CHAPTER 22
Ram tried to hide his awkwardness at meeting Mary Flores-Montero—Ali and Cara’s mother—and her husband, Diego Montero, at their home in the suburbs of Tucson. The last two days had been a montage of excitement. They’d eventually left their cave and gotten to the meadow, where they were picked up by Captain José Gomez’s Black Hawk helicopter team and flown back to the Marine base. There, they showered, got clean clothes, and ate some good, hot Mexican food. It was then on to the debrief phase and talking with Wyatt Lockwood at Artemis by sat phone, closing a mission that had been highly successful.
After Ali filed her report, she caught a good night’s sleep in a creaky metal bunk at the base, and the next morning, a US Army Black Hawk helicopter picked them up and flew them back to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base. There was not a quiet moment—a private one—to speak to her man to woman, much less bring up that life-altering kiss.
They landed near noon. Ali had her car in long-term parking at the base, so they drove home. Her parents, dressed casually, were eagerly waiting for them at their home. Ram laughed at himself because his hands were sweaty with nervousness. This was a tight, loving family from what Ali had confided. Sure enough, when Ali drove up to the front of the pink stucco single-story house, her parents stood on the porch to greet them. He saw Diego, five feet ten inches tall, wearing a pressed, short-sleeved white shirt with vertical brown stripes, and a well-used straw cowboy hat on his head. He wore a thick black mustache and had gleaming, intelligent brown eyes.
His jeans were worn and Ram saw he wore very old, scuffed cowboy boots he’d probably had long past their original life, but kept taking them to a cobbler to be patched up once again. Diego’s hair was black as a raven’s wing, cut short and neat. It was easy to meet the man because he immediately came over, a beaming, welcoming smile on his tanned, weathered face after Ali had introduced them to one another.
“Welcome, Señor Torres,” he said, pumping Ram’s hand. “Thank you from the bottom of our family’s heart for saving our beloved Cara.” He released Ram’s hand and threw his arms around him, pounding him on the back. Then, releasing him, Diego felt tears sliding down his cheeks. “Welcome to our humble home.”
Ram was taken aback by the man’s tears. He had rarely seen men cry. But Diego, lean and hardy looking, made no apologies for his show of emotions. How different he was from his own father, who was like robot in comparison. “Thanks,” he said, nervously clearing his throat.
Mary Flores—dressed in a bright-red blouse and skirt, a squash blossom turquoise and silver necklace around her neck, her black hair in two long, thick braids—moved joyfully toward Ram. She was no lightweight. She was short and possessed fierce-looking, light gold-brown eyes like Ali’s. Ram wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind mother who stretched her arms up, grabbed him, and clung to him, burying her face into his chest as he lightly embraced her in return. She was strong!
As Mary released Ram, she gripped his forearms in her calloused, work-worn hands. Tears were streaming down her face, too.
“In our tradition,” she told him in a wobbly, husky voice, “you rescued our daughter from sure death. We adopt you now, as our son, Ram Torres. We know you have your own family, but now, you will have two of them. You are going to be treated as our son from now on. There is nothing we wouldn’t do for you. Nuestra casa, es su casa. Our home is your home. Welcome!”
“Thank you, Señora—”
“Eh!” She wagged her short, stubby finger into Ram’s face. “No! You are family! Call me Mary, or Mama.” Mary gave him a kindly, amused look before releasing him.
Giving her a bashful grin, Ram said, “Yes, ma’am—I mean, Mary . . . ” He glanced up, seeing Ali with her father, who had his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. She grinned over at him.
“I warned you, they’re huggers and touchers.”
“We need to get over to the Air Force base after we put your luggage in your room, Ram,” Diego said, heading for the screen door of their home. “I’ll drive us over there. They called earlier this morning saying Cara’s debriefing was in progress and that around one p.m., she could be picked up and come back to us.”
Mary released Ali, picked up a very old, elk-skin leather purse with a long strap and pulled it over her shoulder. “Will you come with us, please, Ali and Ram?”
Ram nodded. “Of course.” Diego picked up their luggage and hauled it inside while everyone waited for him to return.
“I think Cara will need all of us when she gets released,” Ali told her parents somberly after Diego returned.
Ram said, “Can I take all of you to lunch on base? There’s a nearby cafeteria and I doubt they’ll release Cara before 1300 . . . I mean, one p.m.” It was too easy to fall into old military habits and lingo. Mary glowed with pride, patting his back as she came over and guided him toward Diego and Ali, who were now ready to leave.
“No,” Diego said, “I will buy my family lunch, and that includes you too, Ram. You are now a permanent part of our family. You are our son.”
Mary vigorously nodded. “Ram, there is a Latina vendor named Maria. She parks her food truck just outside Ops at noon on weekdays. She makes wonderful chicken enchiladas and is famous in Tucson for them. You must try them! We insist!”
Mary was the boss of this family, Ram quickly decided. She was a powerful woman, in charge, knowing what she wanted. He gave Mary a crooked grin as she led them down the steps to their waiting truck. Diego had a highly polished, slightly dusty, black pickup, well cared for, with an extended cab. He opened the door and asked the women to sit in back, urging Ram to sit up front with him in the passenger-side seat.
In no time, they were on base. Ops, or Operations, was a busy place in the desert sunshine, heat waves rippling across the many landing strips on the other side of the three-story building. Combat jets and C-130 air transports, plus A-10 Warthogs were in the landing patterns, the noise high and constant. Diego parked the truck in the lot across the street from Ops. As they walked over, Ram said, “You know what, Mary? You remind me very much of Aliyana.”
“Humph, I should! She is a spitting image of me! In every way, except she’s not short and fat like I am.”
He laughed because Mary gave him a wicked, teasing look as she led him down the sidewalk to an old blue and white Ford truck that was open for lunch business. Several pilots in desert-tan flight suits were in line at the window, waiting to order Maria’s homemade cooking. It smelled awfully good to Ram. Real Mexican food was very different from the US variety. He lusted after the hot spices, the zesty chilies, and tastiness of the scents he was inhaling. As they approached her vehicle, he knew this was the old Mexico kind of cooking. His stomach growled with anticipation.
As they stood in line, Ali told them, “I’m going into Ops, Mama. I want to try and find out when they’ll release Cara to us.”
“Okay, but don’t be long. Do you want your usual?”
Ali nodded. “Two chicken enchiladas, Mama. Extra hot chilies, please?” She gave Ram a momentary look, and then jogged away, back toward the three-story, brick building.
“You have your father’s famous cast iron gut and can eat the hottest of chilies and not even wince,” Mary muttered, shaking her head dolefully, watching her daughter toss a smile across her shoulder in agreement as she jogged away.
Ram continued to absorb the dynamic family. That look Aliyana had just given him was personal and filled with promise, he thought. He was trying to quell his need of her since that kiss. He had to go slow and be patient—very patient. Diego ordered for everyone and insisted upon paying for it. He was sure that the man, who was a foreman at a huge pecan orchard farm, was not that rich and that food like this wasn’t cheap. Ram tried to pay for half, but Diego wouldn’t hear of it.
Ram understood Latino culture, that the man of the house was king and that to insist upon paying for it would hurt Diego’s macho pride immensely. Ram remained gracious and thanked Diego for his generosity. It was nice to speak Spanish among the four of them, the language he was born with.
It was only later, as a child, that one of the prostitutes, Mazzie, from Guatemala, took him under her wing and began to teach him English. She had been taught English from local Catholic nuns. She taught him to read and helped him learn writing. He was not good at either at first, and in the first three grades of school he got Ds because he couldn’t understand the tricky foreign language known as English. But he had too much pride or perhaps embarrassment, to speak up and tell the teacher that he didn’t understand what she was saying.
But Mazzie, her black hair dyed blonde, insisted that he learn English, so those three years that she worked at his father’s hotel, she taught him every spare moment she had between johns. By the time he finally caught onto English in reading and writing, she had been murdered by one of her jealous clients. Ram had hidden in a closet in his room that day and cried his eyes out. Mazzie had given him such a gift that he’d never forgotten her, swearing that if he ever had children, they would be bilingual from the beginning. But neither of his estranged parents cared about his struggle with the English language. To them, he was a useless, unwanted addition to their lives.
Now, he happened to look up and his eyes met Mary’s. She was staring at him, but not in an unkind way. He felt something . . . maybe she was intuitive, like Ali. In fact, he now remembered that Ali had said she was a medicine woman, a healer, for her Yaqui tribe. He believed it.
This was a happy family, something so foreign to him that he honestly didn’t know what to do or how to act among them. So, he stood there, watching Diego pay the bill for their food. Just the memory earlier of watching Mary hug Ali, watching her expression as she closed her eyes as her mother’s arms slipped around her, sent an ache throbbing deep within him.
Mazzie used to do that sometimes, to hug him fiercely, smother his face with kisses until he squirmed out of her arms because he wasn’t used to such overt, spontaneous affection from an adult. They were special times, when he would read a page from a children’s book without errors. Or when he’d spell all the simple words in English, without mistakes.
He waited for those warm, life-infusing hugs against her plump bosom, the smell of her lily-of-the-valley perfume she always wore like a good friend, and her hair-sprayed curls that felt like rough sandpaper against his cheek. He hungrily absorbed her sloppy, happy kisses all over his face, too, but he never let her know how much they meant to him.
She had introduced him to love and nurturing, and he responded by making her proud of his efforts to learn English. How he wished, looking back on that formative time in his life, that he’d thanked Mazzie, hugged and kissed her back—but he never had. His heart would always regret that he hadn’t been more appreciative of her while she was still alive.
“Here, Ram, will you serve our ladies?” Diego handed him a huge, red plastic tray filled with steaming chicken enchiladas, the scents pure heaven.
“Sure,” he murmured, taking the tray. Diego went back for another tray that had four glasses of lemonade with ice cubes waiting for them.
Ali came back from Ops. “Another hour, Mama. They said they were almost done with their debriefings.”
“Good news,” Mary agreed. “Are they feeding them?” She hugged her daughter.
“Yes, I asked if they were going to get them something to eat because it’s lunchtime and they said they were doing that right now. They’re taking good care of them, Mama. The clean clothes you brought over for Cara are what she’s wearing today.”
“I’m so glad. Over here, Ram,” Mary gestured, releasing Ali and gesturing him to follow her to a nearby, green wooden picnic table. It had a huge, blue and white striped umbrella to provide them shade from the hot, overhead sunlight.
Ram took her directions, which were crisp and clear. As he set the tray down, Mary came around the table, slid her arm around his waist and gave him a huge hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling.
Flushing, feeling heat climb into his shaven face, Ram found himself tongue-tied. It was such a small thing to bring a tray over to a table. He sure had a lot of adjusting to do! To his delight, Ali waved for him to come and join her on the wooden seat.
Diego brought over the drinks, presenting them with a flourish and big smile. Ram thanked him, pulling over the tray of mouth-watering, steaming enchiladas. The noontime sun blazed but, there was a breeze with low humidity and the Air Force base was a loud, busy place. As he cut into his first enchilada, Ram saw a C-130 Hercules landing out on one of the many airstrips. In another area, there was a pair of Army Black Hawks spooling up. He liked the energy of Tucson.
More than anything, he liked sitting about twelve inches from Ali. She was as hungry as he was, and neither said much as they dug into the wonderful, spicy meal. Mary and Diego chatted together and ate more slowly. Ram got up twice more to fill all their lemonade glasses, taking the large, heavy pitcher offered by Maria from the window of her food truck. She gave free refills, and in the desert, Ram knew staying hydrated was essential.
“Where does your family live?” Mary asked him after he sat back down.
Ram hesitated. His gut turned to shards of ice. He didn’t want to lie to these kind people. “Nogales, Mexico.” The words came out abrupt. Ram hoped Mary got the message that he didn’t want to speak of his family, especially not now. This family had been under tremendous ongoing stress with Cara’s capture. His was not a happy tale and he had no wish to share it. They were going to have enough on their plates after Cara’s release to them.
“Mama?” Ali broke in, getting her attention. “The receptionist at the debrief center in Ops told me that it might be a good idea to give Cara some space.” She pulled out a brochure from her back pocket and handed it to her parents. “She’s a survivor of something pretty awful. The woman said she’ll probably want quiet, and we shouldn’t be asking her a lot of questions.”
Mary frowned, reading the brochure. “Yes . . . yes, this makes a lot of sense.” She handed it to her husband. “Diego, do not smother your daughter with constant questions. Okay?” She gave him a fierce look that spoke volumes.
“Yes, yes, of course I won’t.”
“It says here to let Cara come to us when she wants to talk, not the other way around,” Mary told him pointedly, jabbing her finger at the brochure Diego held.
Sighing, Diego said to Ram, “My children are my heart. I do not see them as grown up, but little ones. You know?”
Ram nodded, pretending to understand, but he really didn’t. He’d once been a little one, and all he was to his parents was a nuisance. Not loved. At least, not like Ali and Cara were, doted upon by their loving mother and father.
“Papa,” Ali said, “we don’t know if men will scare Cara or not. All the drug soldiers where she was kept prisoner were mean, big, and abusive. None of us know whether she got hurt by them.”
“Maybe the major who is doing the debriefing could send Wyatt a copy of it?” Ram asked. “We can find out what Cara really went through.” He focused on Mary and Diego. “Just knowing that intel will help you to help her crawl out of this hole she’s in.” His gaze shifted to Ali. “What do you think?” he asked, searching her somber gaze.
“That’s a great idea, Ram. It will help all of us to support Cara.”
“How will you do that?” Mary asked, giving her daughter a quizzical look.
Ram listened as Ali explained to her civilian parents about PTSD and what shock did to a person who was traumatized like Cara had been. Neither knew much about the military or how it worked. He saw relief in Mary and Diego’s eyes after Ali explained it all to them.
“It would be a wonderful blessing to have that debrief report, Ram,” Mary said, giving Ram and Ali a grateful look of thanks. “Maybe it will help us get ahead of this, for Cara’s sake.”
The warmth of this family wrapped around him like a blanket. Aliyana’s kiss with him held that same kind of love. Ram didn’t know what else to call it. Maybe ‘care’ was a better word. But that kiss she’d initiated with him in the cave was not a caring kiss. No, it had lust pushing closely behind it. Ram could feel Ali’s hunger for him. He was trying his best to move their sudden, new relationship aside. Right now, it was clear that Diego and Mary didn’t know what to expect from their daughter. And he knew Ali would catch the brunt of the responsibility for her sister, as well as trying to educate her parents.
Ram hoped that their kiss would allow her to lean on him when she, herself, needed to rest and recoup from this stressful time. He wanted to be there for her in whatever capacity she dictated. Patience was something he’d developed a long time ago and Ram could see it was going to serve him well in this family crisis. He would hold Ali’s kiss as a sweet reminder of what might be in the future at some point.