Authors: Linda Cajio
The last words were close to the bone. She waited for him to ask why she wasn’t, but he didn’t. Instead, he took her arm to walk her back to her trailer. She tried to ignore the strong fingers at her elbow, but it was impossible.
“The kids do have a good deal of freedom here,” he said, “though they have to help their parents in the fields. But they don’t have gangs and they don’t have drugs. That is a blessing I hope they’ll always have.”
He sounded so emphatic that she wondered if he had a drug problem, or if a relative was involved in gangs and drugs. She knew nothing at all about him, and she wouldn’t ask, much as she wanted to … not when he had promised not to ask about her.
“I haven’t seen a school around here,” she said. “Where is it, or don’t the children go at all?”
“Oh, they go, groaning like all kids.” He chuckled. “There’s one in La Misión, about ten kilometers from here. Most of the kids won’t go beyond the eighth grade. The closest high school’s in Ensenada. They’d have to board there, and these families can’t afford it.”
“But that’s not right,” Judith said, shocked. Of course she was aware that not everyone in the world had the same educational opportunities she’d had, but she’d never been so badly confronted with it before.
“Many things aren’t right, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact, she was even more shocked. “Don’t you care?”
He glanced at her, then away again. “I gave up caring years ago.”
She didn’t know what to say. Never had she heard such underlying hurt in what should have been toss-away words. At some point in Paul’s life, he had cared far too much. More than saying the right thing, she wished she could smooth away the hurts and see him whole again.
“Here’s your trailer,” he said when they arrived at the long silver mobile home. “I have to say, it looks better than it has in years.”
“Even though I wasted the water,” she said.
“Even though you wasted the water.” He grinned at her.
He took his hand from her elbow, and her flesh cried out for him to renew his casual touch. She wanted to ask him inside, but the words stuck in her throat.
“How was the abalone?” he asked.
“Oh, ah, fine.” She’d made a hash of cooking it, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by admitting it.
“Would you like some more?”
“Fine.” What could she say? The only things she hadn’t rendered inedible were her
Fruiti Lupis
. She supposed the chef at the Cordon Bleu had been right. Because she loved all sorts of food, and because her parents’ cook refused to allow anyone in her kitchen, except maybe to get a glass of water, Judith had decided to enroll in the school, thinking she would enjoy learning how to cook. After a week she had been pronounced as hopeless, given her money back, and been kicked out with the admonition to stay out of the kitchen. She wished now she’d fought to stay. She was getting awfully tired of cold cereal.
“I’d better go,” Paul said.
“Thanks again.”
“Take one of the women with you next time.”
He didn’t offer his services. She wanted to think that it was because he found her as attractive as she found him, and he felt it best not to tempt fate. Despite the kiss they’d shared, though, she had a feeling she annoyed him more than anything else.
“Fine,” she said.
The awkwardness extended between them. Finally, he said, “We’re dancing around each other, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“You want to be left alone, and I want to be left alone. Are we going to leave each other alone?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
He walked away from her.
Judith went inside her trailer and leaned against the door. Her breath came in gasps, as if she had run a hundred miles. Paul Murphy was the most intriguing man she had ever met. That also made him the most dangerous.
Paul came out of the water at sunset, his usual time since the light was always almost gone for further fishing.
Normally, he hated to leave the sea, but lately he anticipated it. Sure enough, when the water cleared from his face mask, he saw the kids and Judith frolicking in the surf.
God, but she was beautiful with her strawberry-blonde hair wet and slicked back, tiny beads of water glinting on the individual strands. Pure joy was on her face as she laughed and grabbed up a child gone tumbling in the waves. Wearing a T-shirt and shorts, she was standing hip-deep in the water. He vowed to get her a bathing suit on his next run to Ensenada. A bikini … very tiny … in any color …
She spied him and her expression instantly changed, becoming more guarded although she kept a smile on her face. He strode toward her, pushing back the mask as he rose higher out the water.
The kids swam toward him, waving enthusiastically and half drowning themselves in the process. His heart ached for the missing face of his own daughter, but he shut the image away. Amanda had never been a part of this new life. His choice, her need. Yet she was trying to wedge her way in again. He couldn’t afford to allow her to do so. She needed peace in her life, one of the many reasons he had left in the first place. As a father, he couldn’t give her anything better.
“Paulo, Paulo, come play with us and Judith!”
Paul chuckled and lifted Miguel, Pedro’s son, out of the water before another wave swamped him. Several kids grabbed his arms and tank straps to keep themselves from the same fate.
“Good fishing today?” Judith asked in amusement when he finally slogged his way to her side.
He lifted the kid hanging on his right arm. “A nonedible catch, but cute. How are you?”
She looked damn good to him. Her shirt clung to her breasts, and the bra she wore was no cover for her puckered nipples. It didn’t even matter that this gaudy T-shirt announced her affiliation with the Ensenada Roadrunner baseball team. Paul immediately discarded his bikini fantasy. Reality was so much better.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a human climbing post?”
“I feel like I’m in kid cement.” Saying that, he tossed Miguel into the air. The boy shrieked in sheer jubilation before he splashed down.
The kids really clamored up him then, all wanting him to toss them into the water. He obliged after lining them up to avoid chaos. Judith grinned at him. He grinned back.
He didn’t know how many times he threw the kids, the line never ended. His arms began to ache, but he didn’t stop, enjoying their pleasure in the game. Judith lifted the littler ones to him. Their hands touched each time. The children surrounding them didn’t stop the flare of sex he felt whenever her fingers crossed his.
“Where’s your car?” he asked in the middle of a toss. “I haven’t seen it lately.”
“Oh … I bought a tarp from Pedro and covered it. I didn’t want the salt air to ruin the finish. I thought you weren’t asking questions.”
He smiled sheepishly. The policeman in him just wouldn’t let things go. And neither did her bull. “Sorry. It’s just a car you notice, especially when it’s not there anymore. I take it you’ll need chauffeuring around.…”
“I’ve arranged Pedro to take me.”
Since it was Miguel in his arms, Paul gave the kid a huge toss so he’d be out of earshot. Hoping none of the others would repeat his words, he said, “I wouldn’t do that. Mexico doesn’t have the same vehicle inspection or safety measures
the States has. And Pedro’s car needs new brakes.”
Her expression fell. “Oh, dear. Well, I’ll just have to risk it anyway. I do need to go to the store occasionally.”
“I’ll take you.” He knew he should just leave things be, but he couldn’t. Besides, this was a good deed. That was all.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” she began.
“Wiser than Pedro the Indy 500 fan, with no brakes to speak of.”
She didn’t answer.
Well, he’d warned her and put the offer out there, he thought. And he hadn’t asked
why
she’d put her car under cover. He ought to get brownie points for that.
The kid-tossing wrapped up shortly after that, and everyone went up onto the beach, Judith pulling conspicuously at her T-shirt. Paul wished she’d leave it alone, not only because the view was more delightful but her actions only attracted his gaze more. He couldn’t win with her.
The kids scampered off, leaving them alone. The innocent abandon turned again to unease.
“They’re so much fun,” Judith said, probably trying to get back the mood. She picked up a towel, obviously hers since no one else had claimed it, and wrapped it deftly around her body, covering herself from his view. Paul contained
his disappointment. She added, “I wish I had kids, don’t you?”
“I already do.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. She was already rounding on him, gaping in surprise.
“You do? I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you don’t.” He set his jaw, wishing this subject would go away and wondering what he would say if it didn’t.
She frowned at him. “You don’t have to be sarcastic. Just say, ‘Don’t probe.’ ”
Oddly, now he wanted to tell her. “I have a daughter. She lives with her mother in L.A.”
“What’s her name?”
It hurt to say it. “Amanda.”
“How funny. I always wanted to be named Amanda.”
He smiled at her. “Judith suits you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “How old is Amanda?”
“Nine.”
“She must be gorgeous. I bet she has a lot of fun when she comes down to visit you here—”
“I don’t see her.”
Judith’s eyes widened.
“I don’t see her, okay?” He turned away and began to walk to his house. Why? he asked himself. Why had he had the urge to say anything to Judith and open an old wound? That it had already
been pried at with Amanda’s letter didn’t matter.
Unfortunately, Judith wanted to open that wound wider, for she hurried after him. “You don’t see her at all? Was it some awful custody battle? Is that what happened?”
“No. My choice.”
“Your choice! How could you do that? Choose not to see your own child?”
Something awful bubbled up inside him, demanding release. He leaned toward her and snapped out, “Because she has a monster for a father. I was a cop and I shot a twelve-year-old kid during a drug bust that went wrong. You read about me—you had to have—the whole damn world did. There was a big trial that got all kinds of press until I was exonerated. The whole mess disappeared with a whimper, but my wife couldn’t handle it, and it was terrible for Amanda. I left because that was the only way I could make it better for her. There. You’ve got the gruesome details of my life. Still think I’m some irresponsible dad?”
She just stood, staring at him. He could see the horror in her eyes. She knew the truth about him now. It didn’t matter that the boy had pointed a .357 Magnum at his chest. It didn’t matter that the boy had had a coldness in his eyes. It didn’t matter that he, Paul, had reacted as he’d been taught, as anyone would have instinctively
reacted. He should have taken the kid’s bullet. He should have died that day.
Instead, a kid had died.
Paul would never live without that moment standing out vividly in the back of his mind … and all the guilt that accompanied it.
He left her, still staring, and went up to his lonely house, determined to get very drunk. Booze never got rid of the memories or the pain; it magnified them. Tonight he wanted to wallow in them.
Judith stood in front of Paul’s darkened front door. She smoothed down her clean shirt, then made a face. Her current wardrobe might mean freedom, but she wished she were in a Chanel suit. Looking extra good gave a certain girding-of-the-loins affect. She took a deep breath and knocked on Paul’s door.
No one answered.
She knocked again, then again, louder each time.
The door suddenly swung open and Paul leaned out. She could barely make out his face in the dark, but she sensed immediately something wasn’t quite right.
“Ah … the mystery woman,” he said, speaking very precisely. He held a telltale long-necked bottle in one hand. “Back to open the other vein?”
He was drunk. Judith’s confidence deflated like a tire on a nail-strewn road. “I just wanted to apologize. I’ll come back later.”
“No. Hell, no.” He waved a hand. “Come on in.”
Judith hesitated, then crossed the threshold. She knew she had entered unknown, dangerous territory and wanted to run the other way. Yet she didn’t know what else to do. Chalk up another lack of curriculum at finishing school, she thought. How did one handle a drunk?
“Sit down, sit down,” Paul said. “I can’t wait to hear this. Wanna drink?” He looked at the bottle in his hand and snorted. “If there is any.”
“No thanks. I don’t drink.”
“Sanctimony isn’t an apology.”
“Of course it isn’t.” She hugged her arms, hoping somehow to make herself smaller and disappear. After his confession, she hadn’t been able to do anything, knowing what he had to live with. She had to see him, to give him a different kind of apology. “This isn’t a good time for you, Paul. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He leaned back against the door and took a swig from the bottle. “You came all this way to say something. Now say it.”
She sighed, knowing she’d caused this pain. After what he’d gone through, he was justified in being drunk all the time. She would be. Her own problems were trivial next to his. She felt ashamed of them. But he was right; she had come to say something, so she had best say it and go. “I’m so sorry I pried, Paul. I never should have.”
“Nope, you shouldn’t never.”
“Can I go now?”
“I’ll think about it.”
He gazed at her for a long time. “I disgust you now, don’t I?” he asked finally.
“No. You don’t disgust me.”
“I know. Damn you, I know. You feel sorry for me.” He pushed himself away from the door, almost tripping over his feet. He righted himself. “I may want your body, but I don’t want your damn pity.”
Judith gaped at him. She might have wanted him to confess his attraction, but the way in which he was doing it was appalling. “I don’t pity you.”
“Oh, no? Miss Expensive Clothes and Luxury Car. We all must look pitiful to you.”