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Never Was a Daylittle
Love & War hadn’t seen a violent crime in over a decade, so news of Rubio Bautista’s murder spread like wildfire. The news even caused a stir in the Badlands, where town news that didn’t involve free food or free showers and haircuts at the You Look Nice Salon was seldom worth discussing.
No one knew how to respond to the murder. Some families left the carefully hung Christmas lights that trimmed their homes dark out of respect for Rubio and his widow. Others put on brave faces and tried to carry on as normally they could, but parents were loathe to let their children too far out of sight, and lovers held each other closer and tighter than was usually their wont. The murder came as a hard blow to the town, striking at its very heart. The steel gray skies of winter did nothing to ease the deep sorrow.
Tiny watched her sister pull a pie out of the oven as she turned the event of Rubio’s murder over in her mind. Everyone else was talking about it, but Gracey had hardly mentioned it. Although Tiny hadn’t known Ines or Rubio Bautista well, Gracey knew everyone, and the tragedy must surely have affected her. That her sister had said little of Rubio’s death worried Tiny.
Climbing up on the sideboard, Tiny crossed her ankles and pushed a wild lock of red hair behind her ear. “Gracey,” she said, “Rubio’s funeral is tonight. You haven’t said anything about it, and I wondered if we were going.”
Gracey placed the pie on the cooling rack, shook her hair off her forehead. “The funeral’s at St. Benedict’s in Placerita,” she said.
Tiny waited. When Gracey said nothing else, she said, “Okay…?”
Gracey threw her sister a sideways glance as she pulled a bag of pie dough from the refrigerator. “You know I won’t go into a Catholic church.” She emptied the dough onto the counter.
Tiny rolled her eyes at Gracey’s back. “How long are you gonna carry that grudge?” She said the words with an inflection intended to raise Gracey’s ire. She braced herself for it.
But Gracey wouldn’t be roped into an argument. “Long as it takes,” she answered simply. She began beating the pie dough with a rolling pin. “No reason I can see you shouldn’t go, if that’s what you want.”
But Tiny only shrugged. “I’d feel weird going by myself. But even if we don’t go to the funeral, we’ll go the wake, right?”
“Planned on it,” Gracey replied. “Why, Tiny? You want something just say it.”
Tiny frowned at her sister. “Why are you in such a bad mood?”
Gracey turned, gave her sister a cold stare. “Somebody brought murder to my town,” she said. “And I’m a little bent outta shape about it.”
Tiny cut her eyes at her sister. “I’m not an idiot, Gracey.”
Gracey gave the dough an extra slap with the pin, and let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “I got a letter from Mama,” she said.
Tiny bit her lip, stopped kicking her feet. Gracey and Annette hadn’t spoken in over a year, ever since Tiny had left home to live with Gracey. There had been bad blood between them for longer than that, thought Tiny had never known why. It was something no one saw fit to speak to her about.
But that Annette had broken the silence with a letter could only mean something bad.
“What did she want?” Tiny asked.
Gracey rolled the dough out with more force than was needed. Her mouth was an angry slash across her face. “To let me know she wrote me out of her will.”
Tiny blinked in surprise. “She did what?”
Gracey laughed, mirthless, hard. “You heard me right,” she said. “She wrote me letter — couldn’t even face me over the phone, I guess — to tell me she no longer considers me family and that she sees no reason I should inherit any of the family’s wealth.” She threw the rolling pin, turned to face her sister. “It’s funny — Daddy was the Daylittle, not her. I’m an actual Daylittle by birth. What right does she even have to write me out of the family?”
Tiny didn’t know what to say. She could see the hurt in her sister’s face, hurt that was even greater than the anger at her mother’s self-centered audacity. “Are you going to be all right? Financially?”
Gracey nodded, waved away her sister’s concern. “It’s not the money,” she said. “Daddy left me plenty when he died. It’s just…it’s just so goddamned petty. And self-righteous. I don’t even know what else.”
“I’m sorry,” Tiny said, knowing it wasn’t enough. “But I have to mention…you probably shouldn’t be baking right now.”
Gracey turned to look down at the pie crust she’d been rolling out. She wondered how much anger and resentment she’d kneaded into the dough. Frantically, she began pulling the dough off the counter, throwing the pieces into the trash as they came up. “Jesus, you’re right,” she said. “The way I’m feeling I could poison the whole goddamned town.”
Tiny sighed. “Damn, this is really bad timing, too.”
Gracey looked over her shoulder, raised an eyebrow. “Why, were you going to ask for a loan?”
Tiny scoffed. “No. I…I was hoping we could bake a pie for Mrs. Bautista. An anti-grief pie.”
Gracey hrmmed, scraped the rest of the pie dough into the trash. She placed her palms against the edge of the counter, leaned her weight onto her arms. “Even if I were up for it, and I’m clearly not, people have to grieve, Tiny. It’s part of the healing process. Believe me, I know. I know a little something about loss.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “When I lost Gabe in the accident, I didn’t think I’d ever get over it. Some days I didn’t even want to wake up or get out of bed. It just felt like the world wasn’t even worth being present for anymore. After he died, I just gave up.”
It was strange hearing Gracey talk about the accident. Tiny had been just a girl when Gracey and her fiance had been in the car accident that killed him and left Gracey in the hospital for weeks. She had never met Gabe, only heard his name mentioned in passing. The one thing she did know about him was that for whatever reason, for reasons Gracey had never spoken to Tiny about, their engagement had disintegrated what was left of Gracey’s relationship with their mother. Annette had never even visited Gracey in the hospital when she was hanging onto life by a thread.
She could see the grief in Gracey’s face. Tiny wondered which part of the ordeal she was remembering.
“When you lose someone you love, happiness seems impossible,” Gracey was saying. “There’s no magic in the world can take that pain away.”
Then, she smiled. “On the other hand, they’re showing The Sound of Music at the dollar theater.”
Tiny made a face. “That movie sucks.”
“It’s my favorite.”
Tiny sighed, hopped down off the counter. “If it’s for a good cause. I’ll go with you. Afterwards, maybe put on some Happy Gracey music and see about that pie?”
Gracey shrugged. “I’m not saying I can make her want to dance the Macarena, but maybe we can at least help her want to get out of bed. Help her find a reason to keep going. See that life isn’t…such a waste.”
They locked up early. For a good cause.
Five hours, a bottle of Layer Cake pinot grigio and a food fight later, Gracey, wrapped in the post-alpine glow that seemed to have pushed all angst about their mother aside, pulled from the oven a beautifully browned, bubbling cherry pie. Tiny had insisted on a playlist— “Just to be sure” — that would keep Gracey’s spirits high while they baked. Tiny put the playlist together while Gracey assmbled the ingredients, adding only songs that made Gracey feel glad to be alive. The playlist had included Walking On Sunshine, Favorite Things, Perfect Day, Life Is Wonderful, and Wonderful World. Though Tiny had found some of the songs a bit on the corny side, she could practically feel Gracey’s skin humming with a golden joie d’vivre, and she knew, as she watched her sister lay the latticework for the cherry pie, that the magic was flowing.
The townsfolk began pouring in to the Bautista home around 7pm that evening. Many of the old families who, like the Bautistas, had lived in Love & War since the town was founded, had come early to help Ines receive her guests. They brought her casseroles and cornbreads, soups and salsas. They offered condolences, many of them with faces nearly as full of sadness as her own. Amid the gathering of friends and family, Ines Bautista sat like a crying Madonna, still and alone amid dozens of warm, vibrating bodies.
As Gracey came through the door with her pie, she saw Inés, recognized the grief she wore like a mask. It stabbed at her heart, and for a moment Gracey wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming. But that was what funerals were for, she remembered. For sharing in grief, not running from it.
With Tiny close behind, Gracey carried the pie to the kitchen. She sat it on the counter and glanced around. She pointed toward a drawer and said, “Tiny, bring me a fork, please.”
As Tiny hunted for the silverware, Gracey opened the cupboard and retrieved a small sandwich plate. Using the pie knife she’d brought, Gracey cut a generous slice, slid it carefully onto the plate. Tiny presented the fork, and Gracey placed it on the plate alongside the pie. As she headed for the living room, Tiny asked, “Should I put the pie away? So no one else will eat it?”
Gracey smiled, shook her head. “One slice should do the trick.”
Avoiding the other guests was no small feat in a house this size, but Gracey managed to make her way to Inés without jostling her plate too much. She sat down next to the widow, who barely flicked her eyes to register Gracey’s presence. Gracey put a hand softly on her elbow. “Inés, I’ve brought you something. Something to…something to help.”
She didn’t wait for Inés’s permission. Gracey pierced the pie with the fork, breaking off a small bite. She lifted the fork to Inés’s lips. “I want you to taste this,” she said.
The widow caught Gracey’s gaze then and in a moment of understanding, opened her mouth. Gracey fed her the small bite, watched as the woman swallowed it. After a moment, Inés blinked, then nodded. Gracey fed her another bite, and then another. Before long, Gracey fed Inés the entire slice. When she was done, Inés took the plate from Gracey and pressed her thumb against the final crumbs and licked them off. She set the plate aside and, with a fresh wave of tearful emotion, gathered Gracey into her arms and hugged her tightly. “God bless you,” she whispered.
When they pulled apart, Gracey leaned in and kissed the widow on a wet cheek. “It gets better,” she promised. The widow gave a brief nod of thanks, and Gracey took her leave.
The cold air outside was a sharp contrast to the crowded warmth inside the house. As she stepped into the evening, away from the stifling emotion indoors, Gracey pulled her coat tight against her chest and looked up into the night sky. Even after a decade of living here, the desert sky still filled Gracey with a deep sense of calm and wonder. She breathed the cold air in deep, let it burn all the way down her lungs, and when she exhaled, she watched her breath condense and dance in the cold air.
A shadow warned her of another presence, and Gracey turned to see Simon St. Laine approaching her from the house. He was dressed more casually than the last time she’d seen him; the top hat was missing, and he’d tied his long, black hair away from his face. The violet spectacles were gone. His skin was white against his mourning clothes — not just pale, but sickly, with purpling circles under his eyes. He offered Gracey a small, stiff smile by way of salutation. “It’s Gracey, if memory serves?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
The magician’s smile settled in, became a little less awkward. “I hope you don’t mind my following you out here,” he said.
Gracey shook her head. “Escaping the grief, too?”
The corners of the magician’s mouth quirked. “Something like that. It might seem strange, my being a performer, but I don’t much like crowds.”
Gracey smiled, nodding. “I know what you mean. I’m a people person myself, but I can understand needing your space.” She nodded toward the sky. “Especially on a night like tonight. Seems a pity to be holed up indoors.”
Simon followed Gracey’s gaze upward. After a moment, he realized she was looking at him, expectant. She knew he hadn’t come out for idle chatter. He held out a hand, made a small, sweeping gesture, palm up. An invitation. “Would you mind walking with me a moment?”
Gracey shrugged and followed the magician’s lead as they walked slowly down Yucatan Road. He seemed, if not more comfortable, at least less uncomfortable than the first time she’d met him; some of his formal strangeness had been replaced with an air of weariness. The night was quiet; Gracey could hear coyotes howling in the distance. She was loathe to be the one to break the silence, but stealing a glance at the magician she could tell something was on his mind. “Are you doing all right, Simon? You look…unwell. Hope you don’t mind my saying so.”
Hands clasped behind his back, the magician walked with his head down, but Gracey could see the small downward turn of his mouth. “I don’t mind. I’m getting on,” he said. “As well as can be expected anyway. The past several days have been…very hard on me.”
Gracey raised an eyebrow. “You knew Rubio well?”
The magician shook his head. His hair gleamed black in the moonlight. “Not well, no. But death…it’s a funny thing. When it touches one of us, it touches all of us, don’t you agree?”
Gracey breathed in deep thorugh her mouth, stifled an urge to sneer. She couldn’t agree, not after having seen first hand how some people could utterly disregard another’s grief. In her mind she was ten years younger in her hospital bed, having heard for the first time that Gabe hadn’t survived the crash. She remembered asking for her mother, and being told Annette refused to see her. She’d begged, pleaded, cried, “I just lost my fiance!” but her mother still refused not only to visit but to speak with Gracey at all.
Her mother’s refusing her had cut her to the quick. They’d barely spoken in the intervening years; in fact, had Tiny not been living at home at the time, Gracey would have cut off all familial ties completely. But for better or for worse, Tiny had kept her tethered.
Still, the magician didn’t need to hear any of this. She shook off the reverie, breathed the night in deep. “I do, yes,” she said. “It’s a somber time for everyone.”
They said nothing else for a while, letting the silence fill the space between them. They listened to crunch of the dirt under their feet, the occasional screech of a bat, the sound of wind whistling through bare tree limbs. Finally, Simon broached the real reason he’d asked Gracey for a walk. “I saw you with Inés,” he said. “She’d been nearly catatonic all evening. Even at the funeral she hardly moved. Several people tried to get her to eat; it was like she didn’t even see them. Then you came in, fed her a piece of pie, and she…hugged you.” He looked at Gracey, a puzzled expression on his face. “How did you get her to do that? To…” He cast about for the right expression. “To…wake up like that.”
They’d stopped walking without realizing it. Simon was looking down into Gracey’s eyes. His were narrow and piercing, questioning. That stare filled her up with a thousand responses, answers to questions he hadn’t even asked, but she was unsure where to begin. Or if she wanted to begin. Something about that look, those eyes, made her want to talk for hours, and if she started she didn’t know if she could stop. Looking up into those eyes, she felt she could pour herself into him, could tell him the story of her life, and he’d listen to all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
But the words caught in her throat, and her desire to tell him everything — about her magic, her mother, how she ended up in Love & War — turned sour in her stomach. She didn’t know this man at all. And the fact alone that she wanted to tell him everything made her uneasy.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said after a long pause. She was biting her lower lip, arms wrapped around her torso to ward off the cold. “You’re new around these parts — new by small town standards, anyway — so I guess you haven’t heard tell about me.” She smiled then, awkward, but honest. “I just…I have a way with pie,” she said. The words sounded ridiculous as she said them, and as soon as she spoke them she wanted to take them back and find a more elegant way of putting it, a way that wouldn’t make her sound like some no-account backwoods diner operator.
But that was just the problem. There wasn’t a more elegant a way to put it, because what she did wasn’t elegant. She wasn’t elegant. She was the square peg in the round Daylittle family hole, a milkweed of a woman who wore her hair wild all over her head and baked pies in the desert for a living. And now, standing with a strange magician under a star studded sky on a cold winter night, she was faced with the reality of what she’d been running from for quite a long time.
She wasn’t sure she knew where she belonged.
All of this ran through her head in a fraction of the second, and if the magician thought her words strange, he didn’t show it. He was still listening, his expression thoughtful. “I wonder, Gracey, if I could call on you some time,” he said after a moment.
It took her a second to realize what he was asking. “Oh! I…are you…are you asking me on a date?”
The magician stepped back, lowered his eyes. “My apologies. If that was presumptuous of me, I — ”
“No, it’s not that,” Gracey interrupted. “It’s just that…I haven’t…dated…anyone in a long time.” She offered a weak smile. “I don’t even think I remember how it’s done anymore,” she admitted.
The magician nodded. “I understand. It was a silly thing; I’m sorry.”
But Gracey shook her head, biting her lip. “Ask me again.”
“I’m sorry?”
Gracey felt her face blush deep red, her cheeks hot against the cool night air. “Please, just start over. Ask me again.”
A small look of understanding crept over the magician’s face, and a shy smile took bloom on his lips. “Gracey,” he began, his smile widening, “I was wondering if I could have the honor of calling on you some time.”
Gracey nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’d be happy to have dinner with you,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
They stood in silence, looking up at the sky. A wind blew and Gracey shivered. “We probably ought to get back,” Simon said.
Wordless, Gracey nodded, followed the magician back the way they’d come. It might have been the cold, it might have been her imagination, or it might have been a thousand other things, but Gracey thought she saw the smallest bit of color return to the magician’s face as they stepped back across the Bautista threshold. It was improper, and Gracey felt ashamed for it, but she couldn’t help, as the house’s warmth thawed her from her bones outward, smiling.
April 5th, 2010
I need to stop reading and get some work done — but I can’t!