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Vague sounds—engine noise and slamming car doors—filter into my slumber. My eyes pop wide, my ears listening. Seems there’s always a vehicle passing on this street, though I can’t imagine why since it’s a dead end.
Now, voices tune up. Male, female. English, Spanish. The trailer quivers with the pounding of footsteps. I don’t have a prayer of understanding Marina’s rapid-fire Spanish, but Marco’s and Rachel’s English are crystal clear through the paper-thin door.
“I wish you’d never come home!”
“You’re halfway to destroying your future, Rachel Gonzalez, and if you keep this up, you’re going to be stuck in this stink-hole town, barefoot, pregnant, and standing in the welfare line, because I can guarantee you Tanner Butler’s sorry rear end isn’t sticking around!”
Yes, Marco is angry, but his words are heartachingly pleading. Can his sister hear how much he loves her?
A feral growl, a blue rebuke, jarring from the mouth of one so young, and then, “I hope they do send you to jail!”
Hammering, retreating footfalls fade into the distant slamming of a door. Marina rattles off something not particularly nice sounding in much lower tones of Spanish before her more gentle footsteps depart. My mind’s eye sees Marco alone on the other side of the bedroom door, lifting that ball cap, raking fingers through a mess of thick hair. I throw back the covers.
Stop. What makes me think I’m what he needs right now? I’m a nuisance and an inconvenience. A bothersome weight he’s toting around along with all the others he’s carrying.
The front door opens, gently closes. I admire his composure. I would have slammed the door just to get in the last word.
I stare at the sliver of ceiling illuminated by full-moon light cutting through a gap in the curtain over the window unit. Marco shouldn’t be out there, all hangdog and lonely. He didn’t do anything wrong. Loving and protecting aren’t crimes. They should be esteemed. I see that more clearly than I used to.
I sling off my covers and peer out the window, startled to see him mere feet away on the top step.
Aw, heck. He can tell me to get lost if he wants to.
In my bare feet, I cocoon myself in my borrowed sweatshirt, the one that smells a little of aftershave and a whole lot of tough-guy.
“Hey,” I begin lamely, closing the front door behind me, shivering from the gush of night air.
“Hey.”
I might be standing here ’til dawn if I wait for an invitation. “Mind if I join you?”
“If you dare.”
Dare?
I lower to his side, my feet on the next step, tucking my knees inside the jumbo shirt.
He huffs quietly. “Welcome to the trailer park.”
Trailer park? As in low-class? Public family feuding, that kind of thing? “Families fight, Marco. It happens—but if you want to see trashy, go look at where I was born.” His eyes are finally on me, and I pause a moment for him to catch up. “I told you I went to see where my biological mom lived, just for a look, you know? There were these gorgeous, towering pines, but smack in the middle was the ugliest mobile home you’ve ever seen, complete with a blue tarp on the roof and an unfinished plywood addition, three junked cars, and two pit bulls in the front yard. What is it with poor people and mean dogs? Oh, and while I was sitting there, her boyfriend drove up in a beat up four by four with a wrecked rear end.”
Oh, dear, I went out on a limb here, but I think I’ve done it again. Marco is assessing me now, quite possibly wondering how he’s going to deal with yet another of my issues—but I promise that’s not where I’m headed with this. “So, trust me when I say, what your family has here…there’s not a thing in the world wrong with it. It’s a real home. A real family. Please,pleasedon’t be embarrassed, not for my sake.” Or anyone else’s for that matter.
The smallest smile tips his lips. “Thanks, Lise.” He shakes his head. “Annalise.”
The pent-up air in my chest slowly seeps out. The last thing I want is to hurt him or complicate his life, his night, even a little. And by the way, I’m beginning to feel little tingles whenever he says my name.
“I do love my family, you know?”
I smile. “I do know. And they’re lucky to have you.”
He makes a small noise deep in his throat, his gaze shifting to his Nikes.
Silence takes a stroll about us. Hugging my knees a little tighter, I start a silent count. I’ll give him ’til ten, and if he doesn’t say anything…okay, fine. I’ll leave now. I—
“I waited for Rachel with the other parents outside the locker room. She played great and I couldn’t wait to congratulate her. Mom had gotten there right at the end of the game, so she stood around waiting all that time, too—with a brace on her knee that I’ve never seen before, I might add. Next thing I know, we’re the only ones left, and the coach comes out to lock up. Said Rachel had left out the back almost immediately.” He lifts the cap, ruffling his hair, exactly as I’d imagined.
Dang, I’m good.
