I wondered if I’d ever find someone who cared for me like that? And if I did, would I ever let him show it?
Mama’s accident, or her pre-dinner snack, didn’t ruin her appetite.
All that was left from her fried catfish was a pile of bones. She’d plowed through grits, coleslaw, and hush puppies, too. Now, she tucked into her first slice of after-dinner pie. A second slice waited on deck. With her fork almost to her mouth, the morsel stalled in midair.
“Well, look at you! Aren’t you sweet.’’ She smiled at the big-bottomed cowgirl, who had come bearing more dessert.
“I thought this might make you feel better after that awful spill you took.’’ The cowgirl glanced uncertainly at the brownie she was carrying.
“Well, honey, sweets are just the ticket when you’ve had the kind of day I had. You never can have too many, that’s what I always say,’’ Mama reassured her.
Putting down her fork, she grabbed the brownie and plate from the cowgirl. She slid it onto an upended log beside her, next to the pie and three homemade chocolate chip cookies. If folks kept bringing treats, Mama could open a bakery right here in the woods.
Visitors had streamed by continuously. Some cared; most were just curious to see how she’d fared in her ill-fated race on Shotgun. We heard the horse was okay, except for a few bee stings.
Later, a songwriter who bills himself as a performer of Florida Cracker Soul was slated to sing and play guitar. Sal and my sisters had gone to scope out seats. I was keeping Mama company until she finished eating—which, at this rate, might be at midnight.
She invited her latest well-wisher to sit with us by the fire in Sal’s vacant camp chair.
“I hate to be nosy.’’ The cowgirl settled into the seat. “But we’ve been hearing all sorts of awful things about what’s been happening to you or your daughters.’’
She glanced at me. I made my face a mask. I wasn’t about to discuss our business with this stranger. Mama, of course, had no such reluctance.
“Oh, my yes!’’ she said, taking a quick swallow of pie. “It’s been one strange thing after another ever since my middle daughter Mace and I found poor Lawton’s body. This here is Mace.’’ Mama leaned over to brush my bangs out of my eyes.
I jerked away, and then exchanged a nod with the cowgirl.
Mama began to tick off the events of the past few days on her fingers: “First, someone takes a knife and shreds poor Mace’s sleeping bag and her tent.’’
The cowgirl looked at me and gasped. I stared into the fire.
“Oh, don’t worry, honey. Mace wasn’t in it at the time.’’ Mama held up another finger.
“Second, Mace’s horse got hit with a cow whip, and ran her right into the path of a semi-truck hauling grapefruit.’’
“Oranges, Mama,’’ I corrected.
The woman looked at me, eyes as round as silver dollars. “I heard it was Trey Bramble’s girlfriend that did that,’’ she said.
When I didn’t reply, Mama cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Ex-girlfriend, honey. Her name’s Austin. And that little tramp claims it was an accident.’’
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Mama. She ignored me. I knew it was useless to ask her to stop. She’s the Niagara Falls of gossip.
Just then, I saw Sal, Marty, and Maddie heading our way from the other side of the fire. Happily, I’d be relieved of my nursemaid duties. I pushed myself up from the ground. “I’m going for a walk.’’
Mama gave me a small wave, and then raised another finger for the cowgirl. “Third, my youngest, Marty, nearly got bitten by a rattlesnake.’’
The cowgirl got closer, eyes gleaming. “And that good-looking guy from Miamuh killed it just in the nick of time, right?’’ she asked.
I tried so hard to keep my mouth shut, I bit a chunk out of the inside of my jaw.
“Oh, heavens no, honey,’’ I heard Mama saying as I stalked away from the fire. “Carlos is afraid of snakes.’’
At least she didn’t give him the credit. I paused to see what she’d say next.
“And then No. 4, as you know, was that terrifying ride I took today on Shotgun.’’ Lowering her voice dramatically, she launched into her well-rehearsed monologue. “That horse and I were just standing there as pretty as you please, when all of a sudden . . .’’
I kicked a rotten log as I left. It felt good to see it shatter into bits.
“Where you going, Mace?’’ Marty called after me.
“Oh, let her go, honey. She’s been in a sour mood all night,’’ Mama said, raising her voice to carry my way. “I mean, really. I’m the one who should be cranky. I’m the one nursing cuts and bruises and a broken ankle.’’
“Sprained ankle!’’ I yelled over my shoulder.
The night was clear and getting colder. I zipped my fleece vest over my long-sleeved turtleneck. The temperature wasn’t expected to plummet like it had earlier in the week, but the air still had a nip. I might be grateful for our crowded tent tonight, even if Maddie did snore like a diesel engine.
Using my flashlight, I collected some small rocks and found a log to sit on by a cow pond. Stars twinkled. A night hawk swooped low in search of prey. I started tossing the pebbles into the water. With each plopp, I counted another reason I had to be pissed off. The biggest reason, of course, was that my family and I had somehow become targets. That was the hardest one to understand. I didn’t know who was after us. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t know how to stop them.
But I had plenty more reasons to be upset, and plenty more rocks.
Plopp: My inability to say or do the right thing around Carlos. Plopp: Mama’s compulsion to tell our family business to anyone with ears. Plopp: My perverse desire to keep things private, but to get the credit due me as long as Mama was going to blab.
Everyone assumed Carlos had rescued Marty, which pissed me off. The man had never even seen a Florida Cracker cow whip before this trip. Then he compounded his offense by trying to push me out of the way when Mama got hurt. Of course, most normal women would be grateful for the help of a man who seemed to care about her family. Most women, that is, who aren’t crazy control freaks. I hated the way he always took over, like I was some weakling.
Wrapped up in a self-righteous funk, I didn’t hear someone approaching until a voice made me jump.
“Now, there’s what I always loved about you, Mace: That sunny smile.’’
“Very funny, Carlos.’’ I could feel the frown wrinkling my brow.
“Your mother told me you’d gone off to sulk in the woods. She told me to look for water, and I’d find you.’’ He cupped my chin and tipped my face up to his. “C’mon, niña, it can’t be that bad.’’
“Oh, it’s bad all right.’’ I knocked his hand away. “And don’t call me niña.’’
He lowered himself to the log beside me. “Okay, I’ll call you niño, then. But anyone who speaks Spanish is going to wonder why I’m calling you boy instead of girl.’’ He brought his face close to mine, breath warm on my cheek. “No one would ever mistake you for a boy,’’ he whispered.
A shudder of desire nearly knocked me off the log. My skin burned where the side of his thigh touched mine. My mind spun with fantasies of me tearing off his clothes; of him pushing me onto the ground and having his way. For a control freak, I had an appalling lack of control over how much I wanted him. I felt like I was on fire. I lowered the zipper on my vest.