he always thought something was working out with some lady."
I nodded politely, then realized what he was saying. "I don't remember anybody like that."
Carl just looked at me and breathed gravel. I got the point.
" She was married."
"Eh," he said. "They usually were."
For a minute his eyes drifted off, as 路if he'd forgotten what we were talking about. Then he continued.
"Your dad was a hard-nosed son of a bitch, son. But, Good Lord, he could turn soft over a woman. You should've seen the roses he bought once for a Laredo whore - "
"Carl," I said.
He stopped. I guess he saw well enough to read my expression in the blue light of the television.
"Yeah, you're right, son. Enough said."
I sat with him for a while and watched the game shows. The nurse brought in some applesauce and I helped him eat it, spooning the excess up his chin and into his mouth like you would a baby.
After an hour he said: "I guess you need to go."
"I'll try and come back tomorrow."
"You don't need to do that," he said. But his hand wouldn't let go of mine. He looked at me for a minute and said: "You look just like your mama. Just like Ellen."
I didn't tell him he was wrong. I just nodded, swallowing hard.
"You find this girl of yours," Carl said, squeezing the words into my hand, "and you hang on to her, Jackson."
Maybe he was talking to me, maybe to my father. At that point it didn't matter. When I left him he was still recounting the old days, telling Vanna White what a son of a bitch my father had been.
"Roses for a Laredo whore," he told her. " Some kind of roots."
Carl Kelley held on feebly to his oxygen tubes like they were the only things still anchoring him down.
Chapter 45-46
Chapter 45
Maia acknowledged my existence long enough to throw a notepad at me. Then she went back to pretending to read the newspaper.
"He called about an hour ago," she said. "Right after Detective Schaeffer."
The note said: "Carlon - 5 hours and counting. Talk to me. " I tore off the note and threw it in the trash can. I missed.
"And Schaeffer is interested in talking about Terry Garza," Maia said. "I stalled him as much as I could."
"Any more good news?"
Maia dropped the paper longer this time, enough for me to see that her eyes were red. She sat on the futon with her legs tucked under her, wearing a black pantsuit with sequins. Her ponytail was tied back in a new way, with a small cluster of red and blue ribbons. It all looked slightly familiar, but not on her. I frowned.
"What else happened?" I asked. "Did you go somewhere?"
She tried to look hurt. Then the tension became unsustainable. She cracked a smile. "Your mother came by," she admitted.
My expression must've been good. She started laughing.
"You asshole," Maia said. "I'm still mad at you."
Her eyes said otherwise.
"And - what did my mother say?"
" She was mad at you too," Maia said. The smile was evil. "We commiserated. We--talked."
I sat down on the futon next to her, still frowning. I tried to look threatening. "Talked?"
She did a bad job of covering up her smile. "We buried the hatchet, more or less. She took me out as a peace offering. This was right after you left."
I looked at the pantsuit again, the ribbons in Maia's hair.
"No!"
She nodded her head enthusiastically. "We went shopping at Solo Serve."
"It's over," I said. "Homicides, disappearances, and now you're going to Solo Serve with my mother."
Maia shrugged. Then she kissed my cheek.
"I was going to rell you that I'd decided to leave tomorrow," she admitted. "I even made reservations. Now that I've seen the clearance rack, I may never go away."
I needed a beer very badly. Of course Maia and my mother had drunk them all.
"And here I thought you'd been crying," I yelled into the refrigerator. "Your eyes are just red from looking at price tags."
"Serves you right," she said. "And this is for you."
She produced a yellow plastic Solo Serve bag from under the futon, then pulled out an extra-large T-shirt that said "WELCOME TO SAN ANTONIO" on the front in neon colors was a depiction of San Antonio's one claim to heavy metal history: Ozzie Osbourne urinating on the Cenotaph in front of the Alamo.
"It spoke to us," she said. "It just screamed 'Tres'. "
"It's lovely. How do you say 'She-devil' in Mandarin?"
I guess I looked