Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [121]
Neither Wagner nor Kip ever saw her again. She went the way of King Savangvathana and all his beloved family, banished into oblivion after the Congress of People’s Representatives decided he best abdicate his ridiculous throne so Laos could become a land of the proletariat, the peasant. When, years later, Wagner himself was disappeared, Kip wondered if he hadn’t pushed the Pathet government into it, hoping he’d land in the same camp as she.
Kip would never know, would he. But Wagner would be honored to be remembered, just here and now, out in a desert he’d only read about and never suffered in, as such.
—When you’re not sure what you’re doing, but you’re sure that what you’re doing must be done, then you’re thinking with your blood, my man, and thus your heart.
His brother Wagner would be proud that Kip remembered all this with clarity. So would his daughter, Ariel. After all, Kip was blood thinking of blood.
Now get on with it, soldier. Down the road.
The voice on the phone was Sarah’s, but was not the same nurturing voice Mary was accustomed to hearing. “Franny, I want you to come out to Nambé right now, or else I’m coming to Santa Fe.”
Three in the morning. Not like Sarah, either. But nothing had been routine these last twenty-four hours. After leaving the ranch, she spent that night and the following day in hiding. Her only contact with the world was a call from Marcos, on the road to Tularosa with Ariel, reconfirming her promise to keep Delfino’s secret. The documents he’d given her during their awful discussion constituted nothing less than a paper time bomb whose fuse could not be lit until the end of this not-yet-dawning day. Mary owed Marcos that much. Delfino’s letter and all it meant had to be kept hidden for just a little while longer, and then she’d be free of every Montoya responsibility, whether she liked it or not.
“What’s happened?” she asked, innocently as she could.
“Where’s Marcos?”
“I—”
“Is he there?”
“He was,” she lied.
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” She was grateful to be able to offer a half truth.
“You know what’s happened, and I’d like to know, too.”
“What makes you think—”
“You’ve never lied to me before, Franny, have you?”
Mary mumbled no.
“Don’t let me down now.”
“I’ll come out right away,” Mary said, and hung up before Sarah had the chance to say anything further.
A halogen burned at the far end of the long Pajarito driveway, down by the kitchen door. Mary’d driven with the windows open to the biting dry-damp desert air, negotiating the curves along the dusty potholed pueblo road with an abandon that reminded her she was losing control—no, had lost it completely. Sometimes the truth sets you too free.
She made an effort to straighten herself up, appear at least a little calm before entering. The kitchen window was aglow, and she easily imagined Sarah sitting on the banco drinking black coffee, which was how she found her.
Sarah saw her ashen face and reddened eyes but didn’t hesitate before asking, “Where are they?”
“Who?”
Silence.
“All of them. Tell me anything.”
“Where’s Carl?” asked Mary, faltering yet by the door.
“Asleep in bed. Now I’ve answered you, you answer me.”
“I’m not supposed to say until tomorrow.”
Sarah glanced up at the wall clock. “It’s tomorrow.”
“I promised them,” Mary shook her head. A further silence, then she said quickly, as if by compacting her words she could make them somehow less real, “Delfino and Kip went to Tularosa. And Marcos went down there after them.”
“Ariel, too?”
“I think so.”
“What for? Why the exodus?”
“Something to do with Delfino’s old ranch?”
“Are you asking me or telling?”
“I don’t know.” Mary thought, I’m a fraudulent person telling an honest person a mistruth. Great, just great.
“Come on, Franny. What’s going on? Not that I don’t think I already know.”
“Don’t call