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“I meant alone without us, without your sisters. Was she just awful about it?”
“You really want to know?”
Robbie swallowed, nodded. They’d tried, over the years, to share the pain their mother had inflicted, to dilute it by spreading it out before them in the light of day. But they all knew it was Markie who had suffered the most at their mother’s hand, though it was Robbie who could never seem to break free from her.
“One time I dashed outside because I had to puke. It was weird how my morning sickness never hit in the morning like it was supposed to. It hit like clockwork every day after school. I never wanted to eat dinner, but she insisted that I sit down at the table. I could feel her watching every bite. I’ll never forget it. I jumped off the porch and ran around the side of the house. The sun was going down. She came up behind me while I was retching and yanked me back by the hair.”
“Oh, Sissy.” Robbie sweet brow furrowed with sympathy. Looking at the dark circles that had appeared under her sister’s eyes since the funeral made Markie want to soften the story.
“She just fumed a lot at first. But after she talked to the congressman, she suddenly wanted me to have an abortion.”
Robbie gasped and covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I know that word must be hard for you to hear, especially in your condition, especially with everything else you’re going through.”
“Markie, will you stop apologizing!” Robbie turned to wrap thin fingers around her sister’s forearm. “I care about you.” She gave the arm a hearty shake. “You should have told me about this. About all of it. I don’t care if I was planning a wedding. I don’t care if we were buying that damned farm. I’m your sister and I would have helped you. What did Daddy say? Surely he didn’t want you to have an ab…to…” Robbie stumbled over the words. “To get rid of your baby.”
“He didn’t know.”
“What? I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you had a baby and kept it a secret from Daddy, from all of us, for all these years.”
“You might as well hear the whole story. Maybe you’ll understand it better then.”
They arranged themselves more comfortably in the swale of the old mattress. Around them, the boxes they had been emptying were completely forgotten.
“At first I agreed to do whatever mother wanted. She was under a lot of pressure from Congressman Kilgore. He was facing a very close election and some other troubles that I’ve now had an opportunity to research.”
Robbie frowned. “What kind of troubles?”
“A grand jury was about to indict him in a campaign-financing probe.”
Robbie nodded. “Oh, I see.”
Markie figured Robbie probably didn’t see. At the mention of anything concerning politics, her sister’s eyes had always glazed over, so she simply went on.
“Anyway, he was in no mood for this mess.” She tapped the diary. “And he didn’t want his brilliant son’s life interrupted, either. Frankie was supposed to find the doctor to perform the…you know, the procedure, in Austin. She found a good doctor, a place where I would be safe. The plan was to get it done right after your wedding. But when the time came I just… I couldn’t. I knew…”
Markie bit her lip to hold back the emotion, then forced herself to go on. “I just knew any baby of Justin’s was bound to be beautiful, exceptional, and he became…the baby became so…so real to me.” She clutched the diary, remembering the things she’d written in those pages in the early stages of her pregnancy. “So Frankie and I made up the mononucleosis dodge and then she and Kyle found the Edith Phillips adoption center in Austin.”
“But how did you keep Mother from finding out that you changed your mind? How did you hide something like that?” Again, Robbie’s hand slid to her bulging tummy. She was only five months along and her pregnancy—her fourth—was already obvious.
Markie’s older sisters had always been utterly feminine, curvy and pretty, but for Markie it had been different. She had never considered herself all that beautiful, at least not until Justin had made her feel that way. Naturally tall and athletic, with angular shoulders and long legs, she had managed to conceal her pregnancy behind the camouflage of sloppy sweatpants and oversize letter jackets. Her plain brown ponytail, thick glasses and pale, unadorned complexion made it easy enough not to attract male attention in a high school filled with perky little blondes in skimpy pom-pom outfits.
“I think Mother made some kind of deal with the congressman. Supposedly she got money for my college education. I never saw much of it, I’ll tell you that.” Markie tried not to be bitter.
Her current life, the life of a successful political consultant with tons of friends, was enormously satisfying. But when she came back to Five Points the memories always surfaced afresh, and it was hard to look at her life objectively.
“How could Mother keep something like that from Daddy?”
“You have to ask? How does Mother do anything she’s determined to do? Listen—” suddenly Markie’s tone was urgent “—don’t stay here with her.”
“What?”
“Don’t move in with mother. She’ll only make your life miserable, bossing you around, manipulating your feelings. And you don’t need that now, not when you’re so vulnerable.”
“But… I can’t stay way out there on that big farm by myself. I’ll need someone to help me when the baby comes.”
“I’ll move out to the farm with you. I do most of my work on the phone and on the Internet this time of the year, anyway. And Five Points will be the locus of Doug Curry’s campaign. It’s in the center of his district.”
“Oh, man, I just realized something. Curry’s running against Congressman Kilgore. Are you sure you’re not working for this guy out of some kind of old spite? I mean, to get even or something? And isn’t it going to be hard for you to face the congressman, after all that’s happened?”
“Now, hold on just a minute.” Markie aimed a finger at her sister’s nose, then quickly squelched the gesture. She wanted to be gentle with Robbie, she really did, considering what Robbie had only recently endured, considering what lay ahead. It wasn’t Robbie’s fault Markie had made a mess of her life so long ago.
“For one thing, Congressman Kilgore doesn’t know what I really did about the baby. Nobody does, except for Frankie and Kyle, and I doubt Mr. Big Shot Surgeon has ever given it a second thought.” She ducked her head to meet her sister’s eyes. “And now that you know the truth, I can trust you to keep it to yourself, right?”
“Of course,” Robbie murmured. “Who on earth would I tell?”
What was left unsaid was that the one person in all the world Robbie might tell was recently dead. Markie could see that’s what her sister was thinking. She looked haunted, pained, the way she had looked almost constantly for these past few days.
And watching that expression overtake Robbie’s face again gave Markie a sick wave of guilt. She looked away. Here was her sister, coping with the loss of a husband, with the possible loss of her farm, and she’s berating the girl about keeping her own deep dark secret. Robbie, of course, couldn’t possibly understand the stakes, couldn’t possible know what Markie had discovered only a few days ago.
Brandon Smith. For one instant Markie relived the shock of seeing his picture among the applications, the shock of hearing his voice—so like his father’s—on the phone. Every campaign season she chose a protégé, a young go-getter to work alongside her in a congressional or senate race and learn the ropes. Every season, the competition for the internship got stronger. Applications poured in to McBride Consulting from all over Texas.
Markie patted Robbie’s hand. “Of course you won’t tell anyone. But please don’t go thinking I’ve got some kind of ax to grind with the congressman. I didn’t seek out his opponent or anything like that. Curry’s campaign contacted me. Because I’m the best, remember?” She nudged her sister and got a faint smile.
“And I firmly agree with Doug Curry’s positions on the issues. He’s going to do a great job in Washington. Old man Kilgore thinks he’s got this race all sewn up. He’ll make a few scattered appearances around the Hill Country and maybe he’ll even show his face once or twice in Five Points. In the mean time, we’ll be slowly and surely kicking his ass.”
At least Markie hoped that’s the way this summer would go. Not only for Doug Curry’s sake, but for her own. And for Brandon’s? She bit her lip as she pressed the diary to her middle, wishing she could see her son. Would that be worth the price? No. She already knew she would do what she had to do. The safe thing. Always protecting herself. She’d done it so long she didn’t know how to stop.
“So what do you say?” She affected an upbeat attitude, nudging Robbie again. “I can make Five Points Curry’s campaign base if I want to. Like I said, it’s smack in the middle of the district. I can stay with you out on the farm. Help with the bills and groceries and stuff. That way you can stay in your own home and keep the boys away from…” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the stairs at the end of the hallway. “You Know Who. And by the time this little darling arrives—” she gave her sister’s pregnant abdomen a soft pat, as if everything would be hunky-dory when that blessed event happened “—the election will be over and I can concentrate on taking care of you and the baby.”
“I don’t know,” Robbie frowned. “That’s a lot to ask of you. Maybe I should just stick to the plan and move in here.”
“What else has your spinster sister got to do?” Markie tried to kid her, then grew serious again. “Mother would suck the heart and soul out of you within a week and you know it.”
The sisters fell silent. Both of them knew the situation to be just so. Their mother was the most controlling woman in all of Five Points, in all of Keaton County, possibly in all of the state of Texas.
And somewhere below them inside the quiet walls of this picturesque Victorian-era farmhouse, the most controlling woman in all of Texas was seething, waiting. Waiting to pounce on her daughter Markie for daring to rebel yet again. Waiting to reexert control over the one thing she had always controlled more easily than any other—her daughter Robbie.
CHAPTER THREE
I promise you one thing, my little one, I will do everything in my power to see that your life is safe and happy. Even if that means giving you up—no. I don’t want to think about that right now. Not yet. I want to think happy thoughts because if I don’t, I’ll cry.
And if Mother catches me crying again, she’ll get suspicious for sure. Not that she isn’t already. When she reads what I just wrote on these pages, all hell will break loose.
(And you are reading this, aren’t you, Mother???)
P.S. I don’t care what you do. There’s nothing you can do to me anymore. I have my baby to think about now.
Back to you, sweet baby. You know how much I love you, my sweet, sweet baby. Hey! Was that you? Did you just give me a little tiny kick? Awesome! Truly, truly awesome!!!
Man. I can’t wait to see you!
You will be a beautiful baby, I bet. How could Justin be the father of any other kind? You will have his perfect, wavy dark hair. His dark brown eyes. Maybe even tiny baby muscles that are shaped like his gorgeous big ones.
I guess I can’t think about your daddy, either, sweet baby. Because that makes me want to cry, too.
Oh, Diary! Why did he leave me? Wasn’t I good enough for him? Didn’t he understand how much I love him? I gotta go now. Because now I am starting to cry again.
JUSTIN KILGORE ROLLED INTO Five Points on one of the five highways that radiated out in a star pattern from the town, the one that angled up from the southwest. As he looked around at the familiar buildings, he thought, For ill or good, I’m committed now. For ill or good, he had come back here, back to the ranch land of his Kilgore forebears, back to the home of his first love, his only love, Markie McBride.
Memories of her started to flow through him as soon as he’d caught sight of a windmill on the highway. Some sweet, some disturbing.
Like the sound of her mother’s voice when she answered the phone the first time he called their farmhouse.
“It’s some boy,” he’d overheard the woman say in a hateful tone. It was the first indicator he had that Markie’s childhood had been far from gentle.
He’d heard Markie say it was probably something to do with the campaign. When she’d picked up the phone, she’d offered a careful “Yes?” and Justin got the impression the mother was listening. He could hear dishes clanking in the background.
Man! Markie’s voice on the phone! Clear and sweet and sending tightening sensations through his core. Right then, he’d suspected he was falling in love with her.
He’d asked her if he could come out to the farm and pick her up and take her into town for a Coke. Later she’d told him her parents would chain her to the bed before they’d let her date a college guy. And they’d make her stop volunteering in campaigns if they knew she was meeting older guys doing it. She told him that wasn’t the reason she volunteered—to meet cute guys—but it sure didn’t hurt! Then she’d gone on to say the boys that do stuff like that are head and shoulders above the stupid jocks at Five Points High, but she never dreamed one would actually call her. How unsophisticated she’d been back then. How innocent.
He’d watched her that first night when they were stuffing envelopes, being so nice to the old ladies in tennis shoes. He got up and moved his stack of fliers and envelopes to her card table. The old ladies smiled to themselves, but he hadn’t cared.
Some lady named Fran did all the talking, so they didn’t get a chance to say much. But her eyes. Oh, my, her eyes! Every time he looked up, he felt like he was looking into them for the very first time. In all these years he hadn’t forgotten how they’d thrilled him. Blue as the Hill Country sky. Sparkling with intelligence. He’d give anything to look into those eyes again.
“I’m not allowed to go out on school nights,” she’d said. “And besides, I have choir practice tonight.” It was a code to avert the shrill mother, one that he caught onto immediately.
“Where?” he’d said.
“Old St. Michael’s.”
“That tall old brick church that’s set back off Dumas Street?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Can I come and listen in?” He’d sit in the back of a church on a handful of thumbtacks if he had to.
“Uh, yeah.” She hadn’t sounded too sure.
“What time?”
“Uh, seven.”
“I’ll stay in the back. I don’t want to disrupt your choir practice. I just want to look at you,” he’d said, bold as you please.
He’d looked at her, all right. And he remembered, to this very day, how beautiful she was. So many memories. All of them revolving around Markie McBride.
The divided highway narrowed as it became Main Street. The town looked about the same to Justin, spruced up a bit, maybe, because of a recent holiday or parade or whatever. The old diner, the Hungry Aggie, was still tucked in between the bank and the optician’s office on Main Street.
He could see the steeple of the church where Markie had sung in the choir off in the distance. He turned the car down a side street, headed there. The priest had called him on his cell phone while Justin was out riding the fence line. Lorn Hix, the foreman out on the Kilgore, had given the priest the number. A girl, the priest said. All alone. Being held in the municipal jail. At least she had known to make her one phone call to the local Catholic church. Could Justin help? the padre asked. The truth was, Justin was buzzing with excitement at having his first case, his first real rescue.
Justin parked and went inside the small limestone jailhouse that crouched beside the small limestone fire station.
“She’s another one of those illegals, probably dumped by coyotes,” the guard tossed the words over his shoulder with no small amount of contempt as he led Justin to a back room. “I’m glad the priest called you. I don’t have the space or the time for these people.”
“We call them undocumented immigrants.” Justin laid some emphasis on the word undocumented, but he doubted this man would appreciate the distinction. “And she won’t be that way for long.” That was the reason he had started the Light at Five Points, known among Mexican crossers simply as La Luz, the Light. As he and his very bare-bones staff often told the desperate crossers, You’re an undocumented alien now, but not for long. We will help you get your citizenship. We will help you learn English. We will help you find a job. We will help. It had become Justin’s mantra.
“Stinkin’ coyotes,” the guard said. “Getting a girl this far into Texas and dumping her. Bet they took all her money and, you know, probably did some other things to her. But I have no choice but to pick up these illegals when the store managers call. I did get her name out of her. Aurelia Garcia. Stinkin’ coyotes.”
Justin would never say it to a guy in local law enforcement like this one, but in Justin’s mind the young men who devolved into coyotes were victims of sorts, as well. They were bad hombres, to be sure. Living a subterranean life that fed off of the human bondage and desperation of their own people. But in the beginning most of them had been lured away from all that was wholesome or sacred in their culture by something that only those crushed under the weight of poverty could fully understand.
Money. Lots of money, and all that it represented. A coyote could get as much as two thousand dollars a head for moving crossers north under cover of darkness. A smart one could make nine or ten thousand dollars a day, easily. Justin knew how it happened. He just didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to save girls like this one or boys like the Morales brothers who had shown up out on the Kilgore last week, looking for ranch jobs, looking for food. But he was determined to try.
The deputy brought a tiny girl up out of the holding cell. She had straight black hair, nearly to her waist, huge eyes, nearly as black, frozen wide in terror. Despite a filthy face and clothes, her beauty still shone. In the few pictures Justin had seen of his mother, she looked like this. Fragile and beautiful.
When she hesitated at the sight of Justin, the guard pulled her forward by the wrist as if she were a child. And she could have easily passed for one, in the States. She couldn’t have been more than five feet, not an ounce over a hundred pounds. She eyed the men with the kind of wary silence that spoke of mistrust from past abuses.
In English, Justin convinced the guard to let him speak to her in private. In Spanish, he told her not to worry and guided her over to a bench. After they sat down, he took off his Stetson. “Aurelia, I’m Justin Kilgore,” he said in Spanish, “and I’m from a place called the Light at Five Points—”
“Ay, La Luz!” the girl cried, clasping her tiny hands together. “I find you! Take me with you! Padre Gusto, he told me about you! It’s a miracle how I find you!” She made the sign of the cross on herself. “A miracle!”
Justin gave her the quiet sign. He didn’t want the local cops to think he was running some kind of underground network. “Father Augustus?” he said quietly. This was the name of his aging friend in Jalisco. A renegade Roman Catholic priest who encouraged the natives in Jalisco and the surrounding areas to blend their native culture with Christian spirituality. Father Gus’s favorite hobby was roaring around on his motorcycle and dispensing condoms to those who needed better sense.
“Sí. He said if I can make it to the Light at Five Points, I would be safe. Please.” Her eyes pleaded. “I think Julio is already there.”
“Julio?” That was the name of the youngest of the Morales brothers. A strong, quiet young man, about eighteen or nineteen, Justin would guess.
“Sí. My man. We are getting married.”
Which might further explain why the Morales brothers had urged him to hurry into town for her. Well, he’d do his best. “We have to be careful here. You were caught shoplifting at the 7-Eleven.”
“Sí. Please.” Aurelia continued to beg. “I’ll cook for you. I am a fine, fine cook. My whole village says so.”
“Wait here. Do not—” he pointed a warning finger at the girl “—run.”
Justin went back to the guard.
“She was hungry. It was only a candy bar. Do you honestly think sending these poor people to jail helps?”
“Nah,” the guard scoffed. “But you and I know about ninety percent of them are out to beat the system. They keep going around in the same old ruts, generation after generation. We can’t let them overrun us, either.”
Justin knew about the ruts, the patterns, the traps. Border crossers knew one another, ran in groups. Whole families, extended families, came to the States in stages. A father or a grandfather would go north and make his way, then call for the others. This process took years, sometimes spanning several generations.
“Then will this help pay this girl’s expenses or her fines or whatever so I can get her out of here?” Justin had carefully folded the hundred-dollar bill so that the numerals showed.
Bribes. Common as the Texas limestone beneath their feet.
