Sweet Nothing by RICHARD LANGE Read Free Book Online Page B

yard.
    “José!” Brianna yells. His real name.
    He can’t hear her, not with all the shouting and sirens and the chop chop chop of the helicopter circling overhead. And I’m glad. He doesn’t deserve her tears, her reckless love. Instead, I hope the last thing he sees before they drive him off is my satisfied smile and the hatred in my eyes, and I hope it burns him like fire, night and day, for as long as he fouls this earth.
      
    IT’S FRIDAY EVENING, and what a week. The freezer at work broke down, Maple changed the rules on vacation time, and one of the boys cut his finger to the bone chopping onions. There was some good news too: Looks like Puppet isn’t going to be back. As soon as they picked him up, his boy Cheeks flipped on him and told the cops everything. A few punks still hang out on the corner and stare the neighborhood down, but none of them know that it’s me who took out their compadre.
    I fall asleep on the couch when I get home and don’t wake up until a few hours later, but that’s okay, because I’m off tomorrow, so I can go to bed whenever I want tonight and sleep in. I couldn’t do that when Lorena and Brianna were here. They’d be banging around in the kitchen or blasting the TV every time I tried to rest. I’d be cooking for them or doing their laundry.
    I love them, but I wasn’t sad to see them go when they moved out last week. They’re in Alhambra now, living with a fireman Lorena met on the computer. He’s really great, she says, with a big house, a swimming pool, and a boat. And so good with Brianna. I was thinking she should ask him about his ex-wife, find out why she’s not around anymore, but I kept it to myself.
    When I get up, I water the garden and pick a bunch of tomatoes. The sun has just set, leaving the sky a pretty blue, but it’s going to be one of those nights when it doesn’t cool down until past midnight. The kids used to sleep out in the yard when it was like this. Manuel would cut up a watermelon he’d kept on ice all day, and the juice would run down their faces and drip onto the grass.
    I sit on the back porch and watch the stars come out. There’s a little moon up there, a little silver smile in the sky. Oso barks next door, and another dog answers. Music floats over from Rudolfo’s shop, old ranchero stuff, and I think, You know, I’ll never eat all those tomatoes by myself.
    Rudolfo looks up from the newspaper he’s reading as I come down the driveway, trailed by Oso.
    “Blanca,” he says. “Buenas noches.”
    He reaches out and turns down the radio a bit. He’s drinking a beer, and a cigar smolders in an ashtray on the workbench. He picks up the ashtray, moves to carry it outside.
    “Go ahead and smoke,” I say.
    “You’re sure?”
    “No problem.”
    He lived next door for years before I found out he had a wife and son back in El Salvador. He got in trouble with the government there and had to leave. The plan was that he’d go to the U.S. and get settled, then his family would join him. But a few years later, when it was time, his wife decided she was happy where she was and refused to move north. I remember he told this like it had happened to another person, but I could see in his eyes how it hurt him.
    “I brought you some tomatoes,” I say, setting the bag on the workbench. “I’ve got them coming out of my ears.”
    “You want a beer?” he asks.
    “Sure,” I say and lower myself onto a stool.
    He reaches into a cooler and lifts out a Tecate, uses his bandanna to wipe the can dry.
    “I’m sorry I don’t have any lime,” he says as he passes it to me.
    “It’s good like this,” I reply.
    He lifts his can and says, “Salud.”
    I take a sip, and, boy, does it go down easy. Oso presses his cold nose against my leg and makes me jump. I’m wearing a new skirt. A new blouse too.
    “Another wild Friday night, huh?” I say.
    Rudolfo laughs. He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. “I might have a few more