My Name Is Venus Black(87)

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.

“I told Tony when he first got Leo that this was a stupid thing to do. Shit. Why didn’t he listen to me? But no. He’s gotta do whatever Tessa wants him to do. He can’t say no to his precious princess.”

Tessa is shocked by Marco’s words and the resentment they reveal. She shivers. But she knows he’s right, too. It’s all her fault. She swings through the doors into the kitchen. “I couldn’t help but hear,” she says.

They both look startled. “I know it’s my fault, Uncle Marco,” Tessa says tearfully. “You’re right. I begged him. I made him do it. I should be the one who goes to jail! You need to tell the police!”

“Oh, baby,” says Maureen. She opens her arms, and when Tessa doesn’t come, she grabs her into an embrace. “Marco didn’t mean it. Come here, baby.”

It’s too early in the morning to cry, but it’s too late to stop now. Tessa sobs on Maureen’s shoulder as Marco lays his hand on her head. “I’m so sorry, Tessa,” he says. “I didn’t mean it, I’m just so worried…I say stupid things. You know how much your uncle Marco loves you.”

Maureen whispers into her hair, “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s not your fault at all. It’s no one’s fault. It was just love. You and your daddy loved that boy, and you did what you thought was best. It’s plain old love’s fault.”

Tessa steps back, wipes under her eyes with her fingers. “Then I hate love,” she says. Maureen laughs and Tessa lets a smile slip, too.

“I hate love, too, baby,” says Uncle Marco. He reaches his arm firmly around her back. “Please forgive what I said.”

“Okay,” says Tessa in a small voice. “But we’ll get him out on bail?”

She sees Maureen and Marco exchange a glance. “You bet, sweetie,” says Marco. “First thing after the arraignment. We’ll find a way, even if we have to sell the car.”



Tessa walks out from under his arm and grabs a paper towel. Blows her nose, tosses it in the garbage. She takes a deep breath. It’s time to think like a grown-up. Act like a grown-up. Be strong for her dad.

“Can I please have some coffee?” she asks.





At the airport that night, a big screen tells me that Inez’s flight is arriving on time. I take a seat at the gate and pick up a People magazine someone left behind. Of course the cover story is about Christa McAuliffe, the teacher who died in the Challenger. I don’t read the article, because it’s just too sad.

Pretty soon I can see what must be Inez’s plane taxiing up to the gate. Passengers emerge in spurts, a mix of middle-aged people. A few college kids. Finally Inez appears. She’s wearing jeans and a cute scarlet smock top. Her brown boots make her look like a bohemian cowboy. She’s in full makeup, of course—carrying a tan leather jacket.

My mother is beautiful.

I can tell she’s unsure whether or not to attempt to hug me. She smiles as she approaches. Part of me wants to extend my arms, but I just can’t. “How was the flight?” I ask, folding my arms around myself to send a signal.

“It was scary!” she says, a little too loudly. “And I had no idea that they served drinks on planes!” I can smell wine on her breath.

“Do you have luggage?”

“Only this little one,” she says. There’s a small gray case in her left hand.

I explain to her that we can’t see Leo tonight. “They said you should come to the police headquarters in the morning.” I offer to take her to the Holiday Inn where I’m staying, and she agrees.



Once we’re safely on the freeway, I ask her to look at the map I drew on a napkin to get us back to the hotel. While I drive, she demands I tell her all over again the whole story of how I found Leo. She is giddy with excitement.

I can’t blame her for being a bit giddy. I feel a little giddy, too. But I tell her I’m too tired to go over the details tonight. She already knows most of it. And I don’t want to mention that there is a sadness to the story that threatens to dampen my joy. The look on the Mexican girl’s face. The way Leo was wailing. The feeling that we were breaking up a happy family, which, when I think about it, makes me outraged.

By the time we get to the hotel, Inez is so confident of a new truce between us that she actually asks for the room adjoining mine. I want to object, but how petty would that seem? It dawns on me how hard it would be to get back to my hostile state toward Inez. We’ve spent real time in each other’s presence now, been on the same side of a challenge—and won. And now we’re both excited about the same thing.

I just don’t want Inez to mistake it all for forgiveness.



* * *



—

AS SOON AS I walk into my hotel room, I see the message light on my phone blinking. I’m guessing it’s Piper, since she has my number here. I feel bad, but it’s too late to call her back.

I punch the button, put the phone to my ear, and listen to Piper. “Annette, where are you? It’s four-thirty.” Clunk. Beep. “Annette, where are yooouu?” A long silence. “You promised to call and I’m getting mad!” Clunk. Beep. “Annette! You promised to call me. So you’re a promise-breaker person.”