Specter (9780307823403) (11 page)

Mrs. Cardenas and Dave have an armful of paper towels and a pan of hot, soapy water, and are mopping the floor and cabinets.

Julie’s gaze is steady, blinkless. “I just wanted to help chop some nuts.”

“You were told not to touch the knife.”

“I forgot. I wanted to help.”

“You heard what I said to Dave. You were upset.”

She nods. “I know. I was upset. That’s why I wasn’t careful. I tried to be careful, but I wasn’t.”

Mrs. Cardenas straightens with a grunt, one hand at her back. “You gave us a terrible scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie says. She holds her arm stiffly and examines the bandage.

Dave dries his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I’d better leave,” he says. “But I’ll be back.”

“Tonight? For the brownies?” Mrs. Cardenas asks.

“Sure,” he says.

I walk with him to the door, stepping out onto the porch.

“One question,” he says in a low voice. “If someone is chopping nuts and the knife slips, they cut a finger or thumb. Right?”

“I know,” I answer. “I wondered how she cut her arm instead.”

The honeysuckle fragrance is strong in the hot noon sun. It’s cloying and drowsy and makes a lie of the emotional upheaval we’ve just been through. For an instant I close my eyes. Then I look at Dave. “I’ll talk to her,” I say. “I’ve got to explain what she overheard.”

He nods. “See you later.”

I don’t watch him leave. I go back into the house, to the hum of the air conditioner and the blasts of cooler air, but it’s not that which makes me shiver.

Julie is sitting in one of the big deep red over-stuffed chairs. I sit across from her in a matching chair, feeling as though I’m in the mouth of a large, plush lion who is going to swallow me at any minute. I can hear Mrs. Cardenas on the phone again. She’s speaking in Spanish, rapidly, excitedly.

“There’s blood on your shirt,” Julie says.

“I know, and on your clothes, too. In a few minutes we can change, and I’ll wash them out.”

“It was just an accident,” Julie says.

“Let’s talk about something else. About what you overheard.”

“You’re going to die, too.”

“Julie, I don’t know when. No one really knows when they’re going to die. This disease I’ve got can stay in remission for years.”

“For a long time?”

I begin to parrot what I’ve been told. “Dr. Cruz said that right now there’s a good chance for a cure. In the future something may be discovered that will cure everyone who gets Hodgkin’s. At some time the disease may be wiped out.”

“The way you say it, I can tell you don’t believe it,” Julie says. “You don’t care.”

“What if I care too much and don’t make it through college? Or hope too hard and don’t make it through law school? What if I want to fall in love, but the disease comes back? It’s that caring and wondering and hurting that I don’t think I can handle.” Am I talking to Julie or to myself?

“I don’t want to be alone,” she says.

“Oh, Julie, you aren’t alone. I’m sorry you’re upset about what I said. I didn’t explain myself very well, I guess.” Why did I expect a nine-year-old to understand all this?

She stares at me with those solemn eyes. “My father died,” she says abruptly, startling me. “Sikes killed him. It was dark one night, and they fought
and kept banging into the side of our mobile home. I was scared and I screamed, but my mother tried to make me be quiet. Somebody called the police, I think.”

She is quiet, staring at something only she can see.

“Julie,” I ask, “did Sikes threaten your father after they fought? Did he say he’d get even?”

Julie turns and looks at me. “Dina,” she says, “there’s something I want to show you.”

“Now?”

“No,” she says. “I’ll tell you when.”

Mrs. Cardenas’s party is a clustering of relatives, all sizes and ages and shapes. Mr. Cardenas is having as much fun as his wife. He argues politics with anyone who will listen, a strand of gray hair flopping on his forehead as his head punctuates his remarks.

“Dina,” he says every time he passes me, “are you having a good time? Do you like the party?” His weathered cheeks are crinkled with laugh lines, and the black eyes that peer over the top of his out-of-shape wire-frame glasses are interested, eager.

“Most of the time,” he confides to me in a voice that can be heard throughout the room, “I’d rather sleep in my chair than hear all these noisy relations,
but sometimes it’s a good thing for everyone to be together.”

I meet Carmen and Dolores and many people whose names I can’t remember. There are a number of children, but Julie clings to my side and doesn’t attempt to talk to them.

Arturo, the policeman, is there. I am as curious to meet these relatives of Mrs. Cardenas as they are to meet me. Arturo shakes my hand and looks down at Julie. “
Muy bonita
,” he says. “She must be much like her mother.”

“Come! Come get something to eat,” Mrs. Cardenas shouts, pulling Arturo toward the kitchen.

Someone with a broad, red-lipstick smile shoves a loaded plate into my hands. There’s a fragrance of spicy meat and flaky piecrust, and moist cake and buttery chocolate frosting. “Eat up! Enjoy the good food,” she says. “I made the
empanadas
, which, between you and me, are a lot better than Carmen’s.”

Dave squeezes through the front door and searches the room until he sees me. Suddenly, surprisingly, I’m glad he’s here. He works his way to my side and takes a piece of cake from my plate.

“Hi,” he says. “I know you’d want me to help you eat that.” He looks down at Julie. “Are you having a good time?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer, so he adds, “Tomorrow I’d like to take you and Dina down to the river walk, Paseo del Rio. Have you ever been there?”

“No,” Julie says.

“Would you like that?” Now he’s looking at me.

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” I tell him. “I was there once, a few years ago, and I’d like to see it again.” I glance at the green circle on Julie’s right hand. “It’s where I bought that little jade ring.”

Dave grabs the arm of a small boy who is wriggling past. “Ricky,” he says, “take Julie to the other kids. She wants to play, too.”

Ricky makes a face. “Do I gotta? We’re going to play ball.”

“Julie can play ball with you. Where’s your sister, Estella? She’s Julie’s age.”

“She’s in the kitchen, stuffing her face.”

“Okay. Take Julie and go find her.
¡Ahora!
”

Julie looks less eager to comply than Ricky does. “Where are you going?” she asks me in a voice filled with suspicion.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here enjoying the party. I think it’s a good idea if you have fun with the other children.”

She moves away, and once more I am myself.

I hold my plate out to Dave, and this time he takes a sandwich from it. Someone small dashes between us, stepping on my toes. “I seem to have a lot of foster relatives,” I say.

“I think you’ve got a good deal,” he answers, licking some cheese spread from his finger. “If I were picking a foster home, I’d check on the cooking first. Mrs. Cardenas is a good cook.”

As though on cue Mrs. Cardenas makes her way
toward us. She is carrying a platter filled with some kind of little sausage buns. Dave takes one in each hand, and begins to eat them.

“I’m glad you came, Dave,” she says. “This house is too full of people, and it’s gonna make Dina tired. She met everybody, and now she needs to get out. Why don’t you take her to a movie?”

I can’t look at Dave. I’m so embarrassed I wish I was on the other side of the room.

“I was thinking about that,” Dave says easily. “I like your relatives, Mrs. Cardenas, but you know I come to your parties just for the food.”

She laughs loudly. “Then, get some punch and cake before you go.”

“Wait a minute.” It’s time for me to break in. “I can’t leave. I told Julie I’d be here.”

“Why should Julie care if you and Dave go to a movie?”

“She wants me around. She’s unsure of herself. She’s—well, she’s unsure of me.”

Mrs. Cardenas gestures with the large platter, nearly spilling the contents. “Look at her. She’s having a good time. Carmen’s little girls are keeping her busy.”

Dave nods. “I think it would be better for Julie if you didn’t worry about her. Let her play with the kids her age.”

Guilt slides away like a shadow at noon. They’re right. And I need to be away from Julie. “You talked me into it,” I tell them.

“I’ll go home and get my father’s car and the
movie listings in the newspaper while you get ready,” Dave says.

He makes his way out of the house. Julie looks up, watches him leave, then goes back to her new friends.

The noise level is rising. It’s beginning to bother me. So I get my handbag and slip out to the front porch. An evening breeze has come up, and a wisp of hair tickles my face.

My hair is getting longer! I reach up to touch it in wonder. My hair is growing!

Dave pulls the car to a stop in the street. He gets out and comes toward me, but I run to meet him.

“You look happy,” he says. “Are you that glad to leave the party?”

“My hair is growing!” I tell him. It sounds so silly that we both laugh. But he puts a hand to my head and strokes the short curls.

“I like your hair. It’s so soft. It’s soft like—well—like the belly of a duck.”

It’s so ludicrous that we laugh as though we’ll never stop. He’s holding my shoulders, and I’m warm with the happy chatter coming from inside the house and the night burst of honeysuckle perfume and the sharp-tipped moon.

Dave opens the car door for me, and I slide across to the middle of the seat. It’s not until after he edges the car away from the curb that I realize his closeness, the warmth of his body next to mine. What am I doing? Slowly, carefully, I move a few inches away.

Dave gives me a quick glance, a grin. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“I was crowding you.”

“Oh, no, you weren’t.” When I don’t answer, he says, “For a few minutes you were relaxed and having a good time. Now you’re sitting all by yourself with your hands clenched in your lap. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “I just didn’t want you to think—I mean, this isn’t exactly a date.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Because—” I shrug. “Look, Dave, there was a guy named Rob. We were dating, and I thought he felt about me the way I felt about him. Except that after I came to the hospital, I never heard from him again. He’s dating someone else. And I don’t blame him. I just don’t want to be hurt like that again.”

“There was a girl named Arlene,” he says. That’s all.

After a minute I turn to him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re not the only one who’s been hurt. My mom said it’s a part of growing up.”

I sigh. “I suppose she called it ‘puppy love’?”

“No. She said it’s real and it’s painful, but relationships either grow into something lasting and serious, or they break up, and at our age they usually break up. Most of the time someone’s left with a lot of unhappiness to handle.”

“Then it’s better to protect yourself from getting hurt.”

He smiles. “That’s exactly what I told her, and she said that people who are afraid of being hurt can never find out how wonderful love can be.”

“So you take your chances?”

“Isn’t it worth it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” I settle back against the seat feeling more comfortable about the evening. It’s easy to talk to Dave. I have to admit to myself that I like being with him.

During the movie I glance sideways at Dave. In the flickering light with his tortoiseshell glasses he reminds me again of Rob. Rob who? Rob Who-cares-about-Rob? I giggle, and Dave turns toward me.

“It’s a funny movie,” I whisper.

On the way home we talk about a lot of things, but not about me and not about Julie. I tell him about my high school and how Holley Jo and I, not knowing any better, tried out for the cheer-leader squad against all those juniors and seniors and didn’t get a single vote but got invited to the football dance. And he tells me about his high school and how Claudio ran last year for Student Council and made stacks of posters with his picture on them and even plastered them inside all the girls’ lavatories at school. And I tell him that speaking of posters, I won an honorable-mention prize for a poster I made in a good-nutrition contest. And he
tells me that speaking of good nutrition, there’s a mom-and-pop place in San Antonio that makes the best
burritos de guisada
in the world.

For a few hours I’ve forgotten who I am. But as we go up the walk to Mrs. Cardenas’s house, there is Julie, sitting on the top step of the porch, looking lost in someone’s hand-me-down pajamas.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask her.

“It’s all right. Mrs. Cardenas hasn’t gone to bed yet.”

“I’ll help her clean up.”

“No. Everybody helped. It’s all clean. She’s watching a movie on TV. She says she’s wound up and has to run down.”

Dave sits on the step next to her, and I sit on the other side. She turns, so that her back is toward Dave and says to me accusingly, “You told me you’d be at the party.”

“I know, but Mrs. Cardenas suggested that we go to a movie.”

“I would have gone with you.”

“You were playing with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends. Just some kids.”

“I saw you. You were having fun.”

“I wanted to go with you.”

“You’ll be going with us tomorrow,” Dave says. “Let’s talk about that. We can walk along the river, under the bridges that are streets. And there’s an ice cream shop you’ll like.”

Julie’s back is stiff, but she’s listening. “There’s a theater out of doors, with the seats on one side
of the river and the stage on the other, and some restaurants where you can sit outside and watch the boats go by.”

“What kind of boats?” She turns toward him just a little.

“They’re flat-bottomed boats that the tourists ride on. But they’re not as much fun as the paddle-boats that are on the part of the river that runs through Brackenridge Park.”

“By the zoo,” I add.