wish.”
Victoria watched her take a moment to gather herself, removing all traces of emotion from her face.
“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that nothing can be done about your situation until Monday.”
Just then the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You’re still coming to dinner, aren’t you, mija?” Victoria’s aunt asked, her muffled voice giving away the fact that she’d covered the receiver as she frequently did when gossip was afoot. “Your uncle is very worried about you! What is this I hear—you’ve turned your home into the rescue mission? You know better than to take chances like that. Nice girls, they don’t go around getting lost, do they?”
“I was going to tell you myself.” Khara was following her every move, intentionally eavesdropping.
“Oyé, this is not one of your better decisions. I prayed a good five minutes extra this morning. That you’ll come to your senses and stop—”
“Tia,” she interrupted, “with you and the holy Catholic church on my side, what can go wrong?” Abandoning sarcasm, she closed the call with, “I can’t really talk right now. We’ll be there at six.”
Victoria hung up, accepting that no matter how many extra minutes a day Marta prayed for her, it couldn’t possibly be enough.
That evening, as Victoria’s silver Honda Civic crossed the railroad tracks, the temperature dropped noticeably. For miles, the pecan trees lining either side of Via Sin Nombre grew together to form a canopy through which sunlight dappled the ground here and there, and the chirping of crickets signaled the arrival of evening.
It was amazing to see how quickly Khara’s fear of cars was fading. Victoria even dared to put the windows down so she could watch the ground speed by.
They passed a man riding a palomino bareback along the dirt shoulder who tipped his hat. “Evening,” he said cordially, without removing the stalk of hay from between his teeth. From the way she hung out the window, it was obvious Khara wanted a better look. Victoria slowed to a stop.
“I never knew they could be ridden!” Khara exclaimed. “Does it hurt them?” she asked the cowboy.
“Not at all, miss.” The horse pushed his nose through the passenger window. “This one here, he’s happy to have a saddle thrown over his back. Easy ride, he is.”
Khara leaned her cheek against the horse’s, combed his creamy mane with her fingers, and whispered in his ear as though sharing a secret. It was with some reluctance that the palomino pulled away and threw back his head.
The cowboy surveyed the surrounding fields of green chilies. “Evenin’ ladies,” he said with a slight drawl before turning onto the dusty path near the irrigation canal where the foamy green water swirled faster and higher than usual.
After two more turns down successively narrower roads, they had arrived.
Khara’s smile flashed. “It’s true. It doesn’t hurt them at all.”
“I suppose Mr. Ed told you that?”
“I am only beginning to understand the power of Nandor’s cuff.”
“Great. Well, here we are.”
Victoria was about to knock when the mission-style doors swung open and Marta appeared. “Of all days to be late! Rosario is here with Robert. And who do we have here?” Her pleasant voice belied the fact that she was looking Khara over from head to toe.
Victoria used the introduction she knew her aunt would expect. “Tia, I would like to present my houseguest, Khara. You’ll see that all your worrying is for nothing,” she said before kissing the powdered velvet of her aunt’s cheek.
Marta took Khara’s hands. “You must forgive her,” she apologized, shaking her head. “Victoria spends all her time championing hopeless causes and fighting bureaucrats. Despite her social shortcomings, we love her. Bienvenidos.” Marta stepped between them and, linking her arms with theirs, escorted them inside.
“Your uncle is in the courtyard. I’ll give Khara—what an unusual
Victoria watched her take a moment to gather herself, removing all traces of emotion from her face.
“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that nothing can be done about your situation until Monday.”
Just then the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You’re still coming to dinner, aren’t you, mija?” Victoria’s aunt asked, her muffled voice giving away the fact that she’d covered the receiver as she frequently did when gossip was afoot. “Your uncle is very worried about you! What is this I hear—you’ve turned your home into the rescue mission? You know better than to take chances like that. Nice girls, they don’t go around getting lost, do they?”
“I was going to tell you myself.” Khara was following her every move, intentionally eavesdropping.
“Oyé, this is not one of your better decisions. I prayed a good five minutes extra this morning. That you’ll come to your senses and stop—”
“Tia,” she interrupted, “with you and the holy Catholic church on my side, what can go wrong?” Abandoning sarcasm, she closed the call with, “I can’t really talk right now. We’ll be there at six.”
Victoria hung up, accepting that no matter how many extra minutes a day Marta prayed for her, it couldn’t possibly be enough.
That evening, as Victoria’s silver Honda Civic crossed the railroad tracks, the temperature dropped noticeably. For miles, the pecan trees lining either side of Via Sin Nombre grew together to form a canopy through which sunlight dappled the ground here and there, and the chirping of crickets signaled the arrival of evening.
It was amazing to see how quickly Khara’s fear of cars was fading. Victoria even dared to put the windows down so she could watch the ground speed by.
They passed a man riding a palomino bareback along the dirt shoulder who tipped his hat. “Evening,” he said cordially, without removing the stalk of hay from between his teeth. From the way she hung out the window, it was obvious Khara wanted a better look. Victoria slowed to a stop.
“I never knew they could be ridden!” Khara exclaimed. “Does it hurt them?” she asked the cowboy.
“Not at all, miss.” The horse pushed his nose through the passenger window. “This one here, he’s happy to have a saddle thrown over his back. Easy ride, he is.”
Khara leaned her cheek against the horse’s, combed his creamy mane with her fingers, and whispered in his ear as though sharing a secret. It was with some reluctance that the palomino pulled away and threw back his head.
The cowboy surveyed the surrounding fields of green chilies. “Evenin’ ladies,” he said with a slight drawl before turning onto the dusty path near the irrigation canal where the foamy green water swirled faster and higher than usual.
After two more turns down successively narrower roads, they had arrived.
Khara’s smile flashed. “It’s true. It doesn’t hurt them at all.”
“I suppose Mr. Ed told you that?”
“I am only beginning to understand the power of Nandor’s cuff.”
“Great. Well, here we are.”
Victoria was about to knock when the mission-style doors swung open and Marta appeared. “Of all days to be late! Rosario is here with Robert. And who do we have here?” Her pleasant voice belied the fact that she was looking Khara over from head to toe.
Victoria used the introduction she knew her aunt would expect. “Tia, I would like to present my houseguest, Khara. You’ll see that all your worrying is for nothing,” she said before kissing the powdered velvet of her aunt’s cheek.
Marta took Khara’s hands. “You must forgive her,” she apologized, shaking her head. “Victoria spends all her time championing hopeless causes and fighting bureaucrats. Despite her social shortcomings, we love her. Bienvenidos.” Marta stepped between them and, linking her arms with theirs, escorted them inside.
“Your uncle is in the courtyard. I’ll give Khara—what an unusual
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