by Amber Hart
Six more days.
That’s the amount of time I have at the beach with mi familia.
And then it’s time to find Wink.
My family shuffles around me, preparing for a sunset dinner. I don’t pay them any attention until my brother Pedro’s palm smacks me upside the head.
“¿Que pasa contigo?”
I shoot him a look. He and Eduardo are identical, with their shaved heads and matching faces. Brown eyes and pudgy noses. The only difference is the small off-center mole below Pedro’s bottom lip.
“What’s wrong with you?” he repeats in English. “It’s like you’re not even here.”
Most of my family members speak a combination of Spanish and English now that we’ve been in the States a while. Except for my youngest brothers. They speak mostly English, because that’s what’s spoken in American schools, despite the rest of us trying to make sure they know Spanish, too.
“Maybe he’s thinking about that chica from today,” Eduardo says, laughing.
My friends laugh along with him. I’ve invited them today; the six of us—me, Ramon, Esteban, Juan, Rodolfo, and Luis—are often together. Ramon and Esteban are brothers and have similar looks—slight overbites, wide eyes. Juan is a walking painting, covered in tattoos. Rodolfo is all smiles, one dimple poking through, creating a pocket in the side of his cheek. Luis and I are similar in size; we hit the gym together. Freckles spot his face like a dash of pepper.
I’ve known them since I moved here. Latinos, like me. They know about Melissa. They’ve always known about Melissa. They were there that day on the beach.
The first time she kissed me.
I need to not be thinking about her lips right now.
Mi mamá’s head snaps up, suddenly interested in our conversation. “¿Que chica?”
She wants to know what girl. I’m not ready to share Melissa with my family. I fear what mi mamá will do with that information. Most likely run Melissa off. For my own benefit, mi mamá will say.
Mi papá is staring now, too. A grin on his face. He knows what it’s like living with the world’s nosiest women. It’s almost like he’s telling me good luck.
“No one,” I say, prepared to kill my brother for mentioning her.
“Somebody,” she says. She speaks with a heavy accent. “If you’re that red about her.”
Right on point. I feel my cheeks flame.
“No one, really.” Not sure she’s convinced, but she lets it go.
“How’s school going?” she asks, changing the subject.
It’s more than one question—I can see that from her look. Mi mamá has a way with words, and she knows us all too well. She knows exactly how to make us squirm.
I struggle to sit still. Because I realize what this really implies.
I’ll answer: Bien. Almost done.
And then she’ll say: What’s next?
It plays out just as I imagined.
What’s next? I think about telling her the truth.
I’m going to find Wink and the men who killed your sister. When I’m done with them, they won’t ever do this to anyone again.
Instead: “Not sure.” Shrug. Purposefully noncommittal. Because that’s how I am most of the time.
She knows this, and so she pries. “Not sure?”
I don’t need anyone to worry about me. I can’t afford to have people wondering about the changes taking place, asking why I’m locked up even tighter than before. If anyone is going to see through me, it’ll be mi mamá. I can’t seem to hide from her. I’m not in a place where offering information is an option. Because she would stop my plan from happening. Mi mamá would do anything to make sure I don’t follow the same path as Diego. Her love for her children is fierce. Almost to a fault. Almost to a point that it drives us crazy. She won’t let me end up like mi primo.
Dead.
Withering skin and brittle bones.
My hands clench the picnic table bench beneath me.
Mi mamá sets three tables; we’ve secured the plates and napkins with drink cups so they don’t fly away in the stiff breeze off the ocean.
“What are you hiding, mi hijo?” she asks.
“Mamá, porfa. It’s Eduardo and Pedro’s birthdays. Not today.”
I don’t usually argue with her. None of us do. Including mi papá.
Unable to meet her eyes, I stare at a multicolored umbrella above our table. The ocean eats at the shore, filling its mouth with sand before the force of gravity drags the waves back out, an unavoidable cycle of existence.
Unavoidable. I know the feeling.
I’m grateful for mi papá’s bravery, for his willingness to move us to the States. Nothing short of a miracle that we arrived unscathed. My country doesn’t let its people go easily.
I’m grateful, really. But I’m also pissed. Because I was thrown into this American life that isn’t as easy as it seems, that makes promises and then betrays them. I’m supposed to feel safe and warm and like everything is better, but I’ve never felt safe. Not anywhere. A childhood like mine doesn’t grow into something safe, no matter where I’m placed.
So I make the best of it. I try. I make a few friends and welcome Diego here and I think for a minute that things might actually be okay.
But they’re not.
America is kind of like Cuba. Only America is dressed in prettier clothes. It’s robed in a promise of freedom, but tell me, someone please tell me, how being locked in a coffin six feet under equals freedom. Because I’d love to know.
America is a liar.
And I think that I won’t be able to go anywhere and feel okay.
“Girls, pour drinks,” mi mamá says to my three sisters, Maria, Tatiana, and Alejandra—fifteen, twelve, and nine years old.
This is how it usually goes. The girls in the family cook and take care of the rest of us boys.
Mi mamá looks at me, ready to continue our conversation.
“Can I help?” I ask.
I’m dying for any distraction from the stare mi mamá is boring into me. Maybe if I’m busy, she’ll let it be.
“Offering to help?” Eduardo asks under his breath. “Red flag.”
Hopefully, mi mamá didn’t hear him. I learned early on that asking to help is borderline offensive to the women in mi familia. But I don’t know what else to do. Usually I’d leave. Offer up some excuse about where I have to go. But I’m stuck at the beach. It’s a celebration.
My sisters send a sharp glance my way at the mention of me helping. They learned from mi mamá. They take great pride in knowing that they can care for us. Mi papá explained it to me one day. Asking to help is almost like suggesting they’re not doing a good job, he told me. They only want to hear compliments.
One miserable day a few years ago, I suggested that mashing the chunks out of the potatoes might make them taste better. I’d tried them that way once at school and I liked it.
Big mistake. Maria yelled at me that she knew how to cook mashed potatoes just fine. Weeks went by without a word from my sister, her feelings hurt. I had to eat a whole bowl of Maria’s mashed potatoes to get her to forgive me.
You think you like potatoes with no chunks, mi papá had said, but the trouble it causes you to mention it will change your mind.
I apologized to Maria and told her that her potatoes were perfect. I’ve never complained about their food since then.
Any chance that mi mamá didn’t hear Eduardo goes out the window as soon as her words reach me.
“You’re definitely hiding something.”
My brother nudges me, but I’m not in the mood for his shit so I nudge him back. Hard. He kicks my leg under the table.
“What the hell is your prob—”
The words die on my lips. I realize why he’s nudging me. My eyes find what has stolen his attention.
Melissa.
Nothing good will come of this.
Melissa sees me and smiles. She’s not in a bathing suit, which makes me think she’s off
work. My eyes follow her body. Tiny shorts. A loose fitting thin top that ripples in the gusts of ocean wind. A girl that looks nearly identical to Melissa stands beside her.
I compose myself and brave a peek at mi mamá. She’s watching me intently.
Melissa turns a path in the sand, cutting her way toward me.
She has no idea what this means. She doesn’t know the women in this family. Melissa doesn’t understand that she is prey, heading straight into the lion’s den. And everyone knows that it’s the lionesses that fight and kill for the pride.
I have to stop this. But if I go to her, mi mamá will know.
I hate that Melissa’s not mad anymore about our talk yesterday. Maybe if she were still angry, she wouldn’t be walking this way. She wouldn’t have to see what happens next.
I can’t let my family rip her to shreds. Mi mamá has no problem telling a white girl that she has no place with any of her sons.
There’s really only one way to handle this without causing irrevocable damage at the hands of mi mamá.
Melissa stops at the side of the grill where mi mamá is cooking the meat.
So close, so close to the one who will destroy this.
I look out at the water like I don’t see her. Hoping it’ll help.
It doesn’t.
She comes closer. Mere inches from the bench where I’m siting. My brothers check out the two girls. My blood boils.
“Hey,” she says, eyeing only me. She doesn’t see the danger. If I want anything to do with this chick, I need to get her the hell away from mi mamá.
“Hey,” my lips say.
Bored my tone says.
This needs to be convincing.
“Didn’t expect to see you.” Melissa glances at my family. “So many of you.”
Most of us look alike is my guess at the meaning behind her statement.
“Okay,” I say.
Melissa looks at me strangely. Like she expects me to say more.
“Can I help you with something?” My tone is fluid. No hiccups. No reason for mi mamá to think I’m interested.
Melissa’s eyes narrow. “Um, no. I guess not.”
My gaze darts to mi mamá. Hopefully, Melissa gets the point. Panic sets in. If I let Melissa stay, mi mamá will destroy everything. But if I let her go, I might never get the true story from Faith about what happened to Diego. I’m risking losing my best lead about the night mi primo was murdered.
But then mi mamá takes a step toward Melissa as if to get close enough to ask who she is.
I make a gut reaction decision.
“See you around,” I say.
Melissa kills me with her stare. Murdering any hope I had.
“Not likely,” she replies.
And leaves.
After seeing the look on Melissa’s face, I realize that I might not be able to come back from this. I tell Melissa that I want her, and then I shove her away. She’s right to be angry. She’s right to want to get away from me.
She really, absolutely should.
9
melissa
“Is that the guy?” May asks.
My breathing is all wrong. Anger is eating holes in my composure. I’m walking away fast and not looking back at Javier.
“That’s him,” I reply.
“Definitely sexy,” May says. “Not sure that he’s into you, though.”
She doesn’t mean anything by it. I would think the same thing if I didn’t know him better.
“He is,” I say. I remember his lips molding to fit my own. I remember the way his heart bashed against his chest, responding to my nearness. “But something’s not right.”
May looks at me with kindness. “Are you sure, Lissa? I mean, could he have been lying?”
Possibilities spin, a whirlwind in my mind.
“Maybe,” I admit.
Her brows knit together. “Or maybe he was expecting someone else and didn’t want you to stick around?”
The suggestion makes me queasy. I don’t want to think about Javier with someone else, though I have no right to care either way. He said he was single when we talked in the hotel room, but still, it rips at my insides. Too tough to digest.
May gives me a hug. “Sorry, babe.”
I should have talked to him more after that day at the beach. I should have approached him at school.
I shrug it off like it’s no big deal. Like my mind isn’t racing at the possibility of Javier and another girl.
The taste of regret is bitter.
I want to turn around. To go back and ask him what his problem is. But I won’t. I’ll keep walking and pretending that I haven’t been punched in the heart by the force of his dismissal.
“I thought he liked me,” I whisper.
My thoughts don’t matter now.
“Maybe he does,” May says. “Guys are weird. He might really like you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in other people, too.”
She’s right, of course.
We take a seat on a padded cabana. Watch the water froth at the shore, the tips of the waves almost reaching us. Tiny clams are propelled out of their hiding spots in the sand by the force of the tide. The unlucky ones are eaten by waiting birds. The others re-bury themselves quickly. But their time is limited; in a minute, the ocean will make them vulnerable again.
I know how they feel, battered and worn.
A hundred times today I’ve thought about Javier’s story. Wondered at the details. Wanted to know what brought him this far. And why his eyes hint at a life unmentioned.
He’s hiding something.
I think about how hard Diego’s death has been on Javier. I wonder if he feels guilty. I wonder why the need to find answers rests so heavily on Javier’s shoulders.
Sometimes life doesn’t give out answers.
I want to tell Javier that fair doesn’t exist, and that going to Faith for information might only increase his pain. I can’t promise that she’ll want to talk about it. I can’t guarantee that she’ll have anything to say. That she’ll even answer the phone.
“Don’t worry,” May says, motioning to the ocean. “You know what they say. More fish in the sea.”
I’m not sure that I’m interested in the others.
“Speaking of.” May whistles at a group of guys fishing on the beach.
I laugh.
When the three guys hear May, they leave their poles rooted in the sand and head our way.
She winks at me. “You’re welcome.”
The guys stop in front of us. One catches my eye. Light skin and olive eyes.
“Hi,” he says, blocking my view of the setting sun.
May nudges my arm.
“Hi,” I reply.
She smiles, approving. “Which one of you boys wants to show me how to fish?”
The remaining two offer at the same time.
“Both of you it is,” May says. My sister knows how to charm any guy. I learned half my flirting skills from her.
Olive Eyes sits next to me.
“Aaron,” he says, grinning.
“Melissa,” I offer back.
I look over at my sister. She has a guy on each arm, leading them down to the water.
Aaron follows my gaze. “Friend?”
“Sister,” I correct.
My eyes rake across his body. Defined legs. Muscles that speed bump over his stomach. Beach-wavy hair.
“You guys live here, or just visiting?”
I get this question often. It’s understandable, since Florida’s beaches are usually packed with tourists in the prime seasons.
“Local,” I answer. “You?”
He reaches a toned arm behind his head, lying against the back of the cabana.
“Same.” Eyes on the water. “Your sister knows how to fish already, doesn’t she?”
I grin. “What would make you think that?”
Aaron’s gaze lands on me. He catches my grin. “Because she just cast like a pro and you live in Florida.”
“Not all Floridians know how to fish,” I say.
He smiles. “But most do. And it’s obvious that your sister does.”
My cheeks heat up as his statement settles. He knows she left us alone to talk.
“What are you up to tonight?”
Nothing. “Not sure. Why?”
“We’re having a bonfire on the beach. You should come.” I should. I should forget about wanting Javier. The image of his face makes my insides flip.
“What time?”
May comes running up, a fish hanging off the line. That was quick.
“Look, Lissa! I caught one.” I can’t tell whether her excitement is real or feigned, but I know for sure, since May used to go fishing with friends, that her next words aren’t. “First time!”
The fish squirms on the hook. Poor thing.
“Good job.” I laugh. “Beginner’s luck.”
Aaron bites back a smile.
“Want to go to a beach party, May?” I ask.
My sister doesn’t hesitate. “Sure! What time?”
The sun slips below the horizon, promising a night of distractions. Here, I don’t have to worry. Here, I can flirt and have fun and see so many faces that Javier’s won’t matter anymore. I look to Aaron for an answer.
“People will show up in a couple hours, probably,” he says.
May hands the pole to one of the guys standing next to her. “Great. We’ll run home to get ready and come back.”
Aaron turns to me. Lips curling upward, suggesting that he’s happy with May’s response.
“You have a phone?”
I reach into my pocket. Pull out my cell. Aaron quickly programs his number in.
“Call me when you get back.”
I nod because his stare steals my words.
My thoughts flash once more to Javier. I look around, half expecting him to be there. Hoping that he changed his mind about blowing me off, that he’ll leave whatever he was doing. This is his chance to make things right.
My eyes take in everything around me. Gray clouds smeared across the sky. The moon brightening at the first signs of night.
And Javier.
Nowhere to be found.
Back at the house, May and I get ready for the beach party. I pull off my outfit. Standing in nothing but matching underwear, I reach for a suit, shorts, and shirt. May sucks in a breath that draws my eyes. My lungs deflate. The look on her face, God, I hate it. Because I know that look. It’s . . . pity.