Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine #6

But I kiss back. My lips feel stung with heat and the warmth runs right down into my belly and regions south.

“Miss Estella,” he says. “I have a present for you.” He stands so close I can see a tiny nick on his chin. He must really like me, because I don’t smell so good.

“What is it?” I ask. Pablo pulls a canvas bag from behind his back and out pops a rust and white colored ball of fur; a puppy. “He’s part Spaniel. I’ve named him Querido in honor of you, Miss Estella.”

I look into Querido’s big brown eyes, rub his silky hair, his warm chubby body and wildly beating heart. I read about love at first sight in “Romeo and Juliet.” I thought it was hooey. Love almost killed Pa. And Sweet Water, our Osage Princess, is in love and I see nothing ahead for her but heartache. But I sink to my knees and let the puppy lick my face and neck. I pet Querido. Pablo pets Querido. Our hands get tangled up. I look in Pablo’s eyes and I spy something rare; I think it might be kindness?

“Estella,” I hear Ma yelling. “Estella, for the final time, you better get in here and set the table, dinner is ready! Vere are you, girl?”

“I have to go,” I say. “When Mama gets mad, her hands get heavy. Querido, my sweet little puppy.”

“It means “Beloved,” Pablo says.

“Beloved,” I repeat.

“I’ll keep him in the barn,” Pablo says. “Meet me later, after your Mama and Papa go to sleep.”

“Goodbye, Beloved.” I kiss the soft spot between the puppy’s ears. Querido smells like fresh baked bread.

Pablo says, “I’ll wait for you.”

Dinner is grim. No rehearsal dinner before this wedding. There is the usual conversation at first -- none. Cutlery hitting china is the only sound of human intercourse.

Wolf can’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face between bites of Ma’s gravy-laden spaetzle and fried chicken. The left side of Papa’s mouth has taken a more southward turn, the razor slash of a perpetual grimace. He knows none of Wolf’s largess will pass to him. The river doesn’t flow that way, no sweet water for any of us. I don’t take offense. If I dug up buried treasure on this old farm, I’d high-tail it out of here before anyone knew I was gone.