Inner Diva (19 page)

A strangled sob escaped from Luisa. Monica
pulled the little girl close, tucking her head against her own
chest. Monica craned her neck to watch Carlos as best she could,
while blocking Luisa’s view. Monica fought to hold back tears.

“Where you been, Garcia? Haven’t seen you in
awhile.”

Carlos threw punches, one-two-three. The man
who’d dropped him sunk to the concrete, temporarily debilitated.
The long-haired man approached and landed one fist in Carlos’
stomach. Carlos doubled over and heaved, saliva spitting from his
mouth. He straightened and followed up with a boot to the
long-haired man’s midsection. Then he delivered vicious kicks to
his attacker’s gut again and again.

Carlos’s chest heaved from exertion. Monica
felt helpless penned in the locked car. Her pulse raced and she
felt her hands and fingers tingle with panic, a sure sign of
hyperventilation. But she couldn’t faint – she had to keep Luisa
safe and calm, and she needed to be there for Carlos. In the
distance, she caught the faint wail of a police siren and prayed it
was heading their way.

“What’s the matter, Garcia? Can’t talk?” The
men circled and she couldn’t view the attacker, but she could see
Carlos. He looked calm and unafraid, like he did this every
day.

“You think I can’t kick your ass?” The one
with the knife hurled insults and yet Carlos kept his emotions
under control.

Monica watched as Carlos leaned over and
quickly straightened, the discarded screwdriver now in his hand.
The greasy-haired man sliced the air with his knife and Carlos
swung the screwdriver in to block.

The man jabbed, Carlos whirled out of the way
of the blade and swung his own arm toward his attacker. His weapon
hit its mark, plunging into the man’s shoulder. The assailant
groaned but kept coming. He rushed at Carlos like a swordsman,
wielding the knife. Carlos made a lightning fast dodge, escaping
the razor sharp slices of the blade.

Monica held her hand over her mouth,
preventing cries that would scare Luisa even more. The girl sobbed,
her face hidden against Monica’s chest. “What’s going on? Is Carlos
okay?”

Monica shushed her and smoothed her hair. She
whispered reassuring words, hoping to God Carlos would be all
right. Carlos was in a fight for his life and she had just
discovered he loved her. And she loved him. What if he got hurt? Or
worse?

The men drifted in front of the car now, her
view blocked again. Panic cut through her own chest. The volume of
the distant sirens increased steadily. The police were coming.
Carlos just had to hold the attacker off for a few more
minutes.

A man’s painful shriek sliced through the
darkness. A body fell to the ground, landing in a heap on the hard
pavement. She had no idea if it was Carlos’s voice – just a primal
expression of agony. She closed her eyes and prayed it wasn’t
Carlos lying there, moaning in pain on a cold parking lot, blood
flowing from a knife wound.

A siren now filled the immediate air and
flashing lights illuminated the night. Men’s voices shouted. Luisa
sobbed quietly in Monica’s arms. “The police are here! They’ll help
us.”

Monica unlocked the door. Clutching Luisa,
she slid out of the car. Four police officers, two cars, their
lights blinking, the sirens wailing so loudly that even with raised
voices, she couldn’t make out what was being said. The officers
pulled the two attackers to their feet, handcuffed them and pushed
them into the back seat of a squad car.

“Looks like another Latin Dragons hit,” one
policeman called to his partner. “Come on, guys, you’re coming with
us.”

“It’s our lucky night,” the other officer
said to the men as he buckled them into the back seat. “We’ve been
looking for you since that slaying in July.”

“We didn’t have anything to do with it,” a
muffled voice from inside the car said.

“Sure. Tell it to the D.A.”

Monica turned and searched frantically for
Carlos and spotted him, lying a few feet away. She ran to him.

Blood seeped out of a rip in the arm of his
cotton shirt. Monica stopped short and gasped, her hand clamped
over her mouth. That was the last thing Luisa needed to see, so she
forced herself to turn her back on him to spare his sister the
devastating sight.

“Ma’am? Could you tell us what happened
here?”

She did her best to describe the scene to the
police officer, patting Luisa on the back. She kept an eye on
Carlos while an EMT tended to his wound, soaking it in antiseptic
and wrapping it tight with a gauze bandage. They lifted him onto a
stretcher and belted him on.

So much was going on at once and Monica
reeled from the shock. Her eyes had never seen violence like this.
When the policeman finished with her, she dashed to the ambulance
to Carlos’s side and held his hand.

He opened his eyes and managed a weak smile.
Relief flooded through her. He winked tiredly and squeezed her
hand. “I’ll be all right,
carina
. You take care of Luisa,
okay?”

She nodded. They pushed him into the vehicle.
She held on as long as she could until she was forced to let his
hand slip from her grip. She asked the EMT what hospital they would
take him to. She’d be there as soon as she got Luisa home and
informed Mrs. Garcia what happened.

She climbed into the back of the police car.
Luisa scrambled onto her lap. The little girl still cried and
Monica told her over and over again it would be okay. That Carlos
would be fine. They would all be fine.

She prayed it was true.

Chapter Eleven

Monica pushed open the door and paused in the
doorway, her gaze resting on the solitary form in the hospital bed
across the darkened room. A clear tube ran from a hanging bag of
liquid into Carlos’s arm, taped in place. His eyes rested shut and
she swallowed, her imagination running away with her. Had there
been complications tonight before she arrived?

Her fingers dropped away from the door. She
slipped in quietly, not wanting to disturb his rest, yet desperate
to make a noise that would cause his eyes to pop open and prove he
was alive, awake, healthy.

She came to his bedside and gripped his hand.
It was warm and his strong pulse pumped just beneath the surface.
At her squeeze, his eyes fluttered open and his face settled into a
contented smile.

“Hi.” His voice cracked.

“How are you feeling?” Monica rolled her eyes
at her question. How would anyone feel after having a knife thrust
into his gut?

“I’ve been better. And worse.”

He’d been worse, most likely in those dozens
of street fights he’d had in his younger days. Her stomach muscles
clenched.

“
Carina
,” he said, attempting to
connect with her eyes. She turned away and wiped her errant tears.
“I’m fine. Really.”

She shook her head. She had to get a grip on
herself. It had been a long night.

“Listen.” He tugged on her hand to pull her
closer. Not satisfied, he put a finger under her chin and guided
her head so she was forced to face him. She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I
know you hated to see that. But I’m going to be fine. The doctor
says no lasting damage. I’ll be good as new.” He gave a tentative
smile, raised his eyebrows – a question she had no answer for.

“You’re going to be fine?” Despite her
determination to keep her emotions under control, she flinched when
she heard the hitch in her own voice.

He nodded, a deceptively carefree grin in
place.

“Carlos, you could’ve been killed.”

“Nah. He barely got me.”

The teasing tone in his voice belied the
terror she’d felt deep inside when the blade had gone in. However,
even Monica was caught by surprise when her next words came out in
a scream. “Stop it! This isn’t a joke, Carlos. You have a knife
wound in your gut. That’s about as serious as it gets.”

Carlos went silent, looked at the door for a
moment, then back to Monica. He pushed the thin cotton cover back
and swung his legs over the side of the flimsy bed. She rushed to
his side, and pushed on his shoulders to return him to a reclined
position.

The door opened and a nurse bustled in. “No,
no, Mr. Garcia. Get back in bed. We’re not ready to release you
yet. The doctor wants to see you again in the morning. Come on
now.”

Carlos sighed and let his gaze rest of
Monica’s face. He paused a moment, then swung his legs with
controlled movement back into the bed. Monica whispered, “I’m
sorry,” as the nurse passed her on her way out the door.

Monica pulled a chair close to the bed and
sat. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing to deal with.
It’s all over but the healing. I’m fine.” He reached for her face
but she swung away.

Her pulse was racing so fast she felt tingly
in her hands, dizzy. She balled her hands into fists and shut her
eyes. Shut out the sterile reminder of the need for medical care.
“I know you think I’m nuts for being upset. You keep saying it’s
nothing, what happened tonight. But it’s not nothing to me.”

Carlos leaned forward and he grunted with
pain. “Monica, it just happened. I’m going to be fine.”

It just happened. That got to the heart of
the problem. It just happened – to him. But it had never happened –
to her. In fact, a violent knife fight on an abandoned parking lot
had never happened to anyone else she knew, besides Carlos. Not her
mother or sister, thank God. Not Barbie’s husband. None of her
friends had ever had to test their survival skills in a fight for
their life.

Carlos was the only one.

These guys knew Carlos. They’d once been gang
members together – joined by a fraternity of fighting and violence.
She released a deep breath. He was so different than anyone she’d
ever known. Ever dated.

Ever made love to.

She shuddered and he noticed. He leaned
forward again to pull her against him for an awkward hug. “Baby,
are you okay?”

She shook her head. “I’m so confused.”

He lifted her chin with his finger and when
she faced him, he kissed her, his lips warm and familiar on hers.
It would be so easy to sink into the kiss and ignore the fact that
something was now very different than the last time they’d
kissed.

She pulled away, stood and took a few steps.
She put her hand on her lips, brushing away the delicious taste and
scent of him.

“
Carina
, talk to me.”

She couldn’t do that. She had no idea what to
say. She had no idea even what to think. What to feel.

“It’s late. I’m tired. I’m going home to get
some rest.” She backed to the door.

He nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

She mumbled something, tripped over a foot
and righted herself.

“Opening Night.”

She nodded and pushed open the door.

“
Te amo
.” His voice was barely more
than a whisper, but she heard it. And wished she hadn’t.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, despite
the chilly December temperatures. It hit her the moment she awoke –
this was the day her dream would come true. The day she’d been
waiting for her entire life. Her inner diva would emerge today for
all the world to see.

Well, at least the portion of St. Louis who
attended the play tonight.

She sighed and pushed her covers back. She’d
barely slept. A fuzzy feeling invaded her head; her eyes weren’t
cooperating. She stumbled to the kitchen, eager for a cup of
coffee.

A cup, nothing. She needed a whole pot.

Monica prepared an English muffin and waited
for the coffee to brew. As she munched on the bread, her thoughts
whirred to the events of last night. As much as she loved being
with Carlos, she had to confront the unwanted reality of his
violent past. Sure, they shared movies and pie and dressed-up dance
shows now. But his past had apprehended him, unbidden, and caught
up with him in a horrifying confrontation. And if it happened once,
it could happen again. Time and time again.

She loved him, but she couldn’t come to terms
with this element of danger his past brought to their relationship.
Could she love the man he was today while hating the parts of his
past that brought him to where he was today?

Talking about his past in a gang had been
enough to scare her. But witnessing it first hand was terrifying.
If things had ended differently last night -- if Carlos hadn’t
warded them off, it could have just as easily been her or Luisa
recovering from a knife wound. Or much worse.

Tears she’d held off all night forced their
way to her eyes. She sniffed and brushed a napkin across her face.
This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t believe it was true, but
she’d come to a decision. She knew what she could and couldn’t live
with.

Being a part of the brutal world of violent
streets didn’t fit into her life. How could their worlds possibly
blend?

Her breath hitched. He’d risked his life to
protect her, and she was grateful for it. But they were all wrong
for each other. How could they ever reconcile the drastic
differences between them? She wasn’t willing to live with the
possibility every day that the man she loved would be injured by
violence, or worse. As much as it killed her to do it, she knew
what she had to do.

She went to her desk and pulled out a sheet
of stationery and a pen. She scribbled a note, folded it and stuck
it in an envelope. Later, she drove to the hospital.

She pulled into the vast parking lot and
found a space in the far corner. She turned off the engine and sat,
gripping the envelope. She took deep breaths trying to get her
racing pulse under control. She looked across the expanse of
pavement and images from last night flooded her mind – the flashing
lights of the ambulance cutting through the dark night, sirens
piercing the solitude. The pain and devastation of the knife
wound.