The Butterfly’s Daughter

by Mary Alice

  Luz cast a glance at Ofelia to see that she had stilled in her chair and was listening to the exchange intently. When she met Luz’s gaze, she shrugged indifferently and went back to rubbing her feet.

  “You gonna be there for El Día de Los Muertos, right?” asked Mr. Cordero.

  “I hope I make it.”

  “You gotta be there for that!” he exclaimed, hands out. “I mean, you gotta be there when las monarcas fly in. That’s when her spirit flies with them. You know that, right?”

  To see the hefty man speak with such sweet sincerity was moving. Luz nodded. “Yes, but I’m having car trouble. That’s why I’m waiting here.”

  “Car trouble? You take it to Vera’s?”

  Luz nodded again.

  “They’re good people.”

  “They have to order a part so I’ve got to wait till tomorrow. Maybe the next day or two. I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking of calling my boyfriend to pick me up. I can’t afford just to hang out.”

  Ofelia perked up. “Hey, you know what I’m thinking, Mr. Cordero? We need somebody to take Carmen’s place, right? Why not hire Luz?”

  “I’m only going to be here for a day or two at most,” Luz reminded her.

  “But that would help us out till we find someone new.”

  “You ever been a waitress before?” asked Cordero skeptically.

  “I worked for a while at the restaurant where my grandmother worked. Just part-time after school.”

  Ofelia sat straighter in her chair.

  “You said your abuela was a cook. What’d she make?” he asked, testing her.

  “Classic Mexican, mostly, for the restaurant. But she could make anything. And you’ve never tasted mole sauce until you’ve tasted hers. It was earthy dark and sprinkled with melted cheese.” She remembered cooking with Abuela, an apron tied around her waist, standing in front of four or five pots bubbling on the stove. Abuela would wag her fingers to draw Luz close, then she’d hold out the herbs and spices, one by one, under her nose and make her sniff—coriander, cumin, chilies, cilantro. Luz could still smell them in her mind.

  “Sometimes she’d cook up special recipes from her village. People would flock to the restaurant, eager for a taste of home. She taught me everything she knows. I could prepare every dish you cooked today.”

  Ofelia snorted. “Then you know everything, ’cause it’s the same every day.”

  “If your abuela’s from Michoacán, then she knows my style,” Mr. Cordero said after giving it some thought. “I guess it could work. You seem like a pretty smart girl. Do you speak Spanish?”

  “I understand it but I don’t speak it so well.”

  “Lo suficientemente bueno como para tomar un pedido?”

  “Sí. Good enough to get an order,” Luz replied.

  “I gotta tell you, this isn’t the way I like to do things. But I will do this because your abuela is from my home.” He shrugged. “And my girl Ofelia is getting tired. It’s no good for her baby to work this hard and no good for me if she gets any slower, eh? So maybe this is a good idea after all. You work a few days, maybe longer if you like. Earn a little money for your car. Then everybody is happy. Okay?”

  Luz held her breath and wondered if this wasn’t another push from Abuela. She could hear her voice. Fortaleza.

  “Okay,” she replied, and for no reason laughed.

  Ofelia clapped her hands. “This is, like, so great. I mean, really, chica, I can’t believe it. And don’t you worry none, you’ll catch on quick.” She went to Mr. Cordero and gave him a quick hug. “My feet thank you, Mr. Cordero!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, unconvincingly feigning a frown.

  “There’s still the problem of where I’m going to sleep tonight,” Luz said. “Do you know of some hotel that’s clean and decent and won’t cost me an arm and a leg?”

  “There’s a Holiday Inn near the expressway,” Mr. Cordero said.

  “That’s not cheap,” countered Ofelia. “What about Las Damas?”

  Mr. Cordero scratched his jaw. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean. And cheap. I know the woman who runs the place. I’ll give her a call. Find out if she has a room.”

  “It’s where I stayed when I first got here,” said Ofelia. “It’s kind of a boardinghouse for women who come to the city and need a safe place to stay for a few days. A lot of women from Mexico stay there when they first get here.”

  What Ofelia was describing sounded to her like a halfway house. “I don’t know. Maybe the motel is better.”

  Ofelia caught the worry in Luz’s tone and said reassuringly, “I know what you’re thinking but this is better. Really. It’s nice.”

  “So, why did you move?”

  “I live with Angel now.”

  Mr. Cordero began clearing a few tables. “He’s no good.”

  Ofelia waved off the comment. “And Suzanne Corrington—she’s the lady who owns the house—only lets girls stay till they get a job or find another place to live. It’s a safe place for them when they get to town. I figure that’s because she had such a hard time. I heard stories about what happened to her and, girl, you don’t want to know.”

  “She’s a saint in my book,” Mr. Cordero said.

  “I can take you there to meet her and check it out, okay?”

  Luz puffed out air, considering. It sounded like a good offer and she wouldn’t have to turn back. Then she thought of the mural. It had to be a sign. “Okay. Yes,” she said, deciding. “Thanks.”

  “Well, if you two are finished yakking, grab an apron and let’s get started before the dinner shift rolls in,” said Mr. Cordero with a swing of his arms. “Vámonos.”

  For the next few hours Luz learned how to hustle. Mr. Cordero’s system of taking orders, serving them, and cleaning up was strictly short-order business—no flourishes. The menu was simple and displayed on a big board behind the counter. Most people were regulars and knew what they wanted. Mr. Cordero was pleased that she caught on so quickly. Ofelia was loud and boisterous, a know-it-all who was always correcting. But she was also open and friendly. When they left El Iguana for the night, Ofelia’s enthusiastic personality overflowed.

  “This is so great!” she said, linking arms with Luz. Ofelia had let down her hair and put on a fresh coat of coral-colored lipstick, a gold cross around her neck, and several bracelets on her arms. They jangled and clicked sexily when she moved. “I thought I was going to end up giving birth to my replacement.”

  They walked down the street, past a mural that dominated the side of the two-story brick building. It came alive with the faces of heroes from the history books of Mexico. More brick apartment buildings lined the sidewalk. Most of the street-level windows had bars across them and the paint on the sills and doors was peeling. Dilapidated cars were parked in front along the curb. One building stood out like a tangerine in a basket of potatoes. Freshly painted a bright orange with shiny black shutters, Las Damas punctuated its statement with flower boxes filled with cascading ivy and lipstick pink geraniums exploding in the final flush of summer.

  “It looks like my old Barbie house,” Luz exclaimed.

  Ofelia giggled and tugged at her to keep walking.

  What the house lacked in subtlety it made up for in security. There was a tall, heavy black iron fence enclosing the house that made it appear impenetrable and safe. They rang the bell. Minutes later a pretty, petite blonde with short, spiky hair answered the door. She wore thick black glasses through which her gaze scoured every inch of Luz. Then they rested on Ofelia and with the speed of shooting fireworks, her smile exploded in welcome.

  “Ofelia! It’s about time you came back to see me!” The woman engulfed Ofelia in a hug.

  “How’re you doing, Suzanne?” she replied, suddenly sheepish.

  “Look at you!” Suzanne exclaimed, eyeing the belly. “Last time I saw you I couldn’t tell you were pregnant and now . . . that baby looks like it’s ready to come out and play.”

  “Not till
next month, so don’t give this baby any ideas. I’m counting on a paycheck for a few more weeks.”

  Her cell phone rang and Ofelia immediately dug it out from her purse. All her earlier bravado fled and Luz thought she saw her physically draw into herself. She clutched the phone tightly to her ear.

  “I’m at Las Damas,” Ofelia said into the phone. There was a pause and her expression grew haunted. She turned her back, huddling over the phone, and spoke in a softer voice. “But I told you I was going to take Luz. I did, Angel, really. Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. Yeah, okay.” Ofelia was nodding her head and her voice rose in forced cheerfulness. “I’ll be right there.”

  Luz cast a quick glance at Suzanne, who stood scowling with her arms crossed.

  “What was that about?” Suzanne asked.

  Ofelia made an effort to shrug it off. “Oh, I was stupid. I guess I didn’t tell Angel to pick me up here. He’s waiting at the restaurant.”

  “Do you realize how many times you just said you were sorry?” Suzanne asked.

  “Hey, it was my fault, okay?” She slanted a nervous glance at Luz. “Suzanne, this is Luz, the girl I told you about. I’m, like, so sorry, but I gotta run. Angel is waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hugged Luz, then turned to Suzanne. “Take good care of my girl, okay?”

  Ofelia raced down the stairs so fast that Luz was afraid she’d fall.

  After the door closed Suzanne shook her head. “That Angel keeps her under his thumb, wants to know wherever she goes. And he has a dangerous temper. You heard how he intimidates her? She’ll never admit it, but I’m sure he slaps her around. Sometimes I see her with a bruise that she covers with makeup.”

  “Why doesn’t she come back here?”

  “I wish she would and she knows my door is always open. But bottom line—she won’t leave him. There’s nothing I can do unless she asks for my help. And now with the baby coming”—she shook her head again—“it’s not likely. I’ve seen it over and over. Battered women are made to feel like the problem is their fault. In the end, they lose their self-esteem.”

  “Ofelia doesn’t strike me as someone with low self-esteem.”

  “You mean her attitude? Don’t let that fool you. Underneath that tough-girl exterior, she’s really a pretty insecure kid.” She sighed in resignation and lifted her hands toward the stairs. “Anyway, let me show you your room.”

  Suzanne led Luz to the converted attic on the third floor. The bedroom across the hall from hers was empty so she didn’t have to share the bathroom. Hers was a spare room, clean, and painted a daffodil yellow with a pale blue trim that matched the cotton bedspread on the twin bed. Under the steep dormer sat a small painted desk.

  Luz closed the door and crossed the room in a few steps. She looked around the spartan space. Her suitcase sat on the painted wood floor, her coat on the narrow bed. Suddenly her decision to go to San Antonio felt very real. She was twenty-one, alone in the world, she’d left her home in Milwaukee, and for the next day or two, this was home.

  She scrubbed her face, changed into warm pajamas, then, exhausted and road weary, climbed under the thin blanket on the narrow bed. Noise from the street poured in through her window: a drunken man was shouting something unintelligible, car doors slammed, dogs barked, garbage cans clattered, and the wail of the police sirens was as persistent as the song of cicadas in the country. Luz brought the cotton blanket higher up to her neck and shivered with a cold that felt more like fear.

  She turned to her side and reached for her phone, cradling it to her chest. It felt like a lifeline to Sully. Suddenly it rang, startling her. She wiped her eyes and looked at the number. It was Sully. She flipped open the phone.

  “Hi. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Hi,” he replied, and she heard his relief at hearing her voice. “You okay?”

  At the sound of his voice her heart squeezed. “Yeah. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. It’s weird not having you here.”

  He sounded sleepy. She imagined that he’d eaten some takeout dinner and was lying in bed, like she was. He lived in a modest apartment in a brick two-flat in the city. It was a typical guy’s place with sparse metal and wood furniture collected from home and garage sales, a bicycle parked against a wall beside other athletic equipment, and a kitchen filled with mugs for coffee. She’d stayed there often, telling her grandmother that she was staying with a girlfriend. It had felt ridiculous to be a grown woman with a job and still have to lie about where she spent her nights. But her grandmother had been old-fashioned and Luz didn’t want to upset her, so the ruse continued.

  “So, how far did you get?” he asked.

  Luz curled her toes. “Not far, actually.”

  “Like, where? St. Louis?”

  “Chicago.”

  There was a silence. “What?”

  “Well”—she took a breath—“I had a little car trouble.”

  “Shit.”

  “It’s nothing bad. A fuel pump.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? Luz, I’da come down to fix it. Where is it now?”

  “It’s at a good mechanic here in town. He’s ordered the part. So you don’t have to worry. It’s all taken care of.”

  There was a long pause and she imagined him counting to ten. He cleared his throat, a sure sign he was upset.

  “Where are you now?” His voice was determinedly level.

  Luz took another breath, looking around her spare room. “I’m at a . . . bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Luz, I could’ve come down to get you. You don’t need to be staying in a hotel.”

  “I’m okay. And I didn’t want to bother you.”

  He sighed, and she envisioned him putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he thought. She could almost hear the gears in his brain grinding as he worked out his rescue plan.

  “Okay . . . I’ve got a few cars coming in first thing in the morning but I’ll come pick you up at noon, latest. Hell, I can come get you right now.”

  Luz moved to a sitting position, tucking her legs tightly beneath her. “I don’t want you to pick me up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve got it under control. I’ll get the car fixed and keep on going like I planned. This doesn’t change anything.”

  “Wha—You’re serious? You’re still planning on driving that heap of tin to Mexico? After this?”

  “No. Just to Texas. I’ll see what happens there.” She could feel the seed of tension take root in her chest. “Sully, we talked about this already.”

  “That was before you broke down. It’s gonna happen again.”

  “Then I’ll get it fixed again.”

  “Just tell me where you are.” He ground out the words.

  “Sully,” she said firmly, pulling her shoulders back. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t want you to come pick me up. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  There was another silence. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was fight with Sully. “You know how much this means to me. You just have to have a little faith. I can handle this.” She wanted him to understand. To take her side. “I’m afraid if I don’t do this, I’ll be lost forever. Does that make sense?”

  “No. It isn’t safe, Luz. I can’t stand the thought of you traveling cross-country in that car all alone.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to remain reasonable. She knew Sully was a traditional guy who believed in traditional roles. The man married, settled down, took care of his family. It was hard for him to understand, much less accept her notion of going off alone across the country.

  “I know you’re worried, but I’ve thought this through. My car will get repaired and I’m going to continue my trip. This is just a glitch.”

  “A glitch . . .” She heard a derisive snort. “You’re just being stubborn. Listen, I know what I’m talking about and I’m telling you it’s not safe. If you continue on this crazy trip the next call I get will
be from some policeman telling me he’s found your body on the side of the road.”

  “Nice,” she snapped. Luz stood up and looked out the window. The moon was barely visible behind the buildings, a sliver of hope in a sea of black.

  He started arguing with her then, his voice growing louder and more strident as he told her over and over what a bad idea this was. She held the phone away from her ear. In her heart, she knew it was just his fear for her talking, but she didn’t want to listen anymore. His words were wearing her down.

  “I’m going to say good-bye now, Sully.”

  “Don’t hang up on me. We’re not finished talking.”

  “We’re not talking. You’re yelling and I’m waiting for it to be over. That’s not a conversation.”

  “Then we just keep talking. Hey, look, I know I’m being bullheaded, but your grief is making you irrational.”

  “Sully . . .”

  “You’re a smart girl. You’re not some flake. So don’t start acting like one now. Be the levelheaded girl I love and come home. Or I’m coming down to get you.”

  Luz took the phone away from her ear and stared at it in her hand. She knew he was worried and his heart was in the right place. But she didn’t want him discouraging her now when she needed his support the most. She brought the phone back to her ear with a sigh. “I’m tired,” she said in a voice hoarse from fatigue. “It’s been a tough day and I have to get up early tomorrow. So good night, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Okay? Good night, Sully. Sully?”

  “So, you’re still going then.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

  “Yes.”

  There was another long silence.

  “Sully, try to understand. I have to do this.”

  “I don’t understand. But it doesn’t seem to matter.”

  “It does.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. Something supportive. Like good luck.”

  He laughed, but there was a bitter sound to it. “Sure. Good night and good luck.”

  She heard a click and the dead silence of disconnection.

  He’d hung up on her. Luz’s mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. They’d had arguments before, but no matter how hard they fought they’d never been so rude as to hang up without saying at least “Gotta go.” She closed her cell phone with a snap, then crawled back under the covers. A moment later the phone rang again. She scrambled to grab the phone and bring it to her ear.