The Science of Loving (12 page)

When we pulled into a campsite set slightly apart from the others, Danny was belting out Kaptn’s “Ricky Ricardo.”

“Sorry Lucy, I went Ricardo.

I know you’ll be, back tomorrow.

Get your whining ass out my carro.

She will be back, that’s mamarro.”

Climbing out of the car, she began sambaing—or was that the cha-cha—with an imaginary partner as I stretched to relieve the tightness that had accumulated after the strange introduction to the James family, and the long drive.

“Come here mamasita.

You’re my floresita.

Lucy-si-si-sita.

Come meet your fajita.

Come here mamasita.

You’re my floresita.

Lucy-si-si-sita.

Come eat your fajitaaaaaa…”

I wandered to the edge of a bluff overlooking willows and oaks arching over a small stream below.

“Stop! Stop! Turn it the other—” I turned just in time to see the rumbling RV back over one of the many boulders guarding the campsite. “Go forward… Now turn the wheel—no, the other way—more… Back… Back… Stop! Stop!”

As Carmen stood behind the RV frantically waving and yelling. Her colorful boho skirt billowing around her sturdy legs, and her once black hair whipping about in the breeze with strands of grey turning it a dark steel. It struck me how different our parents were. Carmen sparkled. She possessed that rare combination of dark Latina skin and shockingly pale gold-green eyes. My mother, even with her spa tan and chemically enhanced hair, styled so rigidly a hurricane couldn’t move it, paled in comparison.

Where Stewart looked like an old school surfer: Tall and lanky, rocking a loud Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and OluKia sandals. My dad was short, soft and round, like a plush pillow; more comfortable in slacks and a polo shirt with a pair of loafers on his feet. Unfortunately, in addition to his hair and eyes, I also inherited his small frame, so I’d probably acquire the same roly-poly roundness as I grew older.

Mat was studying the ground next to a mini-van sized boulder, kicking rocks out of the way. “I’m thinking we’ll set the tent here.” Nearby a picnic table and fire pit were tucked in the shade of some scrub oak growing out of the rocky ground.

“Hey Biggie,” Danny said, walking over. “Toss me the keys so we can start unloading.”

“I don’t think so Taz. You can help Angie clear the tent space.” Danny stuck out her tongue at his back as he headed to the car.

“Taz?”

“Tasmanian Devil, like from the cartoon.” Danny put her arm around me, watching him. “I should tattoo a Taz on his ass when he’s not looking,” she muttered. “With enough tequila, he’ll agree to just about anything. C’mon let’s find the Patrón.
”

“Damn. Honey, the slides aren’t working.” Stewart came out of the camper. “Where’d you put the toolbox?”

They all spoke at once:

“No,
Mami
don’t—” Mat.

“Stop!” Danny.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie.” Carmen.

“My Dad and tools are a dangerous combination,” Danny confided. “It always ends with a fire or some other mechanical fail of epic proportion; spilled blood and trips to the emergency room.”

“Would your dad mind if I took a look?”

“Hey Dad, let Angie check it out.”

“I’ll get the toolbox for you.” Carmen looked relieved. “Stewart, why don’t you help Mat.”

“No
Mami
, I got it. Maybe Danny and Dad could scope out our neighbors and the facilities.”

“Sure thing, come on Dad let’s go for a walk.” Danny skipped over to him.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He grumped then looked at me. “I’m not that bad.”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” Carmen patted his chest and gave him a peck on the cheek while Danny stood behind him, dramatically miming explosions and winking.

Carmen exhaled as they disappeared from sight. “Another, disaster averted. I’ll get you that toolbox.”

“And the owner’s manual, as well?”

“Of course,
mija
.”

By the time I had the tent set up, and our gear stowed, Angie was completely immersed in the RV’s guts. She’d stripped off some wall panels, exposing circuit cards and wires. I quietly backed out of the camper, recognizing the quiet intensity on her face. I got that same look when my creative juices flowed freely. I grabbed a beer, and joined Mom at the picnic table watching for smoke. When Dad and the brat returned, we waited together in the fading sunlight for the disaster that inevitably followed all our mechanical endeavors.

There was an electric whirring and the RV’s walls actuated, sliding smoothly out. A few minutes later, the automated leveling system engaged with a hiss. We were still holding shocked breaths when Angie popped out a few minutes later with a relaxed smile on her face.

“All fixed?” Mom asked, handing her a beer.

“Yep. One of the connectors controlling the drive motors had worked itself loose and you had a blown fuse. Fortunately, the fuse box held some spares.” That was so fucking hot.

“Lucky for you I met your mother first,
boyo
, or I’d steal your girl,” Dad joked.

“Speak for yourself, Stew.” Mom nudged him. “I’d dump you in a hot minute for her. So where’d you learn to do that?” All the praise had Angie blushing.

“My Dad likes to tinker. It was something we did together when I was growing up. As long as I have a manual, I can find my way around just about anything.”

“Well I guess I’m up. Dinner’s in an hour. Why don’t you guys get the canopy set up.” Mom stopped Angie. “No
mija
, you already earned your place at the table. You just sit and relax.”

We all bustled off in the dimming light. Danny went to get the folding table and chairs, while I carried the bagged canopy to the front edge of the campsite where Dad was already waiting. He stood back as I upended the bag, the contents clanking onto the weedy dirt, letting me sort out the pipes and joint connectors until I was satisfied everything was there and properly placed. After doing this so many times, I still didn’t know if he respected my system or was just humoring my compulsive nature.

We worked together in companionable silence, assembling the frame then unfurled the cloth shell over it. We inserted the front legs, the canopy canting awkwardly until we repeated the process on the back, standing the whole thing up. Lastly, I inserted the legs into some heavy cinderblock anchors. I added the anchors to the canopy after an ornery Santa Ana wind turned it into a kite one day, and sent it cartwheeling across the campground, taking out several tents along the way.

It was almost full dark by the time we’d finished, and I could barely make out Angie’s shape at the table. “So what do you think of Angie?”

Dad knew I was asking for more than a superficial impression. Mechanical disability notwithstanding, he was one of the most insightful people I knew. Having spent several decades working as a community organizer and activist, he'd witnessed people at their best, and worse and all conditions in between. His perceptions, especially about people, were always illuminating.

“Handy to have around… Troubled though. She say anything on the drive?”

“Not really, just that she’d been talking to her dad.”

He stiffened. “Think he’s hurting her.” Hurting women and kids was one of the few things my family’s live-and-let-live philosophy had no tolerance for.

“No, from what I can tell, they’re really close. It’s her mom that’s abusive.”

“Strong words.” He twisted his wedding ring, considering. His eyes narrowed. Then he nodded, coming to a decision. “I think there may be a few surprises hiding inside her she hasn’t discovered yet. In the long run she’ll be all right.” Grabbing the back of my neck, Dad gave me a shake. “Let’s get the lights set up and a fire going. I want to dance with your mother.”

As the temperature dropped with the setting sun, I sat in the gathering shadows hugging my knees to my chest, watching the men talk in front of the canopy. It was easy to imagine a younger more vigorous Stewart, and see the man Mat might eventually become: Lighter, leaner, but no less vital. Splitting up, it took them only a few minutes to transform our campsite into an enchanted retreat, alight with lanterns and strings of twinkling Christmas lights.

Stewart disappeared into the RV as Mat came over to light the kindling waiting in the nearby fire pit. His eyes reflected a sinister sparkle from catching fire and shadows danced and shimmered across the planes of his face. He straddled the bench behind me, bringing the scent of wood smoke as he snuggled against me, his large hands sliding warmly down my arms to stroke my wrists.

“I love the lights.” Suddenly out of breath, I could barely get the words out. My heart fluttered as my body recalled the earlier heat those hands left.

“Yeah?” He breathed a feathery tickle against the side of my face, and a wave of lust broke over me. All it took was one breath, one lowly uttered word, and I was drowning in him: His heat, his touch, rolling me under as thunder pounded in my ears. His fingers closed around my wrists and arms, thicker than my thighs, tightened. I nodded, feeling deliciously trapped. Gasping as he rasped his stubbled chin along my skin then soothed the prickly burn with heated kisses.

When Danny and Stewart exited the RV heading to the canopy with a folded card table and camp chairs, Mat sighed, planting a final kiss on my shoulder. “Looks like dinners almost ready. Let’s see what’s going on with Mom.” Uncoiling, he led me to the camper door. “
Mami
, what do you need us to do?”

“Can you set up the music,
mijo
?” She passed a box with plates and flatware out to me, topping it with a folded tablecloth. “And Angie, if you could please set the table?”

Stewart smiled, reaching for the tablecloth when I arrived at the canopy. After snapping it open and settling it on the table, Danny and I circled, laying out place settings. The scattered lanterns glowed white-blue around the perimeter as strains of soft guitar music drifted over while the fire pit burned merrily, adding an occasional pop.

“It’s really beautiful here; peaceful. Thanks for letting me come.”

Stewart pulled me into a hug, casually kissing my forehead as if he'd been doing it my whole life. “We’re glad to have you anytime; although, it probably won’t be quite so peaceful tomorrow when the place starts filling up.” He motioned me to a chair then lit a couple candles, adding to the soft light coming from the twinkling strings twined about the canopy’s frame.

“You know, I think this is a camping first,” Danny said. “Something actually repaired instead of broken more, no accidental fires, no blood, no girly tears from Biggie on the way to the hospital.”

“Those were not girly tears,” Mat said, setting a platter of spaghetti on the table. “Those were macho tears of disbelief.”

I tried not to ogle when shadows caressed his retreating form, and a guilty blush stole up my cheeks me when Danny plopped down next to me; smirking. When he returned, following Carmen with two large pitchers and a basket of bread, he gave Danny an annoyed look.

“What? She was my friend first.” Danny pouted.

“Danny.” Carmen didn't say anything more; her tone said it all. I could see where Mat got ‘The Voice
.
’

“Fine.” Danny huffed. Then winked at me before moving over.

The food smelled great as Stewart started the platters around the table, first serving himself and then holding them for me. Something loosened inside me, and I felt hungry for the first time since that awful scene at the bar. The bread was bathed in garlic butter; the lettuce was crispy and succulent; the pasta had just the right amount of herby tang. We ate quietly, enjoying our first bites of dinner; I guess I wasn't the only one who was hungry. I drank deeply, discovering the tart lime of an icy margarita in my glass. Perhaps it was the talk with my dad, or the relaxed company around the table, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt a little lighter.