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As usual, Cheyenne is asleep in her carseat by the time we’ve driven two miles.
“You called just in time, Melissa. I was getting ready to file a kidnapping report against you.”
“What do you mean, kidnapping?”
“You know. Kidnapping. And child endangerment, too. I was just waiting for my next paycheck so I could get a lawyer to file charges.”
It is as if Irma is speaking a foreign language, that’s how hard it is for me to understand what she’s saying.
“Child endangerment? Cheyenne wasn’t in danger.”
“That was an awful thing you did, taking the baby away from us. After all I’ve done for you, too. You’d have been out on the street if it wasn’t for me.”
Irma reaches across me and gets some tissue from the glove compartment. She dabs at her eyes.
“I’m so disappointed in you. Your own mother didn’t want to be bothered with you, and I took you in and then you steal our baby away from us.”
“How can I steal my own baby?”
“She’s not just your baby. Rudy’s name’s on that birth certificate too, you know.”
In the off and on glow of headlights and streetlights, Irma’s face looks hard, and set. Even at stoplights she doesn’t turn to look at me. I hadn’t expected her anger. If she’s this angry, what will Rudy be like when I see him?
I should reach back and unbuckle Cheyenne—be ready to get out at the next stop light. Run with her back to the shelter. I look around for familiar landmarks. Nothing. We’re in the middle of nowhere and I wouldn’t even know which direction to run.
We drive for miles, not talking. Irma’s got a Mexican station on, with Mariachi music. It’s peppy and upbeat, the opposite of how I’m feeling.
By the time we get to Pomona, things are looking more familiar. It is late, and for once the freeway is not all jammed up. My stomach is growling from hunger. I wish I had at least thought to put a couple of apples in my backpack.
Irma sighs and turns off the radio.
“You know, Rudy lost his job because of you.”
I stare out the window, wondering what’s going to come next.
“Mr. Murphy was using Rudy every day on that remodeling job, even giving him overtime, but Rudy was so stressed out over you kidnapping Cheyenne that he just lost it.”
“I didn’t kidnap my own baby! I took her to a safe place!”
“Well, all I know’s Rudy’s out of work and it never would have happened if you hadn’t run off with the baby.”
“So Rudy lost his temper and did something stupid and you’re blaming it on me?”
“I know my son! He doesn’t just go around throwing hammers through windows for no good reason!”
Irma wipes tears of anger from her cheeks, still keeping her eyes on the road ahead. It’s weird. I never had hopes that Irma would love me like a daughter, or any of that fairytale stuff, but I never thought she’d hate me. Now, it’s like she hates me.
“If Rudy threw a hammer through a window it’s because he decided to do that, not because I made him.”
“Oh, I suppose that’s going to be your attitude now. You’re not responsible for anything,” she says, oozing sarcasm. “Rudy’s been sick with worry over you. Carrying your picture wherever he goes, driving around at all hours, asking strangers on the street if they’ve seen you . . .”
Irma turns off the freeway and into familiar territory. I can see the tower of Hamilton High School from here and I realize with a jolt how much I’ve missed this familiar school and all that goes with it—friends, classes, teachers, the Infant Center.
“Rudy’s been so upset over you leaving—you’ve made him crazy.”
“I’m responsible for my own behavior, not Rudy’s,” I say.
Irma lets out a snort of derision. “You’ve picked up so much bull shit along the way you smell like a cow pasture.”
I won’t cry. I won’t cry. Over and over again I think those words. I take deep, cleansing breaths, the way I learned to do at the shelter. How stupid I was to call Irma.
“You have a little tiff and you go running off to some home for battered women. You girls today are so spoiled! Let me tell you, I didn’t go running off with Rudy every time his father got a little mad on. I minded my mouth and stuck it out. Children belong with their fathers just as much as they do with their mothers.”
“Well, that’s why I’m coming back,” I say.
“I didn’t want to take a baby on, at my age,” Irma says, again dabbing at tears. “But Rudy insisted and then, I loved her so much, that sweet little thing . . .”She is crying full out now, and I worry that she can’t see where she’s going.
“Then you took her away from me, with no warning . . .”
“We’re back, Irma. We’re back,” I say, trying to be as reassuring as possible.
“But I don’t trust you anymore. The least little thing’ll come up and who knows what you’ll do . . .”
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Rudy is sitting on the front porch, smoking, when we drive into the driveway. Even in the dark I can see his wide smile. He runs to the car and opens my door, taking me by the hand and guiding me out. He is laughing.
“I knew you’d come back. I kept telling Mom, she’ll be back, just wait.”
He gives me a big hug and says he’s missed me. Then he opens the back door and gently gets Cheyenne from her carseat. She stirs.
“Hi, Baby,” he whispers.
She opens her eyes wide. “Daddy!” she shrieks. “Daddy!”
We all laugh, even Irma. Rudy carries her and her backpack into the house and Irma and I follow.
“Phew!” he says, laughing.
Rudy puts her down on the couch and gets a diaper and baby wipes from her backpack. He cleans her up and kisses her belly, then he puts a fresh diaper on her. He puts her on the floor and she takes off running into the room where we kept all her toys.
“Mary!” she says, carrying her baby doll out to show me.
“Mary missed you,” Rudy says.
“Miss ’em,” Cheyenne says, walking into the kitchen.
It’s as if she has to check out every nook and cranny, looking for familiar things.
Now that we’re in the house, Irma’s face has lost the hard, stony look she had in the car. She sits in the recliner, feet up.
“What a long drive,” she says.
“Well, it’s over now,” Rudy says, smiling at me. “It’s all over now.”
I feel an old warmth rushing through me as I see Rudy’s glowing smile and the tender look in his eyes. Maybe everything’s going to work out.
“Come to Gramma,” Irma says, reaching toward Cheyenne.
Irma helps Cheyenne climb into the chair. She kisses the top of Cheyenne’s head.
“Your hair smells good,” Irma says.
Well, I think, at least she knows I’ve been keeping Cheyenne clean. And one look at her chubby little body and anyone can tell she’s been well fed. Child endangerment! What a stupid idea!
My stomach growls again, so loud Cheyenne laughs and points to me. I’m starving, but I can’t bring myself to say so. And in spite of the growls, neither Irma nor Rudy offer anything to eat. Well, I can wait until morning. It won’t kill me.
Cheyenne is not so shy about asking for food. She points in the direction of the kitchen.
“Juice. Cracker,” she says.
Irma gets up and goes to the kitchen. She puts Cheyenne in her high chair and gives her juice and crackers. I get a container of bananas and cereal and bring it into the kitchen. Irma watches while I feed Cheyenne, then says goodnight.
Rudy runs bath water and together we bathe Cheyenne. It’s nice to be where she has her own clothes. She laughs when she sees her favorite Minnie Mouse pajamas.
Cheyenne clutches Mary in one hand, sucks the wrist of her other hand, and is fast on her way to sleeping by the time we walk out the bedroom door. I can tell she is happy to be in her own crib, with her own bird mobile.
Rudy sits on the couch in the living room, his arm resting on the back, as if expecting me to nestle in beside him. I sit in Irma’s recliner, flipping through an old magazine, feeling awkward now that we are alone. Where will I sleep? How will things be? Will I ever be comfortable enough here to go to the refrigerator and help myself to something to eat?
It is so quiet in here I can hear Rudy take a deep breath, then sigh. I glance up from the magazine I’m pretending to read. He is leaning forward, looking at me, eyebrows raised, as if he’s expecting me to say something, or do something. I look back at the magazine and turn another page.
“Missy,” he says, in a whisper.
I close the magazine and look up.
“Come sit by me.”
We watch each other, neither of us moving. The air between us seems heavy, almost solid.
“Please,” he says, patting the couch on the cushion beside him.
I walk through the heavy air and sit beside him, breathing in his familiar scent of soap and cigarettes.
“I love you,” he says.
His words, his presence, draw me to him with a force stronger than caution. He holds me tight, whispering.
“I didn’t know how much I needed you ’til you were gone. Stay with me, Missy, don’t leave me again. I won’t hurt you, I swear, I’ll only love you. I learned my lesson. I learned my lesson.”
It is as though somewhere deep within me a dam bursts, releasing floods of sorrow and loneliness. Shaking and sobbing, I bury my face in Rudy’s chest.
“Hold me,” I say. “Don’t let me go.”
“No, never,” he promises, and I know that all of my questions about belonging are answered. I belong with Rudy, wherever he is, that’s where I belong. Rudy and I, and Cheyenne—a family of people who belong together.
Rudy stands and pulls me to him, kissing me tenderly on the lips. He takes my hand and leads me into his bedroom where Cheyenne sleeps soundly in her crib, still clutching Mary. He pulls me to him again. This time his kisses are more insistent. He pulls my sweater up and puts his hand inside my bra. I cling to him, wanting to get closer, to lose myself in this moment.
We move to the bed, grappling with buttons and zippers until I feel Rudy, hard, pressing between my legs.
For a fleeting instant I wonder if a week off the pill means I could get pregnant, then I open to Rudy, taking him in, thinking nothing else, feeling nothing else, only Rudy. Rudy. Rudy.
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Cheyenne wakes at six-thirty, smiling over her crib at us.
“Baby help,” she says.
I get out of bed and let down the crib side, so Cheyenne can climb out by herself. She struggles, trying to do it all one-handed while she keeps a hold on her doll.
“Here, let me hold Mary for you,” I tell her.
She pauses, then hands the doll to me, grips the crib railing with both hands and climbs over. She runs to the bed where Rudy still sleeps, covers pulled over his head. She pulls the covers away from his face and pokes at his eyes.
“Daddy. Wake.”
“No,” he says, then pretends to snore.
“Wake!” she says, trying to force his eyelids open.
In one quick move he swoops her into bed with him.
“I’m gonna eat you up,” he says, making gobbling sounds and munching gently at her.
Cheyenne laughs like I’ve not heard her laugh in weeks.
Irma knocks on the door and comes walking in.
“Hungry, Baby?” she says, smiling at Cheyenne.
“Go with Gramma before I eat you all, all up,” Rudy says, lifting Cheyenne and holding her out to Irma.
“I need to leave in about fifteen minutes,” Irma says, carrying Cheyenne out of the room.
As soon as they’re gone, Rudy gives me a sly grin.
“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time,” he says.
I quick close the door and crawl back in bed.
“Quiet, though,” I whisper.
“As a mouse,” he says, taking my hand and guiding it to him.
––––––––
After Irma leaves for work we get up and fix a huge breakfast, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and a kind of cinnamon toast that’s sort of Rudy’s specialty.
“How long’s it been since you’ve eaten?” Rudy says, watching me wolf down food.
I smile, embarrassed, and slow down.
Cheyenne sits in her high chair and Rudy feeds her little bites of scrambled egg in between his own big bites. Watching them, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. This is what I want, right here, not some halfway house with a bunch of women I don’t even know—complaining women at that.
We clean up the kitchen and get Cheyenne dressed. Rudy sings silly made-up songs to Cheyenne, and every time I look his way he’s got this big smile on his face. Same for me. I can’t stop smiling, either.
“I should go get set up with classes this afternoon,” I tell him.
His smile fades. “Why don’t we spend today together, just the three of us. It’s been so long.”
“Well, okay. I don’t want to miss much school, though.”
“Just today,” he says, putting his arms around me. “Huh, Cheyenne,” he says. “Just today.”
“Today!” she repeats, causing us both to laugh.
We spend the day talking about how things are going to be. For sure we’re going to Vegas to get married just as soon as we can. And Rudy’s going to get another job, better than the last one.
“Ol’ Murphy didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground,” Rudy says.
“I thought you liked him?”
Rudy’s face clouds over.
“That’s before I saw what an asshole he is.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothin’. It’s over. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Rudy walks out the back door and sits on the steps, smoking. I gather up dirty clothes and put a load in the washer, then Cheyenne and I vacuum. She loves to push the vacuum cleaner.
I think if Irma comes home to a clean house, maybe she’ll start to like me again. Or at least stop hating me.
After we finish vacuuming we take Cheyenne’s big plastic ball outside and bounce it back and forth. Rudy plays, too. His smile is back. When Cheyenne tires of the game, Rudy and I sit on the steps and watch while she goes from flower to flower, sticking her nose into each one, then looking at us and smiling.
“Yum, yum,” she says at each stop.
I go inside and get the pictures Daphne and I took at the park, then sit back down beside Rudy.
“Look, this is my friend from the desert,” I say, pointing to Daphne.
He glances at the picture, then looks away.
“And this is her little boy, Kevin.”
This time he doesn’t even look.
“That’s over, Missy. I don’t want you even thinking about it.”
I tuck the pictures back in my pocket and move closer to Rudy, not wanting to spoil things.
When Cheyenne starts showing signs of sleepiness we put her down for a nap, and again we make quick, quiet, love. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other.
Later in the afternoon, I call for an appointment with Planned Parenthood. When I was in the desert I didn’t know where to go to get a refill on my birth control pills. The woman I talk with there tells me we should be using condoms until I complete a new, full month’s cycle.
I hope I can explain it to Rudy. Why should that be a problem? We do the most private, intimate things with our bodies, but then I can hardly get up enough nerve to talk about something as simple as using a condom.
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By the time Irma gets home, at six-fifteen, the house is spotless and dinner is ready. I used the last of my welfare check to buy the makings for spaghetti and garlic bread and brownies. Irma loves brownies.
“How’s Gramma’s baby?” she asks, and Cheyenne runs to her.
She smiles and says hello to Rudy, and just sort of nods at me.
But I can tell by the way she looks around, she likes what she sees. I’ll keep doing my share, more than my share, and Irma’ll get over being mad at me—I’m pretty sure.
––––––––
Late at night, after Cheyenne has been asleep for hours, I tell Rudy, “This was the happiest day of my life.”
“Mine, too,” he says. “That’s how they’re all going to be from now on. Happy days.”