goddamn fiasco.'
It would.
'Look, Lindsay, we'll talk about all this when I get back, okay?'
'Back from where?'
'Hunting. Me and Jim Bob, we're flying out to John Ed's ranch, tomorrow morning.'
'How long will you be gone?'
'Just for the weekend. I'll be back Sunday evening.'
'I don't want to wait that long.'
He patted her knee as if putting off a child. She hated when he did that.
'Come on, honey, this can wait till then, give you time to think it through. When I get back, we'll talk this out, okay?'
She knew they wouldn't. He just hoped she'd move on to something else. Another 'do-good deal,' as he referred to her volunteer work. But this was her life.
'Bode, I have thought this through. I'm going to be a nurse. I'm not asking your permission.'
His jaw muscles clenched, and she felt his blood pressure rising.
'Where? Where are you gonna be a nurse? You're the governor's wife, and everyone in the State of Texas knows you on sight, that famous red hair. So you may want to be a nurse, Lindsay, but you ain't gonna be-not unless you can find some place in this whole goddamn state where no one knows you're the governor's wife!'
But there was such a place.
'?Nombre? '
'Tendita Chavarria.'
'?Cual es la edad? '
' Veinticuatro.'
'?Cual es el sexo? '
' Si.'
' No. Femenino. '
'Oh. Si.'
'?Ninos??Numero? '
' Cinco. '
'?Marido? '
' No.'
Five hundred miles south of Lubbock, Inez Quintanilla sat at her desk in the clinic in Colonia Angeles across from a resident, completing another of the census forms left by the governor's wife. Jesse Rincon sat at his desk, thinking of the governor's wife. A woman such as her had never before come into his clinic. The women who came into his clinic were like the woman Inez now interviewed, twenty-four years old with no husband for herself or father for her five children, women who no longer dreamed of a life beyond the wall, women who would live and die in this colonia. But twenty-nine days ago she had walked into his clinic-into his life-and now he could not get her out of his life. Out of his head. Each day he thought of her; each night he dreamed of her. A married woman. The governor's wife.
Was there truly such a thing as love at first sight?
He had no romance in his life, and no prospects for any. Women did not come to the border; they fled from the border. They desired a life in the cities, not a life in the colonias. So he had long ago abandoned all thoughts of love. Marriage. Family. He had resigned himself to a solitary life, as if he were the priest his uncle had wanted him to be.
Then she walked into his clinic.
In the month since, he had searched her on the Internet, read about her and stared at her image on the computer screen, as if he were a smitten schoolboy back at the Catholic school in Nuevo Laredo. He followed her daily schedule in Austin as the photographers caught her coming and going, entering an elementary school and leaving a coffee shop, entering the food bank and leaving the AIDS clinic, entering the homeless shelter and leaving the gym. He went with her on campaign swings to Houston and Dallas and West Texas; she was in Lubbock that day. He knew that this was not what a doctor would call 'healthy,' for him to know the governor's wife's itinerary, but the governor's official website posted it there for all the world to read.
For him to read.
He was sure that her memory would fade from his mind, and his behavior, so out of character for him, would return to normal. But twenty-nine days had passed, and neither had. Each night his heart drove him to the computer screen, to gaze at her image, to know what she had done that day. But in his head he knew that she would never again walk into his clinic, that he would never again see her face, that he would never again speak to her. Yet still he thought of her. The governor's wife.
'Dr. Rincon.'
Jesse looked up to Inez standing there. The resident had left, and Inez was now pulling on yellow rubber gloves to conduct the first of her twice-daily disinfectant scrubs of the clinic. He looked past her to two strangers standing at her desk, a man and a woman. The man held a professional camera.
'They are from a Houston newspaper. They want to interview you.'
Another interview. He had tired of telling the story of the colonias because few people listened and those who did had a short attention span for other people's problems in this bad economy, particularly Mexicans living illegally in America. He wanted to tell them to go away, but when he looked back down at the order forms for medicine and supplies he could not afford, he was reminded how much money he needed. Perhaps a few people in Houston would read the story and see the photos and send money. Jesse sighed then stood and walked over and greeted the strangers like close friends.
' Bienvenido. I am Jesse Rincon.'
The reporter stuck her hand out to him.
'Kikki Hernandez.'
Another woman who did not belong in the colonias. But she was not the governor's wife. She was a young and very pretty Latina dressed as one would expect a female from Houston. Her fingernails were red, her scent was intoxicating, and her cameraman was named Larry; he was a middle-aged and overweight Anglo dressed as if he were going to a pro wrestling arena.
'So, Ms. Hernandez-'
'Kikki.'
'So, Kikki, what brings you all the way from Houston to Laredo? Do you want to see the colonia? '
'Actually, Doctor, I wanted to see you. I was in Brownsville for a story last month, and a local newspaper reporter-Alexa Hinojosa, do you remember her?'
'Yes, I remember Alexa.'
'She certainly remembers you.' Kikki's eyes twinkled like the stars on a clear night. 'She said I should tell your story to Houston. She said she met you when you built a medical clinic in Boca Chica.'
'Then I shall tell you my story. Come, let me show you Colonia Angeles.'
He took his guests for a tour and watched their expressions change as the colonia confronted them fully. Kikki Hernandez seemed to age before his eyes. Larry the cameraman took many photographs of the colonia and the children, photos that would shock the wealthy people of Houston next Sunday morning when they opened their newspaper, photos that might bring money for medicine and supplies. When they returned to the clinic an hour later, Kikki Hernandez drenched her manicured hands with the gel sanitizer sitting on Inez's desk and rubbed her hands forcefully, as if trying to rub off a tattoo she now regretted. He knew she was thinking, Get me back to civilization! Jesse gave them cold bottled water. After she had gathered herself, Kikki Hernandez sat before his desk and fanned her face.
'It's only April, but it feels like summer.'
'It is always summer on the border.'
'Doctor, why do you do this?'
'Someone must.'
'Surely there's more to it.'
Perhaps his melancholy mood and his thoughts of lost love made him vulnerable to her soft eyes, but Jesse