The Wilder Sisters (45 page)

for a funeral,” Rose said to Chachi, who whined as she ordered him back in the house. “Old pal, I’m sorry. They don’t allow dogs in restaurants. Go sleep with your girlfriend. I won’t be gone very long.”

The Jack Russell assumed the begging position, cocking his head so pathetically that Rose finally decided she’d take them both, crack a window, and leave them in the Bronco.

But the driver’s door was frozen solid, and she had to go to the barn to find an extension cord, and once there, feed Max a pail of sweet feed to ease her guilty conscience at having ignored him lately. She ran back into the house, fetched her blow-dryer, and aimed it at the lock until the ice melted so she could fit her key in. If there had been a garage door, this wouldn’t have happened, but Philip had never gotten around to building one. A carport was sufficient for a man who drove a sedate company car. Back when they were all close and friendly, Philip had so much time to spare that he kind of took Lily under his wing. Yet when Rose stopped speaking to her sister, Philip supported the silence, even seemed to encourage it. In his eyes, that probably meant more attention for him. Looking back, it seemed that Philip’s needs had been the focal point of their mar- riage, and it had to be Rose’s fault for constantly adapting. The wind bit at her cheeks, and her nose ran. Had there been a garage door, she’d be down on her hands and knees thawing that out, too.

As agreed, Mami met her in front of the Apple Tree, but she didn’t want to eat there after all.

“Let’s go to La Calaverada. They hired a new chef, and I heard they’re serving six different kinds of tamales. If I can talk him into giving me some new recipes,” she said, “my spring equinox party will be unforgettable.”

“It doesn’t matter to me where we eat,” Rose answered. She planned to order salad. “Let me put the dogs in the car.”

“The maître d’ of this restaurant also is a fine black-and-white photographer,” Mami said as they stood on the sidewalk, talking. “He’s recently divorced, the poor man, and very understanding about dogs since he adopted a greyhound and discovered what re- warding companions they can be. I imagine you can bring your little dogs into the restaurant with no fuss.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s such a beautiful day, let’s walk instead of drive.”

Beautiful? The wind chill felt like a deep breath blown southeast from the Arctic. In her Pledge-polished boots, Rose’s toes felt numb. After holing up for so long, this venture out into the world made her tired. She plodded along next to her mother, who in her not-so- subtle fashion seemed to be trying to fix her up with this photograph- er/restaurateur/greyhound rescuer. Honestly, the woman did not know the meaning of quit. but her heart lay in the right place. Today she was dressed all in white, an ecru-and-rust shawl cloaking her shoulders. Her silvery-streaked black hair was knotted up into an intricately braided bun. For makeup she wore only a swipe of red lipstick, exactly the right shade, with just a hint of gloss. Rose wondered how she coordinated everything.

Chachi trotted alongside Rose, who carried Joanie in her arms. The new dog had learned to make her way around just fine at home, but here on the street the snow and muck would present a challenge to her splinted leg. Whenever a passerby remarked what a cute doggy she was, or made a move to pet her, Chachi raced protectively around behind Rose’s legs, and she got all tangled up in the leash. “It’s good you adopted her,” Mami said. “I think Chachi’s been

lonely since Buddy left.” “He has me for company.”

“Yes, but you never go out of your house. It can’t be much fun to watch a grown woman sit on the couch all day. Honestly, Rose, why you find it necessary to hide this way is beyond me.”

Rose stopped on the narrow sidewalk. A half block away, the Catholic church lunchtime AA meeting was just about to start, and people were filing in, Austin among them.

Her mother saw, too, and made a sad face. “You have to trust that what is supposed to happen will happen,” she said, touching her daughter lightly on the elbow.

Rose walked quickly toward the restaurant, her dog trotting beside her. La Calaverada’s saloon-type swinging doors were for decorative purposes only in winter. The snow door behind them was closed to keep in the heat. “I don’t want to discuss him,” Rose said. “That’s over and done with, and here I am, out in public, so I don’t need to hear about staying home too much, either.”

Of course, the moment the words left her mouth, she heard how false they rang. The sight of Austin on the church steps was all it took to erase her brief period of comfort. No advice from her mother was

going to change the facts. Eventually, Rose figured, enough time would pass that she could find a slot in which to file this sorrow, the same way she had done with her children’s behavior, her grief over her husband’s death, and admitting his infidelity to herself.

“Look,” Mami said. “If you want to live the rest of your life
patas arriba
, I cannot stop you. Let’s go inside and eat something good and talk of other subjects. I’m telling you, it’s okay to bring the dogs. Benito loves dogs.”

Benito. So, not only was this man artistic, dog friendly, and unat- tached, he possessed the added bonus of Spanish blood. Rose sighed. They chose the table nearest the door.

The restaurant’s adobe walls were painted a terra-cotta, decorated with photographs, some of which featured early Floralee during a time when a rider could trot up the main street of town and feel the earth beneath his horse’s hooves. Each table was unique; it looked as if somebody had decorated the place aiming for the “almost an- tiques” look, decor so comfortable diners couldn’t help but relax. Rose admired the way the coffee cups were all different shapes and sizes and the plates didn’t match. A restaurant sure enough of itself to use secondhand crockery undoubtedly felt confident regarding its efforts in the kitchen. She fanned her face. They certainly kept the place warm enough. She took off her coat, then her jacket, draping them across the back of her chair. Her mother’s eyebrows lifted.

“What?” Rose said.

“The blouse. Different for you.” “It belongs to Amanda.”

“Very nice, but you’re getting too thin. It doesn’t suit you to get bony. Your shoulders are broad, you can support a little weight. You need to eat more.”

People at nearby tables were listening, because whenever Poppy Wilder opened her mouth it was hard not to. “Mami,” Rose whispered, “that’s enough.”

Her mother made a face, but she did not stop lecturing. “I know a thing or two about eating disorders.”

The man Rose assumed had to be Benito came over with menus, kissed Poppy on the cheek, and they exchanged a few sentences of rapid-fire Spanish.

So, this is the daughter you were telling me about
?

Sí.
And a wonderful cook; you should hire her to work here
.
Maybe I will. We’re still looking for help
.

Rose blushed. Did they think she’d forgotten all her languages? “My mother tells me you take photographs,” she said, in what she hoped was a neutral, conversational tone. “Any of your work hanging on the walls here?”

Benito smiled and laid the menu open in front of her. “No, but Two Moons Gallery carries a few of my pieces. They’re not every- one’s cup of tea, but you might find them interesting.”

“Interesting?” Mami laughed. “Imagine Miguel Martínez with a camera instead of a paintbrush.”

“I’ll stop by and take a look,” Rose said. She felt absolutely no at- traction to this man. He wasn’t obese, he didn’t have facial warts or a hunched back; it was just that the stocky, barrel-chested body type reminded her of wrestlers, and wrestlers made her think of displays of machismo and dripping sweat. She’d married a man like that. Benito’s eyes loomed huge and kind in his face, a warm shade of coffee brown, but Rose favored skinny men who needed glasses and flaunted their arrogance like wearing a suit with wide lapels.

“I’ll have a salad,” she told Benito.

Mami clucked. “You didn’t even look at the menu.”

“I don’t have to. A salad is what I want. With whatever your house dressing is, which I’m sure is wonderful. And some bread.”

Benito nodded. “We make a fine house salad, Poppy. It’s very generous. Our greens are locally grown in the Embudo basin. Have you decided what you would like?”

Her mother had a choice; smooth down her hackles or make a scene in front of a man she was trying to impress. “Well, the mush- room/leek tamale with the mango salsa sounds good, but you know what, Benito? I’d
love
it if you could talk the chef into making me a sampler plate of all your tamales. Do you think that such a thing is possible?”

Benito smiled so widely Rose could see a gold crown on one of his molars. “Certainly. But I feel I must warn you, that’s a lot of food.”

Mami smiled. “Rose will help me eat them. What we don’t finish, I’ll take home.”

Benito squatted down to pet the dogs. Joanie startled, but tolerated the man’s hand on her back.

“She’s nervous,” Rose said. “I’ve only had her a little while.” “It’s okay,” Benito said. “She can tell I’m a dog person. Would it

be all right if I brought them something?”

“Bring whatever you like,” Rose said. “Chachi’s never been picky, and Joanie could use the weight.”

“Like you,” her mother put in. “A broken leg and a broken heart are not so very different.”

When he left with their order, Rose breathed at her mother, “Do you think you could you be any more blatant?”

Mami sat up straight in her chair and looked directly at her daughter. “All I want is for my daughters to be happily married. Is that a crime?”

“No, Mami, but love isn’t something you can engineer, like one of your parties. It happens or it doesn’t. I had a happy marriage.”

“You did not. You kept on adjusting yourself to whatever Philip wanted. That’s not happiness. And certainly not passion.”

Rose gasped. “How dare you say that?”

“Because somebody needs to shock you back into living.”

“You won’t even give me time to get over—” Rose stopped herself, cornered by her own words, not having intended to say that much. “Never mind. We’ll eat and then we’ll go home.”

“We’re going to talk, Rose.”

When Benito brought her salad, Rose bent her head and dug in. Mami carefully pried apart each tamale, studying its ingredients.

Rose, grateful for the distraction, relaxed.

The lunch crowd was beginning to wander in just as Rose was fin- ishing her salad. The AA meeting had ended, because she recognized several of the people she had seen going into the church. Chatting animatedly to another man, Austin did a double take when he saw her, of course catching her looking back at him. Dr. Donavan waited for his companion to finish his sentence, then excused himself and came over to their table.

“Mrs. Wilder,” he said, nodding to Poppy, then at Rose. “And Mrs. Flynn. How are you ladies?”

“Fine.” If Austin wanted her to ask after his health, he could wait until next spring.

“That’s good to hear.”

Rose could think of no response to that. Under the table she pressed her boot against her mother’s.

“People ask about you at the clinic,” he said. “You’re missed.” “You can tell them I’m fine.”

“Are you really?” “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Austin looked at her, his face wide open. People knew each other’s business in Floralee, so she imagined her staying in her house for a few days or weeks, however long it had been, was rumored to be full-blown agoraphobia. He looked sad in a way that made Rose want to slap him, then press her lips to the mark her hand would leave on his cheek.

“Well, nice to see you.” Austin shook Poppy’s hand, but before he could reach for Rose’s, she quickly put hers in her lap. There was a moment of awkwardness, and then Joanie emerged from under the table, her tail wagging. “Hey there,” Austin said, bending down to scratch the dog’s chest. “How’s she doing, Rose?”

The polite thing to do was answer the question. “Coming along.

She and Chachi are great friends.”

Austin stood up. “Be sure to bring her in if there’re any problems.

Otherwise I’ll see you when it’s time for the cast to come off.” “Right,” she said, hoping he’d leave things at that and walk away. But of course Mami went whole hog into her charming mode,

placing a hand on Austin’s forearm, laughing when her diamond ring caught in the weave of his sweater. “The next time you’re seeing to my daughter’s mare, Doctor Donavan, stay for dinner. You look like you could use some fattening up. I’m curious. Are you and Rose in some kind of competition here? What is the prize for starving yourself to bones? Sainthood?”

Austin laughed out loud. It was such a rare sound coming out of his mouth that the unexpected pleasure it evoked in Rose surprised her. “My weight’s a by-product of bachelorhood and an unwilling- ness to learn to cook for myself, that’s all. I can’t speak for your daughter’s, but I will admit she’s looking thin. Maybe we should both take you up on that dinner, Mrs. Wilder. Now, if you two ladies will excuse me.”

His skinny legs, bowed slightly from years of riding, moved in sure strides across the dining room. Just up the road from those legs was his butt, and Rose could feel the memory of those taut muscles against her hands as she had pulled him close, felt the hardness of him enter her softest place, and the thrill in her blood as he began to move inside her. She

let out a breath. Longing like this tethered the spirit. Austin sat down at a table with three other men. They bent their heads and said a prayer. Austin looked away, uncomfortable. If he was trying to get sober, he wasn’t there yet.

“Such a handsome package,” Mami said. “Too bad about his drinking. Best to forget that kind.”

Rose felt the hair on her neck bristle. “It’s not easy getting sober.

He’ll find a way if people can be patient.”

Mami pursed her lips as if she was giving that idea some thought. “We can always pray for that kind of strength, but I wouldn’t count on anything like that happening until Austin wants it.” Her mother sipped at her water, set it down, then poked the wheel of lemon with her index finger and set it spinning. “You see,
mija
, when you want something for a man more than he wants it for himself, you burden him with your wishes. Years ago, I did that to your father. It was only when I stopped caring, and another man suddenly found me attractive, that your father could give up his drinking. You know, I almost left him for good to marry that professor. I’ll bet you didn’t know that about your mother. I thought that life with a sober, intel- ligent man would bring me the happiness I ached for. But it wouldn’t have. From the first moment I saw him, it was always your father for me. Even if he hadn’t come after me, I would have gone back to him.”