Pie Town Page 3

  He finished spraying the plants and pulled the hose around the side of the house. When he returned to the front porch, he began pruning, pulling off some of the leaves withering on the bluebells and marigolds. He hated to see any plants or flowers suffer, and he figured that once again, for another summer, it would be up to him if Malene was going to keep anything alive and growing.

  “Hey, Grandpa, you come to arrest me?” Alex was in his wheelchair just inside the screened front door.

  “That’s exactly why I’m here. I’m arresting you and your grandmother for the murder of all of these flowers.” He threw the dead leaves in the yard and wiped his hands on the front of his pants. “I thought you were going to make sure she watered them this year,” he added as he pulled open the door. He leaned in and gave his grandson a hug.

  “She always forgets and leaves the hose where I can’t reach it,” the little boy explained, sitting up in his seat to receive the greeting. He handed his grandfather a can of soda and then leaned back and put his electric wheelchair in reverse. “Besides, she knows you’ll take care of them.”

  Roger took the soda, walked in, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, and then stuck it in his back pocket. Even though it was still early, it was hot in Pie Town. “Frieda in the kitchen?” he asked, glancing around the corner.

  “She’s cleaning up my bedroom,” Alex replied. “I was late getting up this morning,” he added.

  Roger nodded. “Thank you for this.” He opened the soda, smiled, and then took a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I heard you had a bad time last night again.”

  Alex moved his chair forward and then in reverse and then forward again until he was directly across from the sofa in the front room. He shrugged. “It’s just my legs again,” he replied. “But I feel better now.”

  Roger walked into the den behind him and sat down on the sofa. “You are the trooper,” he said.

  “And you are the sheriff,” the little boy replied.

  They both smiled at the familiar lines they shared with each other.

  Roger had been a steady and faithful presence in the life of his grandson even though he and Malene had been divorced years before he was born. Throughout their marriage and even after it was over, they had fought about a lot of things—about which side of the tracks to build their house, the profession he chose, how to care for their aging parents, what to do with their recalcitrant daughter—but once Alex was born and the diagnosis of spina bifida had been given, and then once Angel left, they had never fought again.

  It was as if all of a sudden they both realized and accepted that their arguments were of no consequence, and the truth was, they both equally and deeply loved their grandson. Agreeing about that one true thing, their love for Alex, seemed to temper any possible reason they might ever again find to fight. Roger never even fussed very much over Malene’s pitiful attempts at growing a garden. It didn’t matter anyway, and Alex was right: they all knew Roger would once again end up watering and caring for every plant and flower she bought and stuck in a pot. Gardening had become like everything else they did together, easy and without explanation or argument.

  Alex lived with Malene and she was his primary caregiver, but not a day passed without Roger stopping by to visit the little boy at home or talking to him on the phone or having lunch with him at the diner in town. Alex was the light of more than one person’s world. And between Malene and Roger, and with Oris and his neighbors, the nurses who worked with Malene and the officers who worked with Roger, the priest and people from church, Alex was parented and grandparented and loved and watched over by everybody in the little town. He was the child the entire village raised. He was the soul of Pie Town.

  “Sheriff Benavidez, I didn’t know you were here.” Frieda had rounded the corner.

  “Hey, Frieda.” He stood up in respect. “I just stopped by for a drink of grape soda and a wink at my grandson.”

  The older woman reached up, smoothing the sides of her hair, and smiled. “Alex is late getting up today,” she commented.

  Roger nodded as he sat back down. “I heard he had a rough night.”

  “Those legs of his,” Frieda said with a clucking noise. “If only we could find something to stop that aching.” She mouthed words that Roger knew to be a prayer while she made the sign of the cross, finishing with her fingers touching her lips.

  Alex shifted gears on his wheelchair and backed up a bit. He faced Frieda. “I’m ready to do my math now,” he announced.

  She smiled. “I’ll get the computer set up,” she said. She turned to Roger. “It’s always good to see you, Sheriff.” She nodded and walked out of the room.

  “Math, huh?” Roger asked when she was gone. “I thought you were a science whiz. And why are you doing schoolwork in the summer anyway?”

  “I like school,” he answered. “And now I’m taking pre-algebra,” Alex added, shifting his chair again to be closer to his grandfather.

  “Pre-algebra?” Roger repeated. “Are you old enough to take pre-algebra?”

  “When I pass the test in a couple of weeks, I can start taking algebra in the fall,” the young boy responded with a grin.

  “Well, I don’t know where you got those skills,” Roger noted. “It certainly wasn’t from our side of the family.” He placed his drink on the table in front of him, reached in his pocket, and took out the pack of gum. He sat forward, holding out the pack to Alex.

  The little boy reached over, pulled out a stick, opened it, and popped it in his mouth. “Big Red,” he said, naming the gum while he chewed.

  Roger nodded. “Best chewing gum in the world.”

  Alex grinned.

  “By the way, I saw your great-grandfather this morning. He’s making buttermilk cornbread and cowboy beans for your birthday party.” Roger took a stick from the pack and added it to the one he was already chewing, placing the pack back in his pocket.

  Alex nodded. “It’s a Pie Town tradition,” he said. “Goes with the green chile stew Ms. Bea always makes.” He chewed a bit more as the two sat in silence. “And the Spanish rice Mrs. Watson always brings.” He paused. “You think Mom will make the party this year?” he asked.

  Roger hesitated. He reached up and took the can of soda, finishing the drink in one long sip. He didn’t answer at first.

  Angel had been gone for more than ten years. She missed her son’s party the previous year and the year before that. She had returned to Pie Town on his birthday about five years earlier. Alex had been in the hospital, and she didn’t find out until she got home. She drove over to Albuquerque to see him, but he had been in surgery when she arrived. She left before he awoke. That was the last time she had been home.

  Roger kept up with his daughter through friends in sheriff’s departments across the state. The last he heard about Angel, she had moved up north, to Taos. She was working at a bar, living with some hippie. But that information had been delivered about a year before. He wasn’t sure if she was still there or not.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Alex,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last time I talked to her, she didn’t have a car or a phone.”

  There was a pause. They both listened to the noises outside. A dog was barking somewhere off in the distance, and they could hear the traffic from Highway 60. Frieda was humming in the back bedroom.

  “Don’t worry, Grandpa,” Alex said, sounding much older than his almost eleven years. “She just needs to be somewhere else. Besides, I have a feeling there will be plenty of friends at the party, maybe even some new ones.”

  Roger looked at his grandson, wondering how he could be so forgiving, so understanding. He knew that the boy had a lot of people in his life who loved him, played with him, took care of him, but Roger knew there was never anyone who could take the place of a child’s mother.

  Everyone tried to pretend Angel wasn’t necessary to Alex’s growing-up, wasn’t crucial to his healthy development. They
tried to act like the town and family together were somehow enough, could somehow make up for her disappearance. But deep down everybody, especially his grandparents, worried that a boy without his mother, a boy abandoned by his one known parent, a boy as insightful and sharp and fragile as Alex, would always question and probably always mourn her absence.

  “You want a clown or wagon rides this year?” Roger asked, changing the subject away from talk about Angel. “Or have you gotten too old for that kind of thing now that you’re taking algebra?”

  Alex smiled. “I’d like music,” he said. “The softball game and everybody we love laughing together and dancing to music.”

  Roger studied his grandson. He worried about the boy. He worried about his health and his disability, how he would grow up suffering so much. But in his short life, and unlike everyone else around him, Alex never appeared to be bothered by the way things were. He seemed to never regret what everyone else thought was missing.

  “Then music you will have,” Roger responded. “Because your grandfather does know some of the finest guitar pickers in Catron County.”

  “And that is probably because my grandfather is the best guitar picker in Catron County,” the boy noted.

  “You trying to sweet-talk me into letting you stay up all night for your birthday?” Roger asked as he stood to leave. “Because you know bribery is a misdemeanor in this state.”

  Alex grinned. “And you would know that because you are the sheriff,” he said, backing up his wheelchair so his grandfather could pass.

  “And you are the trooper,” Roger responded, rubbing the boy’s head as he walked out the door.

  Alex moved his chair to follow him. “Don’t forget the plants out back!” he yelled as Roger made his way off the porch.

  And Roger threw up his hand to wave good-bye, picked up the hose he had left at the side of the house, and moved around the corner to finish the task of watering his ex-wife’s neglected and scattered garden.

  Chapter Six

  No red icing.” Malene spoke sharply into the receiver. “That red dye is not safe. I don’t care what the FDA approved.” She slipped the mouthpiece away from her lips. “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Henderson,” she said to the patient who was pulling on the edge of the counter at the nurses’ station where Malene was on the phone. The older woman was trying to lift herself out of her seat. As soon as she stood, the alarm on her wheelchair sounded.

  “Mrs. Henderson!” Malene called out. She dropped the phone and ran over to her patient. She got to Mrs. Henderson just as she wobbled but before she fell. Malene carefully placed her back in her seat. She turned off the small alarm clipped to the wheelchair and pulled a belt around her patient. “You cannot get up without help!” she shouted, tightening the belt. “You’re going to fall again!”

  “I just want my yellow pill,” Mrs. Henderson said. “It’s time for my yellow pill.” She waved Malene away. “You people never give me the pill at the right time.”

  Malene pulled the wheelchair away from the station and placed her patient next to the wall, facing where she had just been trying to stand. “You had your pill at lunchtime, Mrs. Henderson,” she said, her voice softer this time. “It was the yellow one, and you have it with meals. Please just sit over here for a bit while I finish my phone call,” she added, “and then I’ll take you back to your room. Your show starts in ten minutes. I’m trying to get Alex a birthday cake.”

  “Alex has a birthday?” The older woman perked up. “That sweet boy. How old is he now?” she asked, sounding clear and alert.

  “He’ll be eleven,” Malene replied, walking back to the phone. She picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. “They hung up,” she said.

  “Alex is the son of an angel, and he brings me the evening light.”

  Malene smiled. Like everyone in Pie Town, the residents at Carebridge loved Alex. Malene often brought him to the nursing home with her when she worked the second shift. He played bingo with the patients and helped serve meals. It was his job to turn on the table lamps for every resident after dinner and say good-night. “That’s exactly right, Mrs. Henderson. Alex brings us light.” She placed the receiver back in the cradle. “Oh well, I guess I’ll have to call back.”

  “What kind of cake are you getting?” Christine, one of the other nursing assistants, had walked into the station. She was young, just out of community college, and she often worked alongside Malene. Even though she was young enough to be Malene’s daughter, they were friends.

  “It should be yellow!” Mrs. Henderson yelled out. “A yellow cake with an angel.”

  “She say that she didn’t get her pill?” Christine asked, noticing the patient next to the wall.

  Malene nodded. “What is it with her and that yellow pill?” she asked. “Why does she get so worried about not taking that one?”

  Christine shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s the one she thinks is keeping her alive.”

  “I can hear you,” Mrs. Henderson noted, glaring at the two women talking about her. “Take me back to my room. My show is starting.”

  Christine rolled her eyes in the direction of Malene and walked over to the patient. “How many times has Erica been married?” she asked, referring to a character on the soap opera her patient watched. She had become familiar with the characters and the plotlines.

  “Enough to know better than to jump in bed with that Adam Chandler again, I’ll tell you that.”

  Christine released the brake on the wheelchair and pointed her patient in the direction of her room. “Well, maybe what Erica and Adam have is real love and it just takes two or three times to get it right.”

  “You should quit watching soap operas, Mrs. Henderson, it will turn your brain into mush,” Malene called out to the woman as she was being wheeled down the hall.

  “You should know better than anybody, Malene, that my brain is already mush.” Mrs. Henderson’s voice trailed away.

  Malene smiled. She picked up the phone again and dialed the number of the grocery store. “Deli, please,” she said, and she was connected to the bakery section.

  “Hello, it’s Malene Benavidez.”

  “Oh right,” the woman on the other end responded. “No red icing,” she recalled. “Did we get cut off or something?”

  “Yes,” Malene answered. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I had to take care of something. Okay, so it’s a full sheet cake, chocolate with white icing. And it should say, ‘Happy Birthday Alex.’ ” She paused. “Do you have any little toy guitars?” she asked, thinking about the gift she and Roger were getting their grandson.

  “Nope, just cowboys and balloons, a princess, and a couple of Disney characters” came the reply.

  “Can you make a guitar?” Malene asked.

  “You mean out of icing?”

  “Yeah, can you draw guitars on the cake?”

  There was a sigh on the other end. “I can’t, but I can get Ronnie to do it. He’s real good at making pictures on cakes. He’s an artist. He comes in early. I’ll leave him a note.”

  “Perfect,” Malene said.

  “ ‘Happy Birthday, Alex.’ Chocolate with white icing. No red. And some guitars somewhere on the cake.” The girl in the bakery confirmed the order.

  “Guitars on the corners, yes, and that’s it,” Malene noted.

  The phone line went quiet, and Malene figured the girl was adding up the cost or writing down instructions. She didn’t interrupt.

  “It’ll be ready for pickup Saturday morning.”

  “Thank you,” Malene said and hung up the phone. When she turned around, Roger was standing in front of her, on the other side of the nurses’ station.

  “Hey,” she said, looking surprised to see her ex-husband. He stopped by Carebridge on occasion, but usually he called first.

  “Hey, Lena,” he replied, calling her by the nickname he had given her when they were teenagers.

  “You arrest Daddy?” she asked, wondering if that was why he was
there to see her. She picked up a couple of folders and placed them in a file drawer beside her. “I can’t make bail, so he’s just going to have to wait it out behind bars.”

  “Nah, I didn’t lock him up. He promised to keep his pants on from now on.” Roger slid his hands into the back pockets of his pants. “Besides, I didn’t want to have to do all that paperwork.” He paused and then commented, “You didn’t look too happy when you drove off.” He was grinning.

  Malene shook her head. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do with him.” She straightened up the papers around her. “I still don’t know why he bought that new car. The one he had was fine.”

  “You know Oris. He likes a new Buick,” Roger replied.

  “Yes, I know Oris. I know Oris better than anybody, and I know he doesn’t have the money to go buy a brand-new car.”

  “Oris has got more money than most,” Roger noted. He glanced around, nodded at a few patients who were sitting close by. He called out their names, since he knew everybody at Carebridge. “I still think he’s got some squirreled away that he hasn’t told you about.”

  Malene had been managing her father’s affairs since her mother died, and that had been not long after Angel was born, when she and Roger were married and they thought they would be able to handle anything. Her brother had joined the army just after he graduated from high school, and he was always on some base out of state. When it came to handling their parents, whether it was their mother’s illness and death or their father’s financial situation, Malene was the one in charge. She rolled her eyes at Roger. “If he had anything squirreled away, I can promise you that it’s gone by now.”

  Christine came around the corner. “Hey, Sheriff, you taking a break from busting criminals?” she asked, punching him in the shoulder as she passed him. She moved into the station behind the counter with Malene.

  “I came to get your payment for that speeding ticket you never paid,” he replied, teasing her.

  The young woman smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, sounding very coy. “I never got any speeding ticket. Danny gave me a warning.”