by Cecy Robson
Ho-ly shit.
The women accosted him, fussing over him and leading him to a table like Brody was the second coming. He winked Lety’s way. She laughed and shook her head. “He is such a kiss-ass.”
Mateo cracked up. “You sure your little white boy shouldn’t go into politics? That punk knows how to work a room.”
Lety’s cheeks flushed as she giggled. “That’s nothing. You should have seen everyone staring at him when we arrived at church. God, I was all worried they’d be mean to him. But then he just strutted up to the altar like he owned the place and started speaking Spanish to el padre and the little old ladies with him.” Lety smacked her hands to her sides. “That’s it. That’s all it took to wow them. I’ll be lucky if I get him to myself tonight.”
I reached out to her when she started to walk away. “Hey, where are you going?”
She made a face. “To serve the men food. It’s expected.”
“Should I go, too?”
She smirked. “Do you know any Spanish?”
“No. I studied French.”
She glanced to where Brody was already digging into a plateful of food. A growing horde of elderly women surrounded him, offering more and adding to his plate. She sighed and held out her hand. “Then you better come with me, girl.”
—
Lety and I spent the next hour serving food. Mateo and Brody spent the time eating it. “How long have you and Brody been together?”
Lety added fried beans and plantains to a little boy’s plate. “Just a little while. We met our first semester in chemistry.” She smiled fondly as if remembering. “We became friends right away and spent a crazy amount of time together. But even though I liked him from the start, I had no clue that he liked me back―at least not in the way that I wanted him to.”
I bumped her with my elbow. “Why? Lety, you’re gorgeous.” I wasn’t just blowing smoke. Lety was that sultry Latina men drooled over. She didn’t have to try to be sexy. She just was.
She scraped the spoon on the edge of the aluminum pan. “I don’t know about that. But Brody seems to think so and that’s good enough for me.” She shrugged. “He’s kind of my everything, you know?”
“Well, it’s obvious that he adores you.”
Lety quieted. “I hope so.”
Mrs. Tres Santos approached then and spoke in Spanish. Lety dropped the large spoon into the pan. “Ma, he ate. That’s what’s important.”
Mrs. Tres Santos cut her stare my way and left. Yeah, that woman would never give me a kidney. “What was that about?”
Lety yanked on her apron strings. “She’s mad because I didn’t tend to Brody directly. Because that’s my place, you know, to serve my man no matter what.”
Mateo and Brody were drinking Coronas and speaking to a group of men in Spanish. Brody said something that sent the men roaring with laughter and made Teo spit out his beer. I motioned with my spoon in their direction. “Should I have tended to Mateo…?”
Lety’s stoic expression shattered, and for a moment I thought she would cry. “Don’t worry, Evie. So long as Teo keeps supporting her, my mother’s not going to say shit to you.” She tossed her apron. “The men and children are fed and taken care of. It’s our turn to eat.”
Lety and I filled our plates before walking toward the designated eating area lined with picnic tables. It seemed the whole community had been invited to Sol’s party. Latin music blared from huge speakers perched on every neighboring stoop. People gathered in small groups, laughing and drinking, while some filled the streets just to dance.
We sat with Sofia, who held a small infant in her lap. Her long tight curls bounced as she rocked the baby to the beat of the music. With most of her hair piled on the top of her head, I could see her entire face and just how pretty she was. Where Lety was all spice, Sofia was sweet, delicate, and had an ethereal beauty.
She glanced at my plate, unaware that I was staring at her. “Those peppers you made were good, Evelyn. Did you get to try them?”
I wondered briefly how many guys admired Sofia without her ever realizing. “No, I didn’t.” I mixed the paella around on my plate until I found a shrimp to snag with my fork. “I’m just happy they’re gone and that no one got sick.”
Lety laughed. “Oh, stop. From what Teo says, you’re becoming quite the cook.”
“It’s only because his landlady and my roommate are teaching me.”
Lety patted my leg. “In that case, I’ll teach you, too. We’ll start with ropa vieja―that’s Cuban beef stew. It’s easy and Teo’s favorite.”
“He likes it over plátanos fritos,” Sofia pointed out.
“Fried plantains?”
Lety grinned. “You’re learning, Evie. We’ll make a sister out of you yet.”
I smiled at them, appreciating how easily they’d accepted me as their brother’s girlfriend. Considering how tight they were with Mateo, it was a huge deal.
He and Brody approached just as I finished my last bite of food. “Done eating, babe?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes. Are you done socializing?”
He pulled me to him. “For now. Let’s dance.”
Mateo led me into the crush of people dancing on the street. Cuban music wasn’t something I was used to, but I had rhythm from years of private dance lessons. I also had Lety’s guidance; she shimmied next to me with Brody. “It’s all about the hips, Evelyn. Watch me.”
She raised her arms and wiggled, encouraging Brody to ignore the “hands-off” policy. I mimicked her movements, allowing her to take me from simple to more complex steps until they felt natural. She laughed when Brody whispered something in her ear.
Mateo said something, too, except it didn’t make me chuckle. “Evie, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”
I smiled playfully. “Oh, yeah? And what might that be?”
The building murmurs and the halting steps of those dancing never allowed Mateo to answer me. Despite the festive music and the celebration, the mood around us swiftly changed. A hulking figure prowled through the crowd, stirring an immediate fear in those around us. I knew who he was before anyone could say anything. He and his son looked so much alike.
Mateo’s father scanned the crowd, his vicious stare falling directly on Sofia, who was still sitting at the table holding the baby in her lap.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mateo shoved me beside Brody. “Stay with him, Evie,” he said without looking at me. He and Lety weaved their way through the crowd as Carlos Tres Santos stalked toward Sofia.
Sofia’s eyes widened when she saw her father, and she stilled like a deer confronted by a large wolf. I knew what she was thinking—he wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be safe. Now, she no longer was.
“Oh, God,” she mouthed.
Uncle Lino intercepted him. He smiled and spoke calmly, trying to lead him away from Sofia. “Carlos, don’t do this, cuñado. It’s my daughter’s quinceañera.”
“A quinceañera I wasn’t invited to,” Carlos spat back, his accent thick and heavy with spite. He flicked Uncle Lino’s chin. “But you invited my puta and her children? Didn’t you?”
“Carlos, she is my sister and they are your babies.” He said something else, this time in Spanish, his voice pleading.
Carlos jerked his mammoth arm hard enough to cause Uncle Lino to stumble onto the street. People gasped. “Uncle Carlos, por favor,” Sol begged him when she and her mother rushed to Lino’s side.
My breath released in a shudder. I didn’t know much about Carlos Tres Santos. But the fact that everyone around him was backing away, and the experiences Mateo had shared, warned me I should be afraid.
And I was.
Colored tats of women and saints painted his bulging arms, and thick scars marred his face. But it was those glassy and crazed hazel eyes that frightened me the most.
Traces of white powder clung to the whiskers of his unshaven face. Crack, cocaine, heroin―I didn’t know what he’
d used, but whatever it was, it had likely kindled his anger.
“Let’s get our peeps and go,” Brody whispered to me.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think they’ll leave.”
Mateo and Lety had appeared on either side of Sofia, who cowered with the baby. The little boy’s mother shoved her way through the retreating crowd and took him away just as Carlos closed the remaining distance.
Carlos looked back at the little boy, who’d begun to wail. “Is he yours? Out whoring around again, pendeja? Or too busy sending your papi to jail?”
Tears dribbled from Sofia’s light eyes. God, she was terrified.
“Déjala,” Lety ordered. She was trying to tell him to leave her alone—I knew she was—just like I knew she meant to draw her father’s attention away from Sofia.
Mateo lifted Sofia and hauled her behind him, shielding her with his body. But that left Lety vulnerable, and their father didn’t waste any time.
Carlos’s strike to Lety’s face was like the crack of a whip. Sofia screamed when Lety whirled and crashed onto the curb.
Everything happened at once. Brody swore, lunging forward and screaming for Lety. Men―some of whom he’d been joking with earlier―tackled Brody and pushed him back. “Stay out of it, man!” one of them yelled. “This is a family problem.”
Mateo yanked Lety from the road. He veered back, narrowly missing his father’s fist. He shoved his sisters away while keeping their father in his sights. “Go, go!” he urged.
Blood gushed from Lety’s nose and from the scrapes on her hands and knees. She’d fallen hard. She stumbled into Sofia’s arms, disoriented and unable to stay upright. Sofia tried to help her, but her thin body could barely hold her collapsing sister.
Jesus Christ.
The blood, the violence, all it did was fuel Carlos’s rage. He shoved Mateo’s chest, his smacks loud and cruel. Mateo retreated with each strike, luring his father away from Lety and Sofia. His breath was hard and his eyes locked with his father’s as each of Carlos’s shoves pounded into him. I didn’t realize anyone was holding me until I tried to wrench free. “Let me go. God damn it, let go of me!” But a group of women held me tight.
Carlos swung. Like his son, he knew how to brawl. Mateo blocked some, dodged others, but he wasn’t hitting back. And he needed to. Carlos wasn’t stopping. He wanted to make his son bleed.
An uppercut to Mateo’s chin sent him soaring into the buffet table. I screamed when Carlos leapt on top of him with a knife clenched in his fist. I jerked wildly, trying to break free. “Teo. Mateo!”
The shrieks from the women holding me echoed over my sobs. Carlos brought the knife down. Teo gripped his father’s wrist, barely keeping the sharp point from plunging into his face.
Lety burst through the crowd, her steps unsteady, and threw herself on top of her father. Using the weight of her small body, she wrenched her father’s arm down. The knife fell from his grip and she kicked it away with her foot. She spared her brother, but it cost her another blow to the face.
Again, Carlos sent Lety reeling, this time into the street, where she fell and I didn’t see her rise. Brody busted his way through the bodies holding him, shouting her name as he barreled toward her.
Carlos’s fists pummeled Mateo, who did nothing more than hold up his arms in defense. I screamed his name, my cries uncontrollable. But I couldn’t break free, and no one would help us.
An eternity passed before Carlos finally stopped. Either he’d made whatever point he intended or had grown tired of beating his son. He staggered away, leaving Mateo to slump to the filthy ground.
Blood pooled from Mateo’s mouth and leaked from a gash on his forehead, dripping onto his torn shirt. His right eye―the same side that had been brutalized just weeks back―swelled completely shut, blinding him.
I tore free from the group of women holding me when they loosened their grip, and raced to Mateo’s side, falling to my knees when I reached him. My fingertips traced the skin of his beaten face, staining crimson almost immediately. Christ, he was badly hurt, and I didn’t know where to begin to help him. “Teo.”
Hatred hardened his stare as he watched his father stalk away. He spit out blood, grunting with every breath. Shit. He’d reinjured his ribs.
Carlos’s back stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder, suddenly aware of my presence. His leer, lustful and hungry, paralyzed me. I recognized that look. I remembered seeing it on my father’s face…the last night he tried to rape me. “Who’s this, Teo?”
Mateo immediately lurched to his feet, although the quick movement pained him. I scrambled to stand, realizing I was more vulnerable on the ground.
“I asked you who this was.” Carlos laughed. “She’s a pretty little thing. Mind if your papi has a taste?”
Carlos prowled forward. Mateo stepped in front of me, his fists clenching tight. Something in Teo switched. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I sensed it. Just as I sensed my pounding heart and my mounting terror. This time, Mateo wasn’t going to lie down and be beaten.
Carlos shoved him hard. Mateo staggered only slightly, then went nose to nose with his father. His deep voice lowered to lethal proportions. “I don’t care what you do to me. But you’re not fucking touching Evie.”
Carlos laughed. He wasn’t afraid. He smacked his palms against Mateo’s chest. “You want to play tough guy with me, puto?”
“Take another step near my girl and you’ll see how tough I am, old man.”
I barely saw Carlos move, but Mateo did. He had him on the ground in a wristlock. Carlos kicked his leg out, nailing his heel into Teo’s battered ribs and breaking his hold. Carlos charged me. Mateo tackled him before he could touch me and plowed him into another table.
Both men swung viciously. I felt each blow in my gut. Mateo gained the upper hand, punching his father so hard in the skull, Carlos crumpled to the ground.
That was it. Just like that it was over. Mateo had had the strength to overpower him all along, but it took my being in danger to force him to act. I didn’t understand. But just then I didn’t care. I simply wanted us somewhere safe.
Mateo staggered to his feet, exhausted and breathing so fast I thought he’d lose consciousness. Sofia hurried forward and helped me lead him away.
Everyone parted, watching us, their expressions somber. The music had stopped at some point. I couldn’t remember when, but in the silence I heard every breath Mateo took and every shuffle of his heavy steps.
Uncle Lino and a few other men appeared with baseball bats before we could move very far. “Go, Teo,” he told him kindly. “The police are on their way. We’ll keep him from you until they arrive.”
Mrs. Tres Santos edged her way around the crowd with a broom and a bucket. She stopped and met Mateo’s face, her expression distant and unreadable. “He’s still your father,” she told him curtly.
My lips parted. Her husband had almost killed her son. And somehow Mateo, who’d stepped up to protect me and his little sisters, was the one she’d reprimanded.
Almost robotically, she bent and began clearing the littered street of food and broken dishes from the buffet. The way she worked her broom, she must have cleaned up her husband’s messes a thousand times before. The crowd watched her, shock whitening some of their faces, while pity and disgust plagued others.
Lety, with Brody’s dress shirt pressed against her bleeding nose, left her boyfriend’s arms. Tears soaked her face. She stood over her mother, watching her briefly before losing what remained of her composure.
She lashed out, kicking the bucket and sending the contents spilling across the stained asphalt. She screamed at her mother in Spanish, bordering on hysteria. Sol, her aunt, and some other woman appeared and hauled Lety away. Lety fought their hold, yelling vulgarities at a woman who would never comprehend the level of her daughter’s pain.
Brody chased after them. This time, no one was keeping him away.
I wiped my cheeks, my body trembling. “Let’s get out of
here, Teo,” I begged him.
We’d barely made it to the corner when his father called to him. “You’re nothing, Mateo,” he yelled through a mouth thick with blood. “You think you are, but you’re just like me. And no white girl on your arm is going to change that….”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We didn’t leave right away. Instead Mateo opened the hatchback of the Explorer. We leaned against the bumper and waited for the police to arrive. Teo wouldn’t leave until he was sure his sisters were safe, that much I knew. Sol and her mother had brought him a towel, a bottle of water, and some ice. He wouldn’t allow me to tend to him and had barely spoken a word. I left him alone. I knew his injuries were bad, but his ability to stay upright and his regular breathing demonstrated he was at least stable.
What he needed now was space. I knew he was embarrassed and hurt and possibly a lot more. According to Sofia he’d committed the ultimate family sin.
He’d struck his father. The man who’d given him life.
It didn’t matter that Mateo was defending me. In fact, my involvement made it worse. I wasn’t his wife. So he’d betrayed his family for a whore. Sofia hadn’t called me that. But her explanation of their customs made it clear that’s what most present believed.
I drummed my fingers against the bumper and shuddered from the cold night air. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees once the sun had set. Mateo barely seemed to notice. He held the ice pack against his eye and dropped his bloody towel between us. The gash to his head had stopped bleeding, but I still believed he’d benefit from medical attention. Even if it came solely from me.
Mateo hardly moved as he watched the Philly police load his tripped-out father into the back of the squad car. Sofia said Carlos had punched one of the cops and resisted arrest. Between the assault on a cop, the drugs found in his possession, and yet another parole violation, he was headed back to prison.
“Are you or Lety going to press charges?” I asked quietly.
“No. Like our mother said, that piece of shit is still our father.”
Poor Lety. From where we sat, I could hear her and Brody fighting. I slipped from the bumper when I heard their voices escalate. They stood at the end of the block, beneath the bleaching light of an old streetlamp, their voices heated.