Page 526 of Devil’s Disciples

It wasn’t terribly late, and I preferred my parents stay and get to know Reno and the others instead of rushing off and going home. It was an opportunity I may not have again for a long time.

I gestured toward Goose. “He cooked your favorite, mother. Octopus.”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “You’re a cook?”

Where she came from, men didn’t cook. She wasn’t treated poorly by my father by any means, but she was undoubtedly subservient by nature. A man who cooked was an oddity as far as she was concerned.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I love to cook. I do it every chance I get.”

“How do you prepare your octopus?” she asked.

“I cook it in white wine and peppercorn until it’s tender, and let it sit overnight in the refrigerator. Then, I grill it over a high temperature wood fire until it has a few crispy edges.”

She smiled. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Let me make some for you,” Goose said. “Bama had me set some back, in reserve. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Don’t bother,” my mother replied. “I don’t want to be any more of a burden than—”

“It’s not a burden at all,” Goose said. “If you like octopus, you should love this. At least give it a try. It’ll go to waste if someone doesn’t eat it.”

“Don’t argue with him,” Reno said with a laugh. “He’s stubborn when it comes to cooking. He’s a food pusher.”

My mother gave Reno a look of confusion. “Food pusher?”

“Like a drug pusher, but with food,” Reno said with a laugh. “He forces his food on you until you try it.”

She grinned, and then took a seat next to my father at the kitchen island. “I’ll try the octopus.”

Goose retrieved some octopus from the refrigerator and disappeared through the crowd. Feeling inexplainable relief, I sat across from my parents and let out a sigh. Reno pulled out a stool at my side and took a seat. While the rest of the group mingled and told stories of the poker run, my parents explained how all they ever wanted was an opportunity to live life of normalcy.

In some respects, I felt I’d managed to prevent them from having that opportunity. I’d certainly driven them from their home in Mexico, if nothing else. After listening to the stories they told Reno, I couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to consider returning to the awful country that we once called home.

I glanced at each of my parents. “Are you considering going back? You’re not, are you?”

“Not unless we have to,” my father replied, looking at my mother for confirmation. “If that day comes, we’ll deal with it, I suppose.”

It was easy to forget that we weren’t welcome in the United States. When I remembered that fact, it made me feel ill. In reality, on any given day Reno and my new friends could become nothing more than a memory.

I could be forced to go back to a country I wanted no part of, and remain there until I could escape again, only to be imprisoned if I was caught. After the first attempt to cross the border, the second attempt was a felony with federal prison time attached.

All because I was born on the wrong side of a river. A river that separates the fortunate from the ill-fated.

Nobody’s going anywhere,” Reno said, exchanging glances between us. “You’re staying right where you are.”

I smiled at the thought.

As we were talking, Goose returned with a huge platter of octopus. Drizzled with olive oil, and sliced into bite-sized pieces, it looked marvelous. Garnished with twisted lemon wedges, he slid the delicacy between us on the island.

“Give this a try,” he said. He gave us plates, napkins and silverware, then took a step back. “I want an honest opinion.”

My mother put several pieces on her plate, draped a napkin in her lap, and reached for a fork. After one bite, she looked at Goose and smiled. “That’s marvelous. The smoky flavor is just wonderful. What brings it to give such flavor?”

“It’s the mesquite wood,” Goose said. “Reno has it shipped from Texas.”

I tried a piece, as did my father. “Where’s Sam?” I asked. “He should try this.”

“He’s up on the roof,” Goose replied. “Talking to Cash and Baker about cars.”