What's Mine and Yours(32)

Margarita took her little sister by the hand, started marching down the stairs.

“Where the hell do you think you two are going?”

“You can stay here and bang all you want. We’re going across the road.”

“You don’t have any money!”

“Guess you better come along then.”

Noelle screamed and stomped her foot. She followed after her sisters, Margarita in her too-short shorts, Diane in an old motorcycle T-shirt that had belonged to Hank. There wasn’t a stoplight, so they had to wait for a lull in the traffic to run for the slender median. They perched on the little island of concrete while the cars rushed by. They waited and ran again.

When they made it across, Margarita was panting, exhilarated. She pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead. “You liked that, manzanita?” she asked, and Diane clapped her hands. Noelle wanted to smack them both.

“Let’s go in the woods first, work up an appetite, then we can find those tacos,” said Margarita. “Nopal, nopal, nopales,” she sang, and Diane laughed. They sprinted toward the stand of skinny pines ringing the lot.

The trees gave way to a clearing, all grass and two silver pipes running aboveground. They followed the pipes to a creek rushing mud brown. Diane announced she was going to look for snakes and edged down the bank. At the water, she started to cross, leaping between the stones jutting out of the stream. Margarita sat on a tree stump to watch.

“It’s pathetic,” Noelle said. “You don’t even like the woods. You’re breaking the rules just to break them.”

Margarita stuck out her tongue at Noelle, turned smugly back to the water.

“I can’t wait to go to college,” Noelle said, louder now, hoping to hurt her. “I can’t wait to leave this stupid town, this stupid family, all of you.”

“I can’t wait for you to leave either. It’s a good thing Mama loves you so much, cause she’s the only one. You’re a bitch, and we all know it.”

Noelle shoved Margarita off the stump. She fell hard on her bottom. She lunged at her sister, tried to wrestle her to the ground, but Noelle was bigger. Margarita clawed at Noelle’s arms, slapped her face, punched spitefully at her growing breasts. Noelle tackled her, and soon they were rolling down the bank, snapping twigs, swinging and kicking. They had never fought before, not like this; it felt good, feral. Noelle took her sister by the shoulders, slammed her head against the ground. Margarita bit her sister’s hand, let out a triumphant scream. They were rolling in the mud when they heard a splash behind them, the sound of Diane slipping into the water, and then a terrible thump, the sound of her skull as it made contact with the rocks.



Robbie woke to the sound of Lacey May. She was knocking, calling. He found his way to the door, opened it. The world was too bright. What day was it? How long had it been? He’d spent one night, two nights, three nights at the bar with Amado, his girls. Robbie wondered if Lacey May could tell. He waited for her to come into focus; he knew the hazy shape of her, her moving mouth, her long hair. Something about the girls. He hadn’t seen them. Why would they be here?

Lacey May pushed past him into the room. She called their names. She swept into the bathroom and out again, while Robbie stood at the door. He was willing himself back to awareness, staring hard at her, trying to tune in. She was naked, she loved him, they were making love.

Lacey May shook him by the shoulders, said a string of things he didn’t understand. And then, too clearly: “You’re useless.”

She slammed the door, and Robbie stumbled after her. The sun had burned the whole sky white, and Robbie could feel the heat annihilating him. He was soaking it up, all the light. He wanted to hide inside, shrink under the covers, but he followed her somehow, fell into the passenger seat of the car. The skin of his head threatened to burst.

“Right now I hate you, Robbie Ventura,” Lacey said. He heard that. He could grasp her more distinctly now. She was all bug eyes, hunched over the wheel, scanning the motel parking lot. She drove out to the road. They had to find a payphone, she said. Lacey was going to call 911.



They had an hour before the officer would call the phone in Robbie’s room, so Lacey said they’d use the time to search the strip mall across the road. They entered every store, checked the aisles, and Lacey begged the managers to make announcements over the loudspeakers. She described each girl, down to the moles on their shoulders, the precise shade of their brown hair: Noelle, ash; Margarita, honey; Diane, Coca-Cola. They had no luck, made it through two more shopping centers, Lacey May a flash ahead of Robbie. She turned around once in a while to egg him on, to curse at him. He tried to keep up, blinking through the fluorescence, her insult revolving in his head. Useless.

When they got back to the motel, Lacey had hardly parked when she sprinted out of the car. Robbie pulled the emergency brake and followed her. He wanted her to notice, to thank him for his soundness of mind. He got out of the car and felt his head balloon. It was the size of a beach ball. He thought he might vomit. He put his head between his knees and breathed until it passed. When he got up, he saw them: the girls and their mother at the top of the stairs. Lacey May had his room key. She swept them indoors, examined them at the foot of his bed.

The girls were covered in mud, shivering, Noelle and Diane holding on to each other. Lacey May was yelling. Robbie asked what had happened.