down the back fender.

  “You boys, just get on back, now, you hear. Just get on back.”

  Pa would’ve thrashed them, but the man just walked around, flinging his arms like he was shooing chickens. The boys jumped into the car. Billy banged the horn, twisted the steering wheel.

  Dorothy grabbed his leg and screamed. “Ya’ll git outta there or I’ll tell Ma!”

  Billy pushed her backward. “Ma’s dead, you idiot,” he screamed. She landed on the ground, got up and started for him
again.

  Preacher Johnny grabbed her, pulled her around. “Look at me, girl. You behave yourself or these folks won’t take you home with them.” He pushed her toward the house. “Now, git.”

  She ran to her room. Butterflies in her stomach outran her, and she pressed her hand against them, whispering, “I’m gonna go on a trip. In a car.”

  She knew what she would take with her. Her china doll Ma had given her. She spotted it between the sleeping twins, all three tucked together like spoons. She pulled the doll out and the twins wiggled, filling the vacant place. Preacher Johnny was hollering for her. She tiptoed out of the room.

  “Why does she get to ride and we don’t?” Jackson whined.

  “Yeah, she didn’t even go in the creek this mornin’, like you said to, Johnny.” Billy said.

  She stuck her tongue out.

  “Dorothy, you said you took a bath. You better not be lyin’. The devil’s goin’ take you to hell for your lyin’.”

  He grabbed at her, but she was already in the back seat of the car. It smelled beautiful. As they drove off, she heard Billy call her name. She didn’t look back.

  They headed out Dry Valley road in a direction she’d never been. The man and woman talked about how hot it was and asked her questions about school and what she liked to eat. She mostly nodded her head. Arms propped on the back of the front seat, she looked down the long hood at the silver angel riding on the front of the car. She pushed her feet back and forth when the man did.

  When her legs tired, she leaned back and watched the fields go by. Miles and miles of cotton. Ma used to tell her that’s what snow looked like. Someone had once sent them a Christmas card picture of snow-topped mountains. Cotton didn’t really look like snow like Ma said. Ma lied, too, sometime. She wiped her eyes hard with the

  THE SECOND MILAGRO

  back of her hand and thought how glad she was to be away from Billy and Preacher Johnny. The car stopped and she opened her eyes. It was dark outside. The woman was talking.

  “She’s asleep, poor thing. I’ll put her to bed. Take the car back to Mr. Granger’s. Maybe he’ll give you a lift home.”

  “Better give her a bath before you tuck her in. May need to take the hose to her.”

  “Jeff McFall, behave yourself. That child’s been through enough. Her ma dead and her pa in jail. She needs a lot of lovin’ and we’re going to give it to her.”

  “You know I’s just pullin’ your leg, Elsie. Be back soon. Sure you can pick her up?”

  The woman pulled Dorothy across the seat and lifted her out of the car. Dorothy stayed curled around her doll, faking sleep. She sneaked a look around as the woman carried her past a beat up truck into a house with a porch across the front. Inside, the woman placed her on a couch and turned on a lamp.

  “Well, Miss Sleepy-head, how about a bath before we go to bed?”

  Dorothy stretched, taking her time “waking up.” “I already had me a bath today.”

  “Sure you did. But we’re going to take a special one. A bubble bath.”

  She sat up and stared at the woman. “A what?”

  She’d never been in a real bathtub. In winter they bathed in a washpail in the kitchen, the rest of the year they went in the creek. She didn’t like it. The water was cold and Billy said there were snakes in it.

  All this bath had, as far as she could see, was bubbles.

  The woman was washing her back. “I’ll try to be careful. Don’t want to pull the scab away. How in th’ world did you get such a bad scrape? Did you fall?”

  Dorothy slapped her back, sending tiny balloons of soap into the air. She scratched a piece of the “scab” away. “Oh, that’ll come off. I ain’t hurt. It was Billy. He throwed somethin’ at me down in the pasture. I guess it didn’t come off when I bathed.”

  The woman looked sick. She walked over to the sink, ducked her head under the spigot for some water then spit it out. When she came back, Dorothy thought her hide was going to be scrubbed away. That was what she got for telling the truth. The devil might take her to hell for lying, but telling the truth hurt more.

  They put her to bed in a room all by herself. She cuddled up with her doll, but couldn’t sleep. She played with the lace on the pillow. Everything smelled like flowers. The bed was so big, there would have been room for the twins, too.

  She thought of Billy and her bath. It was all his fault. She hated him. Should just have told the woman she didn’t know what was on her back. What difference would it have been if she’d lied? After all, they’d just as much as lied about the car, hadn’t they? It wasn’t even theirs.

  Looked like everybody she knew lied. Ma lied about the snow. Pa said he was coming back and taking care of them, but the sheriff took him away. Billy said Pa was doing five years for moonshining. Billy lied all the time.

  And even Preacher Johnny. Hadn’t he lied when he told them they’d all stay together when Ma died? Didn’t seem to her that telling the truth got you anywhere. She doubled her hand into a fist, curled around her mother’s china doll, and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MEXICO September 26

  Patricia unclenched her hands and stretched. For a minute she wasn’t sure if she had been dreaming or remembering. The image of tiny cracks on the china doll’s face was too vivid for a dream. That doll still existed. Not that Patricia ever thought of it, or looked at it, locked away in a chest as it was.

  “You take a nap?” Rachel asked.

  “No. Just resting,” Patricia answered. “Thinking about Max.” “Happy thoughts, I hope.”

  “Very,” she murmured. She had to do something to shake loose

  the memories that haunted her. “We have enough time for a cup of tea before landing. Want one?” Sipping her tea moments later Rachel asked, “Can you see Popocatépetl or Ixtaccíhuatl?”

  “Not yet.” No need to look. Patricia knew they were not where they could see the snow-topped volcanoes. She knew every landmark on this flight. During her marriage to Tomas, they had flown to Mexico regularly. However, she seldom got off in Mexico City, choosing to spend the time at their villa in Acapulco. That’s what she intended for Rachel to do now. Too many hazards in the crowded city. Watching after Rachel would slow her down. At least that was excuse enough.

  “Look, Rache, I want you to stay on the plane. Robert will fly you onto Acapulco and you can wait there for me. I’ll give him a call when I’m ready to join you.”

  “Well, don’t beat around the bush, Patricia. Just tell me you don’t want me along.”

  “Funny, Rache. Now don’t give me a hard time. You know there are good reasons. I’m just—”

  “Lighten up, sweetie.” Rachel cupped her chin with her hand and leaned forward on one knee. “I know life is serious and terrible things are happening, but, you’re going to fray if you stretch your strings much more.” She reached out, found Patricia’s hand and patted it. “I’ll go on to Acapulco without a fight. On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “That you don’t leave Mexico City or do anything rash without talking to me first.”

  Patricia considered the request. Finally, she said, “I don’t intend to do anything rash, but I promise to tell you if I change my mind. How’s that?”

  Rachel sighed. “Well, I guess it’ll have to do. And while I’m waiting, I’ll have Marta cook quesadillos three times a day and be fat by the time you and Max get there.”

  “You fat? Never.” Patricia laughed, but her humor found no hold and faded quickly. She got up and walked toward the back of the plane. “I think I’ll call Washington before we land,” she said in a hollow voice.

  Jim answered on the first ring. He hadn’t expected it to be Patricia. Actually, it surprised him how far away she was from his thoughts at the moment.

  “I hope you’re calling to say you’ve come to your senses and you’re on the way home. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  “No, Jim. We’re landing in Mexico any minute. Any news
?”

  Her voice quivered, and he pictured her biting her lower lip as she did when she was under stress. The thought of her bruising that luscious mouth gave him a sudden rush of heat. He lowered his voice. “You know I would have called.”

  “Well, I’ll be at the office or the hotel.”

  He heard her sigh. “I’ll call you tonight. Be careful, Patricia.”

  When she hung up, he lowered the phone slowly, reluctant to give up the too short moment of levity. His shoulders slumped and he felt the muscles in his face droop as if gravity had increased its pull. Scattered across his desk were telexes, brokerage reports, phone messages from people demanding money.

  He picked up one and stared at the number he was supposed to call in Mexico, 56-79565. If he put a dollar sign in front, it would just about represent what he stood to lose. He let that thought go in a hurry. If everything went as he planned, he’d have twice that. And he was not going to let anything stop him.

  A knock on the door and his secretary, Peggy Wright, stomped into the room, gray hair framing her flushed cheeks. She shook her head. “You can’t keep that Mr. Smith, if that’s his name and I doubt it, waiting all day. He’s just sitting there aiming those BB eyes at me. Gives me the creeps. If you want to stall him again, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  “Show him in, Peg.” He groaned and quickly gathered the papers on his desk, stuffing them into a drawer.

  She straightened her back and opened the door. “Mr. Mainland will see you now, Mr. Smith.” She exaggerated the name.

  Nothing about Mr. Smith looked threatening to Jim. Small frame, pinched face, narrow eyes. Only a slight bulge under his left arm said something different. His name was Willie Bates and he and Jim went back a long way.