“Let’s go see what’s over there,” I tell Gabi. We cross the wide black-and-gold floor of the mall to a larger store. There are lots of racks of clothes and bedding and even perfume and makeup. I look behind me, where I can still see the stationery store. We could leave, just disappear. A hundred-dollar bill and nothing else. We could go. But where?
A lady sprays Gabi with a cloud of perfume, making me sneeze three times in a row.
“Bless you, sweetie,” the perfume lady says at the same time that Gabi says, “Salud, dinero, y amor.” Health, money, and love. All the blessings anyone could ask for.
How long have we been away from Indranie? Fifteen minutes? I have her cell phone number in the phone she gave me. If we are gone too long, I can call her. Or we could keep going.
“Trying on makeup, girls?” Indranie’s voice is cheery and light, but I jump like a guilty cat anyway.
“Ni-ni! Look, I mean, smell me!” Gabi says, extending her wrist to Indranie.
“It’s, um, pretty strong.” Indranie laughs.
We thank the lady spraying perfume and walk past the stationery store, the computer store. Indranie buys us each a pretzel, which is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten. I realize that the smell that is everywhere in the mall is from this pretzel, or the pretzel store. I eat and Gabi chatters and I think. How did Indranie know where to find us? And why does it bother me?
* * *
Back in the carriage house, as I help her set the table for dinner, Indranie reminds me that I have agreed to talk to Rey the next day.
“Yes. But what if she doesn’t agree?”
“Let’s just stay positive, okay? Her dad is talking to her now. We can afford to wait a little. Maybe we just stay in a holding pattern until we can change Rey’s mind.” I don’t know what a holding pattern is, exactly, but I am good at waiting.
* * *
I was always waiting. Waiting for Papá to come home. Waiting for Pablo to remember that I existed and that we used to be friends.
“I could be the head of the family just as much as you could,” I tell Pablo as we wait in the locker room for Gabi’s swimming lesson to be over. His friends haven’t arrived yet, so he’s lowered his standards to hang out with me.
“¿En que mundo?” He laughs. “Who is going to take you seriously?”
“You’re not even two years older than me. And I’m almost as tall as you,” I say.
“No, you aren’t, chaparrita. And you’re definitely not as smart as me.”
“Ha.”
It isn’t safe for Gabi to walk home from el Club on her own. Mamá sends me to get Gabi, but Pablo is usually already there. We don’t know where he sleeps most nights. At eighteen, he’s a man, he says. He doesn’t need to come home like a child. I will never admit it, but I look forward to seeing him these few minutes a day. Once his friends arrive, I become invisible to him.
But it isn’t Tato or El Flaco who came to meet Pablo today—it’s Liliana. His sometimes girlfriend.
Every time I see her—no matter how much I tell myself to be calm—my heart stutters like a child reciting homework.
“Hola, Marisol. ¿Qué onda?”
I smile at her, but no words come out.
“Dame un beso, hermanita,” she says. Give me a kiss, little sister. My chest hurts, but I walk over to her, let her put her arms around me and kiss me on the cheek. She smells like limes, I think. And like sunshine and dish soap.
“I told you she likes you, Lilí. She’s just too serious,” Pablo says. “She wants to be the one in charge. My little sister hates to wait. She wants to be una mamacita ya.” He plucks a dirty towel from the floor and flings it at me. It sticks for a moment to my hair before falling back to the ground. I’m so angry, my whole body stiffens.
“Tranquila, amor,” Liliana says, her arms still around me. She puts her lips to my hair and kisses my head. The anger drains out of me. I think, for sure, she must know. How my heart beats faster, how I dream about the way her skin looks under the neon bar lights. I think we are in this secret together. All I have to do is wait.
* * *
Olga and Manny are out tonight, eating dinner with their American daughter who works in Virginia. Olga has left us a beef stew with carrots and potatoes, and macaroni and cheese for Gabi.
As we eat dinner in the kitchen, I ask Indranie if there are any side effects of wearing the cuff. She considers this for a moment.
“Only the ones we spoke about. The effects of grief on the body. You have the printouts Dr. Deng gave you?”
I have them, but I have not read them. It’s harder for me to read in English than it is for me to speak in English, and the words he uses are too medical and unfamiliar. But I don’t want Indranie to know.
“Yes, but I meant anything else? Something I should look for?” I don’t know why these memories of Pablo and Liliana and the weeks before we left are bubbling back into my mind. I expected dreams, bad dreams even, but not waking dreams, where I watch my own memories.
“I don’t think so. But if—no, when—Rey’s cuff begins transmitting, you’ll keep notes, right?” Dr. Deng told me to do that too. He even gave me a little black-and-silver book that says DIARY on the front so I could write about my experiences.
“I will keep notes every day. Is there anything special I should write? Should I weigh myself?”
Gabi laughs next to me. I elbow her and tell her to keep eating.
“I don’t think you have to go that scientific,” Indranie says. She looks at the kitchen door, then stands abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the floor.
A man in a gray suit stands in the doorway. For a moment, no one speaks. I have a wild thought that he is a burglar. But no burglar could be dressed that well. He looks sick, his skin as gray as his hair and suit.
“Scott.” Indranie takes a half step toward him. “How’s Rey?”
The man reaches a hesitant hand out to Indranie, before stopping himself.
“Please,” he says, looking at me and Gabi. “Don’t let me disturb you.”
But he is the one who is disturbed. Fantasma. Ghost. I know this must be Rey’s father.
“Have you eaten?” Indranie says.
“Um. No. I don’t think I have.” He seems more like a child than a man. Then I remember that his son has died and his daughter has tried to fly off a balcony. I look down at my food, not wanting to be noticed. For once, Gabi doesn’t speak.
Indranie goes to the stove to serve Mr. Warner a plate of food.
“No, thank you, Indranie. I’m fine.” He straightens his shoulders in what I think must be a painful way. He stands like his whole body hurts.
“I just wanted a word with you before I leave in the morning.” He catches me watching him. I look down at my food again, my face hot with embarrassment.
Indranie walks with Mr. Warner into the living room. She is careful to close the door to the kitchen.
Gabi raises her eyebrows at me, but I shake my head. Even if I wanted to listen, I wouldn’t. It is always better to keep our heads down.
* * *
On Gabi’s bed is a set of beautiful school clothes: a sky blue blouse with a dark blue vest and skirt. There are even matching blue socks and black shoes with a mirror shine. Gabi wants to put them on immediately, sleep in them.
“It will save time in the morning. I’ll already be dressed,” she says, only half kidding.
“You’ll be as wrinkled as a date if you do that,” I say.
“I’ve got one more surprise for you, Gabi.” Indranie pulls a pair of boots out from a large shopping bag. The black motorcycle boots from the mall. Gabi’s face erupts with happiness. She tries them on, stomping around the room. Her smile is contagious—both Indranie and I share it.
“Come on. Get into bed,” I say, holding up the covers for her. I give her a stern loo
k when she tries to get into bed with her boots. She takes them off and puts them right next to her bed.
“Good night, goose,” Indranie says as Gabi sits up in bed with the book-light Olga gave her, a little lamp that clips onto her book. She’s determined to finish reading the Harry Potter book because every kid in America has read it. She reminds me that Hermione wears a uniform too.
“Okay, Hermione,” I say. “Good night.”
I walk Indranie to the front door. I feel small in this big house with just me and Gabi. I am about to ask her if she could sleep here, just for tonight, so we aren’t completely alone, but then Olga and Manny come through the door and I feel better.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, all right? I’ll take Gabi to school, then come back so I can bring you to see Rey. It doesn’t have to be a big conversation. You can just tell her why you’re here. See how it goes. We have time.”
From the anxious way Indranie looks at me, then passes her hand over her eyes to hide her tiredness, I know we don’t have time.
I say good night to Olga and Manny and go up to our room. I take my time brushing my teeth and my hair. The bathroom smells of the perfume the lady in the store sprayed on Gabi. A sample sits on the bathroom counter. I spray a little on my hair, hoping it will help me sleep.
I used to do the same at home. I couldn’t find a perfume that smelled exactly like Liliana—maybe it wasn’t the limes she cut in the bar, maybe it was a perfume that she wore—I never had the nerve to ask her. But my father’s cologne that smelled of bay rum and lime was close enough. I would splash some on my hands, then on the back of my neck, where the alcohol would sting a little. I would go to sleep hoping to dream of Liliana. But I never did, or at least I don’t remember if I did. I wore the scent of limes whenever we walked together, Pablo holding Liliana’s hand—they were novios within a week—and me on her other side. She held Pablo’s hand, but she whispered and laughed with me.
It is all for nothing because I can’t sleep, let alone dream. Gabi has fallen asleep reading, the Harry Potter book tumbling out of her hand. I put the book away, careful to mark the page she was reading and turn off the book-light. I tell myself I can’t sleep because I’m nervous about Gabi starting school tomorrow, but it’s really about the girl. I will have to face her tomorrow and convince her to give me her grief.
It’s chilly in the bedroom next to ours, but at least my restlessness won’t wake Gabi.
There is a bookcase full of classics—just like in Mr. Rosen’s library. I run my fingers past Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, Fahrenheit 451—I’ve read them all. I even read Love in the Time of Cholera in English, though I didn’t understand it all. That could be the English translation, or it could be Márquez. It seemed to be about two people falling in love with each other but not staying with each other. I don’t get the point of that.
I’m too ansiosa and unsettled to read. I sit in a chair next to high, wide windows, trying to calm my mind so I can fall asleep.
I think of all the windows in this house, not to mention the windows in the big house and in the pool house. So much glass, such a desire to see out. It’s not that San Salvador doesn’t have beautiful buildings with glass and balconies and gardens. It does, though many are old and falling apart. It’s just that those buildings belong to everyone in one way or another. I’ve never seen so much space for just a handful of people. Except on TV, of course.
Tomorrow I will risk sounding silly and ask Indranie if she can find out when Cedar Hollow is on. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen it, the last time with Mrs. Rosen as her belongings were packed up, moving her life back to America. We sat in her kitchen dunking pan dulce into cups of tea and talking about our favorite characters. Mrs. Rosen said that Amber was a moron, but I think she was trying to tease me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been watching the person walking in the garden without realizing what I was looking at, but suddenly I really see him. A man with short hair and a cap moves through the bushes near the big house and out to the long rectangle of water. My first thought is—again—that it is a burglar. My second thought is that it’s not a man, but a boy. Then I know who he must be. Rey’s boyfriend.
I slip downstairs and put my jacket on over my piyamas, then slide the back door open silently. It’s not too cold, but the grass outside is wet and I forgot to put on my shoes. I have also forgotten to ask myself, Why do I want to spy on them? Why do I want to watch?
I think a good argument would be that by watching Rey and her boyfriend, maybe I can get to know her a little, maybe I can figure out how to talk to her tomorrow. If they start kissing, I will absolutely leave them alone.
Past the door in the garden wall, I press against the bushes, moving closer until I can see and even hear clearly. I have not convinced myself that I am doing this for a good reason. I know that it’s only curiosity that’s brought me here.
Minutes go by. Insects hum in the darkness. The boy sits quietly, hunched over in a too-large black leather jacket, his cap turned backward on his head. He throws stones and grass into the pool. I wonder how long he will wait for Rey to come.
It’s colder in the garden than it should be for April. But, of course, we are so much farther north than home. Or maybe I’m shivering because I have no business being in this garden. I am about to go back when I hear the boy speak.
“Where are you?” I hear the whispered words clearly. I’m close enough that I know it is a she who speaks.
“Where have you gone that I can’t reach you?” Her voice is a broken thing. “If I knew where you were, if I knew you were okay, I could be okay.”
The girl takes off her cap, and I see that it’s Rey. Her long hair is gone, cut so short, like los militares, like army men. It’s blond and thin like a baby’s hair. The cap and the jacket do not belong to a boyfriend. They belong to her brother.
The moment I realize that I must leave, that I cannot hear this girl’s prayer to her dead brother, is the same moment that I sneeze, three times in a row.
Chapter 11
My eyes close and my head bobs down with each sneeze. I cross myself because there isn’t anyone else to say salud, dinero, y amor.
“Who are you?” Rey stands next to the water, facing me. I wish that I could push farther into the bushes, to become invisible. But there’s no chance of that. I struggle out of my hiding place, using my sleeve to wipe my nose like a child.
“My name is Marisol. I’m staying in the carriage house.”
Rey’s body relaxes, but her expression is confused.
“Where are you from?”
“Excuse me?” I say in perfect English. Why can’t I be from here? Why do I have to be from somewhere else?
“Where are you visiting from? Cuba?” she asks.
“No!” I don’t know why I sound so upset.
Rey shrugs. “You sound like Olga and Manny. That’s why I asked.”
“I speak English perfectly.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She turns away from me and starts to walk back toward the big house.
“Who were you talking to?” I ask, even though I know.
“No one,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Were you talking to God?” I keep asking questions I know the answers to. But at least we’re talking.
Rey turns back to me, her voice angry and cold. “What would be the fucking point of that?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It makes me feel better to pray to God.” This is a lie. I know I cannot be forgiven. But I pray anyway and tell myself I feel better.
“Fuck. Don’t tell me you’re a Bible-thumper.”
I cross my arms. “A thump—what?”
“Jesus. Are you from Olga’s church? Did she send you?”
She’s confusing me. I know what her words mean on their own, but all together—and she’s talking so fast, and crying too. I d
on’t know exactly what she’s saying.
I take a step closer to her. “I’m here to take your grief away.” I don’t think I’m supposed to say it like that, like I’m here to take her laundry to be cleaned. But I have to convince her to put on the cuff. She has to do the experiment. Gabi’s safety depends on it.
She only stares at me blankly before turning away again.
“Wait,” I call, hopping after her because my cold feet have gone numb.
“Don’t follow me.”
“I don’t understand,” I plead. At least she stops again.
“It’s not your fault.” Her voice is uncertain and high. I cannot judge how tall she is, she is so hunched over in her leather jacket. “You’re probably doing this for Jesus or something. Helping the less fortunate. Ha.” A tremor runs through her whole body, of laughter or maybe of pain. “I’m telling you, don’t bother.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to give you my grief, or whatever this shitty lava in my chest is. I want to keep it all for my greedy self. Okay?”
Lava? Shit? I hate not understanding.
“You could share it with me.” I step closer. “You can feel better.”
“I don’t want to feel better!” she yells. Her words linger in the night air, silencing all other sounds for a second, two. Then the insects begin to hum again.
“I’m sorry. I used to be polite. I was the good twin—can you believe that shit?” She makes a noise that might have been meant as a laugh but never becomes one. “But now I’m the only twin, so I can be pretty much as shitty as I want. Enjoy your visit. Buena suerte.” She salutes and turns away a final time to disappear into the house.
* * *
I sit on the floor of Rey’s room waiting for her to speak.
“Rey, this is Marisol.” Dr. Vizzachero shifts uncomfortably on a puffy chair made of beans. Indranie stands in the corner of the room by the door. Rey sits on her bed.
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