Leaving Unknown (12 page)

S
till no Barney?” Vi asked.

“No.” I nibbled on a bowl of pistachios, ostensibly for customers. I’d mowed through most of them myself.

“How long has it been?”

“I don’t know. A little while.” I considered two pictures featuring Ruby dancing with Bruce, and Ruby laughing with the Cowbelles. It was Ruby’s birthday.

“A little while?? It’s been over two months!” Vi’s exclamation recaptured my attention.

“Really?” Surely it hadn’t.

“How can you not notice? You’re stuck in the sticks! Aren’t you climbing the walls?”

“There’s a lot going on,” I defended. “I’m training for the marathon, taking hula lessons, and Tuesday and I started a
book club. And I spend lots of time in the darkroom.” But still. Where had two months gone?

“The pictures you sent are amazing, Maeve.” The sincere admiration in my sister’s voice took my breath away.

“It’s hard to take a bad photo here.” I went for casual. “I’ve been getting lots of jobs. I’ve got my first wedding in two weeks. And we sell framed candids at the store.” My attention strayed back to the prints of Ruby. Child had helped me frame them with rich red wood and a pewter glaze inner frame, with double mattes. The materials had been heart-stoppingly expensive, but the finished product was beautiful.

“I’m impressed,” Vi said. “How’s Samuel?”

“He’s like a male version of you—he watches what I eat, he slathers me with sunscreen, he makes sure I don’t train every day, he turns on a light when I read, he keeps me from stepping into traffic when I walk and talk at the same time. He takes good care of me.”

“I like to hear that!” she said. After a pause, she ventured, “Why don’t you stay?”

“What?” Her question startled me.

“You seem to like it. You’ve got a boyfriend and a bestie and a job. Why not?”

I frowned at the phone. I couldn’t stay in Unknown. “Because I’m going to California,” I insisted.

“Plans change.”

“I’m not giving up my plan because of car trouble!” I was tougher than that.

“What makes it giving up?” Vi asked.

“Stopping halfway would definitely qualify as flaky,” I protested. It occurred to me that I hadn’t emailed with Laura in over a week. We had been in regular contact, but recently I’d let the correspondence lapse.

“It’s not like you saw something shiny and got distracted,” Vi countered. “You can change what you want to do.”

“No,” I insisted. “I can’t. I want to go to California. I’m making the best of a bad situation.”

“Really?” said Vi. “Because it sounds to me like you’re having the time of your life.”

Her words left me unsettled, which amplified when Beth walked in. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to warm to her. I did have to admire the perfection of her manicure. On the rare occasions I could sit still long enough to get one, it never made it out of the salon unblemished.

“Hey Beth.” I waved.

“Working hard?” Her tone set me on my back foot.

“That was my sister.” I didn’t know why I was giving her an explanation. The store was empty.

“Comparing your latest
Cosmo
quiz results?”

“I don’t read
Cosmo
.” My defense was automatic.

“No? How ever did you learn to giggle and flip your braids and coo so that Bruce or Ronnie come running to carry the heavy boxes?” Her tone was arch. Was she joking?

She shook her head, looking at me. “It’s like the women’s movement never happened. Did you misunderstand and think they were talking about a Tampax product when they said feminism came about because women shed blood for the right to vote?”

She didn’t have manicured nails. She had raptor’s talons. My mouth was so unhinged I could have unhooked my jaw and swallowed a wombat.

This new Becky-Thatcher-turned-Ms.-Snide kept going. It occurred to me this was the first time we’d ever been alone. “Don’t think Noah isn’t onto you. He hired you because Tuesday begged him. You’re not up to his standards, which I believe he told you to your face when you started. He was hoping
you’d find something more suitable once he’d given you a leg up.” She paused for effect and a cold smile. “That’s just an expression, by the way. Noah is too nice to bring it up again, but fortunately, he’s got me. You should consider your long-term plans. I’m sure there’s a Hooters hiring somewhere.”

She strode to Noah’s office leaving me with an odd combination of fury at my silence and anxiety over the truth of what she said. Even the sight of Samuel crossing the square to join me for lunch didn’t cheer me as it usually did.

Noah emerged with the weekly sales report and a frown.

“Is this right?” He gestured at the sheet, and I remembered.

“Oh no!” I used my brightest voice. “My mistake. It doesn’t include the French Impressionist coffee-table book.” I nudged the oversized tome completely out of sight under the counter with my toe. It was the store’s albatross. We were
never
going to sell it. “We sold it yesterday!”

It’d cost me a lot to fake the sale, but seeing his worry lines ease was worth it. He smiled. “That’s good news. Last week would’ve been in the red otherwise.”

“Mmmmm-hmm,” I agreed. “Big sale.”

“I’m surprised. It’s been hanging around like an unwanted in-law for over a year. I don’t know what Beth was thinking, ordering it. Who wants to spend $350 on a book? We’re not a glossy-art-book kind of town, no matter what she’d like.”

“Tourists.” I pretended to share his bemusement. I’d faked the purchase to slip extra money in the register. I couldn’t bear Noah’s distress when the store underperformed. When sales were poor, he mourned the books not being read. This week we’d only sold two paperbacks. I also didn’t want to risk Noah closing the shop. He made plenty of money from his Boy books.

“One more, and we’re out of stock,” I said. I’d slip the book back on the shelf later. Maybe someone would be crazy enough in the brains to buy it for real.

“We only had the one.” He looked confused.

“Nope! I found another buried in the stockroom.” I gave a shrug. I didn’t want to keep the thing. It weighed three hundred pounds.

“I’m sure there weren’t two.” His frown deepened.

I began to sweat. Noah didn’t let a trick get by him with inventory. “All evidence to the contrary!” I sang, then froze when I realized I was doing a pretty good imitation of braid flipping. I hated Beth with passion that burned white hot.

“Hmm.” He didn’t look convinced. “Well, June will be a better month.”

I barely heard him. Was Beth right? Was Noah cueing me to move on? “Who knows if I’ll be here?” I snapped. “Me and my flipping braids might be on our merry way.” Noah looked taken aback. I was surprised at my vehemence, but I’d already been on edge about Vi’s presumption I’d be so easily sidetracked. It was the opposite of what I was trying to show my family. Yet here I was, financially no closer to ransoming Elsie than when I’d arrived. It
was
like I’d gotten distracted by something shiny.

“I
am
capable of following through with my plans,” I persisted. “I have the marathon.”

“I never meant to suggest otherwise,” Noah appeased. “For the record, I have never once seen you flip your braids. May I? It sounds dramatic.” He was teasing me. I ignored him.

“In fact, I’m going for a run now.” I stepped from behind the counter. I wanted to think about things, make a plan of action. “If you recall, we agreed that I could take breaks for my training?”

“Of course.” Noah continued to placate. “I’ll mind the front.”

“Good.” I paused. “You can handle the new menu items?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Another hesitation. “Bruce will be by to help rearrange the shelves.”

“Okey doke.”

“Just follow the diagram,” I instructed. “Don’t change anything. It’s all there.”

“Yes ma’am.” Amused now.

“Fine.” I walked to the door. “I’ll have my cell phone. Just in case.”

“Right-o. Better hustle, Braids, before the midday sun.”

“Right,” I said.

Later, as I pounded down the familiar curves of Emerald to Purple to the country lane between the Goldbergs’ fields, I was blind to the beauty around me. I was concentrating on California. I decided to research studio jobs involving photography, but my thoughts kept getting interrupted as I worried whether Bruce would be able to read my chart and move the shelves just right.

I
was seething.

“I couldn’t resist,” Beth had exclaimed. “So I bought them. Aren’t they great?”

They
were four framed prints depicting pastel scenes of Victorian children playing on beaches or with tops or hoops or whatever stupid thing Victorian boys dressed up like girls used to do. They were
not
great. They were tacky and ugly and just being near them diluted my own exceptional good taste.

“They’ll be
perfect
in the children’s nook,” her narcissistic rant continued. She paused and gave me an assessing look. “It’s just that, Maeve, well, with your taste…” She let the thought trail off and gave me a rueful “I get that you can’t all be as lovely as I am” shrug. Her gaze swept from my Converse low tops to my
That’s How I Roll
T-shirt. “You’re what, Maeve? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

“Twenty-six,” I ground out.

“Oh.” Delicate brows arched; bow lips formed a perfect
O
. With a bemused shake of her head, she walked out, French manicure smoothing a blonde tress, lavender Theory suit perfectly hugging her perfect bottom. Which I wanted to bury my foot in.

I tried to conceal my fuming, but couldn’t help thumping books down harder than necessary as I muttered.

“The Little Read Picture Book is
mine
.”
Thump, thump.
“
I’m
the one who came up with the idea.
I’m
the one who dragged those heavy-ass shelves all over and lost brain cells painting them rainbow colors. I nearly
died
making the Little Read Picture Book.” This was almost true. I’d accidentally tipped over a bookshelf and trapped myself in the space under where it hit the wall. I’d been there for two hours, until Bruce came in for lunch.

“Who does she think she is, foisting ugly-ass, mass-produced art on me?”
Thump.
The cheap prints were a far cry from the classic children’s book covers I’d planned to frame. “It’s a
children’s book
nook. The art should be about
books
.”
Slam.

“Hey, easy on the furniture.” Noah appeared behind me after I banged the cabinet.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I wasn’t in the mood. I retreated to the café and was clunking coffee mugs onto the counter when I broke one.

Noah had followed. “Cease fire!” He held up his hands. “I didn’t think I’d pissed you off yet today. What’s up?” His eye fell on the pictures. “And what in God’s name are those awful things?”

My mood lightened a tad. I told him.

“Oh no. No. Those things are not hanging in my store. They give me cavities.”

I blew out my bangs in relief. “I thought we could use chil
dren’s book covers. You know, framing the books in shadow boxes.”

“Sure. You can grab some from the back.” He was distracted by the pictures. “Is that boy wearing a dress?”

“I thought maybe used copies with the original cover art. I’ve been finding them on the internet.” I reached under the counter and pulled out some vintage copies. “I have a stack of them.” Noah returned his attention to me.

“How long have you been doing this?” He lifted an old copy of the first volume of the Hardy Boys series almost reverently. I couldn’t read his look.

“A while. It’s tough because Amazon.com doesn’t always post a photo so I can’t be sure of the book’s condition. I’ve had to send some back.”

“Why didn’t you go down to the used-book store in Nogales?”

His question sparked my ire over another sensitive subject. I turned my back on him.
Slam. Thump.

“I. Can’t. Go. To. Nogales. Because. You. Don’t. Give. Me. The. Six. Days. Off. I’d. Need. To. Walk. There.” I bit out my words. Considering my luck, I had it pretty good in Unknown. Since Vi’s call, I’d been chafing at my utter inability to leave its confines. Tuesday went to Tucson at least once a week and returned with exotic groceries like saffron, havarti and
Us Weekly
, and weaving tales of stadium-seating movie theaters and dance clubs. The most exotic I could get on foot in Unknown was Fu King Chinese.

“Get your purse,” Noah said.

“What?” I turned.

“You’ve been here what, two months? And you haven’t been out of town? You must be going stir crazy. Let’s go. Road trip.”

“Don’t forget the bird.” I said automatically.

“What?”

“Never mind. We can’t just go, in the middle of the day,” I protested.

“Despite the way you fan about the place, last I checked, I still own it. Which gives me the authority to close it. Even in the middle of the day.”

I was already halfway to the door.

Ten minutes later we were heading south to Nogales, my head hanging out the window like a Labrador. I was so excited to be riding in a car, to be going somewhere, I didn’t care that the wind was tangling my loose hair. I was amazed when only half an hour later we pulled into the good-sized city of Nogales, on the border of Arizona and Mexico. It was bustling with traffic and humans and had a least twenty stoplights and a McDonald’s.

“Lunch first, or bookstore?” Noah asked.

After the sleepy tempo of Unknown, I was a little overwhelmed by the activity. Pedestrians hurrying between shops and life-threatening street crossings, trucks and cars honking, people zipping through traffic on bikes. “Um…”

Noah read my face. “Lunch,” he pronounced. “With beer. Let’s go to Mexico.” He turned left and I shrieked.

“Noah!” The sign over our lane declared B
ORDER
X
ING
M
EXICO
O
NLY
. I was terrified we were trapped on a course that would drain us into Mexico. I didn’t know much about South of the Border, but I’d read
All the Pretty Horses
by Cormac McCarthy and didn’t like it. Noah laughed, then parked in an ordinary parking lot overshadowed by the intimidating-looking government checkpoint.

“Very funny.” I blew out my bangs and got out of the car.

“I’m serious.” He led me toward the imposing fence and a sign that proclaimed I
NTERNATIONAL
U.S.-M
EXICO
B
ORDER
. “Let’s go to Mexico for lunch. A friend of mine has a place.”

I hung back. “I can’t go to Mexico.”

“Why not?”

“Because the gates are scary as hell” didn’t seem like a good answer. “I don’t have a passport, sport.”

“You don’t need one. Got a driver’s license?”

“Ye-es. Are you sure?” I found the idea of casually strolling to another country for lunch unsettling. It should be more complicated. The high walls and dangerous-looking fencing supported this.

“We could go over to Morley Avenue and take the underground drug tunnel if you prefer.” He grinned.

“Don’t even joke like that,” I hissed, looking for Border Patrol and DEA agents to swoop down. Vi would not welcome the phone call from a Mexican prison. Did Mexican prisons allow phone calls?

“Maeve, I do this all the time.” He took my hand and tugged me. I felt a tingle shoot up my arm. Then I got mad at myself. Why was I breathless around Noah? Samuel was a marvelous boyfriend and no slouch in the bedroom. I was satisfied.

Noah’s voice recalled me to the scary-looking chute we were poised to enter. “Let’s see your license.”

I handed it to him without thinking, eyeing the border crossing. Perhaps I should ask the guard, just to make sure. The area seemed weirdly abandoned. The few men in white shirts, apparently U.S. Border Patrol, looked anything but militant.

“Nice do,” Noah teased. “Rocking the Sinead look?”

I snatched my license back from him. I was completely bald in the picture. “It was an ill-judged impulse. My stylist assured me I had a ‘shapely skull.’” I laughed it off. “But my sister was right. My shaved head looked like Gargamel. I wore a lot of hats. But they don’t let you wear anything on your head at the DMV.” Oh, the fight I’d gotten into that day, already irritable after an exhausting hour in line.

“I prefer it this way.” He tugged a tress and smiled at me.
“I’m getting attached to those braids of yours.” I was going to make a smart comment about how he’d initially rejected my braids and funky socks, but I didn’t. For a moment we held like that, eyes locked. When he tugged my hand again and said, “The tacqueria awaits,” it felt like I could safely follow him anywhere. And just like that I became an international traveler for the first time.

“I have enough to decorate the whole nook now,” I gloated as I hugged my bag. “That place was the mother lode!”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Noah smiled. “I’m happy you included the Spanish version of
Cucú
.” He named the Mexican children’s book I’d bought. I flushed with pleasure.

“It’s such a part of the culture down here. It’d be wrong not to,” I said.

“Ah ha.” He laughed. “A convert!” It was true, Noah had practically had to drag me back across the border. I’d
loved
Nogales, Sonora. Stepping through the gate had literally been a portal to another world. My mind was aswirl with the chaos and color of the town. I’d run out of film. I’d insisted on exploring every turning, chasing pictures up alleys, until Noah had commanded that I stop or we’d be placing that phone call to Vi for bail or hostage money. Not every part of Nogales was suited to tourists. But the center teemed with friendly people, colorful goods and joyful noise. In addition to my books, I boasted a fabulous turquoise ring, a carved wooden day-of-the-dead skull, a brightly woven belt for Tuesday, pottery bowls decorated with chilies for Ruby, a deliciously full stomach and a slightly sunburned nose.

I squinted in the sunlight. I was having a perfect day. I didn’t want to go home.

“I don’t want to go home,” Noah said. “I’m having too much fun.” He slung a casual arm over my shoulders.

“What’s in mind, partner in crime?” I masked my over-delight with a bland tone.

He looked around. “How about we get inked?” he said. For a moment I thought he’d said “naked,” and my pulse shot into my mouth, pounding madly. Then I spied the tattoo parlor next door and felt like an idiot. The sun was definitely getting to me. We looked in the window. A bald man was getting eyeballs tattooed on the back of his head.

“Got any?” Noah asked playfully. He pulled on my jeans belt loop and pretended to peek down my backside. “Anywhere interesting?”

“No.” I giggled, swatting him. “You?”

“I think it’s time. Today’s the day. Let’s get you a tramp stamp.”

“Where’s yours?”

“My treat, baby. Whatever you want.”

“You avoided the question. Again.”

“How about a butterfly? I’ll pick the location. And I’ll supervise closely, to make sure they don’t make a mistake.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop changing the subject. Have you got one?”

He contemplated me. “No, not a butterfly. How about a Jolly Roger?”

I faced him, hands on hips. “You’re the Roger Dodger. You totally have a tattoo. Confess.”

He looked away. “I have one. I got it a long time ago.”

“Really? What is it? Where is it? Where were you when you got it? What made you decide to get one?” I was fascinated that relatively straight Noah had this racy secret.

His look was superior. “That’s very personal. A gentleman never tattoos and tells.”

I felt oddly cheated that Noah had a tattoo and I didn’t. “I always wanted one.” I was serious. I turned back to look through the window. “I still do.”

“Why haven’t you gotten one? Afraid of the needle?”

“Lord no. I couldn’t decide what to get. It’s so permanent. What would I love enough to live with for the rest of my life? I’m not exactly great with commitment.” Noah knew enough of my history.

A tiny frown line appeared on his forehead. I put a finger on it. “Watch that,” I warned. “You’ll get a dent. Not a tattoo I’d want forever.” I didn’t want to talk about tattoos anymore. My desire to have one, paired with my inability to pick a design, made me fretful.

“So what would you want forever?” he persisted. I had an uneasy feeling the conversation wasn’t about tattoos anymore. I didn’t want to go there.

“What’s next?” I changed the topic.

“We could get something to eat.” Noah caved in.

I rubbed my belly. “I’m not sure I could. I’m full of Rosa’s delicious tacos.” We’d stuffed ourselves in Nogales, me surprising myself with a lack of concern about the ingredients or sanitary conditions. Being in another country was like having a holiday from my neuroses.

“You sure put ’em away.” His tone was admiring. “I figured you needed the strength to finish your inquisition.”

I’d been fascinated by Noah’s friend and peppered Rosa with questions about her life, and her family and the tacqueria. She hadn’t been able to squeeze in a single question. “I like to get to know people.” I shrugged.

“Thank God she ran out of Jarritos quava soda or we’d be there still, hearing about Cesar’s son Juan’s daughter Ana’s boy Hector…”

“Let’s go there,” I interrupted, spying a place across the street.

“Uh, Maeve…” Noah called after me as I headed toward the decidedly seedy bar. Nothing could stop me today. I was
Maeve the Intrepid Explorer. I was a Force. Noah had a way of making me feel competent.

“It’ll be fun.” I pushed open the door, paper covering the small round window, and blinked at the interior darkness just as I’d blinked coming out of the bookstore into the sun. The cowboy-hatted bartender stopped polishing glasses, and weather-beaten men with bulging forearms and faces like leather swiveled on their stools. Beer posters curled off cheap brown siding, and plaid with a side of Merit cigarettes was the name of the game. I slid onto cracked red vinyl. Noah hastened to the stool next to mine.

“Two Sol,” I ordered, feeling ultra-Mexican. The bartender grunted. He put two bottles in front of me. “Got limes?” Surprisingly, he did. They were produced, I instructed Noah in proper lime procedure, and we clinked. “Cheers, Big Ears. Thanks for a great day.”

“The pleasure was mine.” His look made it the truth. “If I thought I’d have to crowbar you out of Mexico, that was nothing compared to the bookstore. Considering you work in mine, I was a little offended they had to close to get you out of there.”