“Thank you for an amazing night,” she said as I helped her from the car once we were home.
“It was dinner at a dive bar, but you’re welcome,” I replied in a playful tone, still trying to pull her back from whatever dark cave she’d descended into.
“As far as I’m concerned, it might as well have been a day at a tropical beach because it was an escape just the same. A chance to get away from it all.” She leaned in and placed a chaste but heartfelt kiss on my cheek. Her eyes were lit with moonlight and regret as she smiled, then walked away without another word.
***
The next morning, I woke to an empty cabin.
Rain pelted the rooftop and pinged off the windows, the sound keeping me in bed as I enjoyed its relaxing cadence. When I sat up and realized Emily wasn’t inside, I flew from bed and threw on my clothes. I rushed outside, half expecting to see the car missing, but found it right where I’d left it. The realization stalled me, confusing me as to where Emily could possibly be in the middle of a rainstorm.
Then I spotted her. Standing among a cluster of trees, she was drenched to the bone and shaking like a leaf. I grabbed a blanket from inside, then hurried over to her, wrapping her snugly in the thick wool.
“Emily, what the fuck? You’re going to end up with hypothermia.” I tugged her toward the cabin, but she resisted.
“I can’t lie to you anymore,” she announced, water dripping from her lashes. Her words were resolute, stirring up a deep sense of trepidation inside me. “I have these feelings, and I’m not sure what to do with them. I don’t want you to look at me like a monster, but I have to be honest. Seeing those men last night was too much. It was a sign.” She began to rub her wrist, and I realized there was no watch there anymore. She’d been consistent, not once taking it off since we’d been at the cabin.
Her pleading eyes met mine. “I don’t know if you noticed their cuts,” she continued, “but those men were part of the Los Zares MC.” She lifted her wrist, exposing the faded Z tattoo. “Just like I was.”
Chapter 20
Emily
Past
“Hey, Tita?” I called from the kitchen. “Dad said he was going to stop by later today and finally look at that leaky sink in the bathroom.”
“Eh,” she spat as she joined me from the living room. “I told you from the beginning to call a plumber. I don’t want your father here.”
“Tita, he’s your son and my dad. We can’t kick him out of the family.”
“We can, and I have. You’re the one who won’t let go. You know just as well as I do that that man is no good. Neither he nor his brother—they’re not the boys I raised.” She pointed one of her gnarled fingers at me.
She was agitated. It wasn’t the first time talk of my dad got her worked up. She adamantly refused to accept any of my dad’s help, including his money. It was the reason we lived in a tiny house in a crap neighborhood. Not that his place was much better, but he made a lot more money than her measly government aid brought in. He tried to help, and if he gave me the money, and I didn’t mention where it came from, I was free to use it to keep us afloat. At seventeen, I was a waitress when I wasn’t in school, so she and I had an unspoken agreement to pretend that’s where the money came from.
I had an uncle, but he never even tried to help. Dad might have had his downsides, but his older brother, Adrián, was downright mean. Even as a little kid, I had enough sense not to go near him.
“Well, it’s cheaper than calling the plumber. You don’t have to talk to him, just watch TV and pretend he isn’t here.” I finished setting the dishes on a drying rack and went to the hall closet to get a new roll of paper towels.
“Ha!” she called after me. “I’ll be surprised if he even shows up. That man has never once followed through with his promises.”
“But aren’t we supposed to forgive, Tita?” I hollered back, using the step stool to reach the unopened paper towels on the top shelf. She hated when I played devil’s advocate about my dad, but I couldn’t help myself. Teasing her until she was flustered was just too easy.
This time, she wasn’t taking the bait.
I snickered to myself and walked back into the kitchen to find my tita on her hands and knees, clutching her chest.
“Tita? Oh, my God. Are you okay?” I rushed over and dropped to my knees. I couldn’t think through the terror that suddenly wrapped its serpentine body around me and squeezed.
My tita rolled to her side before collapsing on her back. Her normally rich, caramel coloring drained to a pasty white, and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Tita? No, please no. Oh, God. What do I do?” I ran for my phone, dialing 911 and hurrying back to her side. I started to do chest compressions even though I had no idea how to do them properly or if that’s even what she needed. I just knew I had to do something.
The operator picked up after three rings. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“My tita, she collapsed. I think she had a heart attack, but I don’t know. Oh, God. I’m not sure she’s breathing. Help me, please.” Tears blurred my vision and dripped onto her yellow blouse, making dark yellow polka dots.
I felt like I was having a heart attack right alongside her because my chest ached with the need to breathe life back into her. To fix whatever was wrong and see that feisty spark back in her eyes.
The operator assured me help was on the way and walked me through how to do CPR. It took ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive. My arms burned with the strain of trying to save her life, but I never let up. Not for a second.
The two EMS workers pushed me aside and took over compressions, allowing me to step back and truly see what was happening. See my tita lifeless on her gold linoleum floor.
She was gone.
I could feel it in the shattered pieces of my broken heart. Like a part of my soul had been ripped out and stomped on.
They didn’t even get her on a gurney before they turned to me with twin looks of remorse and declared they had done everything they could.
I couldn’t breathe. My lungs wouldn’t allow air in or out. They simply seized up and quit, forcing me to squeak and wheeze as I tried to catch my breath. One of the men had me lower my head down between my knees and encouraged me to relax my breathing, but I couldn’t understand. I didn’t see how I could go on breathing, go on living without her.
She was my everything. My mother and best friend. She was my comfort and entertainment. She was my anchor when the waters were turbulent, and my compass when I got off course. She was the first person I shared good news with and the one who held me when things didn’t go my way.
Without my tita, life would never be the same.
I would never be the same.
***
The remainder of that day passed in a blurry haze of condolences and tears. Not my tears. Tears of the family who came to help and offer their respects. I had a large extended family, and it seemed all of them felt the need to jump into action, not bothering to consider whether I might need time to process.
As for me, I slipped into a cocoon of numbness, greeting guests and answering questions with the methodical indifference of a machine. Yes, it happened at the house. No, I had no idea she had a bad heart. Yes, an enchilada casserole would be lovely.