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I've led, what else should I expect? I've always lived by the nickle-plated rule: Screw unto others before they screw unto you. Now, when I finally find something to live for, I figure God is bound to zap me." |
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"Naw. Only the good die young." |
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"Then I should live to be a thousand." |
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Their motel in Albuquerque was a small family-run affair a little over a block from the Old Town section. The buildings were old and situated close enough to the Rio Grande that John Wayne could have stayed in one of the rooms while filming one of his numerous John Ford epics. The old man behind the desk gave them a dirty look when he noticed the missing wedding bands and Kyna squared around to give him a piece of her mind. |
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"Whoa, there, Hoss," Cyrus said as he gently took her arm and steered her outside to unload the car. |
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The room was tinytiny bathroom, tiny bed and tiny black-and-white TV. But there were starched sheets on the bed and the air conditioner in the wall could turn water in a glass into ice cubes in a matter of minutes. As soon as they unpacked, Kyna began mechanically separating the dirty laundry. |
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"I'll do it," Cyrus volunteered. |
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This time she didn't argue. She upended her laundry bag in the middle of the floor, then stripped down to her panties, stretched out on the bed and threw one arm across her eyes. She was snoring before Cyrus went out the door. |
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After everything had been washed and dried, Cyrus folded his shirts and jeans. Then he took an extra few minutes with her things, smoothing the wrinkles out of each piece with his hands. There was something so intimate about handling her lingerie. In his mind it bespoke a trust, a willingness to be vulnerable that made him feel strangely vulnerable himself. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then hurried back to the room to arrange her clothing in tidy piles beside her suitcase. |
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Kyna was still asleep, moaning like a child, so he removed his shirt and pulled a chair over next to the bed. While he |
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