Page 86 of Blood from the Marrow
“Lookin’ for your momma?” Dutch asked when she planted a foot on the front step.
“I was hoping to talk to Clara,” she replied becauseMommamade her stomach clench.
He nodded and stepped back, signaling for her to come inside.
The two-bedroom, like all the other tiny homes Elena’s crew had built at blinding speed, had a quaint, homey feel. Dutch pointed to the small sofa and continued to the kitchenette a few feet away.
“How about a drink?” Before Marisol had a chance to decline politely, he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers.
From his pocket, Dutch pulled out a jangling keyring. Marisol was sure that Lib had stocked the kitchen with a bottle opener, but Dutch went for his own. Was it habit or did he getused to never opening drawers? Something about the Aglion’s extreme self-reliance made Marisol incredibly sad.
“Hope lite is okay,” he said before handing Marisol a bottle and sitting on the other end of the couch.
“It’s great. Thank you.” Marisol folded one leg beneath her and turned to face him.
“Clara has been in her room since she got back,” he said, dull blue eyes cutting to one of three closed doors on the other side of the living room.
Marisol’s eyes widened. “Oh—I, um, didn’t realize you lived together.” She took a big swig from the bottle. “I didn’t?—”
“It’s not what you think,” Dutch interrupted, his forehead wrinkling when he chuckled. “Your momma and I are what you might call platonic companions.” He sipped his beer.
“I’m really not…” Marisol didn’t know how to say she didn’t care without sounding like an asshole. “Happiness is hard to find. I’m not?—”
“Your dad,” he continued like Marisol wasn’t drowning in a sea of awkwardness. As if terms like mom and dad used for strangers was perfectly normal. “He was the absolute love of Clara’s life.” He took a deep breath, thumb picking at the corner of the label. “What she’s been through… Finding him like that…” He shook his head and Marisol refused to consider what he meant. “Well, I’m honored that we spend what little time we have on this spinning rock together.” He smiled again, but this time he couldn’t hide his sadness.
“How long have you known each other?” Marisol’s mouth moved without her permission. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t want to know these people. Their relationship was transactional. Quid pro quo. They helped Elena and Elena helped them in return.
“Me and Clara?” He chuckled. “Gosh, feels like a lifetime. You know I’m only twenty-seven.”
Marisol’s eyes widened and Dutch laughed again.
“Now when I tell you I’m sixty, you’re going to think I look incredible for my age.”
Marisol couldn’t help smiling. “I like that. I might start using it.”
Dutch inclined his head forward and she imagined him jumping off a horse and tipping a dusty cowboy hat to a lady.
“They picked me up in ’92 outside of Birmingham.” He leaned back as if the memories were heavy and crossed his ankle over his knee. “It was just Clara and three others then.”
“How do you even find more Aglion?” Marisol asked.
“Luck most times,” he replied. “We can feel each other if we get close enough. You can feel that too, can’t you?”
Marisol nodded. It was the electric hum of a sleeping limb getting renewed blood flow. An impossible to ignore buzz all over her body.
“One benefit of running around all the time is stumbling upon more of us,” he explained after another sip. “Often if we find one, we can find a little pod and group up.” He rested the bottle’s neck against his calf. “I was hanging around the right convenience store at the right time when a blonde in a pixie cut stopped dead in her tracks when she looked at me.” He smiled to himself like he remembered a treasured memory. “Off I went and never looked back.”
Marisol had more questions, but Dutch didn’t give her a chance to ask them.
“Your mom was still crying herself to sleep then.” Dutch looked up at her with watery eyes that felt like a punch to the throat. “She did for a long, long time, kiddo.” His wrinkled face made him look a decade older than he was. “She still does it.” He looked at the closed door again, and Marisol imagined Clara crying into a pillow.
“She never reached out to me. Not once,” Marisol muttered, eyes on her bottle.
“We circled back to South Florida as often as we could. Far more often than was advisable. We tried never to go to the same place twice, but…” He shook his head. “If your momma got a bad feeling, down we came to make sure you and your grandma were alright.”
Tears burned the backs of Marisol’s eyes and she suddenly didn’t hate the wayMommasounded quite so much.
“I can’t pretend to know what this is like for you, kiddo.” He waited for Marisol to look at him. “But it takes a lot to let go of the people you love most in an effort to protect them.” He took another deep breath. “Clara has been walking around with her heart pounding outside her chest since she left you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “She’s never stopped doubting whether she made a mistake, but what she did, she did to protect you the only way she knew how.”
