I knew Ryan and Ryan knew me . . . too well. We’d dated in college and been sweethearts joined at the hip. There weren’t any secrets between us, just a whole lot of mistakes. Since then we’d both grown up and both been engaged to other people. Geez. It was one dance in front of the whole town and a trainful of tourists. No sweat.
I calmed my nerves to appear normal, and then I was at the door with a wave to Aunt Linda and Anthony.
“Josefina!”
I froze, recognizing the imperial tone that belonged to none other than my strict abuela, Senora Mari. “Sí?” I didn’t turn around, but glanced over my shoulder.
“You are going to meet friends?”
I shrugged. “Of course. Who would I be meeting, enemies?”
She marched over to me and stood within inches of my chin—being a good five inches shorter than me. “Do not act so smart with me, young lady.”
I suddenly felt all of thirteen, trying to sneak out to meet Peter Sanders at the football game. For some reason, at that age I thought it would be no big deal to walk five miles of highway in my Sunday dress and best shoes.
I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m going to meet friends. We’re going to listen to the band.”
With her gnarled fingers, she gently grasped my chin. “I understand the insecurity you feel.” She stared into my eyes, her own burning with intensity. “I was young once.”
I tried to laugh it off. “So you keep telling me.”
She frowned at the return of my flippancy. “Love between a man and a woman is complicated.”
“You’re telling me?”
“Yes. That’s what I am doing. Telling you, so you will remember the truth.”
Sometimes the best way to get through these conversations with my abuela was to say nothing at all.
She waited for a response. Not getting one, she said, “Love between a man and a woman is not the best kind of love.” She removed her hand from my chin, lifted my own hand with hers, and placed them both over her heart. “This.” She tapped our hands against her chest. “Family. This is the best love has to offer. We won’t ever let you down.”
Through my engagement and through my fiancé’s desertion, not a single member of my family had ever said I told you so. I blinked. Hard. “If this cheap mascara runs, I’m going to blame you.” I sniffed. “Do you understand?”
She kissed my cheek and then slapped it, lightly, as was her custom. “You tell that Ryan if he acts like a boy instead of a man . . . if he treats you like he treats those other women with their short skirts up to their—you know what I mean—and their shirts open to their navels, I will find him, rip his eyes out, and feed them to the chickens.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about Ryan. I only see him as a friend. Promise.” I wiped my eyes. “And all of our hens died three months ago. Where will you find these eye-hungry chickens?”
She fought not to smile. “Chickens may be hard for you to find. Me? I have a nose for bloodthirsty poultry. Tell him not to test me in this.”
“It’s just a dance.” I gave her a quick hug and backed away. “You’ll see.”
“You tell him,” she called as I waved one last time. “Don’t forget.”
As I hurried away toward the gazebo and the band playing a popular country tune, I called out, “Buenas tardes, Abuela.”
The farther I walked, the more confident I became until I had to constantly remind my hips not to sway to the music. Every few feet or so, I’d greet a friend or a neighbor. It seemed as if the whole town of Broken Boot was on Main. Later that evening, the street would empty as folks loaded up their minivans and trucks and headed out to the fairgrounds for the fireworks display.
As I drew closer to the gazebo, a cool breeze brought gooseflesh to my arms and neck. Though the days were warm in May, the high desert winds reminded us that our elevation was above four thousand feet. Chairs and tables had been set up around the gazebo. A local country band had crowded into the gazebo and was using it as a bandstand. On either side of the steps leading up to the platform were powerful speakers on poles. The tables cascaded around a makeshift dance floor of cobblestones and wood planking. To each side were stands selling food, drinks, and sparklers. Children jumped up and down as their parents and grandparents talked, ate, and laughed together. On the dance floor, the young and the very old boot-scooted under the bright blue sky with its giant cumulus clouds. The wooden floor was crowded, but I expected Ryan to stand out at six feet and change. Of course, if he was wearing his cowboy hat instead of his baseball cap, he was blending into a sea of brims.
“Hola, chica.” The voice was low and shady, and I whipped around, ready to shove the stranger away.
“Whoa.” Ryan threw up a hand to block my fist. “It’s me.”
I squeezed out a laugh, realizing I was wound a bit too tight.
“Senora Mari sends her regards.” I grinned.
“And she told you to hit me?”
“Don’t be . . .” I’d almost said stupid, but caught myself, remembering it was an insult he hated from our college days. “How’s the band?”
He shrugged. “They’re not bad, but this cow manure they call
