After Us

by Amber Hart

  I listen to Pedro’s story with one hundred ounces of interest.

  “Javier wants it more, though.” He sips his beer. “I see why.”

  I’m waiting for him to explain why. I’m waiting for Pedro to tell me what the difference is between me and his ex.

  Pedro meets my stare.

  “Javier loves you more than I loved her.”

  42

  javier

  I don’t know what Pedro has said to Melissa, but her mouth is hanging open like a broken hinge.

  “What happened?” I ask, studying my brother and my girl.

  “Nothin’,” Pedro replies and winks at Melissa.

  “Don’t wink at her,” I say.

  Melissa closes her mouth and grins.

  “Really,” she says. “It’s nothing.”

  Liars.

  “Hmm,” I say, grabbing a Coke. “You sure?”

  “Positive,” Pedro says, not even hiding his grin.

  I don’t believe him for one second, but there’s nothing I can do to force the information from them.

  I lean in to Melissa’s ear and whisper, “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you in this dress?”

  Her cheeks flood with pink blush. She glances at Pedro, embarrassed. He can’t hear me, but the look on his face says that he knows what I’m up to.

  “Can you at least wait until I’m gone for that?” Pedro asks.

  I kiss Melissa’s neck. “Depends. How long you gonna be standin’ there?”

  Melissa playfully smacks my arm. Her smile drops when my sister approaches with an angry scowl.

  “Can I talk to you?” my sister Maria asks.

  I’m not in the mood for this. I make sure my tone lets her know. “Can it wait?”

  Though she’s just barely turned fifteen, she’s exactly like mi mamá. Taught by her. Made by her. Acting like her.

  Maria sends a sharp look Melissa’s way. “No.”

  “Then talk,” I say.

  Here it goes.

  “Alone,” Maria amends.

  “Nope.” Not going there. Not giving her a chance to diss my girl.

  “Fine,” she says. Looks at Melissa. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. Mom’s upset. It’s not a pretty picture inside.”

  I get that.

  But.

  “Melissa goes where I go.” I make sure to drill my seriousness into the tone of my voice.

  Melissa looks uncomfortable. Heel tapping on the ground.

  “Is it worth what this is doing to our family?” Maria asks. “Mom inside, upset. Dad standing up for you, though I don’t know why. The family split over this.”

  I don’t even hesitate. “Yep.”

  I sip my Coke. Wait for Maria to finally understand that nothing she says will change my mind.

  Maria is too old for her age. The first girl. The one who is most like mi mamá. The one who holds our family together when mi mamá can’t. Like when mi mamá is sick, Maria cooks and cleans and keeps things normal.

  Maria sees that this is going nowhere, so she simply leaves. Walks back inside. A bitter trail drags behind her.

  “Sorry, muñeca,” I say to Melissa, an apologetic look.

  My girl is strong to deal with all this and not crack.

  She shrugs. “Win some, lose some.”

  Pedro and I both smile.

  “Got a good one here,” Pedro comments. “A fighter.”

  Melissa is a good one. The best one. One day, maybe, the rest of my family will see that, too.

  I take Melissa home, though I don’t want to. I want her with me. Me beside her. Where I belong.

  That much is clear.

  Especially after tonight. Especially after I saw the way Melissa held her ground and dealt with mi mamá, though she deserves so much better.

  Three cars sit in Melissa’s driveway. I cut the lights and kill the engine.

  “What you did tonight—” I begin.

  She cuts me off with a kiss. I’m not expecting it.

  “I’d do it again,” she whispers against my lips.

  Distant glow from a streetlight lets me see Melissa’s face, happy.

  I pull Melissa closer. Fit her against me.

  The cold landscape of my past pops into my mind. I think about the warmth I have now. Melissa. Her blue eyes stare at me. Her mouth reaches for mine once again. Her fingers lock behind my neck. Our lips drive toward each other. A collision course that tastes so good.

  She needs to go inside before I get too worked up.

  “Mami,” I groan.

  She smiles a little. Backs up enough to look into my eyes. Sees the desire there.

  “Either you gotta go, or I’m kidnappin’ you for the night,” I say playfully. Maybe a little serious.

  She chews her lip like she’s considering going away with me for the night.

  “You’re killin’ me,” I say.

  A cute smile. “Good night, Javier.”

  “Night.” I kiss her once more.

  I think about the crack in me. The one that’s allowing Melissa to slip through and invade my thoughts, my choices. Like tonight. Standing up to mi mamá.

  And I want to thank her.

  Because I like the change she’s made in me.

  43

  melissa

  The beach burns bright with yellow. The sand. The sun.

  My bathing suit. Two layers of sunscreen aren’t enough to keep my skin from browning under the sky’s stare. Nearly every day I see the same scenery. The same blue sea spilling into the same lighter blue horizon and I think:

  perfect

  endless

  beauty.

  I wonder about the sun. The sun never gets any time off. It burns day after day. Never a moment’s break. Even when we see darkness, it works a double shift on the other side of the world, bringing them light. I wonder if the sun ever gets tired. I think about how exhausted it must be.

  Like me.

  I think about how I work constantly just to make a dent in the hospital bills. I think about how it could be worse. I could have no job. I could be drowning in debt with no way out. At least I have these drinks to serve endlessly.

  I try to be positive.

  I would like to think that one day soon I can pay off my medical debt. I can maybe save for college and live long enough to enjoy it. I picture classrooms. I think about all the studying I’ll do. I wonder if I’ll make better grades in college than I did in high school.

  I think I might.

  Because it means more to me now. I look forward to hitting the books and groaning about finals and practically sleepwalking because there will be so much to do and so little time to do it. People to meet and homework to complete and reports to write. I think about the gallons of coffee I’ll drink with a laptop open and books spread out.

  I see it all.

  Gone.

  Because of cancer.

  I concentrate on the drinks in front of me. My tray is heavy with them. I stop at a cabana of girls, the same girls who made me think of college, complaining about some test coming up that they’re sure they’re going to fail, but whatever, because they want to enjoy this day on the beach, they say. Let’s not waste it on studying, they say.

  You have no idea how much I’d like to take your place, I want to say. Study for you, be able to complain about tests, I don’t say.

  “Here you go,” I say instead, smile. It feels forced.

  “Thanks,” one chimes. Hands me money, a decent tip.

  On to the next cabana, the next customer. His head tilts up. My face breaks in half with a real smile this time.

  “Javier,” I say, surprised.

  He pulls me down to sit next to him on the green-and-white striped cabana cushion.

  “Why do you look sad?” he asks.

  Never misses a beat.

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  How could I possibly explain without spilling my guts?

  “Something,” he says.

&n
bsp; Lays a peck on my lips. I want more. So I lean into him. He pulls back.

  “Not until you tell me what,” Javier stipulates.

  I sigh. “Those girls were complaining about college,” I say. He doesn’t understand. I don’t expect him to.

  “And?”

  He wants to know. Okay, fine.

  “They have no idea how much I’d like to go to college,” I explain. “I wish I had enough money for classes and books and everything. I wish I could be stressed about exams instead of—”

  I pause. Almost said too much.

  “Instead of wishing that I could go to college,” I finish.

  Javier’s eyes narrow. “You don’t have enough money for that?”

  “No,” I reply. “My high school grades weren’t good enough for a scholarship.”

  “What about money from working here?” he asks.

  He’s getting too close to the truth. Time to shut down.

  “I have some debt to pay,” I say dismissively. “Anyway,

  you have the day off?”

  Off of work? Away from the gang?

  We don’t really talk about it. We should.

  “My next contract job is in two days. It’s a short job. Maybe a week. And it’s local,” Javier says.

  I take a breath. Gather courage.

  “And the gang?” I ask.

  I haven’t said a word since we got back together. But I’ve wanted to. I’ve contemplated the right way to bring it up. To somehow convince Javier that there has to be another way.

  He needs to leave the gang.

  “Let’s not,” he says.

  But it needs to be said.

  “I want you to quit.”

  I’ve forgiven Javier for lying to me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want him out of the gang.

  “Not that easy,” he says, jaw taut.

  “Why not?”

  He shakes his head like this is the end of our conversation, but it can’t be the end. I need to know more.

  “Tell me about it, Javier. Help me understand.”

  “No.” Firm.

  “Please,” I say. Kiss him. Beg him with my lips to let me in. I gently pry open his mouth. Taste his need. “Just tell me why.”

  He groans, a mix of pleasure and frustration. Looks around. No one near.

  “Take ten and we’ll talk.”

  It’s all he offers, but I’ll take it.

  I run back to Brock. Tell him that I need a break for a few. He covers for me.

  “Want to walk?” I ask Javier.

  Javier nods toward an alley between two hotels. “We can go there.”

  I walk with Javier to the alley. Take a seat on a wooden post. Javier sits beside me.

  Deep breath. He begins.

  “Revenge,” says Javier, “is a dangerous thing.”

  He cracks his knuckles. Rests the back of his head against the side of a building. His words find me, but I don’t believe them. Not at first.

  “It’s not what you think. I didn’t join a gang just to join. You have to know that somewhere deep down. I’m not a guy who joins gangs, Melissa. I have a family. I have support. I’m not like most members who need someone, who have no one so they join a family of sorts. Believe it or not, I actually have little brothers that look up to me. I don’t want to set a bad example. But this—” Grinds his teeth. Face hard. “This is different. This is retribution, Melissa. This is the purest form of retaliation.”

  For what? I wonder. Then it hits me.

  “Diego,” I say.

  “Yes,” he confirms. “MS-13, the gang I joined, is the same gang that got Diego killed. And the member who set it all up? He got away. He never had to pay for anything. For stabbing mi primo, for gettin’ him shot. Diego never got justice. I’m gonna make sure he does.”

  He looks at me. Eyes pained. Twisted with something like agony.

  “Please understand,” he requests. “I gotta do this. I need to make Wink pay.”

  He wants me to understand. I do. And I don’t.

  “But he’s gone,” I whisper. It hurts to say it. “Diego is gone, Javier. He can’t be brought back. How does finding this guy, Wink, change things?”

  His fists ball. “Yeah, he’s gone. That’s my point. Diego’s fucking gone and the guy who arranged his death is walking free!”

  He’s being loud now. Doesn’t matter. There’s no one to hear us.

  “Javier,” I say, trying to talk reason into him. “You have to let him go. Please reconsider. Do they know where you live? Does MS-13 know who you really are?”

  “No,” he replies, to my relief. “But it’s done, Melissa. I’m doing this.”

  Conviction in his voice tells me there’s no talking him out of it.

  “You won’t reconsider?” I ask.

  But I already know.

  “Don’t ask me to do that.” Deadly calm.

  Something snaps in me. “I have cancer.”

  I can’t believe, I can’t believe, I can’t believe . . .

  “I have cervical cancer,” I whisper. An echo.

  I’ve said it. Out loud. I’ve let my secret slip through the fissure in my lips. It rolls into the space between us.

  “You—” Pause. Incredulous look. “You what?”

  Javier’s voice is weighed down by five hundred pounds of concern and disbelief.

  “You heard me.”

  Realization mars his face. “The scars are from cancer.”

  I can’t look at him. I let my fingers trail down the sole of my flip-flop. Bumping over the ridges.

  “So please,” I say, but there’s not much left to my voice. I’m trying not to cry. “Please reconsider. You have this life, this amazing life. You can’t spend it this way, in a gang. I don’t know how much time I have left.”

  This part is especially hard to say. I swallow my shame, remorse, anxiety.

  “I want to spend the time I do have with you, Javier. I want you to be here with me. Not in a gang.”

  Javier’s fingers find my chin. Tilt it up so that I have to look at him. I desperately hope that my unshed tears won’t fall.

  “I will spend all the time I can with you,” he says. “But I have to do this. I’m too close. I just—” He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I have to, okay?”

  “No,” I say. “It’s not okay, Javier. It’s really not.” I stand. Done. Can’t believe that I told Javier about me, about my cancer, and he still chooses the gang.

  He stands, too. Reaches for me. But I’m already steps ahead of him.

  “I can’t watch you destroy yourself,” I say. “I need some time away.”

  From everything.

  I hate to leave him standing there, holding my heart prisoner, but I have to break free of the panic clutching me.

  The gang is Javier’s top priority.

  I need to leave, and I know just where I want to go. I quickly walk away from Javier. He’s too stunned to follow.

  I run down the beach until I’m back at the cabanas. There, I tell Brock that I need to go home. He lets me off early, no questions asked.

  Once in my car, I dial Faith.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  “Hello?”

  One word. Two syllables. Three seconds.

  Then.

  “Faith,” I say, ready to talk this time.

  “Melissa! You called.”

  “And you answered,” I reply.

  Time to bury pain under a mountain of forgiveness. I want to see my best friend again because maybe, just maybe, there will be a time when I can’t.

  “Where are you working now?” I ask.

  While Faith tells me about the village she’s working in, I grab a pen to jot down the name of the city. That way later, I can look up her location. A last-minute flight has its cost, but I’m willing to pay.

  “Faith,” I say. “I want to visit.”

  See your face. Hear your voice in person.

  “I’d love that,” Faith says.

 
; I need to get away. Nicaragua will be my escape.

  Two days later, I’ve taken up residence in a car that is somewhat like an SUV, and nothing like an SUV. There are no doors, no windows, no top above me. There is an engine. Big tires. There are seats for me and the driver. Rails that connect to the side of the vehicle. I hold on to them with a death grip.

  The driver looks over at me. Says something in Spanish. Because that’s what they speak in Nicaragua, where I am. I have no idea what he’s saying so I have no idea how to answer him. The car jolts forward, dipping where the ground is uneven. We roll over the bump. Go up another one steeply.

  The landscape is a challenge.

  I would hold on tighter if I could, but my hand is already clamped to the rail. My seat belt is the only thing holding me in place. I would maybe fall out without it. I look at the driver—older, gray peppering his hair—and wonder if he feels nauseous from the ride, too. Probably not. He’s most likely used to it.

  “Better soon,” he says. The first English I’ve heard him speak.

  He must see my discomfort. I look around—green everywhere—and wonder if there’s no other possible way to get to Faith. I knew she was working in a remote village. She mentioned on the phone before I came that they’re building a school for children who have never sat in a real classroom because they’ve never been fortunate enough to have people who care about their education.

  Faith wants to change that. Faith has set out to change the world.

  All I see are leaves and bushes and thick vegetation like walls closing in around me. It’s a wonder that this vehicle fits through here at all. Soon as I think it, the man cuts the engine. Hops out. Offers me a hand to help me down. I don’t want to give him my hand because it’s sweaty. My fingers are cramped, my bones practically glued in a death grip. I give him my hand anyway. Jump down onto dirt.

  I don’t know what we’re doing. There’s no village here.

  “Camina,” the driver says.

  I remember enough of Spanish to know that he just told me to walk. Apparently, the village is farther in, where the car cannot go. I’m having a hard time imagining Faith in a place like this. Mosquitos everywhere and bugs buzzing. The sun wants to shine, but the trees block its path to the forest floor.