Steps to the Altar (27 page)

His heart. An organ that had never failed to bring him trouble. It beat fast and hard in his cold chest, feeling twice, three times its size.

“Go to her,
mijo,
” his father’s voice insisted and he knew he had no choice but to obey the command, even if he had no idea how she would receive him.

He rang the unfamiliar doorbell once, then waited. After a minute or so, she opened the door.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

“What do you want?” she finally asked. Her red-blond hair was wild and tangled in that way that drove her nuts, but always caused a ribbon of desire to course through his body. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen her standing outside the folk art museum throwing pebbles at a San Celina patrol car, her hair full and damp and wind-whipped, her face pale with fear and fatigue. He had wanted to take her in his arms that night, hold her to his chest, sink his face into all that hair, take her home to his bed.

He’d never told her that, how he’d fallen in love with her the first moment they met.

“What do you want?” she asked, the words coming out with a small stutter. Next to her, Scout whined, his tail moving slowly in a tentative wag.

“To talk.”

“I think you’ve said enough. More than enough.”

Anger bubbled in his chest. “Is that all you think of our marriage? You won’t even let me try to explain?”

Without a word, she turned and walked away, leaving the door open. He came inside and watched her go up the stairs. He shut the door quietly behind him, wishing he had some kind of script about what to say and do next.

The living room was filled with boxes. The only touch of hominess was the mantel clock, which chimed the half hour. Three-thirty. In another three hours he will have been up twenty-four hours and his body was beginning to feel it. The back of his eyes sizzled with fatigue.

He found Benni upstairs in their future bedroom. She sat under the multicolor glow of the Tiffany lamp, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees. He shut the door of the room, leaving a whining Scout on the other side.

“Querida,”
he said. “Hear me out.”

She didn’t look up. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

She turned her face up to look at him. “Ridiculous? Just because someone doesn’t see things exactly how you do, Gabe, doesn’t mean they’re stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid.”

She jumped up, pointed a finger at him. “It’s your attitude. If someone doesn’t agree with you, you give them that look.”

He felt heat on the back of his neck. “What look?”

“That superior look. That look that says you know best, that your way is the only way. You discount other people’s opinions and feelings. You make them . . . you make
me
. . . feel like I don’t matter.”

He started to say again that was ridiculous, then caught himself. “Why are you turning this into something so complicated?”

She stared at him in amazement. “How can you not see how complicated it is?”

He knew she was right, but he didn’t know how to explain to her how he longed for the safety and reality of their love and yet was still undeniably drawn to the danger and excitement of Del and everything she represented.

He crossed the room until he was inches away from her. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing the softness of her cheeks, and looked deep into her tearfilled eyes.

“Querida,”
he whispered, deliberately ignoring her request to stop using the endearment. He kissed her softly, then with more insistence, forcing her mouth open to accept his tongue. If they could just make love, he knew this would all blow over. He could put Del and those memories behind him.

She moaned deep in her throat in protest, but he knew her desires, knew how to seduce this woman. He’d spent two years learning her vulnerable spots, finding the way around her heart. He moved his hands down her neck, down the front of her, along her hips, tracing the shape of her body, this body he knew almost better than his own.

“Mi corazon esta llen dear amor por ti. Mi amor, mi amor . . . Desde el dia que to conoci supe que eras alguien especial . . . Te amo, carina, te amo . . .”

She pulled away with a jerk, her hazel eyes glossy with desire. He was slightly ashamed of the triumph he felt.

“No words,” she said, her voice cool, emotionless. “I don’t really want to hear your voice.”

He froze for a moment, her statement an unexpected splash of cold water. With those words, she’d somehow managed to snatch back the control he’d had . . . or thought he had. This woman never failed to surprise him. Desire exploded in his gut and he lowered his head, taking her lips with a desperation that surprised him.

They made love in silence, though he fought the urge to cry out in Spanish, the language in which he’d always made love. A small part of him felt rejected, but he admired her show of pride. It was something he might have done.

Afterward, while she lay on her back with her eyes closed, he studied her naked body. She still wore the platinum horseshoe necklace he’d given her for their first anniversary. Surely she would not still be wearing it if she intended for their marriage to be over.

She was so physically different from Del, from most of the women he’d taken as lovers. He’d always been attracted to tall women with long legs, full breasts. Benni was compact and wiry with short, strong legs, muscled arms. She was as agile as a gymnast, with an energy and openness that delighted him from the first time they made love. But it was the softness of her skin that never failed to crack his heart and the rich, deep, sweet-apple scent of her hair. Hair that now lay in a fan around her head. Everything would be okay now. She’d made love with him. They were back. The foolish words he’d spoken this afternoon erased.

“Benni,” he murmured.

Her eyes opened and she turned her head slightly to look at him.

“Will you come back with me tonight?” He laughed softly. “I mean this morning. All my clothes are at the other house.”

Without answering, she stood up and started gathering her clothes. He watched her pull on her underwear, sweatshirt, sweatpants. When she was dressed, she faced him, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

“This doesn’t change what you said in the library garden.”

He jumped up, his chest tight with anger. “What do you mean?”

“Are you in love with Del Hernandez?” she asked, her face still expressionless.

He hesitated, still not certain about his feelings toward his ex-partner. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That pretty much answers my question. Please lock the front door when you leave.”

The warm feelings he’d had only moments before turned cold as a winter stream. He’d never allowed any woman to dictate his feelings, his actions, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“At least she lets me be who I am,” he said, pulling on his jeans, grabbing his shirt from where it had been tossed on the floor.

“And who would that be? A fickle man who uses women like tissue or a man too cowardly to make a real commitment to another human being?”

“If you think so little of me, why in the world did you marry me?”

“That, Ortiz, is certainly the question of the hour, isn’t it?”

19

BENNI

HE SLAMMED THE door on his way out. The sound echoed through the semi-empty house with a reverberating sadness.

I sank down on the glossy living room floor in such despair I couldn’t even cry. What had I expected when I let him in? That we’d somehow talk this out, reason away his feelings for Del, make some kind of list as if our emotions were chores that we could split and take responsibility for?

I was angry at myself and humiliated for allowing him to seduce me so easily. What did I think that would accomplish? Did I think it was like some kind of stupid country song, make love to your man so thoroughly, so expertly, that you wipe away his lust for the other woman? I’m sure I was no match for Del in the pleasing-your-man department.

I lay on my stomach on the oakwood floor, resting my cheek against the cool wood. My body still throbbed with longing for my husband and that made me want to scream in frustration. The physical desire I’d always had for this man had slightly frightened me; it was too strong sometimes, too overwhelming. There were depths within him that I wanted to touch, to smooth away the hurt spots with my bare hands and take some of the pain into myself so he wouldn’t have to bear the agony alone. But those places were also terrifying in their unpredictability, and like the coward I accused him of being, a part of me wanted to hand him and his complicated emotions over to Del with my blessings.

I lay on the floor with Scout next to me until the morning sun streamed through the window. It was officially Sunday. Our second anniversary and possibly the last day of our marriage.

A long hot shower and three cups of coffee managed to bring me to some kind of decent mood. Today was also my best friend’s wedding shower and it would take every bit of acting ability within me to hide my true feelings.

I arrived at Miss Christine’s Tea and Sympathy parlor ten minutes before Amanda. I wore tan wool slacks and an off-white silk cowboy shirt I bought especially for Elvia’s shower and was arranging the party favors next to each china plate when Amanda breezed in.

“You’re early!” she exclaimed, picking up one of the small mint green baskets I’d just placed. “These are great party favors!” She examined the leather bookmark, small box of Godiva chocolates, and silver heart charm.

“Thanks. I made a few extra just in case.”

Within the hour, the shower was in full swing, the tea-house filled with the sounds of women laughing and talking. I realized that the music I’d chosen to play during the show, a combination of Bach and Tchaikovsky, two of Elvia’s favorites, would never be heard. But my best friend was having a ball, her face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, so it was a minor problem.

While Elvia opened her huge mound of gifts, I cruised from table to table to make sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. At Dove’s table, she grabbed my arm and pulled me down into the empty chair next to her.

“Edna’s gone to the ladies’ room,” Dove said. “Sit with me a minute.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “What’re you and Gabe doing for your anniversary tonight?”

I looked her straight in the eye and lied my head off. “We’re going out to dinner down in Morro Bay. I bought him a silver letter opener.” That last sentence wasn’t a lie. What I didn’t say is I wanted to plunge it in his heart . . . or even better, in the heart of his ex-girlfriend.

Her face grew still, her pale blue eyes thoughtful. I could tell I wasn’t fooling her a bit, but she wouldn’t push me.

“That’s good,” she said. “Don’t forget we’re working on Elvia’s quilt tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said and kissed her cheek, feeling like the biggest sinner in the world for lying to my gramma.

I managed to fake it through the rest of the shower, giving Elvia the day she so rightfully deserved. When she, I, and two of her brothers were loading her gifts in the back of the new black Lincoln Navigator that Emory had bought her, she pulled me aside and gave me a fierce hug.

“You are the best friend a person could ever have,” she said. “Thank you for a perfect shower.” Her voice caught in an involuntary sob.

“You’ve waited a long time,
hermana
,” I said, hugging her back, letting the tears pricking at my eyes flow down my cheeks unheeded.

“Look at us,” she said, laughing, when she saw my wet cheeks matched her own. “Getting sentimental in our old age.”

“We’d both better wear waterproof mascara to your wedding,” I said, sniffing.

“No kidding. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and happy second anniversary. Give my best wishes
tu esposo Gabriel
.”

“Thanks,
amiga buena
. And give my cousin a hug for me.”

After I had settled the bill with Miss Christine, adding a generous tip for her and José and thanking them both profusely for helping make the day perfect for my friend, I was finally free to relax my fake smile. It was two o’clock on the day of my second anniversary and I didn’t have a clue what to do with myself. So I went back to the new house, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, got Scout, and headed toward the folk art museum. There were still Maple’s trunks to go through and maybe I’d come across some clue to what really happened between her, Mitch, and Garvey.

The museum was busy with artists getting back to work to restock their depleted inventories. Manuel caught me in my office while I was reading over the report he’d just laid on my desk. Our gamble with three booths had paid off, giving us the highest sales the co-op had ever had. The co-op’s cut was almost seven hundred dollars—a four-hundred-dollar profit. Any kind of profit was worthy of celebration.

“Great job, boss lady,” Manuel said.

“No, the congratulations go to you all,” I answered. “Looks like things are finally starting to look up for the co-op.”