The dogs raced back, barking and wagging their tails. She offered her hand, which they started licking, so she petted them. From her new vantage point, she could see inside the barracks, and as appalling as the sight was, it didn’t completely surprise her. The building had only a dirt floor, cinderblock walls, and a row of wooden bunk beds that looked almost exactly like the mushroom bed she’d seen in the growing house. There didn’t appear to be any other furniture. A soft orange glow suggested that there were space heaters inside, probably powered by the generator. She caught a whiff of cooking chicken coming from the doorway, but she didn’t know what they were making it on, maybe a hot plate. At the far end of the building stood a battered blue PortaJohn.
“Miss Judy!” the young man called out, motioning to her to come over to the group. “Carlos wants to see you!”
“Great.” Judy ignored her jitters, held her head high, and walked over to the men, who gathered around, a group of short and stocky silhouettes whose faces she couldn’t see. She had no way of knowing which man was Carlos, but she wasn’t going any closer.
“My name is Domingo,” the young man said, touching his chest. “I speak English, so I can translate if you want to talk to Carlos.”
“Thank you,” Judy said, forcing a smile. The dogs danced around her ankles. “Hi, everybody.”
“Hola, gringa!” a man called out, and there was general laughter.
“This is Carlos,” Domingo said, gesturing to a thickly muscled man who emerged from the crowd, smoking a cigarette. His shoulders were broad and strong, and he stood with his barrel chest puffed out, straining his grimy T-shirt, a stance so exaggerated it would have been comical if it weren’t genuinely menacing.
Judy found herself stepping back, without knowing why. Then she realized it wasn’t a reaction to him, but rather an unconscious imitation of the crowd, who also edged away, according him a certain status or just giving him a wide berth. She couldn’t see his features in detail, but his eyes were slits in a wide face, his hair was thick and oiled, and his arms were covered with tattoos. The man had the kind of presence that made her instantly sorry she’d come.
“Miss Judy, what did you want from Carlos?” Domingo asked, but Judy noticed a new tension in his tone.
“Can you ask him if he knows where Daniella is? I’m trying to find her so I can ask about Iris.”
Domingo turned to Carlos and spoke to him in rapid Spanish, and Judy didn’t recognize any words except for the names Daniella and Iris. Carlos replied in equally rapid Spanish, speaking without even looking at Domingo, and Judy felt her gut tighten when she recognized one of the words, puta, which meant whore.
Domingo said to Judy, “He says Daniella is home in Mexico.”
Judy hesitated. “Can you ask him if he’s sure? Also didn’t she care that she was going to miss Iris’s funeral?”
Domingo turned to Carlos and translated, and Carlos replied, again without looking at Domingo. Judy sensed that Carlos didn’t like Domingo, realizing why when she recognized another word, maricon, or, gay. Judy heard a quiet descend and sensed a growing fear in the crowd.
Domingo said to Judy, “He said he’s sure she’s there. He drove her to the bus himself. She went home again because she was sad about Iris. She wanted to be with her family.”
Judy hesitated. “Father Vega told me she wouldn’t miss Iris’s funeral.”
Domingo turned to translate, but before he could say a word, Carlos exploded in anger, shoving him in his chest and shouting in Spanish. Domingo reeled, staggering off-balance, but didn’t lose his footing.
Judy gasped, edging away. She had to go. Trouble was breaking out. The dogs started barking and running around.
Carlos advanced on Judy, shouting in Spanish, his dark eyes glittering with malice. Her heart jumped through her chest.
Domingo came over, shaken. “Miss Judy, leave right away. Go. Now. Run.”
Suddenly Carlos lunged at Judy and grabbed her by the shoulders. He reeked of beer and body odor.
“No, no!” Judy struggled in his grasp, terrified. She couldn’t get away. Carlos dug his nails into her, yanked her off her feet toward him, and pressed his body against hers.
“No!” Judy tried to get away but Carlos overpowered her. He thrust his hips into her, his crotch hard.
Judy couldn’t get her hands free. Carlos was shoving her backwards to the ground. Fear electrified her, jolting all of her senses to high alert. Adrenaline poured into her system. She was going to be raped or killed. She had to save herself.
Carlos pulled her close, pressed his wet lips to her, and bit her hard on the lips, leaving spittle on her lips, the revolting kiss of a sadist.
Judy exploded in disgust, kneeing him with all her might. Carlos crumpled in pain and shock.
Judy reeled but kept her wits about her. She broke free, whipped her can of Mace from her blazer pocket, and aimed it directly at his eyes.
“No, no, NO!” Judy roared, scrambling backwards toward her car. “Stay away from me! Stay back!”
She jumped into the car, locked the doors, started the engine, and reversed at speed, almost veering off the driveway.
Her heart didn’t stop hammering until she reached the city.
Chapter Thirty-two
“Penny, down!” Judy petted the dog’s fluffy head, set her purse on the floor, and closed her apartment door behind her, dismayed to find her mother coming from the living room. The eleven o’clock news was on TV, and she’d thought her mother would have already gone to bed. Judy tilted her head down, because she didn’t want her mother to see the bite mark from Carlos, on her mouth.
“Honey, what kept you?”
“Sorry, I had a lot of work. Is Aunt Barb okay?” Judy kept her head down, making much of petting the dog, who was sniffing her shoes and legs, undoubtedly getting the scent of the dogs from the barracks.
“She’s fine and says hi. Her room is private until she gets a roommate, and there were lots of flowers waiting for her, one from that estates lawyer you know. Foxman, his name is?”
“How nice.” Judy kept her head turned away from her mother as she straightened up and headed for the staircase. “Be right down, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“What?”
“I have to pee!” Judy called after her, taking the stairs two by two, with Penny bounding after her.
“Honey?”
Judy hustled into the small bathroom, switching on the light and letting Penny in, because the dog would not be denied. She closed the door, checked her reflection in the mirror over the sink, and grimaced, which hurt. The bite mark looked worse than it had in the rearview mirror, splitting her lower lip on the side, leaving it bloody and swollen. A tremor of fear rippled through her body, an aftershock of the trauma and the very thought of what could have happened.
Judy heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs and got busy. She twisted on the faucet, pumped some cleanser into her hand, and washed her face and mouth with warm water. The wound stung, so she switched to cold, snatched a washrag from the rack, ran it under the water, and pressed it to her lips, trying to control the swelling.
“Judy, what’s going on?”
“I’m in the bathroom, Mom.” Judy checked the washrag, and a pinkish stain blotted the terrycloth, but the bleeding had stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think?” Judy kept her tone impatient to back her mother off. “I’m washing up and going to the bathroom.”
“With the dog?”
“If I leave her outside, she’ll scratch the door.”
“I took her out, but you know, I think you might have a flea problem.”
“Really.” Judy cringed. It was the last thing she wanted for her aunt, to worry about fleas.
“You’ll have to get her dipped. Stop that before it starts. You have no idea what a headache that can be, washing the sheets and everything.”
“Good to know, thanks.” Judy held the cold compress on her
lip and reached over to flush the toilet. Penny kept smelling her legs and shoes, sniffing excitedly. “Mom, can I have some privacy?”
“Since when do you want privacy in the bathroom? When you were growing up, you left the bathroom door open all the time.” Judy’s mother wiggled the doorknob. “Honey, let me in. I thought I saw something on your face.”
“I … hurt myself a little.” Suddenly Judy’s cell phone started ringing, and she pulled it from her pocket, checking the screen. It was Detective Boone, and she couldn’t miss the call.
“Judy?”
“Mom, I’ll be right out. Frank’s on the phone and I want to talk to him. Can you please give me a minute?”
“Judy, what’s going on? Something is going on.”
The phone rang again, and Judy had no choice but to answer, but she couldn’t very well fill Detective Boone in without being overheard by her mother. She pressed ANSWER and said, “Hi, thanks for calling back.”
“Judy?” Detective Boone asked, concerned. “Are you okay? What were you doing at the barracks?”
“I’m fine, and I’m home now. Can I call you tomorrow morning and fill you in?”
“Sure,” Detective Boone answered, sounding puzzled. “But I got a call late tonight from Father Vega at the church.”
“Oh, really.” Judy tried to keep her tone casual for her mother’s benefit.
“Judy, we would appreciate it if you would refrain from stirring up speculation—”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. I have to go, okay?”
“You’re doing a great deal of harm, fomenting trouble, and if the press gets wind of it—”
“They won’t, I have to go. Bye!”
Detective Boone paused. “Fine, good night.”
“Good night.” Judy hung up, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and opened the door, holding the compress to her mouth. Penny scooted out of the bathroom, going to Judy’s mother. “Mom, I’m fine.”
“Oh really.” Her mother cocked her head and folded her arms over her chest, managing to look concerned and chic at the same time. “Let me see your face.”
“I hurt my mouth but it’s not a big deal. See?” Judy moved the washrag, and her mother recoiled.
“Oh my, how did you do that? Did somebody hit you?”
“No, of course not.” Judy tried to think of a good lie, fast. “I stopped short in the car because I thought something ran across my path, and I hit my mouth on the steering wheel.”
“Didn’t you have your seat belt on?” Her mother scrutinized the wound. “You’re going to need to put some Neosporin on that.”
“No, I had just started the car, so I didn’t have it on yet.” Judy set the wet rag on the sink, went into the medicine cabinet, and found a tube of Neosporin.
“You should put your seat belt on before you start the car. You know that. Here, let me help.” Suddenly her mother stepped forward to grab the tube of Neosporin, startling Judy, who cringed reflexively, her body remembering what her brain wanted to forget. Her mother’s mouth dropped open and her forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Honey, what’s the matter with you? I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know, let me do it.” Judy took back the tube, but her hand shook, and she and her mother saw it at the same time.
“Judy, somebody hit you.”
“No they didn’t.”
“Yes, they did. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Her mother pursed her lips, blinking. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Why can’t you be honest with me?” her mother asked, wounded. Her blue eyes filmed with tears that seemed to come out of nowhere, and her gaze held Judy’s for a moment of naked pain, unlike any Judy had ever seen in her.
“Mom,” Judy started to say, but her mother turned away and walked down the hall. Judy went after her, following her into the bedroom to find her mother slumping at the edge of the bed, wiping tears away. She looked so out of place, a forlorn figure against the sunny yellow walls of the bedroom, filled with Judy’s vivid, colorful oils. “I’m sorry, Mom. Please don’t be upset.”
Her mother stifled a sob, covering her mouth with her hand, and Judy felt surprised and guilty at making her mother cry. She didn’t know where it had come from, and the only time she’d ever seen her mother cry was at Judy’s grandfather’s funeral.
“I’m really sorry, Mom.” Judy sat down beside her and put an arm around her mother’s shoulders, while Penny jumped onto the bed and flopped down on the comforter behind them.
“It’s just hard, that’s all. It’s very hard.” Her mother shook her head, but didn’t look over.
“I know, there’s a lot going on right now, with Aunt Barb and everything. It’s just all catching up with you.” Judy hugged her shoulders gently. “Why don’t I make us some tea, some chamomile, and then we can go to bed?”
Her mother kept shaking her head. “It’s not that. It’s not Barb. It’s us. It’s me. We’re not close, we can’t even talk about anything.”
“What do you mean, Mom?” Judy felt terrible that her mother was so upset, but there was no way she could tell her about the barracks.
“It’s just so hard, to be a mother, there’s so many things I didn’t understand.” Her mother’s tone softened, pained. “It’s like you have a window of time, and it’s a small window. It’s not much time, really. They say life is short, but the truth is, motherhood is short.”
Judy didn’t understand. “Motherhood is forever, Mom. A girl always needs her mom.”
“No, it’s like you have one shot to be a good mother. The window is until your child’s twelve or thirteen, and by then, I knew I had blown it with you. I just had blown it. What I did with the boys didn’t work with you.”
“You didn’t blow it, Mom.” Judy had never seen her mother like this, so vulnerable, and they’d never talked about their relationship, so directly. “You were a great mother, and you still are. You’re a great mother.”
“No, honestly, I’m not, I’m a terrible mother to you. I don’t know what I did wrong. I failed.” Her mother’s shoulders shuddered with a new sob, and Judy held her tighter.
“That’s not true, I love you. We love each other.”
“No, I love you, but I’ve done a terrible job. I’ve made a mess of it. I failed you.” Her mother heaved another sob, trying to strangle it in her throat but not succeeding, and Judy’s heart broke at the sound.
“Mom, now, this isn’t true. You’ve always been there for me, I know that.”
“How do you know that?” Her mother looked up at her abruptly, her eyes brimming and bloodshot. “I’m asking you a question. How do you know that? How do you know I’m there for you, if you never tell me anything? Never call upon me? Never even call me?”
Judy thought a minute, seeing from her mother’s questioning gaze that she wouldn’t get away with less than the absolute truth. “You know how I know, Mom? You really want to know how I know?”
“Yes.” Her mother nodded, sniffling.
“Wait.” Judy put her hand in her blazer pocket and withdrew the palm-size canister of Mace, which happened to be hot pink. “Do you recognize this? This looks like something Barbie would have, but this is the Mace you gave me last Christmas, which replaced the Mace that you gave me the year before that, in case it expired. I carry it with me in my purse, all the time, because you have drilled that propaganda into my head. Every time I see it in my purse, I think to myself, my mother loves me. This is Exhibit A.” Judy felt her own chest tighten, but didn’t want to cry now, because she needed her mother to hear her. “And the same thing happens every time I see that dopey red fire extinguisher that you bought me for the kitchen, in case there’s a grease fire. I think to myself, my mother loves me. My mother cares about me. My mother is always there for me, no matter what, in any emergency.”
“Really?” Her mother half-smiled, though her lips trembled.
“Really.” Judy sniffled, feeling
her heart ache, which she hadn’t even known was possible. “And I’m not going to get into it, because I don’t want to upset you more than I already have, but tonight, this Mace saved my ass. Even though you weren’t there and you’re never going to find out what happened, you saved me. You saved me from harm. You might have even saved my life. That’s how there for me you are. It doesn’t get better than that, Mom. It just doesn’t.” Judy felt her mouth twist with sobs she was holding back, perhaps a lifetime’s worth of them. “I love you, Mom. I really do.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.” Her mother seemed to collapse into her arms, and Judy held her tight.
“And we’ll make things better, starting now. I’ll be a better daughter, I promise. I’ll call you more, I will.”
“It’s not you, it was me. I held back, I guess. I see that now. But now it’s too late.” Her mother burst into tears in her embrace. “It’s too … late.”
“No, it isn’t,” Judy said, meaning it. “You’ll see, you won’t even be able to get me off the phone. As long as we’re both alive, it’s not too late. It’s never too late.”
“Yes … it is.” Her mother began to cry in earnest, hiccupping sobs racking her frame. “You’re all … grown-up. I’m … out of … time.”
“No, you’re not.” Judy felt so much love for her then, though she couldn’t understand why her mother wasn’t coming around, but seemed to be hurting even more. “Mom, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m not grown-up yet, God knows. As long as we’re mother and daughter, we’re all right.”
“No, no … no. That’s … the … problem.”
“What is?”
Her mother looked up from her arms, her bloodshot eyes agonized and her expression stricken. “Honey, I’m … not your … mother.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“What did you say?” Judy asked, thinking she must’ve heard wrong.