“Seventeen.”
“But he didn’t ask you to keep the secret, right?”
“Anne Marie’s brother?” she squeaks in horror, pulling a face. “I’ve never met him, but Anne Marie says he’s a meanie. He doesn’t let her play on his Xbox and he . . .” Daniela gives us a long list of Anne Marie’s brother’s faults, which Rosa and Carmen add to as she goes. I gather it’s an on-going discussion between them and I’m pleased to be included. Plus, getting them used to sharing things now will probably pay off later when they’re teenagers.
A few minutes later, Scott comes back, asking if we want to watch a movie, false cheer barely masking his grim countenance.
“Frozen?” Carmen asks, perking up.
“You bet.”
The girls cheer and jump off the bed to make a bee-line for the front room.
Gathering some courage, I ask, “So what’d you find out?”
“Nothing. No one’s heard a word about it.”
“You think the girls have it wrong?”
“I sure hope so. I tried my mom’s cell but she’s not picking up.”
It’s late by the time the movie’s over. Desiree has long since left with her boyfriend and Mari has retreated to her bedroom. Scott is putting the girls to bed and his grandmother and I are in the kitchen, where she’s filling a Tupperware container for me with leftovers when I hear the front door open. I know it can only be one person: Lilia.
Scott’s mother and I have only crossed paths a few times over the months. Her attitude toward me can be summed up as aloof at best, and cold at worst. I’ve always been extra polite, but nothing I say or do seems to crack the woman’s hard exterior. Scott’s vague explanations for her attitude haven’t been very comforting. In the beginning, I was worried that my presence was keeping her away from Sunday night dinners, but Scott set me straight, saying she’d rarely attended before I came along and he wasn’t broken up about it if she was now avoiding them on purpose. What else could I do but take my cues from him and push it to the back of my mind?
“We need to talk, Mamá,” I hear Scott say in English from the living room.
“What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you out with Ms. Wonder Bread?”
My brows pull together. Ms. Wonder Bread? What does that mean? But my pondering will have to wait because Scott’s only interested in what he heard from the girls earlier. “When were you going to tell me that Robbie’s up for parole?”
At first we don’t hear an answer, so Scott’s grandmother and I both drift closer to the doorway, sharing a bit of a guilty look.
“Why would I tell you?” Lilia asks, sounding bored. “He’s not your father.”
“So it’s true?” Scott says, sounding skeptical and horrified in equal measure. “What were you planning to do? Just show up with him one day?”
“This is his home too.”
Scott laughs, a short, cruel sound I’ve never heard from him. “You’re out of your mind. I’m not a fifteen-year-old boy anymore, Ma. Robbie will never set foot inside this house again.”
“You don’t get to make that decision!”
“You’re right. I don’t. But I can’t imagine why you’d think Abuela would agree. Or were you just going to ignore her wishes like you did after Javier died?”
“Robbie is my husband,” she says, like that should clear everything up.
Beside me, Scott’s grandmother shakes her head sadly, looking a little unsteady on her feet. As quietly as I can, I pull a chair from the kitchen table and move it the short distance to our spot near the doorway so she can sit down. It seems our shameful eavesdropping may take a while.
“You have no right to tell me how to live my life, Scotty.”
“True. And if you want to ride off into the sunset with Satan himself, I won’t stop you. But Robbie’s not coming here.”
“Fine,” she says almost petulantly. “But I’m taking Mari and Carmen with me.”
“What?” Scott demands, clearly baffled. “Why?”
“Why?” she cries. “They’re my daughters!”
“Is that right? Tell me, what’s the name of Carmen’s teacher this year?”
After a stony silence, Lilia says, “That’s not important.”
“You don’t think a judge would find it curious that you can’t name your own child’s teacher?”
“A judge?” she spits. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re damn right I would.”
And even as he says it, I realize we’ll have to have some kind of official custody agreement in place before we move.
“I can’t believe you’re threatening me.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’d let Robbie back into this house! What did you think, that I’d sit back with a bucket of popcorn and watch while he knocks you around? While he pushes Mari or yells at Carmen?”
Lilia’s disgust reaches us. “Don’t exaggerate. He never . . . he wouldn’t . . .”
“Ma, let’s keep this real, all right? He was always abusive and I seriously doubt prison has made him see the error of his ways. Now, I don’t want it to come to lawyers and judges, but I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep my sisters safe.”
“God, do you ever listen to yourself?” Lilia says, her voice laced with contempt. “You’ve always been such a smug bastard. Always so holier-than-thou.”
“Yeah, thanks to you.”
“What?” she sputters.
“You heard me. You forced me to become who I am. Someone had to be the parent while you were off living your booze-soaked existence.”
“I love how you’re always conveniently forgetting your sins, Scotty. As if fathering a child at fifteen is perfectly acceptable.”
Scott sighs tiredly. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing, Ma. And I’m not interested in re-hashing any of our past, all right? I just need to know what’s going on with Robbie.”
Lilia, too, sounds weary with her next words. “Why are you so against my dream of living as a family?”
Huh? Scott also seems to struggle with the shift, because it takes a moment for him to respond. “You do have a family, Ma. You just never wanted to be a part of it. You have four kids and we’re all right here.”
“You know what I mean. First your father wanted nothing to do with us, and then Desiree’s father left too. I have a chance now with Robbie.”
There’s a pause, and then, “Pardon me?” Scott’s voice is so cutting that I look to his grandmother for clarification, but she seems to be at a loss as well. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever slipped up.”
“What?” Lilia says, sounding as confused as I feel.
“How do you know my father wanted nothing to do with us?” he asks in a smooth, measured tone. “I thought he didn’t know I existed. Isn’t that what you’ve always claimed?”
Ohhhh.
The silence from the living room is deafening and I can just imagine Scott’s hard expression, daring his mother to deny her blunder. The tension has me chewing on my thumb nail while I study a spot near the wall where the linoleum is curling up.