Forbidden Fruit

“I hate him,” she said fiercely, her voice choked with tears. “He…hurts me. He…touches me.”

Santos’s gut tightened. “So, you ran away.”

“It was either that or kill myself.” She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked at Santos. He saw by the expression in her eyes that she meant it, that she had considered death an avenue of escape. “I didn’t have the guts.”

“Did you tell anyone about him?”

“My mother.” Tina tipped up her chin. “She didn’t believe me. She called me a liar and a…a slut.”

Santos swore. He wasn’t surprised by her story; he had heard it before. “How about a teacher, a neighbor, or someone?”

“He’s a cop, remember? A real top cop, too.” She bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Who would believe me? My own mother didn’t.”

Santos squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She looked away. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to take those pills. I had them in my hand, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Don’t say that. I’m glad you didn’t.” She met his eyes, and he forced a smile. “It’s going to be okay, Tina.”

“Yeah, right. It’s going to be okay. I have no money, no place to go.” She started to cry again and brought her hands to her face. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.” She lifted her tear-streaked face to his. “What am I going to do?”

Santos didn’t know, so he comforted the only way he knew how. He put his arms around her and held her for a long time, until she had cried all she could, until the room grew quiet as, one by one, others of the group left for the places they called home. Still, he held her, though he was aware of time passing. His mother would be home soon. When she found him gone, he would be dead meat.

Santos made a sound of regret and drew away from her. “Tina, I have to go. I—”

“Don’t leave me!” She clutched at him. “I’m so scared, stay a little longer. Please, Santos.” She buried her face against his chest. “Don’t go yet.”

Santos sighed. He couldn’t leave her. She had no one, no place to go. His mother would have to understand. And she would—after she killed him.

They talked. Santos told her about his life, about his mother and father, about school and living in the Quarter. She told him about her real father, about how much she had loved him and how he had died.

Santos heard the pain in her voice when she spoke of her father, he heard the longing. For the first time, he thought of what it must be like to lose someone you love, how much it must hurt. He had been so relieved that his father was gone, he had never considered what it would have been like if it had been his mother taken from him.

It would have been hell. He doubted he could have gone on.

They talked longer, sharing their dreams, their hopes for the future. Finally, as exhaustion tugged at them both, he drew completely away from her. He searched her expression. “I have to go, Tina. My mother’s going to kill me.”

Tina whitened with fear, but nodded bravely. “I know. You have to go.”

“I’ll tell her about you,” he said, catching Tina’s hands. “I’ll ask her if you can bunk in with us for a while. I promise I will.”

A cry escaped her lips, and he cupped her face with his hands. “Wait here. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He tightened his fingers. “I promise. I’ll come back for you tomorrow.”

He bent and kissed her. She made a sound of surprise. It mirrored his own. He pulled away, gazed into her blue eyes, then kissed her again, this time deeply, eagerly. His chest grew tight, his breath short. Arousal kicked him in the gut.

She slipped her arms around his neck; she pressed against him. “Stay with me. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Santos thought for a moment of doing just that. He was already late, already in the biggest trouble of his life.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he’d heard his mother say just that night. She would think she had. She might have already called the cops, might have gone out to look for him herself.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I want to, but I can’t.”

He pressed his mouth to hers, then freed himself from her arms and stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. “I promise, Tina. I’ll be back.”

Chapter 6

Santos passed a shop that had a neon clock hung in the front window. Chartreuse light spilled through the glass, staining the sidewalk and his skin an eerie yellow-green. The clock registered just after 4:00 A.M.

He was a dead man.

Unlike earlier that night, Santos didn’t bother with stealth. He took the fastest, most direct route home, alternating between a jog and a flat-out run. Even the streets that were normally well-populated were deserted.

As he ran, he thought of his mother’s fury and of how he was going to convince her to let Tina bunk in with them, especially in light of his behavior. And he thought of Tina’s mouth against his, of her fear and the way she had begged him to stay with her. He flexed his fingers, frustrated, torn between what he had done and what he could have done.

He should have brought her home with him. He could have insisted his mother let Tina stay. If that hadn’t worked, he could have pleaded with his mother. If Lucia Santos was anything, she was a soft touch. One look into Tina’s desperate, frightened eyes, and his mother would have caved.

His steps faltered and he thought of going back, then decided against it. It was nearly dawn already; Tina would be safe at the school. He would smooth things over with his mother, then go back for her in the morning.

He darted down an alley off of Dauphine Street. The cutthrough dumped him out onto Ursuline, two blocks from his home. Up ahead, police lights shattered the darkness. Three squad cars and an ambulance, their lights flashing, were stationed in front of a building down the block. One near his.

His steps faltered; he narrowed his eyes. Not just near his apartment building, Santos realized. His building; his home.

He started to run.

The police had cordoned off the area. Despite the ungodly hour, a small crowd had gathered. He saw an old lady from the first floor. “What’s going on?” he asked, out of breath, his heart thundering.

“Don’t know.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Somebody’s dead. Murdered, I think.”

“Who?” He sucked in a deep breath, willing his heart to slow, frightened by the panic tugging at him.

She shrugged and lit a cigarette, squinting against the smoke. “Don’t now. Maybe nobody.”

Santos turned away from the woman. He searched the assembled crowd for his mother, the panic inside him growing. She wasn’t here.

That didn’t mean anything, he told himself, struggling to stay calm, struggling against the black fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Other of his neighbors were missing, probably asleep in their apartments. She could have brought a “friend” home with her; she could be out searching for him.

“Merry lost her kid. Social Services found out she left him alone nights.”

This could be about him. His mother could have called the cops and reported him missing.

Then why the ambulance?

Santos shook his head, feeling light-headed suddenly, feeling like he might puke. He had to see her; he had to make sure she was all right. Even as he told himself she was, he pushed through the crowd, ducked under the police line and started for the building’s front entrance.

“Hey, kid.”

Santos turned. One of the police officers strode toward him. Santos could tell by the cop’s expression—and by the way his right hand hovered over his revolver—that he meant business. “Somebody’s dead,” the old woman had said. “Murdered, I think.”