Chapter 7

Toni

Don't go – ever. She repeated the words to herself. That was what she wanted. She hadn't wanted anything like that in years. But I'm not going there. Today is what's important, not back then. She looked across the bed at Roberto, where he sat with a stricken look on his face. He reached out a hand, and wiped her cheek, and it was then that she realized she was crying. His expression wasn't because she'd moved too fast or too far, but because her crying had hurt him.

"It's all right, 'Berto," she said, and captured his hand in both of hers. "I'm happy, that's all."

"Happy?"

"Yes. I don't know how it is with men, but sometimes women cry when we're happy."

"Oh."

He's so naïve, she thought. He's just a young boy, after all. Whatever his life is, he's just a boy. "Yes," is what she said. "I think men and women are a lot more alike than some people believe, but we're still different. We react differently. When you're happy, you probably jump up and shout." He nodded. "When I'm most happy, I cry – but it's not the same as when I'm crying from being sad."

"I'll have to take your word for it, Toni."

He is just a boy, she thought. He knows almost nothing about women as people. Our emotions are a new thing to him. Not that I'm the world's expert on it. My only experience is being a woman, and with—

She shook her head. "If you want to take my word, you can. I won't argue." And she smiled, and wiped her cheeks. "Why don't you go make me a cup of coffee while I get dressed? I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Okay." He stood and walked to the door, where he turned and looked back at her. "Toni ... thank you." And he was gone, but not before she'd seen a furious blush come up in his face.

'Berto

Roberto checked the kettle, which felt full enough, and put it back on the big burner and turned it on. He found another cup, and spooned coffee and the rest into both it and his. The water was still warm, and heated quickly; soon he was pouring hot water into the cups, and stirring them. Just as he put the spoon in the sink, Toni came into the kitchen. She was once again in a t-shirt and pants – a white t-shirt this time, and a pair of faded jeans with the knees out. Again the sleeves of the t-shirt reached to her elbows, and the jeans were baggy on her thin legs although he suspected they fit her waist perfectly. Dressed, she looked something like a child, and not the woman he knew she was.

Not that she's old, he thought. She can't be any older than I am, not with that smooth skin. But he didn't say anything, just handed her one of the cups. He watched as she bent her head over the steaming coffee and inhaled, her eyes closed. She took such delight in everything – in tortillas with butter and cinnamon sugar, in cooking hash browns a new way, in talking with a perfect stranger, in smelling the aroma of a fresh cup of coffee. It was one of the young things about her, the way she treated everything as a new experience, to enjoy fully and treasure as she grew older.

She looked up from the coffee, directly into his eyes. "Penny for your thoughts, 'Berto."

He thought of a flippant answer, and then changed his mind. "I was thinking of how beautiful you are."

She dropped her eyes again. "I'm not beautiful."

"But you are, Toni. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

"No." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Yes. You're so young and fresh. It's almost like you're brand new in the world. Your skin is so smooth, no wrinkles anywhere. And you come to everything with such enthusiasm." He had no idea where he was getting these ideas. "It's like you're a spring flower or something."

She looked up, into his eyes again, but this time there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "A spring flower? Since when are you a poet?"

"I don't know," he said with that same honesty that seemed to be the only right way to speak to her. "But it's what I really think. You're a beautiful young girl, and I'm glad 'Vangeline introduced us." He thought of 'Vangeline, the bartender he'd thought was so wonderfully attractive. And yes, 'Vangeline was pretty, but hard, he realized now. Next to her, Toni was indeed a girl, an innocent child...

And then reality reasserted itself. She's not a child. You know you'd never have stayed in the house if she were. It's just that she is so young, and so fresh... She was as fresh as a peach straight from the tree, strawberries plucked with the dew still upon them. And the look she gave him was so wise, and yet so young, that he suddenly had to sit down. She dropped into the chair across the table from him, looking at him still. "'Berto," she said, "I'm not going to argue with you. I don't think I'm beautiful, and I'm the one who looks in the mirror every morning. But if you believe I am, I won't argue."

He looked at her. She hadn't put on any makeup – he wasn't sure she'd been wearing any the night before – and her face was as open and unencumbered as the first day of creation. It was thin, yes, slender as the rest of her, but now that he knew it was there he could see the softness of her cheek, the slight coating of baby fat over jawbone and cheekbone. She was slender, but not skinny. She was soft where she ought to be soft, and firm where she ought to be firm, yielding where she ought to be and perfect everywhere. And, he realized, he wasn't thinking so much of her body, but of her ... her soul? Was that the word? Personality, character, soul ... somewhere in the string of words like that was the one he wanted. Her body was what it was, and he loved it, but she was so much more than her body.

He was thinking for the first time of a woman as a person. He'd grown up thinking of Maria as 'my sister, ' of his mother as 'Mom, ' of his aunts as his aunts ... and of every other female as an object. His view of women had been purely physical attributes, in spite of the example and teaching his parents had given him. But he didn't see Toni that way. He saw her flesh, yes – but he saw beyond that, and saw the person inside the body, the person who would be Toni Cedillo when age had ravaged her body and left her bent and wrinkled.