Desert Angel (6 page)

Angel nodded to be polite but the thought of being around a bunch of children made her uncomfortable. What was she supposed to do? What would she say to a four-year-old?

As if reading her mind, Rita touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re real sweet. Doing this kind of work made me keep wanting more kids. Till I got up to three and came to my senses.” She looked at Angel and smiled. “Not that I think you’ll want to have kids right away. Take a month or two before you start your own family!”

Angel knew she was being teased but didn’t know how to respond. Her mom hadn’t teased, and the men made everything sexual.

Rita went on to tell Angel the children’s names and something brief about each one and then they were there, unlocking the door. The building might have originally been a small church or an old one-room school. Immediately inside was a square hall where Angel imagined the kids could put their jackets or lunch sacks. Leaving the anteroom, they walked into a large rectangular high-ceilinged area with a scratched wood floor and a fair amount of natural light from tall dirty windows. Four battered folding tables were evenly spaced on the right side of the room, leaving an open area on the left side large enough for exercise or games. More scarred tables holding plastic storage containers lined each side wall, and at the back Angel could see what she thought was a food-service counter closed by a rolling metal shutter.

“That’s our kitchen,” Rita said, pointing to the back. “LaDonna will be here in a few minutes, so let’s set out some glasses and plates, napkin by each setting, four kids to a table.”

*   *   *

A
NGEL NODDED WHEN INTRODUCED TO THE CHILDREN,
sat and watched the activities during the morning, didn’t eat, didn’t play. She couldn’t keep her mind off Scotty. Where could she grab supplies and a map without alerting Rita to her flight plans? If she could walk to a different highway system, away from 10 and 86, that would be perfect. Scotty couldn’t cover every place. Then she could hitchhike and maybe get out of state. Gone for good.

She was considering searching the glove compartment in Rita’s Toyota, maybe even Vincente’s truck for a road map, when a commotion interrupted her reverie. The largest girl in class was being pulled kicking and punching from a chubby light-skinned boy. Rita lifted the girl in a bear hug and was whispering to her as she carried her to the table nearest Angel.

“Looks like Norma may have had a difficult night and came to school pretty frustrated,” Rita said, placing the girl in a chair and sitting next to her. “It’s okay to feel angry but it’s not all right to hurt anyone when you feel that way,” Rita said, looking at Angel but clearly intending her remarks for Norma. “Have you felt angry lately?” Rita asked Angel.

Angel, surprised, nodded.

“How did you deal with it?”

Angel didn’t like being put on the spot, didn’t like being drawn into this situation, but thought about the question anyway. “I ran, I guess,” she said.

“Did that work?” Rita asked her. “Did that help you deal with the anger or feel better?”

Angel hadn’t thought about it. “Not really.”

“Here at school we’re learning to talk about how we’re feeling and see if that—”

“I ain’t talking to nobody,” Norma interrupted.

Rita ignored her. “You have somebody really really mad at you, right?” she asked Angel.

Angel’s mouth came open as she fought the impulse to tell Rita to get bent. She knew Rita was trying to work with the girl but this was way over the top. Looking for something to say, Angel noticed Norma’s eyes on her. “Uh, yeah.”

“How do you feel when someone is really mad at you?” Rita asked.

“Scared,” Angel replied without thinking.

“You don’t got to be escared,” Norma said. “Scaredy Cat. You’re big. Can’t nobody hurt you.”

“Anybody can hurt anybody if they want to bad enough,” Angel said, a little heat in her own voice.

“Can even big people be scared?” Rita asked, still looking at Angel.

A buzzer went off, momentarily distracting the three of them.

“Lunch is ready,” Rita explained. “You two sit here for five more minutes,” she said, handing Norma her watch. “See this long hand? When it moves to here, you and Angel can come over. If you forget, Angel can help you.”

Angel watched Rita move across the room and tell the others to clean up their games and go wash hands. She could feel Norma staring at her but she didn’t look. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

“You’re too big for this school,” Norma said. “Have you been bad too?”

Angel smiled in spite of herself. “Sometimes,” she said, looking at her lap.

“What?” Norma asked, turning to face Angel directly.

Angel searched her memory for a decent example. “Ruined all my mom’s lipsticks when she said I couldn’t wear any. Stole money from her purse,” Angel said, noticing a growing sadness as she thought about being her mother’s child.

Norma drew in a dramatic breath like those examples were impossibly naughty. “My dad would kill me if I stole,” she said, making her eyes comically wide.

“That’s not funny,” Angel said, regretting it. She didn’t need to make this girl feel bad.

Norma looked away, then down, seemingly sorry she didn’t please the older girl. She stayed quiet for a minute. “My dad hit my mom last night and made her mouth bleed,” she said.

*   *   *

A
NGEL TRIED TO BE FOCUSED DURING LUNCH
, offering kids more milk when their cups were empty, replacing dropped napkins, getting another half sandwich for anyone who was still hungry. She wasn’t going to eat, but her growling stomach was entertaining the kids at her table so she downed a sandwich. She reminded herself that she’d need food for when she took off. The kids talked and laughed with one another, didn’t speak to her. Norma, she noticed, sat at the place Rita saved at a table with all girls.

After lunch, story time, after that, nap. Angel spaced on the story, looking back over her own childhood and the times she saw a man hit her mother. So many times. When the children were either sleeping or eyes closed, quiet, Rita motioned for Angel to join her in the kitchen.

“Thanks for helping me with Norma,” she said, sitting on a high stool so she could see the children as they rested on the mats in the other room. “That girl’s got a load to pull. Dad’s in counseling for domestic violence with the wife and sexually abusing Norma’s older sister. He may have already gotten to Norma. Mother was in the refuge down in Brawley for a month and came back to the guy when she got out. Norma sees what goes on. What can she make of this world? Everybody’s a target for her rage, every child’s afraid of her, and she is so desperate to be liked … to be loved. It breaks my heart.”

Too much. Too many feelings. Angel stood and left without speaking.

*   *   *

B
EFORE SHE WALKED BACK TO
R
ITA’S
to search for a map, Angel wandered nearby looking for places she could take cover on a moment’s notice. The good thing about Salt Shores? There were thousands of places to hide: sheds, empty trailers, crumbling boats. In the middle of a vacant lot next to the school sat a rusted yellow bus with broken windows, and perpendicular to it an old delivery truck somebody had lived in. Close beside, a couple of dead cars with rotting upholstery and flat tires. Any of them could provide quick shelter.

As she sized them up, she did not imagine that four other vehicles were similarly parked fifty miles north in a paved lot near a Cathedral City gun shop. A locksmith’s panel truck, a ratty Chevy Suburban, and a silver Cadillac rested while the drivers stood around a camo-colored pickup and hatched a plan with their occasional business partner.

*   *   *

T
HAT EVENING
A
NGEL HELPED
R
ITA
wash the dinner dishes. Least she could do for the meal. “Norma cried most of the afternoon. Thought she drove you away,” Rita said, standing beside Angel, drying plates. “I’m not telling you to make you feel bad. I’m just saying what a strong effect we have on these kids.”

Angel continued her silence. Didn’t break it till after dark when she asked Rita if it was safe to go for a walk around the streets.

“Vincente don’t like it when I do that but he’s driving for the next four days. Go ahead. People don’t close their doors or windows. Yell if you need something. You stay in the open, you should be fine. I have to walk sometimes, too.”

By day, ghost town, by night, village. Angel took the right that led past Head Start and continued east toward the sea. Some ramshackle houses were completely dark, probably empty, but many others showed dim lights, flickering TVs, once in a while yelling or laughter. Angel noticed the deserted places, made a mental note to come back tomorrow and check them for usable supplies.

As she neared the Marina Club parking lot she could hear a jukebox mixed up with noise from a TV program and snatches of talk, occasional hoots like somebody scored or won a bet. On the beach at the end of the lot she was puzzled by a line of cars and SUVs parked beside walls that looked like reed huts. Closer, she could tell these were partially enclosed campsites occupied by couples or families out on a cheap holiday.

Could you swim in this sea? Was it polluted? Were there fish? There were birds. A silent glide of pelicans drifted by, wings intermittently reflecting shore lights. A heron looking like an unemployed butler stood patiently at the end of a sandbar. Must be something edible in there.

She continued south along the water’s edge past empty-looking fabricated buildings, storage or perhaps an abandoned plant of some kind. Taking the next street west toward the highway, she reentered the residential section and methodically worked her way back and forth till she believed she’d seen the whole town.

Rita was in the living room reading when Angel returned. “Work it out?” she asked.

Angel shrugged.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Did Rita suspect? Probably. She seemed like a hard woman to fool.

“Would you do something for me?” Rita asked. “You got no reason to. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just asking.”

Angel dreaded moments like this. Way easier to be alone than to have somebody want something of you. Her mom had bled her dry. All she could do now, if she could even do that much, was save herself. She didn’t have a thing to give to anyone else. Not even if they deserved it. Norma flashed to mind and she fought away the image.

“Give me the rest of the week,” Rita asked. “Work and the kids … keep me company, help me out till Vincente gets back. I know you got big trouble chasing you, but I think you’re safe here. What do you—”

Crying from another room interrupted her and she rose to see who’d had a nightmare or fallen out of bed. If Angel had had a chance to talk, she would have refused, but the interruption seemed like fate. Okay, just a few days. And by doing that she felt like she could ask Rita to help her find traveling supplies.

13

The next day by morning snack time, Angel was helping with the children. After snack she joined the show-and-tell and at her turn produced the piece of emery board she still carried. “When you get older you use one of these to keep your fingernails smooth,” she told fourteen unimpressed children and a rapt Norma, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Angel since she’d arrived.

When it was time for games, the only one Angel remembered was checkers. She set up the board and sat waiting for a partner. No one came. Norma was in a corner playing alone with blocks. After a few minutes Angel noticed a blond boy edging closer to her but every time she looked at him he stopped moving and looked away. Angel glanced at Norma. Norma was homed in on the boy’s advance and getting to her feet. Uh-oh.

And then Rita was in the block corner towing Norma to Angel’s table.

“I wonder if you could teach this big girl how to play checkers?” she asked Norma.

“Everybody knows how to play checkers,” Norma said, looking away toward the windows.

“Maybe,” Rita said, “but maybe not everybody remembers.”

Norma darted a look at Angel. “You?” she asked. “You ’member?”

“She hasn’t played in a long time,” Rita said. “Would you help?”

Norma sat.

At lunch Norma joined Angel’s group. And offered her an apple slice. And at story time she sat almost near enough to touch.

During nap time Angel and Rita again sat together in the kitchen. “She looks relieved,” Rita said, munching on a celery stick.

“She told me she and her mom and sister are going to win a million dollars,” Angel said. “Told me her mom bought a lucky ticket yesterday at the StopShop.”

“Did you ask her what she would do if she won?”

“No, but she told me. Go to Disneyland. Live there.”

“Oh, me. She’s why we need an after-school program when kids start kindergarten.”

“How about a pistol? Shoot the dads. Be cheaper.” Angel was surprised by her rage. Better keep a lid on it. People might think she was crazy.

Rita adjusted her butt on the stool so she could see the children better. “If all of us shoot the people we don’t like, will there be anybody left?”

Angel stifled a bitter reply. Asked instead, “Would it really matter?”

Rita went on, “Sometimes when I’m pretty low I don’t think it matters. Misery don’t care. But when I’m feeling loved, or when I look at my kids and these children, it matters.”

Feeling loved? Angel knew she was her mother’s only friend. Thirty times a day her mom needed her for something. But it sure didn’t feel like love. Real love was a fairy tale.

Angel looked across the room where Norma was sleeping, curled, arm over face, still as the moon. She hoped Norma would have a decent life, would have a better life than she had today, but that didn’t mean she loved her. No, Angel didn’t love anybody. Didn’t know how. From nowhere Abuela came to mind. Abuela thought up the escape; the change-clothes thing at the church that knocked Scotty off the trail. Kind of amazing, really. Old, smart, tough in her own way. And Ramón, strong and kind. Rita, the same. If she ever had the chance, could she love people like that? Could they ever … she made herself stop.