I couldn’t leave the house, not for days. Not without feeling like the desert out there, the wide-mouth sky, and its smooth, pointed boulders, were crushing me. Sometime after that Father John came over.
“Sia,” he said, straightening the white stole at his neck. “You haven’t been to church in several weeks. Is everything alright?”
I couldn’t bear to say it, so Dad filled him in. The father expressed his condolences and put his hand on my shoulder. “We don’t know why God allows some things to happen the way they do,” he said. “We just know they happen for a reason.”
I wished I’d just thrown the bastard out. Or at least asked him to please explain the reason my mother had to die, alone, in the Sonoran. While the McGhees get their free mile-high chocolate pie at Maude’s every Officer Appreciation Day.
“Yeah,” I said to him, wondering if he could tell I was fantasizing about beheading him. “Thanks.”
I never went back to church. Dad hadn’t gone in ages but that was my last straw.
“Good,” Abuela said when I told her my decision. “Maybe now you’ll believe me.”
101
NOAH TAKES A SEAT NEXT to me after a bit. “Whoa.”
“What?” I whisper it, gesturing for him to quiet down.
“All those cuts on her arm. Look. They’re gone now.”
I’d barely registered that she was cut up, but now that he says it, I can see the image of her, stepping away from the craft, scrapes deep in her forearm.
And he’s right. They’re gone now. Her skin is smooth, and if it weren’t for the spots of dried blood, I might’ve thought I just imagined it.
“Don’t tell your father,” Mom mumbles. “I want to tell him. Let me…” She drifts off again.
Noah and I stare at each other for a few moments. We jump when Mrs. Damas calls my name.
She steps inside, my phone in her hand. “Your father’s been calling.”
“Shit,” I say, then I realize who I’m talking to. “I mean, crap. I mean, I’m sorry, Mrs. Damas. It’s way past curfew.”
The phone lights up and buzzes. “Let me,” she says, putting it to her ear. “Luis? Yes, this is Maura.… Fine, thank you. There was an emergency at the church… No, everyone is fine.”
“Don’t tell him yet,” I whisper to her, Mom’s request still ringing in my ears.
Mrs. Damas nods. “Yes, Luis. We had Sia help us out. Uh…” She glances at me again. “I think I’ll let her fill you in about it. Yes. Okay. I’ll let her know. You, too. Bye.”
If it were any other day, I think I’d have done a backflip out of pure shock from Maura Damas covering for me. But now, the best I can do is say “Thanks.”
“You should go home,” she says.
“But—I can’t just leave her. She just got back!” I don’t say that I know Mrs. Damas can’t stay, either, because I know she’s not allowed by the awesome person she’s married to. And Mom might need something.
“I’ll stay.” Noah stands. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.” We just stare at him as he shrugs. “I’ve been sleeping in my truck, anyway. Ever since my dad…” He trails off.
“Ever since your dad what, Noah?” I ask.
His face gets hard and he shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Well, I didn’t want to hear another word about the sheriff anyway. Fuckers, the both of them. “You know what? Fine. Stay,” I say to Noah. “You owe me.”
“I don’t know—” Mrs. Damas begins, but I turn to her.
“Mrs. Damas. If you can’t stay, someone has to. Even if it has to be him. I can’t let—” My eyes fill with tears. “It’s my mom, you know?”
“And you trust him?”
I glance at Noah. “No,” I say. His face falls. “But I know he won’t hurt her.” And I do. Noah might be a little shit and a little liar, but he’s never been malicious, you know? Plus, I feel like he actually does care about me, in some weird, warped way.
She nods, slowly at first. “Okay, Sia.”
“If anything happens to her…,” I say to Noah.
“I won’t let anything happen,” he says. “I promise.”
That last bit means nothing to me. But I have no other choice but to accept his word.
102
I’M GOING TO BED, MY father texts on my way home. We’ll talk in the morning.
I’m not sure what to do when I get in. Do I barge into his room and announce it? Hey, that wife who you thought was dead? Well, she just crashed in the desert on this top-secret government spacecraft that probably has extraterrestrial origins. Oh, and she might be a robot.
It’s like my mind just gives up at a certain point. I crawl into bed and sleep.
103
I WANTED TO GET UP early, but I sleep in. And when I awaken, I pull the covers around me and stay perfectly still for as long as I can. Sunshine pours in thick, right across my bed.
Once, I asked my father what those little specks were, the ones you can see in light rays. He said dust.
And later, I asked my mother. She said they were prayers.
When I reach to touch the light, the specks swirl faster and faster.
104
I SHOWER AND CHANGE. DAD’S waiting for me at the kitchen table. He throws up his arms in exasperation. “What happened?”
I close my eyes. I know Mom said she wanted to tell him, but how can I not right now?
“You were with that boy, weren’t you? I knew that kid was trouble, but I didn’t say it, porque—”
“Mom’s alive.” My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but his hands look weak, like he’s going to drop that coffee mug any second. I walk over, take it from him, and place it on the table with a clank. He blinks.
“How do you know?” He keeps his voice even, the words slow.
“You’re not going to believe it.” I shake my head and sit.
“Try me.”
I grab my phone and pull up the video of the crash. Noah posted it last night. Dad watches it wordlessly. And then he erupts. “What the hell is this, Sia?”
“We filmed that last night, in the desert.” I swallow, even though my mouth is dry. “Mom came out of that thing.”
He stares at my phone for a long time, watching the video replay itself. “Stop bullshitting me, Artemisia.”
I shake my head, widening my eyes. “I’m not bullshitting you. She’s in the safe house right now.”
He stands so fast, he almost falls over. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“Mom said she wanted to explain it to you, Papi. I’m sorry. Things were very chaotic—”
“Is she okay? Is she injured?”
I shrug. “She seemed like she might’ve been concussed. She wouldn’t let us take her to the hospital. Probably because of ICE.”
“So that’s what those people were talking about.” Dad’s ramming his hand through his hair.
“What people?”
“Last night. Some people came, asking me if anyone had stopped by, if I’d seen anything unusual.”
“Dad, that doesn’t answer my question. Who were they?”
“I don’t know!” He raises his hand like he’s confounded. “People. Well-dressed. Two men. And a woman.”
I remember the words on the spacecraft. They’re coming. My hair stands up.
“I’m going to get Dr. Vega,” Dad says, throwing a button-down over his T-shirt. “Bring her to the church, check her out. You. Go to her now. Tell her I’ll be right there.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
105
MOM’S SITTING ON THE PORCH when I pull up. She’s wearing one of Mrs. Damas’s old wrap dresses. The fabric is put together in pieces, patchwork, all white with deep blue flowers. The sun’s in her hair like a gold crown. She runs up when I open the car door.
“Sia,” she says, choked up, and she’s holding me.
Now I’m crying. “We thought you
were dead.” I can’t talk anymore. My shoulders shake.
We don’t move for a long time, not until the sun has glided across the porch.
106
INSIDE, MRS. DAMAS’S COOKING UP SOMETHING that smells like heaven’s idea of heaven.
“Oh my God,” I say. I’d completely forgotten about food, in general, and my stomach angrily reminds me about that fact.
“Oh, Sia! Hey, there.…” Noah’s voice fades, probably because he’s realized he sounds way too happy. “Good to see you, I mean…,” he amends, making his voice gruff. He’s got gloves on, and he’s chopping away at Scotch bonnet peppers and onions.
I pretend like he’s not there at all, even as Mom says good morning. I turn to Mrs. Damas. “Is Rose around?”
Mrs. Damas tenses just a touch, but she hides it expertly. “She says she’ll stop by after choir practice at St. Matthew’s.”
I take it that Rose’s forbidden from coming, probably because her dad still thinks the devil crashed a spacecraft into the desert rather than my mother. To give him credit, though, either seems just as likely.
I wonder if Mrs. Damas told him where she was really going this morning.
“Dad’s on his way,” I say to Mom. “He’s bringing Dr. Vega to check you out.”
Mom sighs and sits on the couch. There’s still a blanket and pillow draped over it, from Noah, I’m guessing. “I’m fine. He doesn’t need to do that.” Then she smiles that lovestruck smile reserved for and about my dad and I want to groan but I can’t. This whole thing is just so, so, so weird.
Mrs. Damas puts cups of ginger tea in our hands.
“Gracias,” we say in unison. In a matter of minutes, a feast is placed on the table. Eggs cut with peppers and onions, sweet plantains, diced and boiled. Soft bread, sliced and buttered. Like I said, heaven’s idea of heaven.
Small talk ensues as Mrs. Damas fills Mom in on Abel and Meena, on how things are with the family. We all avoid the big, fat desert moon in the room, until Noah clears his throat. “Have you guys seen page nineteen of the Sentinel?”
Everyone shakes their head. It’s an absurd question, really, but then Noah pulls out his laptop and pulls it up. “Unidentified Flying Object Crashes in Desert Off Highway 909.” There’s a couple of photos, even with details of the script on the side of the craft.
“That one’s mine,” Noah says, pointing. “I emailed them to Omar, you know? And he sent them to Imani, who wanted nothing to do with them, but then he tried her editor, who was, like, all over it.”
“Why did you do this, Noah?” I ask. “What if it alerts… them?” Whoever the flip they are.
“No, this is good,” Mom says. She’s taken the computer and is looking at it carefully. “Do you think you could contact them again? I’d like to speak with them.”
“Why?” I ask. “What good could come of it?”
Mom bites at her lips. “The people who did this to me? They’re not going to stop. Not unless someone holds them accountable. And the only way that’s going to happen is if we expose what they did. What they’re still doing.” She grabs my hand. “I have to. I want—need—everyone to hear my story.”
I gulp. God. I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear it yet.
“That makes sense,” Noah says. “Imani works for the Sentinel.”
“She’s an intern,” I correct, but Noah shrugs.
“Still. I bet she has connections with even bigger news outlets. Or at least knows someone who does. And Omar, I mean, he’s already asked to come see you. Been texting me about every seven seconds. I’ll invite them both.”
Before I can protest, Mom nods. “See if they can come today,” she says. “The sooner, the better.”
107
“NOAH,” I SAY. “OUTSIDE, PLEASE.”
“What’s up?” he asks as he follows me to the porch.
“What the hell is up with you?” I ask. “First of all, putting the video of the crash on the Internet? Then telling Omar about it? All without my permission?”
He blinks. “Sia, this is, like. This is so much bigger than you, no offense. I didn’t think I needed to ask first.”
“How did it not occur to you?”
He rubs at his temples. “I don’t understand the big deal. Look, I mean, even your mom thinks it’s a great idea.”
“Maybe she’s not thinking straight,” I say. “Did you not consider that? The first thing she told us, remember, right after a freakin’ head injury? She said they’re coming to get her. How is broadcasting her location going to help?”
“Hey,” he says. “We won’t broadcast her location, okay? We just—Omar thinks it’s a good idea, and I do, too, if we document this. It might protect her. And us.”
I take a shaky breath and use every ounce of energy to not cry. “I just can’t lose her. Not again, Noah.”
He wraps an arm around my waist, but I step away. “Don’t touch me.”
Noah lowers his eyes, running a hand through his hair. It sticks in every direction, reminding me of Harry Potter. “Why can’t we be friends, Sia? Or at least act nicer while all this”—he gestures to the house—“is going on?”
“You lost your chance at nicer when you lied to me, Noah. Twice.”
“And I said I was sorry, Sia. Jesus.” He’s rapping one hand on the other. The beat is frantic. He lowers his voice. “I didn’t ask for him to be my father, you know. You know me. I’m nothing, nothing like him. Or Jeremy.”
“That’s the thing, Noah. I don’t know you. Who knows what else you lied about? Because that’s what you are to me now. A liar.”
“Sia. There isn’t anything else. I promise. I did what I did because I didn’t want you to hate me.”
“How ironic. Because I hate you because of what you did.”
He about stumbles when I say hate. He looks so hurt, I take a step back when he speaks again. “You seriously aren’t going to forgive me? Even after me apologizing, what, how many times by now?”
“I don’t know why you think I would forgive you.”
“Because that’s what you do when you care about someone, Sia! You forgive them for being shitty. Rose forgave you, right?”
“No,” I say. “You don’t get to bring Rose into this. Not after what you’ve done.”
“Sia, give me a break. Please.”
“No.” I sound so impassive. So sharp. I feel almost proud of myself. “I can’t just forget what you did. All those lies about who you are! Your father and brother, Noah!”
He hardens his face and turns to me. “So you’re saying if I had been up front and honest with you, and told you first thing who my dad was, you would’ve given me a chance?”
“I—well—I mean, yeah, of course.” It’s a lie. I can’t even hide that it’s a lie.
And then Noah smirks. “Right. That’s what I thought.” He turns like he’s going to leave, but he stops, his eyes back on me, hard. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I wish I could go back and change everything. But, fuck.” He sighs. “All I’m saying is, with everything going on, you could act a little less like a bitch.”
I take a step back. “Are you serious right now?” I’m huffing like I’ve just run a hundred miles. “Did you and Jeremy learn to call girls bitches from your dad? Or is it just genetic?” My voice breaks. I look up at the sky, and damnit, a tear escapes.
“I mean—” Noah looks scared as I wipe at my useless face. “Fuck. Sia. I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said—I just wanted—”
I make myself sound as hard as I can. Hard like uncarvable stone. “Fuck you, Noah.”
Articulate? No. But it gets the message across. Stomping past him, I go back inside.
108
DAD CALLS AFTER MRS. DAMAS LEAVES. He’s forgotten that Dr. Vega works out of town now. She’s canceling the rest of her day and is right behind him.
“I decided to take the 909 back home, see what’s still out there,” he tells me. “Gran error. There’s back-to-back trafico, all
these people coming out to see the aliens, I guess. But they cleaned it up, Sia. I mean, there’s nothing out there. Nada.”
“But it was huge,” I say. “Bigger than our house.”
“I’m telling you, looking at all these military trucks. Te lo digo, esto es mas grande que Elvis. Mas grande de Carlos Santana. O incluso Diego Luna, even.”
I scoff. “No way it’s bigger than Diego Luna.” He laughs. It’s good to hear.
He gets quiet. “Let me talk to her, eh?”
I hand her the phone. “Amor?” She takes it into the room, shuts the door. I can hear her crying and I can’t stand the sound.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Noah, my voice sharp.
109
I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME I learned about evolution, in the sixth grade. I ran to my grandmother after school. Finally I had a story for her.
She sat down and listened to me very carefully. About how there was an enormous explosion and all of matter splattered in all directions, until planets and stars formed. And on our planet, there was some great soup with bacteria, all cooking in the ocean like boiled tamales, till they became fish to snakes to elephants to apes to us.
And when I was finished, she looked out the window at all the Joshua trees in her yard. “So that’s what they’re reaching for,” she said. “I always wondered.”
The church is in the middle of a sparse Joshua tree forest. I take a slow walk from tree to tree. My fingers run along the shared arms of their stretched hands, beckoning. Beckoning to where we all come from.
110
I’M WITH THE TREES IN the back when Noah runs over. “Sia. Omar’s here.” I roll my eyes and stomp past him.
Omar gives me the biggest smile when I walk in. He’s in the middle of setting up some camera equipment. “Sia Martinez. My god, your mom. Your mother. Came right out of a real motherfucking UFO, a black motherfucking triangle, no less!”
Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything Page 13