Chapter 13
Chanda and Chris spent the next few weeks exploring Texas and exploring each other. They made love in every part of the house, and all over the ranch. They took leisurely rides and flew in his plane. Chanda was fearless, eager to explore every inch of her new world and her new marriage.
At home, Chris gave her a room to dedicate to her family. She set up a shrine to her ancestors, and she placed the doll that her aunt had given her at the very top of it. She felt content at first, but after a few weeks, she became weary of doing nothing but leisurely activities all day. There seemed to be more to life. And she missed being able to talk to other people, even just the civil conversations she used to have with her co-workers at the garment factory. In addition, she found that Chris was very quiet and didn’t talk much. While that didn’t bother her, it made her feel very lonely when she had to tolerate it day after day.
“Can we go to town?” she whined one day. The afternoon was totally stifling her.
Chris looked up from the book he was reading. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. I just want to go to town. I want to get out of the house.”
“I am going grocery shopping,” Rita appeared in the living room, her purse hooked over her arm. “Do you have any special requests?” Rita specialized in Mexican and American food and was struggling to adjust to Chanda’s more sensitive taste.
“I will go with you!” Chanda declared, hopping up off of the couch enthusiastically.
Rita seemed surprised. She glanced at Chris for permission.
“Sure,” Chris said hesitantly. “I will go too.” If he was there, then maybe no one would give Chanda grief or tell her bad things about him.
At the grocery store, Chanda surveyed the groceries as if fascinated by them. The store was just as pristine and packaged as she had heard in rumors, but it was weird to see in person. “What do you think of this?” she asked them, leading them to the pickle aisle.
“What can I cook with this?” Rita wrinkled her nose at a can of pickled vegetables.
“We eat a lot of pickled things in Cambodia,” Chanda explained. “We cook them over rice and fish.”
Rita nodded slowly with disapproval. She didn’t seem happy when Chanda added some pickle jars to the cart.
“Let’s visit the Asian food aisle? Maybe we can find some noodles that you would like,” Chris suggested.
They made it over to the Asian food aisle. As Chanda browsed the packages of rice and noodles, an older Vietnamese woman approached her. “You must be Mrs. Stryker,” the woman said graciously. “I am Miss Ling.”
“Yes!” Chanda clasped her hands and they nodded at each other.
“I own Dixie Nails,” the woman went on. “I am head manicurist.”
Chanda’s eyes widened. “I love doing nails! I learned how from my cousin. I would love to go to your salon sometime.”
“Do you have school? I have manicurist position. I need girls. You come work for me?”
Chris cleared his throat. “Chanda doesn’t need work,” he said firmly. He knew that the nail salon was the biggest site of gossip in the town, next to the Cut Up Hair Salon. “She has no schooling, either.”
Chanda shot him a sad look. “You know that I want to work. I have no school, but I can go to school. I’m willing to learn.”
“There is program in Fredericksburg. You go, I hire you. You would have something to do.”
Chanda seemed excited. Miss Ling gave her a card, and Chanda tucked it into her blouse pocket. “I could go to school for nails. I could have something to do. A hobby,” she told Chris excitedly. “I know you are proud and you don’t want me to work. But I would like to do it. Then I would make friends.”
Chris seemed resistant to the idea at first but Chanda begged him until he relented. When her green card came through, he sent her to school. He also bought her a red Bug car so that she could drive herself to and from the nail program every day.
The program was fun. Chanda enjoyed driving to Fredericksburg each day, playing music from her country. The other girls were all young like she was, and one girl was from Vietnam. They found a lot to talk about. Just being able to get out for a few hours each day to talk to others made Chanda feel content. When she would come home, she would make love to Chris, delighting in his moans. As long as he was happy, she was happy. But the program gave her a sense of purpose, like she was doing something with her life.
Chanda took the program very seriously. She genuinely loved nails. Here was the hobby she wanted so badly. She would practice on herself for hours at home, trying to perfect her nail sculpting and nail art.
“Why do all Asians like nails?” grunted Rita one day as she came to ask Chris about dinner and noticed Chanda practicing on a mannequin hand.
“I don’t know,” Chris responded forlornly. “I think she just wants so she can make friends. She wants to meet other women. Asian women.”
Rita shrugged and returned to the kitchen. The sound of her knife whacking a zucchini filled the air. Though she had tried to adjust her cooking to include more Asian food, for the most part, she stuck with zucchini, beans, and Mexican fare.
Chanda pretended not to hear the exchange between the two. But it bothered her. Why did they seem so reluctant to let her work? They both seemed to disapprove of her passion and think that nails were not something to be taken seriously.
At the end of the four-month program, Chanda proudly showed off her nail technician certificate. “Tomorrow I will go speak to the lady at the salon. She will hire me.”
Chris sighed. “Chanda, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yes?” She looked crestfallen. “You don’t seem happy for me, Chris. Aren’t you proud of me? I came to America and made something of myself. Why are you so unhappy?”
“I just worry about how the town will treat you. They aren’t nice people, Chanda.”
“I can handle myself,” she insisted.
Chris sighed. “People…they like to repeat rumors about me. If you go to work at the salon, I’m afraid that you will hear some things.”
“Remember what you told me? That people are just jealous.” Chanda took his face between her hands and planted a firm kiss on his forehead. “I will love you anyway.”
Chris cleared his throat, then sighed. “OK,” he relented.
Chanda was thrilled to finally start working. Miss Ling was nice, as were the two others girls who worked for her, both of whom were her kin. The customers were polite, too, oozing with Southern charm. Most of them wanted simple French tips or solid-color manicures so Chanda practiced her fine nail art on her co-workers.
That was why she was shocked by a customer she got after two weeks at the salon.
The woman who came in was dressed like a cowgirl, with a rhinestone top that drug low over her tan breasts. She obnoxiously pointed at Chanda and declared, “I want you to do my nails, girl.”
“Oh, all right. I don’t have any clients right now,” Chanda obliged. “Have a seat. What do you want today?”
“French tips.” The woman perched down on her seat.
“What’s your name?” Chanda asked sweetly as she began to fit white tips onto the ends of the woman’s nails.
“Leslie,” the woman responded with equal sweetness.
“Oh. That is a pretty name.”
“Yeah. I know who you are.”
Chanda looked up, surprised by the hint of hostility in the woman’s tone.
“Yup. I used to date Chris,” the woman went on. She flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder. “You’re one lucky girl, hun.”
“Oh.” Chanda faked a smile. It had not occurred to her that Chris might have exes in this town, though of course it made sense. “That’s good.”
“Well, he and I are completely over now. I couldn’t handle him. You know, with all his family issues.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, I really had to work through knowing what he did. You’re a saint, forgiving him for that.”
“What are you talking about?” Chanda set down the tip that she was fitting over Leslie’s forefinger and studied Leslie’s ice blue eyes. Leslie sure wore a lot of makeup. It was hard to tell what she really looked like, or what her real facial expressions were. Somehow Chanda could not picture her and Chris together.
“You don’t know?” Leslie gasped. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
Everyone in the salon turned to listen to the conversation. Chanda was acutely aware of their eyes boring into her head.
“He murdered his brother, Chanda. He shot him in cold blood ten years ago. Somehow he got off in the trial but he’s guilty, that’s for sure. It took some time for me to get over that. And then now he’s all tormented about it. He’s a real moody guy. You’re a saint, dealing with all of his baggage.”
Chanda’s hands started shaking. “Excuse me,” she told Leslie. She hurried through the beaded curtains in the back to chug from a bottle of water and try to steady her nerves.
“You OK?” Miss Ling asked. She was at her computer, doing the books for the salon.
“Of course,” Chanda managed. But she wasn’t. She felt dizzy. She had always wondered what had happened to Chris’s brother, and this news disoriented her totally.
“You have client?” Miss Ling pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose.
“Yes.” Guiltily, Chanda returned to the front. She tried not to shake as she sat in front of Leslie.
“Sorry to upset you, doll. I figured you knew.” Leslie snapped her gum and the scent of mint assaulted Chanda’s nose.
“I’m sure there’s a whole explanation for it all,” Chanda said hastily. She just wanted to finish this disgusting woman’s nails and send her on her way. Hopefully Leslie tipped well, after the bomb she had dropped.
“No, it’s pretty open and shut. They were running drugs together from Mexico. Right up I-35 from Laredo. Then they’d distribute it from the ranch. Everyone knew they were doing it. That’s partly why the family got so rich. Then one day there was some sort of hold-up, and I guess there wasn’t enough coke in the shipment. So your husband turned on his brother and shot him for the betrayal. They couldn’t prove that he was the one holding the gun because there were some other goons there and they couldn’t prove that Chris was really involved.” Leslie shrugged. “But we all know he was the one who did it. He’s always been a bit…off. Volatile. He even threatened to shoot me the last time I saw him a while back. I went out to the ranch because I hadn’t seen him for a while and he was all looney, threatening to shoot me. You know what, girl, I feel for you. You married a real basket case and you didn’t even know. So if you ever need help, call me. I’ll get you out of there. I know how to deal with Chris.”
Chanda set down the tips that she was trying to fit again. “I think you should leave,” she said.
Leslie’s eyes flashed. “No need to get touchy here. I am just looking out for you. Sisters take care of each other.”
“Leave,” Chanda insisted.
Leslie bolted up, knocking her chair over. “I spend a lot of money at this salon! Wait till Miss Ling hears about this!”
Miss Ling burst through the bead curtain. “What is going on here?”
Chanda burst into tears. “I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “She needs to go.”
“This bitch just kicked me out for no reason!” Leslie cried. “I don’t deserve this! You guys will never get my business again!” She turned on the heels of her cowgirl boots and stormed out, slamming the glass door behind her. The welcome bell jangled violently.
“Miss Leslie!” Miss Ling tried to chase after her. When she returned into the salon, she turned on Chanda. “Pack your things and leave, now.”
“I need to explain –“
“No. You go.” Miss Ling pointed to the door ferociously.
Chanda scurried to the back to collect her bag. Then she called Chris as she slunk away from the store, crying. She passed by Leslie’s truck; Leslie was sitting inside, fixing her with the meanest smirk.
Once in the air-conditioned safety of her car, she immediately called Chris.
“Yes, baby?” Chris answered.
“Your ex-girlfriend Leslie came in.”
“Leslie?” Chris’s voice was hard. “Leslie is not my ex-girlfriend.”
“She told me about what you did to your brother. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Chris gulped. “Chanda, just come home. I’ll explain everything.”
“I can’t go home to a murderer.”
“I didn’t kill my brother,” Chris started to sob. “Everyone thinks the worst of me, but I didn’t kill Jake. He was my brother. I loved him to death. How could I kill him?”
“What happened, then?” Chanda cried.
“I will tell you. Just come home.”
“Leslie told me you tried to shoot her. I’m scared to come home now.”
“Leslie said what?” Chris turned away from the phone for a moment to cuss. Then he said, “I never tried to shoot Leslie. That’s ridiculous. I knew she would try to mess with you. I knew someone would. Please just come home. I won’t hurt you. I’m exactly the man that you fell in love with. I just need a chance to explain myself.”
Reluctantly, Chanda hung up the phone and turned her car on. She drove home as slowly as she possible could. She had only been here for five months, but this place had become warm and familiar to her. Now it all seemed strange and horrible. What could she possibly do? What would happen if Chris proved to be dangerous? She had read about horrible men, serial killers and abusers, preying on women like her online. Had she fallen into such a trap? Then she thought of Chris’s face, and how tenderly she loved him. How could he be someone awful who murdered his own brother?
When she arrived home, Chris was standing at the edge of the driveway, and he came to the car immediately. Chanda shrank back from him when he opened her door. He groaned. “Now you’re afraid of me. Great,” he said sarcastically.
“Sorry,” Chanda muttered. “I am just…shocked.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “And we’re not alone. John is down in his cabin and Rita is cooking lunch. If I tried to hurt you, they would hear your screams. So let’s go inside and talk this over.”
Chanda accepted his hand and followed him inside. She wished that she could just stop shaking. Chris had her take a seat at the kitchen table and then took a seat across from her. “I should have told you all of this before. I tried before you took the job with Miss Ling. But I was scared that I would lose you. Listen. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did kill my brother.”
Chanda sharply inhaled. The world faltered around her.
“But listen.” He held up his hand for her patience. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t murder him. He…he was in some bad things. He and my father ran drugs together for a cartel. I wasn’t involved but I knew what was going on. September 24th, 2007, I knew that something wasn’t right. Some scary men came and were holding my brother in the barn. I went down to the barn to investigate and found that a man was holding my brother at gunpoint, trying to get revenge for some missing coke. My brother used, so I think he helped himself to the coke. But he didn’t deserve to lose his life for it. I pulled my gun and shot at the man, but he moved at the last moment and the bullet landed in my brother instead.” Chris suddenly sobbed and buried his head in his hands. “The way he screamed out in pain kills me to this day. He died a few days later in the hospital from internal bleeding. The only thing that saved me from a conviction was the fact that my father cleared all of the coke out of the barn by the time the cops arrived. I was honest in court and I pled involuntary manslaughter and they gave me a year in jail. My family could never forgive me. They all blame me. The town blames me, too.”
Chanda nodded slowly. “I see,” she said finally.
“Are you going to leave me?” Chris asked, pulling his hands from his face slowly. Tears sparkled on his cheeks.
“No,” Chanda said. She leaned forward and placed a comforting hand over his. “I cannot believe that this happened to you but I am very sorry. What Leslie told me upset me greatly. But I won’t leave you. I believe what you tell me. You are a good soul and a good man.”