by Mary Alice
She went directly to the sink and began making coffee. She needed to keep busy. As she poured water into the coffeepot, she was intensely aware that Sam was idly walking around her space. He would not miss an iota, she thought, but she shook off her unease, for there was nothing in here that she was ashamed to reveal. While she measured coffee into the pot, she saw Sam walk by her bed and pick up the book left open on the bedside table. It was a used, worn copy of The Encyclopedia of Insects.
“A little light reading before sleep, huh?” he said.
“It’s my bible.”
He set the book down and walked to the aquariums. He bent to inspect and saw the dozens of bright yellow and black monarch caterpillars of different sizes, all ravenously eating the milkweed leaves set in glass jars.
“Look at them go,” Sam said, bending low to watch the caterpillars more closely. “They’re eating machines.”
“That’s all they do. Eat and grow.”
“And poop.”
She laughed, acknowledging the truth in that, and came to his side. “Nearly as much as they eat. We call it frass.”
“I’m always amused at all the names we give animal excrement—mutes, guano, dung, cow pies.”
She laughed again and moved to the third tank. These caterpillars were bigger, over two inches in length. One was wandering across the glass wall, leaving a barely visible streaky trail. “These guys will wander about till they find the right spot to go into chrysalis,” she said, lowering to her knees to look up at the top of the lid.
“Come see,” she said, urging Sam to scoot lower. “There are two caterpillars hanging from the top. See how the head curls up to look like the letter J? My mother used to say it was an upside-down question mark and the caterpillars were asking, ¿Qué sigue? What’s next?” She smiled at the memory. “They hang there for hours, aerialists without a net.”
Sam obliged, going down on one knee, leaning on the other as he bent his head to look. His leather jacket creaked and he made a soft grunting noise as he found a comfortable spot on her hardwood floor. She hid her smile, even as she felt her body coil at his close proximity.
“Oh, look, Sam! That one is changing to a chrysalis! Can you see that small patch of green there, on the one on the left?”
“Yes,” Sam replied, his voice tinged with surprise. “I’ve never seen that.”
She looked over at his face, delighted that he took an interest in a subject that meant so much to her. His was a strong face, tawny colored with sharp angles. The faint stubble of a five o’clock shadow grazed his chin and she could catch the faint scent of soap and leather that always lingered on his skin.
“I’d better check on that coffee.” Mariposa rose to her feet and went directly to her galley kitchen to gather two mugs.
Sam went to the chair and sat, setting one polished boot on his knee. “My people have a lot of myths about butterflies,” he said. “The butterfly is the totem of transformation and change and a symbol of courage. That should be your totem.”
“Courage?” she asked, setting a mug of steaming coffee on the table. She went to gather cream and sugar and placed these on the table with two spoons. Then she took the seat across from him and poured a liberal amount of cream into her mug. “Is it courage to change when you don’t have much choice in the matter?”
Sam didn’t reply, and brought his coffee to his lips. His dark eyes glittered, watching her over the rim.
“My sobriety was no act of selfless courage, Sam. I was forced to quit drugs by a judge when he sentenced me to three years for trafficking. I was sent right into treatment and though it was the hardest thirty days of my life, in the end I was grateful for it. Looking back, I’m ashamed to think of all the things I’ve done as an addict. I was as low as a caterpillar, driven only by an insatiable appetite.”
“Symbolism can be an important ally,” he argued, setting his mug back on the table. “The lowly caterpillar changes into a creature of great beauty. It’s a powerful image.”
An enigmatic smile played on her lips as she gently shook her head. “Why does everyone always think only of the butterfly as beautiful?” she asked him. “It’s the change itself—the metamorphosis—that is the true wonder.” She lifted her hand to indicate the aquariums filled with caterpillars. “No one stops to think of how the caterpillar must shed its skin five times before it forms the chrysalis. The caterpillar doesn’t just change. It completely transforms. The old form dies and the new is reborn. That’s the miracle that gives us hope.”
Sam leaned back in his chair and put his tanned hand on his knee. His large turquoise ring caught her eye. An eagle was carved into the silver.
She turned to look into the tanks again, feeling an overwhelming urge to explain herself so that Sam would understand.
“When I first came out of treatment, I was like that first tiny caterpillar out of the egg. I had no idea of who I was. My senses were numb. All I could do was eat and exist. I was afraid—all the time—but I had to keep going forward. Each phase was like bursting out of an old coat. Over the last few years I went through these phases again and again. It takes great courage to go into the darkness, to face your demons. Yet, it’s not so much courage that keeps me going. It’s more a fear of falling back into the darkness.”
Mariposa took a sip of her coffee, savored the richness of it, then slowly lowered the mug to the table. She looked up at Sam. “But I’m not afraid now. I’m ready for the next step. I’m ready to make the call.”
It was only because he’d given his word to Luz that Sully went to her bungalow. The moment he stepped inside, his heart fell. Abuela was gone and so was Luz. The house felt as cold and empty as the great hollow ache in his chest where his heart used to beat.
Sully methodically set the mail on the front table, mostly circulars and junk mail. Then he walked down the hall to the kitchen, his footfall echoing loudly. Of all the rooms, this one felt the most desolate. When Abuela was alive, there was always music and food and laughter. He didn’t sense anything of her spirit left here. Perhaps Luz was right after all. She’d flown off with the butterflies.
Luz . . . He shook his head. Hell, he was thinking so much about her, now he was even starting to believe stuff like that. He filled the watering can at the sink, then one by one dutifully watered Abuela’s plants. He couldn’t let them die, no matter what was—or wasn’t—going on with him and Luz.
He’d loved that old woman. She never said a mean or rude word to him, or to anyone else. She always greeted him with a warm smile and something to eat. She treated him like a prince in these walls, used to tease him that her life’s mission was to “fill out his bones.” They’d had a special bond, or at least he liked to think so. In all honesty, he enjoyed the trips to pick things up with her. She’d tell him stories about Luz from before he’d met her, things Luz would never tell him herself. Like how she sang to the trees and flowers, how her favorite food was ice cream, and how she hadn’t let go of Abuela’s hand for days after her mother died. Often at the end of the errand, when he dropped her back home, Abuela nudged him in his ribs, winked, and said, “So, when are you going to marry my granddaughter, eh?” He loved her for that. It told him she approved, and Abuela’s approval had meant a lot to him.
Sully put away the watering can and went down the hall. He paused at the threshold of Luz’s bedroom. The lavender and pink room was the room of a child, but he knew Luz had been a woman with a woman’s responsibilities for several years before her time. He respected Luz for giving up school to get a job, knowing how much she wanted to study for a degree in social work. That’s when he’d first seen her. Leaning against the locker, one foot on the wall, her nose deep in her book. He had to cough three times to get her to look up. One look in her pale blue eyes fringed with all those black lashes and he was gone.
But he loved her most for her heart. She was a lot like her grandmother, only she didn’t see it. For whatever reason, she didn’t have a lot of self-confidence. She wa
s always criticizing herself—she was too heavy, her face was too plain, her hair too thick. She didn’t fit the model’s bony profile, as if he’d ever wanted that. No matter how many times he told her how beautiful she was, she’d shake her head no. She had this crazy idea in her head that she’d never be as beautiful as her mother.
After Abuela died, he worried that Luz was going to have a breakdown. She imploded, sort of like the way he’d read a black star did. All the light she carried was sucked into some dark place.
Sully ran his hand through his hair, feeling the ache in his heart expand and contract. Since she’d left on this crazy trip, he’d had a lot of time to think. He could see now how much she’d needed to take this trip. He just wished he could’ve taken it with her.
But why didn’t she answer the dozen messages he’d left on her cell phone? All he got in the past few days was a single message from her telling him that she was fine, that she’d lost her phone charger, and that she’d call when she bought another. That he was not to worry. How the hell was he not going to worry? That was like telling him not to breathe!
Suddenly the sound of the telephone ringing rent the stillness of the house. He tensed, hope springing to life in his heart. Maybe it was Luz leaving a message, he thought. It rang five times before the answering machine clicked on. He stepped closer to the machine on the desk, listening intently. At the beep he heard a woman’s voice.
“Hello? Hello? ¿Estás aquí? Por favor. Please answer!”
Sully stood frozen. He didn’t recognize the voice.
“Mami, it’s me. I know it’s been a long time. What can I say? There are no words to erase all the years. But I’m sorry. Perdóname, Mami.”
Sully heard the heartbreak in the voice and was unsure whether to answer the phone and take a message. He hovered over the phone in indecision.
“Mami, if you are not there, please call me.” She left a number and Sully scrambled to find paper and pencil in the desk drawer to write it down. “I beg you, even if you call only to tell me never to call you again. Please, call me.” The woman’s voice broke.
Sully lurched for the phone, but it was too late. He heard the fast busy signal of disconnect. He slowly set the phone back into the cradle. It had to be Luz’s aunt, the one she couldn’t reach. Luz hardly ever talked about her family, but he knew Luz was going to San Antonio to visit her aunt. Her tía Maria in San Antonio. He remembered because he’d helped Luz search this desk for the address and telephone number.
“Shit,” he muttered. This was the woman Luz needed the phone number for. He should have grabbed the phone sooner. He picked up the paper and dialed the number he’d written. After two rings, the same voice answered.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice was hesitant, cautious.
“Uh, hi. This is Sully Gibson. You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Luz.” He heard a quick intake of breath. “I-I heard your message. I wasn’t listening in or nothing. I was just here watering the plants for Luz. Collecting the mail, that kind of stuff, while she’s gone. I couldn’t help but overhear and I thought I should call you back.”
“Luz is gone? I don’t understand. Where is she?”
“She’s on her way to San Antonio right now.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. “Luz is coming here?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s driving there. But the problem is she doesn’t know your address. The phone number Abuela had is no longer in service. Luz was hoping to find it once she got into town. I know it sounds crazy, but Luz can be pretty stubborn when she wants something. So if you give me your address, then I’ll pass it on to her.”
“Yes, of course. Are you ready?”
Sully wrote down the address, feeling a bit smug that Luz would be very happy to get it and grateful to him for thinking on his feet.
“Do you know when she’s arriving?” the woman asked.
“Any day, I’d think. She’s driving, so I can’t be certain.”
“Dios mio,” the woman muttered. “Do you want Maria’s address, too? Just in case?”
Sully was momentarily confused. “You’re not Tía Maria?”
“No. I’m . . . her sister. Luz’s mother. Mariposa.”
Sully squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head. That news floored him. Luz’s mother was alive? Hell, Luz sure didn’t know that. He had to wonder if Abuela did. His heart began to pound as he thought about Luz, naively on her way to San Antonio. She was looking for her aunt Maria. She had no idea what was coming.
“I’m pretty sure she isn’t going to see you, ma’am. She’s looking for her aunt Maria’s house.” He cleared his throat. “Luz thinks you’re dead.”
He heard another sharp intake of breath. “Luz thinks I’m dead?” she asked, her voice ringing with shock and accusation. “That’s what she told her? That I was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Please,” she said, sounding flustered. “Is my mother there?”
“You mean, Abuela?”
“Yes. My mother. Esperanza Avila. May I talk to her, please?”
Sully’s mind went blank. This kept getting weirder. Shit, shit, shit, he thought to himself, hating to be the one to have to tell this woman the sad news about her mother. What was the right thing to say at a time like this?
“Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Mrs. . . .”
“Avila. Miss Avila.”
“Uh, yes, Miss Avila.” He cleared his throat again. He had no choice but to man up and tell her the truth. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but Abuela, that is, your mother, is dead.”
“No!” He heard rapid breathing, then she blurted out with disbelief, “When?”
“A few weeks ago. It was a heart attack. She died quickly. There was nothing anybody could do. I’m sorry. We all loved her.” He paused, hearing nothing.
“Hello? Miss Avila? Hello?”
“Thank you. Good-bye.”
Sully heard a click and once again, they were disconnected. He stared at the receiver a moment, then put it back in the cradle. His hand rested on it, stunned. He shook his head in disbelief, his mind still trying to make sense of all that he’d learned in the past few minutes, more than Luz had known most of her life. In his mind he saw her driving in that ridiculous old car, the box of Abuela’s ashes in the backseat, heading straight toward shock and heartbreak. His strong-hearted girl.
Sully’s jaw clenched as he grabbed the paper bearing the address and phone number of Luz’s mother and raced out the door.
Mariposa stood clutching the phone to her breast. It buzzed angrily but all she heard was this young man’s voice in her mind saying, over and over, Your mother is dead.
“Mariposa? What’s happened? What did she say?” asked Sam, moving quickly to her side. He took hold of her elbow and gently turned her to face him.
Mariposa looked into his eyes, seeing only the blackness of his pupils.
“Tell me what happened,” he said in that low voice of his.
It was his calm that reached her. She opened her mouth to respond but the words would not come out. She turned away from him and stared, openmouthed and eyes wide, at her neat little room. Her gaze swept the kitchen, the bed, the aquariums bustling with life. Everything appeared to be in the same place it was a few moments ago, but nothing was the same or ever would be again.
Her mother was dead. She would never again see her face, hear her voice. It was too late. She would never be forgiven. Mariposa felt the panic erupt in her chest, sudden and violent, scorching her with blinding pain and remorse. She gasped for breath.
Sam had his arms around her and held her to his chest. She felt the coarseness of the fabric against her cheek as she swallowed gulps of air. Nothing erupted, no tears, no cries, just this tremendous ache. “Sam,” she choked out, pulling back to take refuge in his gaze. She took a shuddering breath and spoke as if in shock. “My mother is dead.”
His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry.”
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Gasping, she pushed from his arms and fled through the door. She heard the rushing of blood in her ears as she ran, ignoring the couples sitting on the patio, around the building to her garden. She ran directly to the patch of tilled soil she had been working on, and dropping to her knees, she pushed her hands into the black, crumbling soil. She gathered great handfuls of earth and squeezed as tight as she could, breathing hard. Then, throwing back her head, she opened her mouth and a cry ripped from her soul out to the heavens.
“Mami . . .”
Sixteen
When she’s finished growing, the caterpillar stops eating and leaves its host plant to wander in search of a safe place, protected from the weather and enemies, where she can pupate. Once she finds a suitable spot she spins a silk mat and a small white knot and rests. Her time as a caterpillar is almost over.
The landscape markedly changed as they moved farther south into the Texas Hill Country. More and more Luz saw the trees that Stacie had reminisced about—in tight clusters on a vast plain or standing alone and dramatic, like a silent sentry. Everywhere she looked she saw signs of fall, more subtle and more varied than in the north. It was as if the scorching heat of the Texas summer had leached the bright summer colors from the earth. For as far as she could see, the hills rolled in an intricate tapestry of muted greens, browns, rusty purples, and pinks.
There were so many wildflowers and native plants along the highway that to Luz they became a blur of color. But Margaret jumped up in her seat whenever she spied a new variety, excitedly pointed it out, then hurriedly scribbled the name down on her list or checked it in the volume in her lap. The Latin names rolled off her tongue: Gaillardia, Liatris, Rudbeckia, Solidago. Luz had long since stopped asking what the common names were. Margaret had told her it made more sense for her to learn the scientific names in Latin.