“Beck can always say no.”
Animals gave clear signals, unobfuscated by subtext and subterfuge. People? Not so much.
Beck wasn’t the first guy with a dog in need I’d pulled off the beach. He probably wasn’t the twenty-first. I didn’t begrudge anyone the love of a pet—even in dire circumstances. Life is hard, and the love of an animal companion could literally stand between a human and soul crushing despair. I’d never take that away from someone in need, so I did the next best thing. I stepped in on behalf of the animal.
If Beck came back with that sample, I could offer him something. If he came back. I’d given him plenty of incentive, but I’d never been good at knowing what people were going to do.
I wished I knew Beck’s plans, and at the same time, I wished I didn’t care so much. In my experience, caring too much led to trouble.
Chapter Three
The following night, Cooper’s partner, Shawn, stood with Jim on his side of the bar opposite Cooper and me. This made it easier for him to read our lips. Cooper used either ASL or speech, but I was glad Shawn could read my lips because what little ASL I knew was limited to asking questions about cats or dogs.
We’d been talking for a while, but then the subject turned to Beck and his dog. I asked if they had any ideas how we could help them.
“Is the room upstairs empty?” Shawn asked. “Could they use that?”
“I can’t have a dog in here.” Jim slung a damp towel over his shoulder. “Health codes.”
“Right.” That made sense.
“Besides, Tomas and Oscar are up there right now until they can move into their new place.”
“They’re moving?” Shawn signed when he talked. I wondered if it was just habit or if he did it for Cooper since he was still learning. “They never said. Where? Out of town?”
“Just to a bigger house,” Jim assured him. “I think Oscar has cousins from New Mexico who are going to stay with them, and they’ve been wanting a nicer yard for ages.”
Shawn smiled brightly. “Glad they’re staying. What would I do without Tomas’s carnitas?”
“Is there anywhere else Beck can stay?” St. Nacho’s didn’t have a homeless shelter, per se. The local police and sheriff’s deputies referred people in need to the appropriate county agency, who referred them to anyplace with available beds.
“What about the SeaView Motel?” Shawn asked. “Does Carl take pets? Maybe he’d discount a room, just until they get on their feet.”
Cooper spoke and signed. “That’s a big ask during tourist season.”
“There’s always our guest bedroom,” said Shawn. Ken Ashton flipped houses, and he’d recently helped them buy a place large enough to accommodate guests. “I could see letting them stay as long as they don’t take advantage.”
Cooper’s brows lowered. “I don’t know about having strangers—”
“You talked about the kid for hours,” Shawn teased. “He doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Do you want to help him?”
“It’s not the guitarist I’d have trouble with,” said Jim, “but his friend. Seems to take the kids earnings for booze. Gets him food like it’s an afterthought.”
“Wait, what?” The behavior wasn’t news to me, but I didn’t know it was a pattern.
“Don’t know about Beck’s friend.” Cooper nodded in agreement. “Hasn’t made a great impression so far.”
“Could we offer the kid and the dog a place without the friend?” Shawn asked.
Cooper tapped the bar absently. “What if that’s why they’re on the road in the first place? Parents didn’t like the boyfriend.”
“Obviously we need to know more about their situation before we can do anything to help. If I see Beck again, I’ll ask some questions,” I said.
“He’s probably out there right now.” Cooper nodded toward the beach. “Want to look?”
“You go.” Shawn came through the bridge and sat on one of the bar stools. “I’ve been on my feet since six this morning.”
Shawn’s work as a teaching assistant and the dance classes he led at Izzie’s gym kept him in peak physical condition, but enough was enough, I guessed. I tipped my drink back. Cooper gave Jim a nod. This time he left his violin behind the bar when he went in search of Beck, Callie, and their shady friend, who pinged my radar all wrong.
Outside, instead of a brilliant sunset, there were clouds moving rapidly inland. A waning moon played peekaboo as they scudded across the sky.
“Might rain,” Cooper observed.
“Smells like it.”
He pulled his collar up against the brisk breeze. “Hope the kids have a tent.”
I hoped so too, except there wasn’t really any legal camping on the beach, and the SIPD might move them along if they made a nuisance of themselves.
We located Beck right away. He’d stationed himself under the light closest to the cantina, and he’d already drawn a small crowd.
“I played for cash when I first got here too.” Cooper smiled at some memory. “Jim let me use his upstairs room and play in the bar. The rest is St. Nacho’s history.”
Lots of people drifted into Santo Ignacio and simply never left. Our little town had a reputation for collecting folks who felt like outsiders everywhere else.
Cooper met Shawn at the cantina, and the two had become a mainstay of culture in town. Things seemed to fall into place here. People slowed down. They took stock. They put things into perspective. Here, people celebrated their differences and found common cause in the natural beauty all around us. People met and fell and stayed in the kind of love most of them had only dreamt about before coming here.
Some said the town was mystical or built on sacred ground or enchanted.
I figured it was simply easier to find love when you were already happy.
As we watched, Beck’s audience tossed cash into his guitar case. The atmosphere was festive, making larger tips more likely. We partied over the big things and the small—a ball game between the firefighters and the police officers, a new flavor of pie. We were too liberal to be called Mayberry, but we had traditions that went back to the founders. The drums we marched to played a different, more lively beat.
Look at me, a relative newcomer, going all squishy over my new home.
Cooper and I watched Beck play until the light faded. He finished his set with a Gipsy Kings tune that had at least two couples in the crowd dancing.
As he had the first time, Beck’s friend climbed over the retaining wall when he was finished playing. He scooped up and counted Beck’s cash without even asking him if it was all right. I resented this on Beck’s behalf, but it was none of my business how they conducted their affairs. Obviously we weren’t seeing the full picture. Maybe Beck’s friend did day labor to contribute. Maybe he was the one who took care of all the mundane business while Beck thought only of music.
Beck’s friend took off after promising he’d be back with food. Beck took his time putting his instrument away. The care he showed his guitar—and Callie—warmed my heart.