Page 97 of Dirty

THIRTY-FOUR

Lex

Maria looked at Adam, shook her head, and folded her arms across her chest. “You need to stay off the leg. There are the things you can live without, but your legs isn’t it.”

“Mother, I--”

“You must take care of the legs.” She turned and looked at me. “He needs to stay off his leg.”

“I can’t make him do anything,” I said. “He’s stubborn.”

She pointed her index finger toward my crotch. “You can make him do anything. You have what he wants, so you make the rules.”

Adam scowled at her. “Mother!”

She looked at me and shrugged. “It’s true. When we’re not happy, the knees?” She clapped her hands together. “They need to go closed.”

I liked Maria. A lot. I laughed at her remark. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And?” She raised her index finger. “You can hide the keys to his little motorcycle.”

“Nobody’s going to hide a damned thing, mother,” Adam hissed. “Why don’t you go cook--”

“Why don’t you sit down?” She cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the couch. “Now!”

Oh shit.

He limped toward the couch and flopped down onto it without arguing.

She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Come with me. He can sit here and think about trying to ride his motorcycle without the legs.”

I took a few steps toward the kitchen with her, and then glanced at Adam. He was staring at the floor and messing with his hat. I wasn’t completely sure if his mother was kidding, serious, or a little of both.

I kind of liked not knowing, but I guessed it didn’t matter. She’d made him uncomfortable about being overly active, and that may have not been a bad thing.

When we entered the kitchen, the smell of whatever she was cooking hit me like a wall. I wondered what it was, but wasn’t curious very long.

“Te gusta tamales?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Te gusta.” She opened the oven. “Do. You. Like?”

“Do I like tamales?” I asked.

She removed a dish from the oven. “Si. Tamales.”

My mouth was salivating. I smiled. “I do.”

She waved her hands toward the cabinets, sink, and then the oven. “La cocina. The. Kitchen.”

“La cocina,” I said.

“Very good,” she said, although it sounded like she said berry good.

“That is enough lessons for one day,” she said with a smile.

She removed another dish from the oven and placed it on the stove beside the first one. “We cook for the men, it keeps them happy. If they’re happy, we’re happy.”