Moving Serafina

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51 Bea was clearing the last of the brunch from the buffet table when Clay and Locket walked into the restaurant, gesturing and talking low with their heads inclined toward each other. “If you two are thinking about eating, forget it,” she scolded. “It’s all cold anyway.” They stopped and looked up at Bea who skittered away. Then Locket went over and sat with Dobb and Yebbie, who were finishing slabs of pie and mugs of coffee. Clay saw that Doc Maddox had already gone, along with everyone else except these two. Clay moved closer to Bea and walked back toward the kitchen with her. “Jo wants you,” he said. “Wants me to what?” Bea stopped and turned, her arms full of platters. “Wants you to come over to that first guest room down the hall,” he said. “When you get a chance, of course.” “Why?” Bea said, pretending she knew nothing about what had happened in the lobby, even though the buzz had swept through the little dining room. Clay knew there was no way Bea was unaware but he said, “Where we took that woman, Bea.” C H A P T E R 5 Bob Cherry 52 “That’s none of my business,” Bea said. “I just run the kitchen, I don’t smuggle Mexicans or anything else over the river.” “I know, Bea,” Clay said. He followed her back into the kitchen. “I think Jo just wants some help. I mean, another woman, you know. She run us off.” Bea set the platters into the big sink and turned back frowning at Clay. “I don’t know anything about those things,” she said. “I don’t want to know anything.” “Come on, Bea. Nobody thinks you’re involved in anything,” Clay pleaded. “That’s silly.” “Well, silly or not, I know how some people think,” she said. “It’s not like I don’t care, Clay. But it doesn’t matterthatIwasbornandraisedthereinSolitarioCounty and that three generations of my family have lived here. Or that I’ve lived around here all my sixty-nine years. We’re Texans, just like you. But if you’re also Hispanic in this area, well . . .” She turned back to the sink and opened the hot water onto the dishes. “You know about that.” She looked at Clay. “Adelita knew. . . .” And Clay knew. For a moment, he thought about all of these conflicts concerning citizenship and racial bias and talk of illegalities and amnesty, all of which had seemed to reach a crisis point in recent years. But because Clay and Adelita had chosen to live in such isolation, most of the issues themselves seemed alien. Now he often wondered if it had been only his choice to live such a solitary existence. Adelita had never been asked for documentation because she had never needed to work outside their ranch. In addition, she was second generation and a native Texan and that would have made her a citizen, even if she had not been married to MOVING SERAFINA 53 Clay. There was plenty of work on the ranch, and they got by without outside income. Sometimes just barely, though Adelita might have said always just barely. “Well, whatever. But you’ll have to tell Jo yourself,” Clay said. He walked back toward the kitchen exit into the restaurant. “I’m just passing on what she said, Bea. Sorry. Never meant to upset you.” Clay drew a lukewarm mug of coffee from the big urn inside the restaurant and went over and sat at the table with the other men. Locket looked at him but Yebbie and Dobb just picked at the last of their pie. No one said anything. Bea finally came out of the kitchen with a plate piled with carne adovada and beans and a tortilla in one hand and a piece of pecan pie in the other. She set the adovada in front of Locket and the pie in front of Clay. “You already had burritos,” she said curtly to Clay and then to Locket, “The rest of all this is cold anyway,” she repeated but no one raised a single objection. Then she turned away and moved out into the lobby and toward the hallway. “Bea’s getting soft in her older days,” Locket said. “If you only knew,” Clay sighed. He looked with envy at the food in front of Locket, cold or not. “I gave...