Marriage, Interrupted

Mercedes considered that for a moment, then said, “Well, all I have to say is, what you gave back is serious Harry Winston material.” She shook her head, then picked a cheesy something or other off Cass’s plate and popped it into her mouth. Mercedes Zamora, Cass had decided a long time ago, epitomized the word spitfire. Petite, pretty, vivacious, adorable figure, just quirky enough to keep you on your toes. “So what happened? Why’d you two break up?”

And deadly.

“Geez, lady. Anybody ever tell you your timing stinks?”

Mercy pinned her with a look that could intimidate a Mafia goon. “Maybe. But you have this nasty habit of holding things in, and that’s not good, you know? Very bad for the blood pressure.”

Cass closed her eyes, hoping against hope the woman would go away. “I’d rather think of it as keeping my personal life, well…personal.”

But going away was clearly not on Mercy’s to-do list. From two feet away, Cass could hear her chewing. “The guy’s history, right?”

The mantel clock chimed during the several seconds that passed before Cass replied, her eyes still closed. “Ancient, even.”

“So?”

“So…” So she would toss her friend a scrap and maybe then she’d go away. “We got married too early. We couldn’t handle it. End of story.” The baby squirmed again; Cass absently rubbed the little elbow or knee or whatever it was. And through the anger and the confusion and all the dreck that threatened to turn her into a raving nutso, floated the love she felt for the little guy who knew nothing of any of this.

“And…you’re not going to say anything more.”

Tired as she was, Cass opened her eyes, looked her friend straight in hers and lied. “There’s nothing else to say. Really.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things.”

Mercy rolled her eyes and stuffed another taquito into her cute little mouth.

* * *

Blake’s head was still softly buzzing, like overhead power lines, from his far-too-close encounter with current pop culture. More than his humming head, however, he’d regretted that the noise had precluded conversation. Now, as he tossed his overnight bag into the car before returning to the house, he decided to get the conversation going before his son made any musical requests.

“So…how’s school?”

The sardonic smile seemed far too old on a fifteen-year-old’s face. “Dude—” he buckled up, adjusted his shoulder strap “—you sound like every lame father in every lame movie, you know, when the father is, like, trying to ‘relate’ to his estranged kid.”

Blake tried not to tense. Or get defensive. Or ask if Shaun wanted the music back on. “I see. Well, unfortunately I really am interested in how you’re doing in school. Lame though that may be.”

“’S’okay,” the kid allowed, and Blake felt a muscle or two relax. “I made Honor Roll last nine weeks.” He leaned forward, index finger poised to send Blake over the edge. Blake caught his wrist.

“Forget it. My brain cells are still staggering around in my head, thudding into each other. They need some time to recuperate, okay?”

Shaun was giving him that odd, pitying look again. Then he scrunched down in his seat, his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah. Whatever.”

They pulled out onto I-40, headed back toward Albuquerque’s Far Heights. “Good for you. About the Honor Roll, I mean.”

“Yeah, but like, Mom is still on me about everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Where am I going? Who am I going to be with? Crap like that.”

The reprimand fell out of Blake’s mouth before he could catch it. “Watch your mouth, Shaun.”

“God.” The word came out on a groan. “Not you, too.”

“Yep. Me, too.” Blake checked his side mirror before pulling into the left lane to pass a truck. “A regular tyrant. In any case, your mother has every right to know where you are and what you’re doing. In case you missed it, you’re not legal yet. She’s responsible for you. If you screw up, she gets blamed.”

Shaun shifted in his seat, his brow beetled. “Why does everyone assume I’m going to screw up?”

Remembering what it was like to be his age should have helped. Instead, thinking about the Dark Ages of his youth only made Blake feel old and tired and woefully inept. For a split second he envied his partner, Troy, and his three-year-old twins. Three-year-olds, even those three-year-olds, he could deal with. A Happy Meal and the zoo and you were good to go. Teenagers…?

His heartfelt sigh earned him yet another of Shaun’s looks. “No one does,” he said quietly. Hopefully. “But kids do mess up, you know. And she—and I—just want you to be careful.”

“Geez, man…” The lanky arms twisted more tightly across his chest. But there were no further comments. Blake wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or not.

“So…” Fool that he was, Blake refused to let the silence gain a foothold. “Next lame question…” That got a sideways glance and a cocked eyebrow. “Any girls in your life?”

“You mean, like a girlfriend?” Shaun gave a sharp, short laugh. “Uh, no. Chicks are way too expensive. Besides, with no wheels, it’s like, pointless. I mean, whuttami s’posed to do? Ask Mom to drive me on a date?”

He decided not to go anywhere near the “wheels” topic. “Whoa. Chicks?”

Bam! Up went the wall again. “Hey. Lighten up. It’s not like they care or anything.”

“Well, I care. And your mother would probably boot you clear into next week if she heard you say that. Let me fill you in, if you expect to get anywhere with the female sex, ever. ‘Girls’ is okay until they reach about seventeen. After that, they’re ‘women.” ’

Silence. Then, “You going to criticize everything I say?”

Damn.

“That wasn’t my intention, Shaun. Look, I didn’t come down here to argue with you—”

“Why did you come down, anyway?”

Puzzled, Blake flicked his son a glance. “Because I thought you wanted me to.”

“Oh, right. Like that made any difference before.”

Careful…

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…” The kid hit the automatic window button, lowering the tinted glass. Raised it again. Lowered it. Slouched even farther down in his seat. “Meaning how many times did I ask you to come down this past year, and you were too busy? Now, suddenly, Alan’s dead, and look who’s here.” The boy punched his knee with his fist. “Oh, hell, man…this really, really sucks.”

His own stomach churning, Blake spoke without thinking. “Shaun. Language.”

“Oh, come on, man. This is way kids talk nowadays. Get with the program, geez.”

“I’m not naive, Shaun,” Blake snapped, angry that they were skirting the issue. Angrier because he wasn’t sure what the issue was. “This is the way kids have always talked. Around each other. Not around their parents.” He leveled his gaze at his son. “Got it?”

A sullen glare was his only response.

Several seconds passed before Blake spoke. “I apologize. I didn’t come all this way to hassle you about your language. But I guess…I’m not very good at this.”

He caught Shaun’s frown. “Good at what?”

One hand on the steering wheel, Blake gestured ineffectually with the other. “Knowing what to say when someone dies. To make them feel better.” At the boy’s blank stare, Blake pushed on, “About Alan’s death. I imagine you’re upset about it—”