Manny Ruiz leaned back in the folding plastic chair, swiping sweat off his brow with the back of his calloused hand, and watched his granddaughter choke down a third bite of blueberry pie, filling smudged across her cheek. He’d skipped every Fourth of July barbecue in Sierra Vista for 7 years running, but she’d batted her big brown eyes and promised she’d save him the first slice of peach pie if he showed, so he’d caved. The air smelled like charred hamburgers, citronella candles, and the distant tang of creosote from the desert scrub surrounding the park. Kids screamed as they chased each other with water guns, a mariachi band played off to the side, and for 20 whole minutes, he almost forgot why he hated these events.
Then he saw her. Lila Marlow was walking across the grass, a cooler slung over one shoulder, the same dark wavy hair she’d had in 2016 now streaked with a single silver band above her left ear, cut short to her jawline. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a faded Jesse James custom motorcycle t-shirt, flip flops slapping against the hard packed dirt. His throat went dry. He turned away, pretending to fumble for the water bottle in his cooler, but he heard her footsteps stop right next to his chair.
He looked up. She was standing 6 inches from his knee, close enough he could pick up the scent of coconut sunscreen and the faint, sweet smell of the jasmine bush she’d always had in her front yard, the one Jesse used to complain about because it attracted bees. “You thought I wouldn’t notice you hiding over here, huh?” she said, and her voice was lower than he remembered, softer, no bite to it at all. She pulled two cold Modelos out of her cooler, popped the tops, and held one out to him. When he reached for it, her fingers brushed his, and he flinched like he’d been burned. She huffed a small laugh, not unkind, and held his gaze, no trace of the anger he’d replayed a thousand times in his head.
The old guilt flared hot in his chest. He should leave. He should grab his chair, go find his granddaughter, make an excuse and head home to his quiet ranch, his three lazy German shepherds, the routine that had kept him sane for 7 years. But he didn’t move. He took a sip of the beer, cold and bitter, and said, “I figured you’d still throw a drink in my face if you saw me.”
She sat down on the empty folding chair next to him, her knee brushing his when she shifted to face him. “I was an idiot at the funeral,” she said, no preamble, and he blinked, surprised. “I was grieving, and I needed someone to blame, and you were the only one there. I’ve been in therapy for 3 years. I know what happened wasn’t your fault. Jesse talked about you every single night when he came home. Said you were the only person he’d ever trust to watch his back.” Her knee stayed pressed to his, warm through the thin fabric of his work jeans, and she didn’t pull away. He realized he’d been holding his breath.
They talked for 45 minutes, the noise of the barbecue fading into background static. She told him she’d opened a small plant nursery on the west side of town, that she’d adopted a rescue beagle named Jesse Jr. that chewed through every pair of work boots she owned. He told her about his dog training business, about his granddaughter’s plan to join the border patrol when she graduated high school, how he was trying to talk her out of it. Every so often she’d laugh, leaning forward, her hand brushing his arm when she made a joke, and each time the contact sent a jolt up his spine he tried to ignore. He’d always thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but he’d shoved that thought down so far he’d almost forgotten it existed. It felt like a betrayal, even now, to look at her and feel that warmth in his chest. Jesse was his brother. This was wrong.
The first firework went off with a boom overhead, painting the sky bright pink, and the crowd cheered. Lila stood up, holding her hand out to him. “C’mon. The view is better by the fence, away from all the kids screaming.” He hesitated for half a second, then took her hand. Her palm was calloused too, from hauling potted plants around the nursery, and her fingers laced through his like they were made to fit. They walked to the edge of the park, leaning against the chain link fence that separated the grass from the open desert, and she leaned into him, her shoulder pressed tight to his bicep, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t pull away.
“I had a crush on you before I even started dating Jesse,” she said, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her over the next firework exploding. “I was 22, you came over to help him fix his truck, and you had grease streaked across your cheek, and I thought you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I never said anything. It felt wrong. Then when Jesse died, I hated myself for even thinking about you like that, on top of everything else.” He turned to look at her, the blue and gold light from the fireworks painting her face, and she was looking up at him, her eyes glistening a little, no hesitation in her expression.
He didn’t say anything. He just brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, and leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like beer and cherry Kool-Aid, and her arms came up around his neck, pulling him closer, and for the first time in 7 years, he didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t feel like he was betraying anyone. The fireworks kept going off overhead, the mariachi band was playing a slow love song in the distance, and a group of kids screamed as a sparkler shot off too close to the picnic tables. He didn’t care who saw them.
When they pulled apart, she smiled, her fingers brushing the scar on his left shoulder from that 2016 border ambush, and laced her hand back through his. He squeezed her hand, watching the last of the red fireworks burst across the dark desert sky, and realized he didn’t have to run from this, not anymore.
