Recessus
Caine walked out of the tunnel and onto the field, scuffing his cleats three times with each foot at the edge of the playing surface then stepping onto it.
The grass was still damp from the morning, dark in patches where the shadow of the press box hadn’t lifted yet. The ground crews finished their final passes as the referee crew inspected the field to make sure it was ready to play on.
A few hundred fans had already spread across the sections, some claiming their usual spots along the lower rail, some still trailing in through the entrances at the endzones, kids bumping against their parents' legs, cups already in hand.
Caine moved across the turf slowly, cleats making that familiar dual sound, the soft give of grass and then the harder crunch when he cut over a worn patch near the hash. His eyes went up into the stands out of habit, tracking the front rows until he found Camila and Sara sitting near the retaining wall.
Camila was leaning over it. Both palms flat on the concrete, her weight pitched forward, curls loose around her face and bouncing a little every time she moved her head. Gus the mascot was working the sideline near the end zone, dancing all wings and feet. Laughter filled Camila’s entire face.
He’d barely made it another twenty feet closer before Camila’s head came around. Her eyes found him and her hands immediately came off the wall, pushing herself up straight. She shouted, both arms going up.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
He reached his arms up over the retaining wall when he got to her, his hands sliding under her arms and lifting her over the concrete, bringing her down to him in an easy motion. She grabbed hold of his neck with both hands and pressed her face into the side of his head, her hair warm from the sun.
"We gonna win today, mi vida?" he asked.
Camila pulled back enough to look at his face. Her curls swung forward with the movement. She nodded fast, once, then again for emphasis.
"We gonna win big big!"
He shifted his grip so her weight settled more solidly on his arm. "What's big big?"
She put her hands together in front of her chest, fingers laced, then spread them apart as wide as her arms would go, her little elbows going straight.
"This big!"
He shook his head slowly. "I'm gonna let them know you said we gotta win that big."
She laughed and tucked her face down into the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking. He held her close and walked the few steps back toward the wall.
Sara stood at the wall, watching them. She took off her sunglasses, scratching at the edge of her eye before setting them on top of her head.
He reached his free hand up over the wall.
Sara took it. Squeezed once, her fingers warm against his palm, then let go and leaned back with a small smile.
"You're going to have to get her another jersey," she said. "Maybe three more, actually."
He glanced down at Camila. She had her face still pressed against him, watching Gus out of the corner of her eye from her new vantage point. The jersey he’d gotten her last year had started to fade, the navy blue beginning to look a bit more royal.
"I'll tell someone to run to the team shop and get her some stuff," he said.
Sara raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware you had that much pull out here."
A smirk spread across his face. "You better recognize."
She shook her head, mouth pulling at the corner.
Camila went stiff in his arms. Her hand shot out and one finger pointed up and past him, toward the south endzone.
"Daddy, look!"
He turned. Freedom was in the air above the stadium, wide wings catching the thermals, making his usual lazy circle before the game. The eagle dipped one wing, riding a current, then straightened out and climbed again.
Caine watched him track across the sky. "He's going to look for the other team's eagle to fight him."
Camila's head came up off his shoulder. "Nuh uh!"
"Es verdad."
She turned to look at him, checking. She chewed her lip for a moment then frowned, shaking her head.
"You silly, daddy."
He laughed and let her look back at the eagle banking along the far side of the stadium. When he lifted his eyes again Sara was watching him still, one elbow resting on the top of the retaining wall.
He dropped to Spanish. "¿Dónde está Mireya?"
She let out a breath through her nose. Her eyes moved to Camila for a half second, then back to him.
"Es una larga historia," she said. "Te la contará después del partido."
He raised one eyebrow at her. “¿Está en Statesboro?”
She pressed her lips together. Then nodded once, slow. "Sí. Ella estará aquí en el partido."
~~~
Mireya had both elbows on her knees, leaning forward. Her eyes glanced toward the scoreboard, 14-0 Georgia Southern already. She looked back toward the field as the offense spread out across it.
Trell sat next to her, his arm wrapped around her waist and his thumb tracing a slow back and forth arc across the skin exposed by the cropped Georgia Southern jersey she was wearing.
He leaned over, spitting onto the concrete of the bleachers next to his foot then looked back toward the field, a bored disinterest painting his expression.
Down on the turf, Caine stepped to the line. His voice carried even up here, sharp and clean above the crowd's low murmur, the cadence rolling out. The sideline noise dropped. Everyone in the section ahead of them leaned back into their seats.
Caine got the snap, dropped back, set his feet, and fired.
The ball traveled tight and fast down the middle of the field. A receiver cutting from left to right reached it at full sprint, hauled it in across his body, kept running, and walked untouched into the endzone.
The stadium went up all at once. The scoreboard flipped. 20-0.
Mireya was on her feet before she knew it.
"¡Demuéstrales, hijos de puta!" Her voice went hoarse at the top of it. She put both hands up, her whole body angled down toward the field, then the noise swallowed her back up with the rest of the crowd.
She noticed Trell’s hand had slipped down to her ass and looked over at him.
He looked up at her with one eyebrow raised.
Mireya pressed her lips together and sat back down. She pushed her hand through her hair and let her eyes settle on the field.
Trell's arm came back around her waist. His thumb resumed its slow path across her side.
"Well," he said, "ain't nobody able to say that you ain't ready to cheer that lame ass nigga."
"It's not like that," Mireya said.
Trell tilted his head in the direction of the scoreboard, then let it fall back to center. "You going hoarse from all that shouting you been doing."
"I just." She stopped. The crowd around them was starting to settle, a few people sitting back down. "I get into it for my daughter. She loves watching him play."
Trell looked at the row in front of them. Then at the section to the left.
"Your daughter ain't nowhere around." He spread one hand out, gesturing at the bleachers, the families in their polos and sun visors, students in their Georgia Southern gear. "It's just us and all these fucking white people." His eyes came back to her. They dropped once to the jersey. "And you over here with this jersey."
He reached out, took hold of the hem between his thumb and two fingers, and let it fall back against her chest.
Mireya looked down at her own lap. "It's habit," she said. "I'm sorry."
Trell nodded once. He put his arm back around her waist, shifted his weight, and directed his attention toward the sideline. A line of cheerleaders held their positions near the endzone, shakers at rest.
"Which one of them white bitches you think he gonna knock up to replace you with?" he asked.
Mireya looked at them. Her expression blank.
"None of them have enough ass," she said.
Trell shook his head, a short laugh moving through him. "Carlton Banks ass niggas don't care about no ass." He stretched his free hand out and rested it on his knee. "You forgetting I watch the news. I see what them Republican women look like."
Mireya shook her head but didn't say anything to that. Her eyes tracked down to the sideline, where Caine stood with one of his teammates, hands up, gesturing wide, talking through something.
Trell went quiet beside her. His arm left her waist, coming around instead, fingers closing on her chin. He turned her face toward him. She didn’t fight it.
He looked at her, the sun catching the side of his face.
"You doing a bit much, Mireya." His voice stayed even. "Are you my bitch or his?"
She let his eyes hold hers, searching the surface of his face, taking in the set of his jaw, the patience in his expression.
"Yours," she said.
He smirked. His grip on her chin eased and his hand fell away. He settled his arm back around her waist, thumb finding the same place at her side.
On the field, Eastern Michigan's offense filed out from the sideline.
~~~
Caine walked out of the locker room, duffel bag over one shoulder, cleats swapped for slides, uniform for shorts and a t-shirt. Javier walked beside him, his own bag bouncing against his back.
"Bro," Caine said, "I ain't even gonna lie to you. I'm still fucking mad Coach took me out in the fourth quarter." He shook his head, jaw working once. "I ain't even get two hundred fucking yards."
Javier turned and stared at him. He let the silence sit, then his voice dropped into something theatrical and whining. "I didn't even get two hundred fucking yards." He shook his head slow, face stretched into mock heartbreak. "Nigga, shut yo ass up."
Caine shoved him. Javier stumbled two steps sideways, shoulder dipping, arms going wide as he caught himself against his own momentum. He came back up laughing.
Caine's eyes moved through the crowd before the laugh had finished.
His eyes swept the crowd and he found Mireya stood off to the side, closer to the fence than the building, wearing his jersey cropped down over a pair of shorts, her hair down. She had her hands drawn up in front of her, fingers working against each other in small restless turns.
Then he saw the hand at her hip.
Caine followed the arm up and found the face behind it already looking back at him. The man had a smirk on his face.
Caine held his duffel strap and turned back to Javier. He put his hand out. "I'm gonna fuck with you later. Gonna go spend some time with my people."
Javier dapped him up. "Alright, bet."
He peeled off into the crowd. Caine moved toward Mireya.
She watched him come. Her hands stilled in front of her, pressed together now, and she looked at him with her chin leveled.
Trell extended his free hand, reaching it out toward Caine with the smirk still in place. "What's up, my nigga? Good game out there." He nodded toward the field. "Hit 'em with a little razzle dazzle."
Caine glanced at the hand. Then at Mireya.
"¿Dónde están Camila y mi mamá?" he asked her.
Mireya looked down at the pavement. The toe of her sneaker turned in once, then she lifted her eyes back to his face. "Junto al coche. Metiendo todas las cosas que le han comprado a Camila en el maletero."
"¿Lo tienes cerca de ella?"
She shook her head. "No, nunca. Ni siquiera aquí." She held his eyes. "Voló por separado."
Trell watched the exchange, eyes moving between them, nodding, amusement on his face. Then he laughed, the sound coming from his chest. "I gotta say I wasn't expecting you to speak that shit, too."
Caine's expression didn't change. He exhaled through his nose and looked away from Mireya. "So, you the one she told me she was dating."
Trell's chin lifted a fraction. "That's me, lil' nigga." His eyes tracked down Caine's dreads, across his chest, back up. "My name Trell. I like this gimmick you running out here with the dreads and everything, from the city." He glanced at the families along the fence, girls waiting for their boyfriends on the team. "Probably got these white hoes thinking you really be in them streets, huh?"
Caine said, "Yeah, something like that."
Trell's mouth pulled wider. He looked over at Mireya. "You ain’t gotta be so uptight, man. I’m taking good care of our bitch. What's that thing frat boys call that shit?"
Mireya's gaze moved somewhere past Caine's shoulder. Her jaw was set. She shrugged.
Trell snapped his fingers, his voice shifting up into something softer and stupider. "Eskimo bros." He let the accent drop back. "I ain't fuck with them when I was in college, but they might not say that with the dudes you hang with."
Caine looked at him for a long moment. His voice came out even. "Just make sure you don't have your ass nowhere near my kid. Or I'll bat the piss out you."
Trell laughed. The sound was full and genuine. "Nigga, I'll kill you." He looked at Caine straight, still smiling. "You not built like that."
Caine shrugged. He opened his hands at his sides, palms up. “Shit, that ain’t nothing but a word. We can both die about it.”
Mireya's head turned to Trell. "Fucking stop." Her voice was flat and tight. "I didn't bring you out here for all this."
Trell settled back on his heels, hands going into his pockets. "I'm just being cordial with this nigga."
Mireya turned to Caine. "Caine." Her voice dropped. "Tu libertad condicional. No la arruines."
Caine hitched his duffel up on his shoulder. He leveled two fingers at Trell. "Déjalo en su hotel o devuélvelo." He started moving. "Si viene a mi casa, le voy a disparar."
He turned into the crowd. A kid stepped in front of him with a phone up, asking for a picture, and Caine stopped and smiled and leaned in for it. A man in an Eagles hat caught his arm and shook his hand. Caine let himself get turned and turned again, working through it, sliding away when he could.
Behind him, Mireya shook her head.
Trell watched Caine's back disappear into the small clusters of people. "He like to act tough. Fake ass street nigga."
Mireya turned on him. "Why the fuck you did all that?"
Trell stepped closer. His hand found her lower back and he leaned down until his mouth was near her ear. "You want me to go tell him that I ain't the only one that been nutting in you?"
Mireya sucked her teeth. She stepped away from his hand and pushed into the crowd, shoulders cutting a path.
Trell smirked to himself. He slid his hands back into his pockets and followed her.
~~~
Sara had the trunk up when Caine got to the car.
She was fitting the last of it in around a stuffed animal bag and a flat box with a Georgia Southern logo on the side, pressing down on the corner until it gave and the lid came the rest of the way down. She turned when she heard his slides on the asphalt, and her arms went around him before he could say anything. Her hand came up to the back of his head, palm flat, fingers spreading into his dreads. She kissed his cheek, her lips warm against his skin.
"You played well, mijo."
Caine nodded. The muscle in his jaw moved once.
Sara stepped back and looked at his face. Her eyes moved across it. "Met him?"
"Yeah." He pulled the duffel off his shoulder, the strap dragging down his arm. "I'm gonna fucking kill him if he keep talking wild to me."
Sara's hand came up and caught his chin between her fingers. She turned his head toward the car. Through the back window, Camila sat with both hands around a stuffed eagle,. She was turning it in her lap, examining something on its underside, lips moving.
Sara's fingers tightened once on his jaw then released.
"Don't talk like that around her," she said. "And don't think like that around her either." She dropped her hand to her side. "Let her handle her relationship."
"Pero mamá—"
"Pero nada." She squared herself to him, chin level, one hand coming to rest flat on her own sternum. "Escúchame, mijo. Do not do something stupid that hurts Camila because of your fucking ego." She held his eyes. "If you didn't want anyone to be with her, you should've stayed in New Orleans."
Caine's jaw shifted. He looked at the ground between them then back up at her. "Alright."
"You hear me?"
"Te escucho, mamá."
She looked at him one beat longer, then nodded. "Good." She held her hand out flat, palm up, fingers toward the driver's side. "Now you drive."
Caine shook his head. He turned and dropped his duffel into the trunk, pushing it flush against the wall, and brought the lid down. Sara was already moving around the passenger side. He went around the driver's side, pulled the door open, and got in.
He adjusted the seat and the mirror, catching Camila in the reflection. She'd gotten the eagle's wing unstuck from where it had folded wrong and was holding it up to check.
Caine turned his head. "Did we win big enough, mi vida?"
Camila looked up from the stuffie. She nodded, definite. "Yeah." She held the eagle out toward the gap between the front seats. "Look at my águila!"
Caine laughed. "I see him."
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot. At the end of the row an attendant in an orange vest stepped out and raised both arms, holding back a line of cars inching toward the main exit. Caine rolled the window down.
The attendant glanced over and let one arm drop. "Good win, Caine."
"Appreciate it." He lifted a hand and pulled forward.
The line fed out slowly toward the lot entrance, cars threading through gaps between the pedestrian traffic still moving across the asphalt. Families with strollers. Couples in matching gear. A kid on someone's shoulders with a foam finger pointed at nothing.
Caine eased the car forward.
Mireya and Trell came through a gap between two parked trucks. Trell had his hand low at the small of her back. Mireya's head was down, her hair shifting as she walked.
Camila's head swung toward the window. "That's mami!" She pressed her palm flat to the glass. "Where she going?"
Sara turned in her seat. "She's bringing her friend home, baby."
Camila watched them until the angle changed and the truck blocked the view. Her hand stayed on the glass another second. "Why's he hugging mami like daddy?" She pulled her hand back and settled it on the eagle. "Only daddy does that."
Sara looked at Caine.
Caine's fingers tapped the steering wheel twice. He looked up at the rearview mirror until Camila's eyes found his, then turned his head to look at her directly. "It's complicated, mi vida," he said. "I'll explain it to you when you're older."
Camila's face went still. She dropped her chin and looked down at the eagle in her lap, thumbing at the seam along its wing.
Sara shook her head once. She shifted in the seat and turned toward the back. "You want to go find some masa and me, you, daddy and mami make some tamales?"
Camila's head came up. "Can we?"
"Claro que sí, nena."
Camila nodded, her shoulders settling. She looked back down at the eagle and turned it over in her hands, mouth pulling into a small smile.
Sara faced forward. Her hand went up into her hair, fingers raking through from the root, then fell back to her lap.
~~~
The TV was off and the only light came from the lamp in the corner, turned low. Camila had been out for a while, her cheek pressed flat against Caine's thigh, one hand curled under her chin and the other stretched out across the cushion. Her mouth was slightly open. Her breathing had gone deep and her feet had stopped their small twitching from earlier.
Mireya came out of the hallway and stopped at the edge of the room. She looked at Camila first, then at Caine.
"¿Podemos hablar?"
Caine ran his palm over Camila's curls, slow, fingers spreading along the back of her head, then lifted them. He shifted his weight carefully, getting one hand under her cheek while he eased his leg out from under her with the other, lowering her head back to the cushion. He straightened up off the couch and pointed at the front door.
Mireya went first. She turned the knob slowly and pulled it open just enough for them to slip through, then held it on the way out and let it close behind her.
The walkway outside was dark, one bulb out at the far end of the row. The air had cooled enough to feel it on his arms.
Caine put his back to the parking lot and looked at her. "He in the streets."
Mireya nodded. She leaned one hip against the wall, weight settled there. "Something like that."
"Mireya." He kept his voice flat. "What the fuck are you doing? Where did you even meet him?"
She crossed her arms. "In the club. I went out with Angela and Paz and he offered to buy our drinks."
"How long ago was that?"
"Last year." She shifted her weight off the wall. "I don't know. One thing led to another and we kinda just got together."
Caine leaned forward, eyes lowering closer to level with hers. "Fucking with dudes in the street kinda fucking crazy for a fucking college student."
Mireya's chin came up. "You're a fucking dude in the motherfucking street!"
"It's different." His voice didn't rise. "I'm the father of your child."
"I'm not playing the ethics Olympics with you, Caine." She dropped one arm and pressed her fingers flat against your thigh. "He asked to meet you and you can't exactly just show up in New Orleans."
Caine looked at her steadily. "What does he know about me?"
"Nothing."
"What have you told him about me, Mireya?"
"Fucking nothing,” She said through clenched teeth. "That's why he thinks you're just some college kid."
Caine shook his head once. "You been hiding shit from me."
Mireya's mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers pressed harder into her thigh. She looked down at her hand there for a second, then back up. "Just this," she said. "Lo prometo. I didn't know if you and Ramon and them had beef with him. I don't know those street politics."
Caine was quiet. He looked out at the parking lot, at the row of cars sitting dark under the lights, then brought his eyes back to her. "Did you fuck him before he left?"
Mireya leaned back and pulled both arms across her chest. Her chin dropped a fraction. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"No te hagas el tonto."
"No." A beat passed. She held his gaze. "You fuck that married bitch before we come here?"
"Jealousy don't look good on you."
"Tampoco tú."
Caine took a step toward her and the door. He raised one hand and pointed past her, through the wall, toward the apartment. "She is nowhere near him. Ever." His arm came down. "And while I'm fucking pissed right now, we're gonna pretend everything is normal for her."
Mireya's jaw shifted. "You don't need to tell me how to be a mother, Caine." Her voice stayed level, just the edges going hard. "You have no fucking right to doubt my ability to parent."
Caine held his hand up, palm out, fingers spread. Then he turned it toward the door.
Mireya sucked her teeth. She turned and wrapped her hand around the knob and pushed it open.
Camila was sitting up on the couch when they walked back in, both hands flat in her lap, hair pushed to one side from where she'd been lying. She blinked once at the room and then her eyes found Caine and her face opened up. "Daddy, where you went?"
"Nowhere, mi vida." He crossed to the couch and sat down beside her. "I'm right here."
Camila climbed up into his lap, knees settling against his thighs, one hand bracing on his chest for balance until she got situated. She got herself comfortable and then turned and looked at Mireya still standing just inside the door. She reached one hand out toward her, fingers spread and open, waiting.
Mireya sat down beside him. The cushion shifted under her weight and Camila adjusted, rearranging herself until she was stretched across both of them, her head pressed against Caine's leg and her feet resting across Mireya's lap. She pulled her hands up under her chin and tucked them there.
Her feet went still. Her shoulders dropped. The room went quiet.
Caine looked at Mireya.
And Mireya looked back at him.
)
