The Wilder Sisters (55 page)

All damn winter I’ve been…”

“Screwing your ex-wife,” Rose said evenly, and the man at the next table laughed softly.

Austin made a dismissive gesture, and the man stopped laughing. “Leah’s out of the picture. You can forget about her.”

“You’re the one who can’t seem to forget.”

He pointed a finger at her. “You want to know what your problem is, lady? You expect too much. You always have. You want things a man can’t deliver.”

“Like what? Fidelity? Honesty? Sobriety?” She pulled out the towel she had tucked into her waistband and rubbed her face with it. It stank of lemons and onions, and somehow that combination not only made her eyes start to run, it just royally pissed her off. “Since when did you become the expert on what I want?”

“Since you took me into your bed.”

The people at the next table were laughing as if this were dinner theater. Rose’s face burned with shame. “You were never interested in what I wanted.”

Austin crossed his arms across his chest. “Maybe I wasn’t then, but I am now.”

“It’s too late.”

“The hell it is, you’re just too afraid to tell me.”

She took a deep breath. Back then, she’d been so sure of what she

had wanted—his mouth on hers, and the feeling of him inside her, the beads of sweat cooling on their bellies to be the only thing sep- arating them. She had ached for his hands on her, and to share the rest of his life, however long that might turn out to be, since nobody knew when a car might cross the double yellow line. She had wanted Austin to let down his epic guard for longer than it took for him to take a drink and to tell her, just once, how it was he really felt about her, Rose. What had he felt? A mild attraction? Thankful for the convenient way she picked him up when he’d fallen? Eager to work out the hurts of his past on somebody who loved him too much to set proper boundaries? Rose had learned the hard way what that led to the day she saw him walking out of the ¡Andale! with Leah. Was it too much to ask that Austin be honest enough to tell her he wasn’t done with his ex-wife? That was what she’d wanted once, but she didn’t want it anymore. She turned to go, but Austin reached out a hand and stopped her.

He stood his ground. “I’m asking you please to tell me what you want.”

“I want you to stop showing up in public places drunk and acting like an idiot. You’re embarrassing yourself and those who for some unfathomable reason continue to care about you.” She held out her hand. “Give them to me.”

“Give you what?”

“The keys to your truck. I mean it! Or I’ll call Ruben to wrestle you to the floor, and then I’ll call Eloy Trujillo myself. Watch me.” He handed them over, and she pocketed them. “I haven’t been drinking, Rose. I haven’t had a drink since before Thanksgiving. You can get the cops to give me a blood test if you don’t believe me.” She flung the keys back at him and turned on her heel. It felt as if flames were shooting out the top of her skull. It wasn’t until she was nearly in the kitchen before it dawned on her that the rushing noise inside her ears wasn’t rage, it was the sound of an entire restaurant

full of people applauding her exit.

Lily followed her back to the kitchen and did a little dance. “What?” Rose said.

“A spine is very becoming on you. I’m leaving now. See you to- morrow at the ranch. Merry Christmas. I hope you got me a really good present, because the one I got you is so cool I might have to keep it myself.”

However good a spine might have looked, it was difficult to get used to. Rose’s hands were shaking. Ruben threw her an onion, and she caught it lightning quick, surprising herself. After that she sliced peppers with the accuracy of an assassin, assembled salads in record time, scattered chocolate flakes atop desserts that turned out too beautiful to eat. At midnight Rose and Ruben slapped their sore hands together in celebration of such incredible teamwork, and for managing to not run out of food. At Benito’s insistence, they left the kitchen cleanup for the busboys and janitor. In the dining room Benito opened a bottle of champagne, poured everyone a glass, and they toasted the holiday. “Rose,” he said, “You’re the best Christmas present La Calaverada could ever hope for. Me, too.” He kissed her on the cheek, and Ruben whistled.

Embarrassed by the attention, she gave both men a quick hug, then walked out in the darkness to the Bronco. On this painfully clear night, with perfect white stars poking through the inky sky, the smell of woodsmoke strong in her nostrils, she was far too ener- gized for sleep. “
Feliz Navidad
,” she said to herself, and drove home to where the neigh of an old horse and the yaps of the terriers were waiting to greet her. She gave them snacks and saddled Max. Togeth- er they rode across the snowy fields in silence, which was a Christ- mas gift to each other.

On New Year’s Eve, Austin had that look in his eye again. “Return of the dog mechanic,” Ruben announced on his way into the kitchen. “Maybe we’re just a pit stop on the way to a party,” Rose said hopefully, looking at her watch. It was eight-thirty, and another scene, while amusing to locals, would drive away tourist business. “I’d better nip this in the bud,” she said, peeling off her apron and stomping out to the dining room. “What is it this time?” she fairly

hissed when she got to his table.

Austin held out a bouquet of roses. They were an uneven number of red and white, bracketed by greenery and a satin ribbon. “Can it be my turn to tell you want I want?” he asked quietly. Rose could feel every eye in the place on the two of them. “This won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.”

“Fine. You have two minutes.” “More than I deserve.”

“Just remember you said that, not me.”

“I don’t want to start the New Year with you hating me. Tell me what I have to do.”

He thrust the roses forward, and what could she do but take them? She abandoned the heavy bouquet on the nearest table, which happened to be occupied by her parents, who had come into town to see a movie, stopping at La Calaverada before the show started. Her mother looked at her and smiled. Rose felt the compassion and the courage Mami was sending her way bolster her spirit. “I don’t hate you, Austin. I hate what you did, and I don’t know how to get past it. But I don’t hate anyone, not even the drunk who killed my husband. No, wait. I take that back. I do hate one thing in this world. Your drinking.”

He pulled an AA keychain from his jeans pocket. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m sober? I’m making meetings every day. You want me to check into rehab? If it makes you happy, I’ll take those pills that make you vomit if you take a drink. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Oh,
why
was it that the moment you’d found a plan where you could live without them, men came marching back into your life with muddy boots, messed up the rug, and rearranged all the fur- niture? Even Philip had managed to, just when Rose was beginning to think she’d survive losing him. She felt her resolve beginning to slip, and it made her so furious she wanted to stamp her feet like a child and scream out loud. “I guess you’d probably have to crawl a hundred miles on gravel every day for the rest of your life. And I know you, Austin—you’d die before you’d ever humble yourself for someone ordinary like me. Leah, on the other hand—”

He turned his face as if she’d slapped him. “Rose Ann, Leah’s gone. We’re divorced. That day you saw us together we were working out her alimony over a nonalcoholic beer. I took her to dinner, that’s all. I swear—”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Rose?” Her father stood up, a good six inches shorter than the vet, but Rose knew that if called upon, Pop would escort him from the restaurant in a matter of minutes, and that any number of people here would be delighted to assist in the task. Mami put a hand on Pop’s arm. “
Sientate
,” she ordered him, and he sat back down. “Rose can handle this.”

This time it was Austin who walked away first, but nobody ap- plauded his exit. Pop gave Rose a hug and squeezed her shaking

shoulders. She held back the tears until she was safe within the confines of the kitchen. She tried to muffle her sobs by crying into a towel. Ruben politely turned away. It was Benito who came to comfort her, the bouquet of roses in his hand.

“Nobody gets to pick the people they love,” he said sadly. From one of the water pitchers, he poured her a glass and set it in front of her. He placed the roses into the same pitcher he’d poured from. “Believe me, I know what I stand to lose here, but maybe you should give him another chance.”

For the first time since they’d begun dating she put her arms around him. He’d been patient, but she knew he was anxious to touch her. “No, Benito.”

He pulled her hands away. “Rose, how can it work for us if you’re still tied up with him?”

“Because I can’t let my heart be broken a second time,” she said. Benito touched one of the roses, fingering its delicate petals. “If you can’t take that kind of risk, how can you truly love anybody?” She knew he was right, but every fiber of her being didn’t want to believe it. In a ramble she confessed about the
curandera
, the
polvos
, the plea she’d left at Chimayo, all of that foolishness, including the statue of Saint Anthony which was still beneath her mattress. “Oh, no,” she said, her face hot with the craziness of it all. “Do you sup- pose that’s the reason we can’t seem to let each other go? Because I

forgot that stupid statue?”

“I don’t know,” Benito said to her in Spanish. “But it seems like that heart of yours is barely scabbed over. It’s not ready to love anybody else just now.”

Austin ate at the restaurant every night, choosing various tables, ordering the special on the nights Rose made it without inquiring what it was. He left generous tips and behaved himself. Between filling orders, Rose leaned over the counter where she and Ruben set the plates for the waiters to catch and studied the vet sitting there alone. There was more gray in his hair now, which he’d let grow longer. His face looked drawn, as if the light that had once sparked the man was fading and would someday render him ordinary, plugging along from day to day in a job that no longer felt like a calling. Rose took Joanie to Dr. Zeissel and had her remove the cast and x-ray the terrier’s leg. She’d healed

well enough to join Chachi in his eternal pursuit of digging to China in the yard. Snow didn’t prevent them from creating a few ankle- breaking chasms.

“It’s not a crime,” Ruben said, joining Rose at the counter. “The man has to eat somewhere. Why not where he can get some of your cooking but none of your lip?”

Rose snapped him with her towel. “I rarely give lip.” “
Sí
, but when you do, it’s memorable.”

“I think he’s trying to prove to me that he’s staying sober,” Rose said. “The only trouble with that is, he could walk out of here every night and empty a bottle before morning. I have no way of knowing that isn’t exactly what he does. Or who he’s sleeping with.”

Ruben picked up the latest order from a passing waiter and began to sauté baby squash and julienned carrots in butter and lemon. Shaking the pan, he flipped the vegetables, and Rose admired his certainty. “No, you don’t,” he said, adding herbs as he stirred. “Unless you’re where he is all night long, you can never know for sure.” He winked.

“Spare me, Ruben.” Rose went to check on her custards, which were baking in glass cups in a water bath. After caramelizing the tops, she carefully lifted the dishes out one by one and set them on the cooling rack. Her feet ached a little bit, but when she soaked them in the bathtub before going to bed, they were always back to normal by morning. Austin finished his dinner, took his wallet out of his back pocket, and left the money for the bill on the table. He didn’t look toward the kitchen, but he did stop at the doorway to chat with Benito. The men were smiling, and Austin seemed to be telling Benito a story, but Rose couldn’t make out what he was say- ing.

Benito still took her out, but usually he invited other people along. Only once in the dark of the movie theater, during a romantic mo- ment on the screen, had he touched her hand with his. When Rose looked up, he had already pulled it away, and pretended he’d been reaching for the box of popcorn they were sharing. When she related this incident to Lily, her sister said, “I have no idea what you should do except get your butt up here and help me ride these horses. I’m only human, you know.”

Rose bent her head and put together the same mixed green salad

she’d eaten here with Mami the day Shep died. It still made her cry to think of her father’s wrangler. She concentrated extra hard on giving the salad her undivided attention, keeping the presentation simple, because creating a good meal meant giving it your all. When she got it right, it felt like serving up a piece of her heart, something that regenerated each time she chipped off a piece. She had to admit, when she knew it was Austin’s plate she was preparing, every step of the way she felt awed by the knowledge that the food her hands prepared would feed his body.

Then, in March, he stopped coming into the restaurant.

“I guess he got over you,” Ruben said. “Come over here and let me show you the trick to
carne asada
. Many people believe it’s in the seasoning, but you look at how I cook it in the pan here and you’ll learn something special.”

Over
me? Rose thought, and wondered where he was eating his dinners, and with whom.

On her birthday she trailered Max up to Pop’s, deciding to leave him there until the snow had melted. Like a kept promise lurking in the air, she could smell spring pushing up through the inevitable mud, but it wasn’t here yet. Max seemed delighted to see Winky again. The mare’s barrel was spreading so wide and round from the pregnancy that Rose couldn’t help but run her hands over it and grin. Winky stood placidly enduring the attention. Dr. Zeissel was here, working on T.C., who had an eye infection, and she’d said she wanted to check Winky before she left. Without Rose saying a word, Pop had switched his primary veterinary care over to Dr. Zeissel. Rose knew that had to make a dent in Austin’s practice, but the last time she’d called Paloma, her friend said Austin was in Iowa for some chiropractic seminar and had turned the practice over to Tracie and a part-time vet from Farmington who wanted some extra cash. At least that explained his absence from La Calaverada.