Page 107 of Vaquero
Coltrane reached one arm across the table and took his fingers away from his mug. Curling them inside her palm, she said, “Your son was never alone, my friend. I was there, remember? During that long, hard year, I made friends in that hell-hole. Not every prisoner was a selfish bitch. Some were mothers who cried every night for their own lost babies. Some were little girls who couldn’t bear to hear another child weep. There were good hearts trapped inside Zapata’s zoo, Julio. Trust me. Your Tomas was not alone.”
But his mother wasn’t there for him, was she? The woman who should have sheltered him, didn’t, did she?Instant tears flooded Julio’s vision. There was no sense trying to hide them. He didn’t need to lie to Coltrane. She’d been there. She knew.
“There’s nothing I can say to ease your pain,mi amigo. Nothing, but that I am so Goddamned sorry for your loss,” she murmured softly. Still leaning toward him. Still trying to make right the worst crime a child could suffer. “I’ve never been a mother. Probably never will be, but—” Coltrane inhaled a deep breath. “—I’m a damned good aunt. I sheltered those I could while I was there, especially the smallest. You have to know that Zapata’s only interest in kids was using them for leverage. Once he got what he wanted, he left them alone.”
Julio stared at the drive, afraid to ask. Afraid he already knew the answer. But asking anyway, “H-how soon?” He coughed into his free hand. Cleared his throat. Carried on. “How soon after Bianca arrived did she…? Was she…?”Dios,it was hard to speak the defiling words. Had Zapata needed any leverage to get Bianca into his bed. Or was that why she’d come to Brazil, to be with him? Then why had she dragged Tomas along with her? Just to hurt Tomas? Or to hurt Julio? The thought galled him that she’d spat on all he held dear and sacred. Like his marriage vows. His baby boy.
“Are you asking me how quickly she went with Domingo?”
He nodded, wiping a quick finger under his nose. Unable to speak.
Coltrane’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She was usually at his side. She didn’t argue with or fight him. Ever.”
“Were…”Dios!This was unspeakably hard. “Were you there?”
Coltrane nodded. “The day he showed up with your wife and son in tow? Yes, I was there. He’d built a helicopter pad on top the one cellblock. I saw. I know.”
There was so much more Julio wanted to ask, but even this small amount of information was breaking his heart. Tomas might not have suffered the atrocities as Julio had thought, but he’d still been deserted by the mother who should’ve had his back. Who should have loved him more than she’d loved herself. Who should’ve protected him above everyone else. But especially against—him. Zapata. May he burn in Hell forever.
Stifling his grief and his anger, and blinking hard, Julio lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Bianca had unmanned him from the beginning. Nothing she’d ever said had been true. Julio knew that now. Then she’d betrayed her son, the tiny helpless boy Julio would gladly have died a thousand times for.
And yet, right now, beyond this very kitchen, up on the second floor, Bianca’s second child, Dominic, still breathed and, yes, giggled. He was safe and sound, no doubt drowsily listening to a bedtime story, while Meg—the Mumhe’dchosen—snuggled him against her lush body. His little head was probably resting on her pillowy breasts while he sucked his thumb and pretended to read along. He did that now, comforting himself with his thumb, whenever he grew tired. Or when carb overload hit his still frail body.
Meg would speak softer and softer until he dropped off to sleep. Then she’d sit in that rocking chair, holding her little boy tightly, not relinquishing her quiet time with him any sooner than she had to. Not until Julio climbed back up those stairs and winked at her to join him.
She’d offer some silly protest then, but finally, she’d lay Dominic on his toddler bed. She’d cover him and make sure his blankie, that Minky, dimple-dotted quilt that he loved, was the first thing he saw when he woke. Julio would stand over their son with Meg. She’d have a sappy, motherly glow on her face, and she’d kiss Dominic one last time. Julio would kiss that tender little boy, too—his son—carefully, so as not to wake him. Then he’d kiss him again. Once just for Dominic. Once again for Tomas. Both of his boys.
There was no way to go back in time and correct Bianca’s betrayals or ease Tomas’ suffering. Life didn’t work that way, and Karma was not that kind. But knowing that Dominic would never suffer as Tomas had… That he stood a good chance of beating tuberculosis, marching off to preschool in a couple years and kindergarten… Then grade school, high school, and college… Knowing that from now on, he’d always have a fierce mother and father bear at his back, ones who had and would march straight into Hell for their son... even before he’d legally been theirs to defend.
There was comfort in that sure knowledge. Julio swiped a hand across his eyes and swallowed hard. At last he could breathe. He had believed in his God and he had run the hard race. He had done all he could, and in the process, he’d saved Meg and Dominic. A couple times.
Coltrane squeezed his fingers, then released them as she shoved back in her chair.
“Oh. I didn’t know we had company,” Meg said from the kitchen door. “Am I interrupting? I can go back up to my—”
“Never,” Julio growled as he cleared his throat again and beckoned her to come join him.
She came quickly to his side, but there were times when simple wifely contact wasn’t enough. Julio tugged her onto his lap, circled her waist with both arms, and faced the friend he would always love for her self-sacrifice on behalf of his son. Like him, Coltrane had done as much as she could to protect Tomas. She would always be hisamigo.
“Meg, meet FBI Special Agent Persia Coltrane. I’ve told you about her.”
“It’s so good to finally meet you, Meg Duncan,” Coltrane replied as she shook Meg’s hand. “Good work in Brazil.”
“Likewise. Julio told me you helped him save Tomas. You looked out for Tomas, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” Coltrane’s gaze shifted from Meg to Julio. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? We serve. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. Some of us still have it.”
“Thank you,” Meg replied as she leaned her head onto Julio’s shoulder. “You’re one in a million.”
Coltrane shook that off, her dark hair flouncing off her shoulders. “No, ma’am, I’m not. You are. Take good care of my Vaquero. I’ll see you around.”
Julio scrubbed a hand over his face.Madre de Dios! Not that.
By then, Agent Coltrane was out the door and gone. But Meg was still in his arms, her head cocked up at him with curiosity, and her lips curled at the corners.Here it comes…
“Vaquero?” she asked, her eyes an extra-bright emerald. “As in a—”
“Yesssss,” he hissed. “As in cowboy. It’s just a tag, a handle. A nickname when I was Navy.” One he’d never wanted and now, would never live down.
