Kit got up, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. As she waited for the old boiler to get going, she shed her soiled and bloodied clothes and looked at the damage. Her fat, bitten lip, glossy with ointment, made her look sultry; new bruising was beginning to show, five maroon smudges where the cowboy had grabbed her scant handful of breast. She turned and craned her neck around to see her back reflected in the mirror. Nearly half of its surface was purpled and scuffed from being shoved in the bed of the truck. Between this and the old machete gash on her shin, she looked barely better than dog food.
She lingered as the steam billowed around her, then stood under the shower and closed her eyes. Her thoughts flashed to Trip’s teeth in her lip, the vicious change in his voice. The metallic smell of his truck as she skidded deeper into its bed. And the strength in her arms as she beat him. Now she was fifteen years back, rolling over a messy bed with Manny after a job, at once dodging his grasp and fighting to be held. Icy air-conditioning, the Doors on the radio, whiskey and lemon drops on his breath.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charlie woke up early the next morning, fried an egg, and rode her bike to the school to take her tests. Kit had been so distracted the last few days she had completely forgotten about the suspension. Charlie’s show of responsibility was either promising or suspicious, but Kit chose to reward her daughter’s initiative by allowing her to get to and from school unchaperoned. This was partly out of guilt for being neglectful and partly because she just wanted to have a good day, free from strife. It seemed like every time she tried to come down hard on Charlie, it pushed her away. Maybe Kit needed to trust her a little more. Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world if she shared a joint with a crush. She went to Doc’s and put in a half day of work so she could be home when Charlie returned. Kit mucked the stalls and refreshed the floors with sawdust and hay, watered and fed every living thing in the place. Then she prepped a tray of sterilized tools and assisted while Doc gelded a pretty cremello colt.
When she got back she was hot, tired, and hungry but restored from having been useful. She was in such fine fettle she decided to cook up some frozen tamales for her and Charlie. While the tamales steamed, she waited idly, looking at the family photos that were gathered above the dresser. There were her great-grandparents, severe and clad in black, her great-grandmother holding the Bible in her lap. The wedding photo of Eleanor and Amos. And young Eleanor, a vixen dancer, piercing the camera with sass. Kit missed having her aunt there, a living link to these moments in time. Still, it meant something to have this visual reminder that they came from real people. She had not materialized from nothing, even if it felt that way sometimes.
She wanted to mark a spot on the wall for Charlie. Though they had never owned a camera, Kit had purchased photos from the school when she could afford them. She opened the dresser and rummaged through knitting needles and yarn, old receipts, and batteries caked in crystallized acid until she found a bent sheet of eight small photos. Sweet Charlie, thick braids resting on her shoulders, her eyes wide open.
Kit brought the photos into the kitchen, where the bitter smell of burnt fat was strong. She grabbed the top off the pot, releasing billows of steam and smoke, and lifted the colander of tamales onto the counter. Her hands pinkened from the steam, so she hit the tap to slow the burn. As she ran her hands under the faucet, she heard a knock at the door. She turned off the water and listened, heard movement on the porch. There was no car visible from the window. She wiped her hands on her jeans, and cracked open the door.
Manny stood there, smelling of soap and mint, dressed up for a date. Long hair combed back and neat, secondhand slacks, a vigorous shine on his boots. She kept the door cracked and propped her toe behind it, a glance at the gun in case she needed it. After a quick assessment she decided he seemed not apt to start any trouble, at least not now. His eyebrows pinched a look of concern and Kit remembered what a mess she must be.
“Forgive me for showing up uninvited,” he said. “But I heard you got roughed up and had to see you were okay.”
“Me roughed up?”
He laughed. “Fair enough. I guess I don’t have to worry about you. The guy must look like a pi?ata at the end of the party.”
She felt a hint of pleasure at how well she had fought. A younger version of Kit would have basked in his pride. Still, she didn’t like him knowing her business. “How did you hear about that?”
“Pastor Tom told me, heard they took the guy to county hospital because his internal injuries were too much for our doctor out here. That a woman had done it.” He looked her up and down as if checking for something. “Now, who else would I think of but you?”
A woman had done it. Kit wondered what this new Manny would do if he heard the cowboy had tried to rape her.
Manny slid one hand in his pocket, took a step back, and said, “I’ll get out of your hair.”
As he stood there before her, something old and stronger than she cared to struggle with took over. She told herself that she was just curious about him, that he seemed changed, that she only wanted to talk. That she wanted to know what was going through his mind that day, why he’d changed tack and held up that poor woman at the barbecue joint. Lonely was not a word she wanted to use, but that was the feeling that arose when he shifted back on his heels and turned to go. Like it or not, he was the only person that connected her to her past, the only one, besides Charlie, who knew her at all.
“No,” she said, turning to the side to make way. “Come on in.”
Manny hesitated, then scuffed his boots on the welcome mat, ducked his head, and crossed the threshold.
Kit one-handed a pair of beers from the fridge and popped the caps. Manny waited for her to sit at the kitchen table before he seated himself. He kept his eyes soft and slightly downward, and all the while she watched him intently. He did not drink any, but Kit slopped hers back.
Manny nodded his head toward the mess on the counter. “Sorry, did I interrupt your dinner?”
Kit was dying to eat, but not here with him. She wanted to gorge, standing up, with no witnesses. She swallowed the better part of her beer to feel full.
“Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so you can just say what you wanted to say.”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe I’m sitting here right now. You’ve been on my mind for a long time, and now I find I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s a first,” Kit said.
Manny shrugged, smiled.
A rain started up, soft, then so hard it squirted through the screen on the open window. Manny got up to pull the window closed, took a dish towel that was wadded in a ball on the counter to mop up the moisture on the sill. Kit was antsy and didn’t like his stall tactics, shit he would pull to buy time when they were conning.
“Did I ever tell you anything about my folks?” he asked.
Kit was irritated by the opening. Of all the things they had to hash out, his family was not first on her list.