One Step Over the Border (39 page)

“No… really?” He slowed down and stopped while a bus took on passengers.

“Mamma stuck me with two years of piano lessons as a kid. I hated it at the time, but wish I’d kept at it now.”

A habit-dressed nun marched a group of uniformed children toward the plaza.

“I played with an ensemble during my first couple of years in college. But one cause or another possessed me, so I dropped
it.”

“You goin’ to start back up again?”

“Yes, I am. Hap, do you ski?”

He pulled out at the same time as the bus. “I ain’t very good at it, but me and Laramie get out two or three times ever’ winter.
We usually head down to Steamboat Springs. Laramie, on the other hand, is a great skier.”

“I’ve lived in the Rockies for years and never learned how to ski. I think this is the winter I learn.”

He turned right and studied the buildings. “Is this the street?”

“Yes, a few blocks east. I think it’s on my side.”

One-story residences nestled in the shade of old trees. Most of the homes were painted in various shades of tan stucco, made
to look like adobe, and had recessed, flat roofs.

“So, you’re goin’ to learn to ski and take up piano again. Dadgum it, Rosa, you do have great daydreams. Mine are mighty meager
next to those.”

“Except you were teasing me with those things.” She pointed to a one-story, pale copper stucco building with exposed, round
exterior ceiling beams. “There it is.”

Hap parked behind a silver Lexus. “Yep, you’re right. I was teasin’ about my daydreams. Why, shoot, McDonald’s don’t even
serve tater tots.”

Rosa hopped out of the truck before he got around to open her door. “I did like one of your daydreams.”

They surveyed the cactus and succulent landscaping in front of the studio. “Wow, that’s great, darlin’. But I figure we ought
to wait until after dark to go skinny dippin’, don’t you?”

She slugged him again. “Not that one, you dork. I meant the one about going to Yellowknife.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

“You nervous?” Rosa asked.

“Yep. Tell me again what she said.”

“She has a busy day planned, but she’ll give us ten minutes, if we’re here by 9:00
A.M
. sharp.”

“I wonder what Ms. Juanita Marta Muñoz does for fun?” He tugged down the brim of his hat and shoved his sunglasses into the
pocket of his long-sleeved black shirt.

The waitress at Emilia’s Fine Spanish Restaurant served the sweet iced tea, as the girls returned from the ladies room. Laramie
and Hap stood so Annamarie and Rosa could slide into the buckskin-colored booth.

Annamarie squeezed lemon into her drink. “Okay, tell us everything that happened with Juanita, the artist.”

“She has a beautiful studio,” Hap reported. “It’s like a picture out of a New Mexico tourist magazine. Lots of Indian and
early Spanish artifacts, red tile floor, potted cactus, ever’thin’.”

“Rosa, would you please tell this rambling cowboy I don’t give a squat what the room looks like? What happened?”

“Maybe Rosa should tell us,” Laramie countered.

“No,” Rosa said. “This is Hap’s story. I was only there to say, ‘Juanita Marta, this is Hap. Hap, this is Juanita Marta.’
After that, I perched on a stool shaped like a barrel cactus and listened.”

“Okay, you were introduced. What did you say, then?”

“You know, Annamarie,” Hap drawled, “for a purdy woman, you sure are pushy.”

“Thank you.”

“For which… purdy or pushy?”

“Both. Get on with it, cowboy.”

“Much of it’s a blur. I told her who I was. That I had met a girl named Juanita as a twelve-year-old. And how I was interested
in finding that Juanita.”

“Did you tell her about ‘The Mark’ and everything?” Annamarie asked.

“Oh, yeah, I gave her the long version of the story and most of the significant events in my life. It must have taken a full
ten minutes.”

“Nineteen minutes,” Rosa said. “I was taking a few notes… you know… to report to Aunt Paula.”

“Then she…”

“Wait a minute,” Laramie interrupted. “Before you go any further, what did she look like?”

Hap shrugged. “She was attractive… a light-complexioned Mexican lady.”

“I want a better description than that.” He turned to Rosa. “What did you put in your notes?”

Rosa set down her iced tea. “Juanita Marta is five foot six. Weighs 135 pounds. Wears size-ten slacks and had on a rose-red
silk blouse that’s buttoned at the cuff, but unbuttoned at the collar. Her eyes are dark brown. Her hair, what we could see
of it, is thick, black, shoulder-length, straight. She wore a wide, floppy black hat. She had on Italian sandals that probably
cost close to five hundred dollars. She wore two rings on each hand. Diamonds and onyx, I believe. She wore thick makeup around
her eyes, which probably is meant to cover up crow’s-feet. She has had plastic surgery on her nose to make it look thinner
than other Rodríguez women. Her earrings were round black onyx stones surrounded by tiny diamonds. At least, I thought they
were real diamonds from where I sat. It’s hard to say. I had some difficulty picking up the details from that far away.”

“Geez, Rosa, I didn’t see all that,” Hap said.

“Okay, that’s better.” Laramie gulped down a swig of sweet tea. “Now, what happened after your life’s testimonial?”

“She leaned forward, her hand on her chin, and stared for a couple minutes,” Hap reported.

“It was only forty-five seconds,” Rosa corrected.

“It seemed like twenty years. Then she sat up, turned her head to the side, pointed under her right ear, and said, ‘First
of all, as you can see, cosmetic surgery can remove some horrid marks.’”

“That’s when I blurted out, ‘You removed The Mark?’” Rosa admitted.

“She answered with ‘I have no intention of going through life as an object of curiosity or derision,’” Hap explained.

“She said that?” Annamarie gasped.

“She said more.” Rosa turned to Hap. “Tell them the rest.”

Hap cleared his throat. “Well, let me see if I get this straight. She looked me in the eye and said, ‘That’s the most pathetic
story I’ve ever heard. Get a life.’ Then she stood, told Rosa, ‘I have work to do. Say hello to Aunt Paula,’ and stalked to
the back room, closing the door behind her.”

“Omigosh,” Annamarie exclaimed.

“Did I get it right?”

Rosa nodded. “That’s what she said, but you had to be there to catch the full condescending tone. I was embarrassed for the
whole Rodríguez family.”

“I suppose that eliminates Juanita Marta,” Laramie said.

“Some choices are easier than others,” Hap admitted. “I was glad Rosa was with me to witness that because it was sort of like
a bad dream.”

“But you have another Juanita to visit in Colorado,” Annamarie reminded him.

“I could use some encouragement about that. Rosa, read to me what your aunt Paula stated about the Colorado Juanita.”

The waiter approached with a heavy tray full of steaming food. “Let’s wait until after we eat,” she replied.

While recorded Spanish guitar music serenaded in the background, Hap leaned back in the booth with a half-filled glass of
iced tea. His wide orange pottery plate was slicked clean except for a pile of onions that he had sorted out. He nodded toward
Rosa’s notebook. “Okay, now tell me about the last Juanita.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Laramie said. “Is this really the last Juanita?”

“It’s got to end somewhere. I promised you I’d find her this summer or give it up. So, this is it.”

“Okay, here’s what Aunt Paula said: She’s thirty-one years old and has a small place in Wagon Wheel Gap, Colorado, which is
just south of Creede, along the Rio Grande. She’s fairly light-complected for a Rodríguez. But she looks like Mexico and talks
like Chicago.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Annamarie said.

“Looks like Mexico? What does that mean?” Hap asked.

“Aunt Paula says she is ‘as cute as she can be.’”

“You know,” Laramie mused, “I’ve always wondered what that meant. Isn’t everyone as cute as they can be?”

Rosa squinted at the notebook. “She is not glamorous, but passable when she dresses up.”

“That sounds fair enough,” Hap murmured.

“She graduated from Colorado State University…”

“That’s in Fort Collins,” Laramie said. “Annamarie’s going to nurse up there.”

“And she majored in secondary education with a minor in music. She did her student teaching in Loveland.”

“She’s a high school teacher?” The corners of Hap’s mouth arched to his ears. “Now, I like this. No artist… no barmaid…”

“Is she married?” Annamarie asked.

“Aunt Paula believes she is not married and has never been married.”

“Does she have any kids?” Laramie quizzed. Rosa glared at him. “Hey, that’s not always the same thing.”

“Does she have a dog?” Annamarie asked.

“Aunt Paula didn’t mention anything about pets. But, she likes to travel. And has had short-term teaching assignments overseas.”

“Sounds very well-rounded in the classroom and the world,” Laramie said.

“But what is she like?” Hap asked.

“Here’s what I wrote down. She’s ‘very smart and graduated summa cum laude.’”

“Now, that can be trouble,” Hap mused.

“And she is goal-oriented.”

Hap leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin resting in the palm of his hand. “Aren’t all teachers?”

“She’s committed to her family, sensitive to the needs of others, and quite independent.”

“I don’t know, Hap…” Laramie picked his teeth with a blue plastic toothpick.

Hap slapped the table. “Hey, she’s brainy and stubborn, just like me.”

“Aunt Paula adds that she is spunky.”

“Spunky?” Hap said. “I wonder what your aunt means by spunky?”

“Resilient,” Annamarie suggested.

“Tenacious,” Laramie said.

“Aggressive,” Rosa added.

“Wow, this could be the one,” Hap replied. “Does she have ‘The Mark’?”

“Most certainly.”

“I wonder how long the drive to her place is from here,” Hap said.

“About 125 miles from here to the Colorado border. Another seventy-five miles to Wagon Wheel Gap,” Rosa blurted out.

“You know the exact mileage?” Hap asked.

“I looked it up. I knew you’d want to know.”

“That would take about three hours?” Laramie asked.

“More like four,” Rosa continued. “Very little of it is on the interstate.”

“Then let’s leave in the morning in time to be up there by early afternoon,” Hap suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Laramie replied. “Meanwhile, Annamarie and I will go down and check on the horses.”

“We can all go,” Hap said.

“Well, partner, we’d like to take a little ride out in the hills.”

“Oh, sure. Rosa and me will catch the sunset here. I’d better use the washing machine at the motel. Got to look my best tomorrow.”
Hap leaned back, stared at the ceiling, and sighed. “I don’t know if I’m feelin’ this way because this whole dadgum Juanita
thing is about over… or because this one’s the right one. But I’m really feelin’ that tomorrow will be a very big day.”

The room was dark.