Page 66 of Nightcrawler
“That was delicious, Raven,” she said after the meal. As usual, she hadn’t eaten a lot, but for a blind woman, she’d managed to consume everything on the plate.
“Thank you, Nana.” I glanced at Miguel. “Miguel helped. As it turns out, he’s a halfway decent cook.” I reached over and took her small, gnarled hand in mine, squeezing the fingers I loved so much, dreading the day when congestive heart failure and COPD would claim her life. As a young woman, she’d been a heavy smoker. Many on the reservation were. Cigarettes were one ofthe many scourges white men had introduced our people to, and they’d been the cause of premature death for so many.
I’d briefly smoked when I was young, usually during a night on the town when I was making the rounds of the gay bars, but fortunately, I’d never found cigarettes to my liking, leaving them behind years ago. I couldn’t bear the smell of it on another man’s clothes, or worse, on their breath, so I avoided hooking up or dating men who liked it. Seeing my nana struggle to breathe decades after she’d given up the habit, was confirmation that I’d done the right thing.
She smiled, looking across the table with cloudy, sightless eyes, where she knew Miguel sat. “It was lovely, Miguel. You make a fine addition to our family.”
I stopped, my fork halfway to my mouth as I looked at Miguel. To his credit, he only smiled back at her and then turned to look at me. “I can’t take credit for it. Fajitas are easy. All I did was make the guacamole.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, sweetheart,” she said. “I knew you made it because it tastes different from the way Raven’s does. But both are made with love.” She smiled and I watched the deep crow’s feet at the sides of her eyes crinkle up as she did so. My heart pounded in my chest.
“I bought ice cream,” I said, changing the subject from love. “It’s your favorite, Nana.”
Her eyes widened. “Sweet cream?”
“From Cold Stones,” I replied.
“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Miguel said, looking down at his plate with a little frown before glancing back up at me with a grin. “Now I wish I hadn’t eaten so much dinner.” He slappedhis belly which made Nana laugh. She may be blind, but she certainly knew the sound of a satisfied man.
“I’ll get us each a bowl,” I said. “A small bowl,” I clarified, holding up two hands in surrender. “You stay right where you are, Nana.”
“I’ll clear the table while you get the ice cream,” Miguel offered, pushing away from the table and standing up. He began stacking dishes as I went into the kitchen where he joined me a minute later. He was smiling. “That went well, right?”
I nodded to him as I scooped my nana’s favorite ice cream into bowls for us. He set the dishes in the sink before washing his hands and grabbing a towel to dry them. “I’ll do the dishes after dinner.”
I bumped his hip. “I’ll help…and then put Nana to bed so we can have some alone time.”
He grinned, and then threw down the towel, pulling me into his arms. His kiss was filled with heat and felt incredible on my lips. I slid my arms around him and melted against his body, loving the feel of the unresisting muscles under my hands and the heat that poured from him. When we finally parted a couple of minutes later, I was harder than a brick and more than ready for him. He was panting and when he looked down, drawing my attention to his own rampant erection outlined in his jeans, all I could do was laugh. It was going to be a very interesting night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MIGUEL
I ended up doing the dishes myself while Raven put his grandmother to bed. Something about her reminded me of my own maternal grandmother who’d died when I was just a boy. I couldn’t remember my maternal grandfather since he’d passed away from kidney disease before I was born. My paternal grandparents had lived in Mexico before they died shortly after my parents had been killed. I’d spoken to them only a few times on the phone after that, back then my Spanish wasn’t that great, but they’d always seemed nice. Myabuelohad died about a year after the murders and myabuelahad followed, six months later. Both, I suspected, from a hard life and broken hearts.
I had no other family…my older brother dead before my conception. As I thought of the beautiful man in the next room, my best friend, Vonne, and the men who’d be gathering to help me tomorrow, I realized, I’d made a new family for myself, and it made me warm with happiness.
My thoughts turned to the reviews I’d been reading as Raven had driven us home and I grinned to myself. The names of some of these books were hysterical…Raisin in my Bum…Mime and Punishment. I got a chuckle just from the titles.
Book title: Mime and Punishment
Author: Michel Banier
Publisher: Self-published
Genre: Crime/mystery/action
Review/rating by Nightcrawler: <5 stars
Synopsis:
This book takes place in eighteenth century France, set concurrent with Napoleon’s endless campaigns to conquer Europe. It’s the story of a downtrodden mime who lives hand to mouth on the streets of Paris. He desires only anonymity as he commits the horrific crime of murder over and over. What he can’t seem to understand is that the reason he is constantly accused comes from his recognizable attire of white face, white gloves, black pants with suspenders, and a shirt patterned with horizontal black and white stripes.
My Review:
Jesus Christ. I wish I was illiterate.
I could leave my review at that single sentence, but I don’t think I would be properly explaining why I gave this book or the literary giant, Michel Banier, the negative five stars they deserve. From the opening lines of the book, I wanted to pull out my mother’s pin cushion and begin shoving a series of needles into my eyes. I will state here that this book has been translated from its original French to English, but I don’t think that’s the reason it’s so bad. I had a fluent French speaking friend read the book for the accuracy of the translation. He brought it back to me a week later and told me that but for a few errors here and there, it was accurate…before asking to borrow my mother’s pin cushion.