Roman looked at his shoe. Somehow, it was on the step. He’d weighted his front foot, ready to push upward.
The thing was, he wasn’t sure he believed Heberto.
He wasn’t sure Cuba had anything much to do with him and Ashley.
So he climbed the next step, crowding her. With a sigh, she stepped back to let him inside.
The trailer looked like a bomb had gone off. He picked up a foam hat in the shape of a Viking helmet, complete with horns, and accidentally dislodged some Mardi Gras beads into the sink.
“There’s crap everywhere.”
“Aren’t you observant?”
“You don’t have to be snippy.”
“I do, actually. It’s my best hope of getting you to go away.”
“You think I’m afraid of a snippy woman?”
He’d have to introduce her to Carmen sometime. Wouldn’t that be a hoot.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked.
I’m afraid of the way it felt to bring that fire to life. This intense, percolating pressure that must have been hiding behind my heart, beneath my lungs—and suddenly the fire started, and it wanted out. It felt so fucking good to let it out. I think it might have been hope, and it was bigger than anything I’ve let myself feel in a long, long time.
I’m afraid of the fact that I made the fire because you asked me to, and of how badly I needed to see your face as soon as I’d made it happen.
But mostly I’m afraid because I’m here, now. With you. And I don’t know what’s going on, but I know it’s not what’s supposed to be going on.
I’m afraid because I can’t feel “supposed to” anymore.
“You’re going to get heatstroke in here with the door closed,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“My grandma is dead.”
“She’s been dead a few weeks. You’re supposed to be making me dinner.”
That brought her head up. Good. Annoyed was better than sad. “It’s really not any of your business.”
“Something in the boxes?”
He knelt down. Beneath the flaps of the nearest of them, he found a stuffed toy hot dog, a cheap plastic back-scratcher that said “Dollywood” on the handle, and a pair of hot pink glittery shoes with metal fastened to the bottoms.
“Are these tap shoes?”
“Yes.”
“Susan’s?”
“Mine.”
The trailer was too dark, lit only by a dim bulb over the stove and the light leaking in around the edges of the curtains. It was stifling, stuffy, dusty-smelling. But he didn’t have any trouble making out the expression on Ashley’s face.
Utter devastation.
“What is all this stuff?”
“Souvenirs.” She sniffed and pushed at her nose with the back of her hand. “From our trips.” The last word came out pinched, as though her throat had tried to close off around it.