Made in the U.S.A. (22 page)

“Then why would I need you to help me?”

“I just meant I could walk you to the bathroom.”

“Then do what? Wipe my butt?
No,
thank you! If I need to go, I can get there by myself.” But to make sure, she lifted her legs one at a time, the effort causing her to groan, a sound that drew Draco’s attention. When she draped her paws over the seat, her face staring into Lutie’s, the girl was startled.

“That’s Draco,” Fate said. “Juan’s dog.”

“God, it looks like a beast.”

“She’s just big. She rides back here with you to make sure you’re okay, kind of like your own warning system on this trip.”

“Now, tell me again where we are?”

“Arizona.”

“And where are we going?”

“Oklahoma.”

“Why?”

“Juan has family there. He thinks they’ll let us stay with them, take care of us.”

“But I was taking care of us, Fate. I had a job, money for our apartment, and—” A memory suddenly broke through, her breath coming hard as she tried to remember. “My purse! Where’s my purse, Fate?”

“It’s safe, in the trunk, Lutie.”

“Are you sure? You’d better make damn sure because all our money’s in it. That black purse with a silver lock.”

“I’m sure.” And he was sure that the purse was in the trunk, but he was also sure the money was gone; sure, too, that the white powder in the plastic bag was coke. But he knew this wasn’t the right time to talk about that. He didn’t think Lutie was ready to handle that subject just yet. “For now, you need to relax, leave worrying to me until you feel better. Can you do that?”

“But you’ve got to get my purse out, look inside the billfold, and count the money.”

“I will.”

Drawing a deep, slow breath now, her eyes blinking as her medication kicked in, she said, “Fate, do you remember . . .”

He waited for her to continue. Finally, she said, “That day.” She was beginning to drift away, though she seemed to be trying to hold on to the moment of memory, to pull herself back from the waiting fog.

“What day?”

“We were, I think we were making mud pies, because . . . because we were locked out of the house, but . . .” Her eyes glazed over, then closed, making Fate think she’d gone to sleep.

But she surprised him.

“Seems like we were living with Bona or Meverly then.”

“Maybe it was Mona or Beverly,” Fate said.

“Yeah. The one who bleached her hair and turned it orange. Well, when we went in the house, all that mud, she . . .”

Before she could put it all together, she was out, her body limp against the sheets of the bed Rosa had prepared for her.

“Sleep, Lutie. Everything’s going to work out.”

As he brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face, he realized he didn’t really believe what he’d just said.

They were going to travel over a thousand miles with a man they hardly knew, going to a town they’d never heard of before, to join a circus family who had no idea that two kids, Lutie and Fate McFee, were about to come into their lives.

Then Fate smiled when he remembered what Floy used to say when he’d tell her about one of his bizarre plans to change the universe. She’d look at him as if he were more or less a regular person and say, “Now, what could go wrong with that plan?”

Nevertheless, he stroked his sister’s arm and said in a whisper, “This will all work out fine, Lutie. Just fine.”

For the next couple of hours, Lutie and Draco slept while Fate and Juan had occasional conversations—brief, stiff talk limited mostly to the scenery, the traffic, the weather—all crafted to avoid revealing anything personal. But that was about to change.

“Tell me about the circus, Juan.”

“Ah, Rosa been talking, right?”

“I asked her about the posters in her house. The circus posters.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“I could talk all the miles to Oklahoma and still not tell everything.”

“Then talk real fast,” a comment that made Juan laugh, but not loud enough to wake Lutie.

“You been to circus, right?”

“No.”

“You have never saw circus?” Juan looked dumbfounded.

“Seen, not saw.”

“Sorry, Professor McFee.”

“The circus never came to Spearfish; I guess because the town’s too small. One came to Rapid City last year, but we didn’t get to go. The woman I told you about? Floy? She didn’t have enough money.”

“You seen circus on TV, though. Right?”

“Saw, not seen.”

“Saw, seen. I saw what I seen, I seen what I saw. What’s difference?”

“You’re right. What’s difference. Now, tell me about the circus.”

“My family in circus for many generations. Parents, aunts, cousins, uncles, brothers, sisters. See, Fate, circus is like a . . .
tribu
. Is it right?
Tribu?
”

“Sounds like you might mean tribe.”

“Yes! Tribe. So babies grow up in circus tribe. Become acrobat, cook, rigger, animal trainer, clown, trick rider, aerialist. And whatever parents do, the childs—no—the childrens must become better. Like
mi bisabuelo
Hernando Vargas, he—”

“Whoa.
‘Bisabuelo’
?”

“What you call father of father of father of son?”

“Oh, great-grandfather.”

“Right. My greatest grandfather performed in Mexico. So did
mi bisabuela
, uh, greatest grandmother. Then they come with four babies to circus in U.S.A. But three babies died from the big disease. Very big.”

“Flu? The Spanish flu?”

“
Sí
. But remember this, Fate. Flu come from Spain, not Mexico,” Juan said defensively, then waited for affirmation of his opinion before continuing.

“Okay. I understand.”

“Good. Everywhen something go wrong, people scream, ‘The Mexicans did it! The Mexicans did it!’” Juan used the high-pitched voice of an angry, frightened woman, making Fate grin.

“So your great-grandfather worked in the circus. In Mexico and in America?”

“Oh, he was good aerialist. Traveled all over U.S. with the Greatest Show on Earth.”

Fate’s eyes showed the impression Juan’s remark had made on him. “You mean Barnum and Bailey?”

“Barnum and Bailey. That’s right.”

“Wow.”

“Then Mr. Barnum died, big changes. My greatest grand-father and wife go to Ringling Brothers with only one baby, my grandfather Julio, who become
great
aerialist. He married my grandmother Sim. Mama Sim. They had six childrens and—”

“Six?!”

Smiling, Juan said, “Mexicans love to make love.”

“Were all six aerialists?”

“No, no. Only two. Brother-and-sister act. Very popular, but Great Depression hurt much the circus, so the big family all worked at circus, taking up tickets, juggling, selling
palomitas de maíz
, popcorn. See, my English not so bad, huh?” Juan was lost in some old memory for a moment. When he returned to Fate, he smiled. “The others did what they could do to make money.”

“Hard times.”

“Yes. Very hard. Magda, who did aerial act with her brother? She killed during a show. She flied . . . flewed?”

“Flew.”

“She flew without net when they doing a difficult exchange. Big act. Paid good money. My papa, Raynoldo, was her partner, her brother. He never ever talk about the accident.”

“Maybe it hurts him too much to remember.”

Juan got quiet again for a while, leaving Fate to wonder what he was thinking. Finally, he said, “My papa got married at nineteen. Gabriela, my mother, was just a girl. They had four kids, boom, boom, boom. I’m the youngest.

“By then, my family owned some land, some animals, so started their own circus. One ring, then two, now five. Vargas Brothers Circus. Five rings. Wait till you see. Where to look first? Here?” He pointed out the driver’s window. “There?” He gestured out the passenger’s window. “Five rings, all at same time.”

“And you became an aerialist like your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.”

Draco suddenly popped up, standing on her hind legs, her paws draped over the back of Juan’s seat, and barked once.

“Uh-oh. Lutie needs something,” Juan said.

And he was right. She was awake when Fate turned to check on her.

“I have to pee,” she said. “Real quick.”

After two stops in New Mexico—one in Gallup, the other in Albuquerque—Juan decided that they’d had enough for one day on the road. And as tired as he was, he could only imagine how Lutie must have felt.

Each time they’d stopped and helped her to the bathroom, he’d thought they should have followed Rosa and Hector’s advice and put off the trip for a few days.

And as much as Juan dreaded going back to Oklahoma, his reluctance growing stronger each hour, he knew if he didn’t go then, he wouldn’t go at all. Ever. Best, he finally decided, to get it over with. Not only because of the boy and his sister. But what he, Juan Vargas, faced back home.

About a hundred miles shy of Clovis, he rented one room with two double beds at a Days Inn. After he and Fate helped Lutie into the bathroom, she took a shower and changed into a nightgown, then limped to bed holding on to Juan’s shoulder. By the time he gave her the pain pills, she was hurting so much that she gritted her teeth.

He waited until her pain subsided, then said good night.

“Where are you going?” Fate asked. He had assumed Juan would be staying in their room.

“Sleep in the car,” he said. “Right outside your door. If you need me, knock on the window. I can be here fast as this.” He snapped his fingers to indicate his speed.

“But you’ve been in the car all day. You need to stretch out, get comfortable. Don’t you think—”

“My Matilda is plenty comfortable, Fate. Besides, she loves me.” Juan laughed and slapped Fate on the shoulder.

“Juan, if it’s the money, we can pay some of it.”

“No, little man, I got money. I just like the outside.” He opened the door, but before he left, he said, “
Hasta mañana
. Early.”

As soon as he was gone, Lutie said, “Fate, put that bottle of water here on the nightstand.”

“Sure. How you doing?”

“You just told the Italian guy we could help him with the price of this room.”

“Yeah. I have a little more than thirty dollars.”

“Have you forgotten about the six hundred bucks in my purse? I told you about that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. The toothpaste commercial.”

“Then—”

“Lutie, I might as well tell you now, I guess. But please, please try to stay calm. You’ve been in bad shape; getting upset won’t do you any good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The money, Lutie. It’s . . . well, it’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Did you lose it?”

“No.”

“Did I? Maybe in that friggin’ car wreck?”

“You weren’t in a car wreck.”

“So how did this happen?” She held up her splinted fingers, held out her arms, both cut, bruised, and bandaged, pulled her hair back to reveal the silver dollar–size bald spot where her widow’s peak had been, then brushed back the thick mane on the side that she used to try to hide most of the stitches running down her cheek. “If it wasn’t a car wreck, how did I get so messed up? Huh?”

Ordinarily, she would be in a rage now, arms flailing as she stomped around the room, stopping from time to time to make a point, using every cuss word she knew while making up a few new ones, and throwing a shoe or a Coke can, whatever was handy at whoever was in her line of fire.

But she was too weak now, too sore and immobile for a rage. All she could manage tonight was a feeble bluster, and even that lacked the familiar Lutie force she could call up without hesitation or real provocation.

“You were beaten, Lutie.”

“Beaten? But you told me I’d been in a wreck.”

“No, for some reason you
thought
you’d been in a wreck. Dr. Hector said it was a substitution for what really happened, something you weren’t ready to face. He said it might be best to let you believe that for a while. Until you were stronger.”

“Beaten? Who did it?”

“Two kids. One of them was named Rodney. I think they intended to kill you.”

“Oh, God. I . . . yes, I remember.” She let her body go limp— a gesture of defeat and the result of Percocet. “He took my purse, pulled me out of the car by my hair, then . . . That’s all I can think of. The rest is gone.”

“Good.”

“Good? Fate, are you crazy? We had over six hundred dollars.” She was beginning to slur her words now. “We had a chance—”

“No, I meant that it’s good you don’t remember the rest. I can’t see how it would help you right now to remember all they did to you.”

Suddenly, she began to tremble. Believing she was having a chill, Fate grabbed another blanket from the closet. “Was I . . . was I raped again?” Even as she was drifting into the fog of the drugs, she couldn’t let go without knowing. “Was I, Fate? You have to tell me the truth. You have to.”

“No, Lutie, you weren’t raped.” He spread the blanket over her from chin to toes. “But why did you say ‘again’? Have you been raped? Ever?”

Lutie’s lips formed a word, but she issued no sound as her eyes slid shut.

“Please answer me, Lutie. Have you been raped?”

“Just a bad dream. I guess.” She gave herself up to an artificial sleep then, a sleep only drugs could produce.

Fate paced the floor awhile. When he was certain Lutie had gone under, he slipped out the door, easing it shut behind him.

He found Juan on the hood of the Lincoln, leaning back against the windshield while he smoked a cigarette and gazed at the sky.

“What are you doing?” Fate asked as he boosted himself onto one of the car’s fenders.

“Looking for answers.” He pointed to the sky.

“Finding any?”

“Nope.”

“Did you know that the star closest to our sun is Alpha Centauri?” Fate asked.

Juan said, “Do you know that star is more than four light-years away from our Earth?”

“Well, did you know that if you started on a trip to Alpha Centauri when you were just a baby, and traveled ten thousand miles per hour—”

“That after passing nearly fifty thousands of years, you would be only halfway to there,” Juan said.