“Aww! We’re all a big happy family now.” Her voice is shrill and piercing and punctures my heart. This big happy family will be broken up in about an hour.
My eyes fall to my hands, and I know she sees the look on my face, as I try to avoid her eye contact.
“I know you’re not staying, Cali, but let’s just enjoy the time we have together.” I look up, and she’s glancing between Tango and me then shoots down her shot of tequila, slams it to the table and says, “I think we need one more round.”
Tango slams his hands down on the table and shouts, “Damn straight.”
“You want one too, Tango?” Sasha asks.
“We have a long drive ahead of us. You two need it, though.” His hand shoots up in the air, and a short Mexican man with a sombrero dances over to us. “Two more shots of Jose.”
“Si, senor. Uno momento, por favor.” The man dances away, singing words to a song in Spanish. He yells our order over to the bartender and I hear two shot glasses clap down against the bar top. I turn around and watch the clear liquid fill the two glasses, and then they’re swiped from the counter and rushed back over to us. The glasses are placed down on the table, and I watch the liquid slosh around. This is such a bad idea.
Two more shots, two more margaritas, and a lot of memories make the hour slip by in a blur. The tequila deadens my overactive mind, and now I want to sleep. Sasha’s arms are wrapped around my neck, and her lips are plastered on my cheek. “Love you, Cali-girl.” She pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “Always, no matter what. You understand that?”
I don’t respond, I just nod my head and place my forehead on her shoulder. I squeeze her harder and I feel pain in my chest. I feel sobs clambering their way up through my throat. I break away from her, and without turning back, I run out of the restaurant and back to the truck. I sit heavily on the parking curb in front where no one can see me, and the tears pour from my eyes.
After a couple of minutes, I hear a car door close, and headlights shine through the trees beside me. I can’t see in through the windshield because of the glare, but I know it’s Sasha in there. I know she can see me, sitting here, crying my eyes out. So I blow her a kiss. And I know she’s blowing me one back. The cab I now see her in, blows by me and she’s waving at me through the back window.
Two hands rest on my shoulders and I look up at Tango who is hovering over me. I glance back down and wipe my eyes over the sleeve of my sweatshirt, embarrassed to be seen crying. While my hand is up by my face, he grabs it and pulls me up off the curb. He leans back against the hood of his truck, drawing me into him. He sweeps my hair off my shoulders and wraps the loose strands behind my ears. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me as he smoothes his thumbs across my cheeks and under my eyes, blotting away my falling tears.
When the tears stop, he loops one arm completely around me and with his other hand presses the back of my head until my forehead meets his rigid chest. This place over his heart is consoling. It’s warm, and the rhythm of the beat is soothing to my broken soul.
I sniffle and suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay. We better start moving.” I pull my face away from his chest and look up at him. He appears distraught.
“I know how bad this hurts, and I know you only just met me, but I’m here, and you’re not alone. I miss my family too.” His thumb sweeps over my cheek once more and his lips press against my forehead. “Let’s go.” I wait for him to release me first, and when his arms drop to his sides, I make my way back into the truck. I pull the seatbelt over my lap and lean my head back to stop the swaying motion in front of me.
Fucking tequila.
We drive just past midnight and pull up to a long line of cars waiting to go through customs. Who would have thought this many people would be trying to cross the border at one in the morning. “Pull out your passport,” he says.
I reach down into my bag and pull out the blue book he handed me yesterday. I open it and study the picture under the glow of the streetlights. I don’t know where or when he acquired this picture, but it’s as old as my fake ID picture. Dad must have sent it to him just in case we needed a quick escape route out of the country.
We sit in the line for an hour, waiting for our turn. “Don’t say anything unless they ask you specific questions,” he warns.
When we pull up to the booth and the official asks for our passports, Tango takes mine from my hands and hands them to the man.
“Reason for travel?” the man asks.
“Pleasure,” Tango responds.
“Length of stay?”
“Five days, sir.”
The man hands the passports back to Tango and motions for us to continue. The open road leads us past a large sign welcoming us to Mexico.
“I wanted to do this now rather than in the morning. You don’t even want to know what that line would have looked like in a few hours.” I can believe it if we just waited an hour at this time of night. “I’ll find us a decent hotel to crash in until the morning. We’re still about ten hours away from Copper Canyon.”
***
We pull off the road and into the parking lot of a motel. “Decent. Right?” He laughs.
“It’s fine.” I couldn’t care less right now. I just want to pass out on something soft—or muscular.
We enter into the lobby that surprisingly looks a lot nicer than the last two hotels we stayed at. The blue tiled floor reflects off the mosaic glass windows on each corner and the open space offers serenity and comfort. The woman behind the counter is standing erect with a smile and welcomes us. “Hola, amigos,” she says warmly.
“Do you want your own room tonight?” Tango asks under his breath. “I’m sure they have connecting rooms if you do.” Last night, I didn’t want to be near him. Tonight . . . is a little different.
“Sure,” I say, really meaning no. But after today, it’s probably best if we sleep in our own beds.
I can see the disappointment in his eyes, so I can’t understand why he suggested our own rooms. I suppose it could be a respect thing, but I’m too tired to read into it right now. He asks the lady if she has two adjoining rooms, and she nods emphatically with a smile, approving of our appropriate decision, likely based on our two different last names. She hands us each a key and points to the elevator on the side of the lobby.
The elevator is small and hardly looks as if it can hold both of our duffle bags and us. Regardless, we squeeze inside. Tango hits the button for the fourth floor, and the floor beneath us shakes and vibrates the entire way up. The doors open and reveal a narrow hallway with more tiled flooring and yellow stucco painted walls. Each door is wooden with a blue glass plate, etched with the room number.
He opens his door, and I open up mine. I step into a clean room with a full-sized bed, vibrant colored paintings on each side and a large window overlooking a pool.
I hear another door unlock and Tango appears through the connecting opening between our rooms. “Is it okay if I keep this open? I still need to keep you safe.” Last night he opened the connecting door between our rooms and walked away as if it wouldn’t matter to me. Although, I guess it didn’t then. Now, everything matters.
I nod my head in agreement as I kick off my boots and fall backwards onto the bed. I hear him fumbling through things in his room and then he reappears in front of the doorway, half-naked with a playful smile. I have to force myself to turn away from the temptation, because every aching inch of my body wants to push him down onto his bed.
My eyes close quickly, and I try to shut my thoughts off, but my nerves reignite when I feel Tango’s lips on my temple. I turn over and curl my hand around his bicep, tugging at him, wanting him to join me in this bed. Maybe it’s the remnants of the tequila making me feel this way, but I know I had these feelings before the tequila too. Regardless, he pulls away with a seductive gaze—his lips parted slightly and his eyes half-lidded.
“I will do very bad things if I lie in this bed with you tonight,” he says, soundin
g pained. “I just want to say goodnight.”
“Well, for the record, I think I’d be okay with the bad things,” I say.
He hovers down over me, leaning one fist into the side of my pillow while the fingers of his other hand trace a line across my collar bone and down between my breasts. His touch is so light; it causes a ripple of goose bumps to rise up on every inch of my body. He continues to graze his fingers down my body until he reaches the hem of my shorts. One fingertip slips underneath, but only far enough to torture me. He’s not even inside of me and my back arches up toward his hand, begging for more. But he pulls his hand away and places it down on the other side of my pillow. He leans down, drawing his lips into my ear as he whispers, “Let today be the day of our first kiss.” He moves to my lips, pressing his lightly into mine and lingers there until he nips at my bottom lip. “Goodnight, beautiful.”
Damn him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CALI
HER HAND is getting colder, but I try to keep it warm. Her skin is gray—almost translucent, and the color in her eyes is becoming dull against her pale skin. It’s hard to remember the woman who once wouldn’t leave the house without spending almost an hour getting dressed and carefully applying just the right amount of makeup. A smile still shows on her face though, and I don’t know what has made her so strong. I would be crying, panicked, and terrified of the black hole that I would soon seep into.
Her lips are dry, and I’ve been watching her tongue press her cheek outward a number of times. The nurse says it means she’s thirsty when she does that. I pull the small plastic cup of water off of the rolling cart and press the straw between her lips.
The effort of sucking the liquid from the straw is almost too much for her, but she tugs her hand out from beneath mine and touches my cheek, looking carefully into my eyes.
She releases the straw from her lips, and I pull the cup away from her and place it back down on the table. She clears her throat a few times before she can say anything. “Carolina, don’t ever forget what I’ve taught you.” She breathes heavily in between each word, showing me the effort it takes for her to speak at all.
“Know everyone . . . trust no one. I know, Mom. Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”
“Good girl,” her voice crackles. Her chest heaves in and out, struggling against the cancer that’s fighting for the remaining breaths left in her body. “I love you, girls.” She takes time to look at both of us for a few seconds. As her smile becomes a struggle, I wrap my hand back around hers, trying my hardest not to miss a second of any warmth left within her. “Take care of each other. Always.”
And with that, the beeps of her heart monitor slow down. Her eyelids close slowly, and her hand goes limp, feeling heavy, considering the slenderness of her ninety-pound body. Krissy’s cries ring loudly in my ear, and I want to fall to my knees and let go of all my pent up pain, but I won’t let go. I’ll watch her follow her light. I’ll watch her find peace.
I watch as the nurses roll her out of the room. And I let go. I grab Krissy, and we pull each other to the ground. We rock back and forth in each other’s arms, crying all of our pain out, trying to figure out what being gone for forever really means. We’ll never see her again. Ever. How does one comprehend forever? It didn’t matter how long we prepared for this moment. There is no moment like the one when you lose your mom.
***
I think I’m still dreaming and hearing Mom’s heart monitor ringing out a long beep, until I realize I’m awake in the present, and there are sirens outside the hotel. Tango stumbles in, shoving his feet into each of his boots. “Cali, come on. Come on.” He lifts my bags from the ground and throws them over his shoulder. He runs to the bed and pulls me out faster than I can even comprehend what’s happening. “We have to leave.” I can’t even put together a logical thought. My head feels fuzzy and nausea is settling in, but I know I have to move. He hasn’t overreacted since I’ve known him. And I haven’t seen him panic yet. But I can sense the panic right now, so I follow in his footsteps.
We’re running down the fire escape and out the emergency door. I can see the lights above the sirens flashing, but I’m still none the wiser as to why we are running. I don’t ask questions, possibly because I can’t quite form a question yet. As we reach the truck, he slows down a bit, and I can’t figure out what changed.
He pulls out of the lot at a normal speed, and leans his head back against his seat. With a loud exhale, he says, “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“The alarm.” He sighs again. ” Cali, I’ve only been home from Afghanistan for a month. When I hear an alarm, I jump to attention. I find cover. I’m not used to it being a fire drill. We didn’t have drills—just the real thing.”
I place my hand over his arm. “It’s okay. We needed to head out anyway.” I’m starting to wonder how much he actually suffers within his head. I can’t imagine what he lived through over the past few years. I mean, I’ve heard the stories, and I’ve seen the news, but trying to understand what it’s like to live in a combat zone probably isn’t something I can comprehend. He has this lost look on his face, and it’s mixed with embarrassment. “Tango, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“What?” he asks as if he didn’t hear what I said.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” I look back out the window, giving him the little time he seems to need.
TANGO
Jesus. This place reminds me of my first tour in Iraq. It’s fucking with my head. A cool sweat drapes over my skin and a dark funnel surrounds me. I can smell the sweat, the sweet thick air and blood.
I fall to the ground with him, purposely trying to confuse them and cover my body as I reach for his weapon. No time to aim, I squeeze the trigger as soon as my hand grips the gun, raising a dotted line of lead starting with the first man’s knees, up to the second man’s stomach, and finally the third man’s head.
Fighting the urge to think about how that just happened one handed, or the fact that the magazine was conveniently loaded, I jump up and quickly finish the first two men off. The third was dead on impact.
It’s quiet again, except this time with the ever so familiar dull piercing of the ring in my head. I’ve always hated the sound of machine guns. With the street empty, I now see a stairway in the far side of the room. Was that there before? Doesn’t matter, I reach the top and come out onto an open rooftop. The sun is hot, accentuating the accustomed smell of burning trash mixed with dust. Looking around some more, I stop. I hear it. The chops are too fast and offset to be just one. Are those helos I hear?
I look down into the face of the man I just murdered. His eyes are open, staring back at me. Was he born a bad person? Was he just following orders to protect his family? None of this mattered to me. It was him or me. I lift the shemagh scarf out of a pool of blood and drape it over his face, concealing the eyes that won’t stop looking at me, begging me to take it back. I shake the image from my head, and it disappears quickly, but it’s replaced by a growing shadow behind me. I can see the outline of an AK47 pointed at the shadow of my body. I suck in one breath, spin around, lock my foot behind his knee, jam my elbow into his face, feeling his skull morph around my bones, and watch him fall to the ground, moaning. I lift my blood-covered boot and smash it into the center of his face. This battle is never fucking ending.
I can’t even remember what I’m fighting for. Is it for my survival or my country? Where is my country? Do they even know I’m here, having guns shadow over my head, watching children sacrificed in place of their parents? Do they know what kind of world I’m being faced with, while they’re watching little snippets of sandstorms on TV? Do they think that’s war?
***
A cool hand rests against my hot skin and it pulls me out of my flashback and back to the road. Shit. I can’t be doing this while I’m driving. Fuck. “You okay?” she asks softly. “You just pounded on the gas.” No, I crushed the skull of another asshole trying to
kill me.
“I’m good. I’m good.” Dammit. This shit has to stop. I need to pull over. I have to collect myself. I’m fucking sweating like a pig. I must look crazed and insane. This can’t be a comforting feeling to the person I promised to protect.
CALI
It’s clear we don’t look like we belong here. We aren’t in a tourist area, and the locals have us pegged. I can tell what they’re all thinking, and I’m sure they’ve seen it millions of times before. I wonder who they are, and who they’re running from? I step out of the truck to stretch my legs at the gas station. The ladies sitting on the bench in front of the small shop look like they are whispering about us, and the two men on the corner of one of the pumps are shoving each other, snickering and staring at us. I kind of want to go ask them what their problem is, but I don’t speak Spanish.
I’m standing beside Tango, leaning my back up against the truck. It feels so good to stand after being in the truck for so long. I shuffle my toe around in the dirt, admiring the blush of each grain. Red dirt is prettier than brown dirt—my analysis for the day.
I hear gravel crunching beneath shoes and a shadow growing behind the pump. One of the elderly ladies who I’d seen whispering from the bench is approaching us. Her hair is white as snow, and her skin is as tan as leather—the wrinkles on her face tell me she’s spent most of her days in the sun.
Her long bright pink and purple floral dress blows with the slight breeze as her arm reaches out to me. Her short and crooked fingers, which look worked to the bone, curl around my shoulder. “You go back home. No run away. Bad girl. Bad. Go home.” Her broken English flows out in a raspy voice, and I can’t understand her concern. She has no idea what she’s talking about. Maybe they don’t see as many runaways as I figured.
I force a smile and place my hand gently over hers. “Gracias, Senora.”
A toothy grin stretches across her cheeks, so I’m guessing she thinks she changed my mind about the direction I was heading. She pats me tenderly on the cheek, and with her hand being so close, I can smell cooking flour and hot spices. “Good girl. Good.” She turns her head toward Tango and points her finger at him. Her grin morphs into a scowl as she shouts, “¡qué vergüenza.” She blows the loose strands of hair out of her squinty eyes and spits at his shoes before turning and walking back toward the bench.
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