Lourdes would say my boyfriend is so privileged, but I don’t want to be cynical. I was raised to believe. “We can try, I guess.”
One more kiss, one more longing look, and he’s gone, dropping fast behind the cottage and pausing to look back. We extend our hands in a wave… or maybe a wistful grasp… before he dashes across the tree line and off my brother’s property.
A feeling of dread tightens my chest. Deacon is so optimistic, and I wish I could be the same way. I’m afraid this is not going to end well. Sofia’s voice pulls me from my troubled thoughts, and when I open my bedroom door, she’s sitting with her back to it.
“Good morning, sunshine.” I reach down for her hand.
She pops up and marches into my room. “Watch Moana with me!”
Climbing into the middle of my bed, she props her little body against the pillows. The remote is in her hand, and she turns on the oversized, flat screen television hanging on the opposite wall to the channel she needs.
“I didn’t know Beto had Disney plus.” I climb in beside her, curling into the blankets and pulling Deacon’s pillow to my chest.
“He has all the channels.” Sofia’s tone is very duh, and she immediately starts singing. “You’re welcome!”
I bury my face in the down, inhaling deeply of rich citrus and sage. It’s almost like he’s still here, and I hug the pillow tighter, fighting my sadness, dreaming of his hard body, his soft kisses, his expert touch. His impossible dreams.
“I’m sorry you were hurt.” My brother stands in the kitchen with his arms crossed. As always, he’s in jeans and a white tank, feet bare, brow lowered.
“I’m fine.” I finish my coffee, ready to go.
Valeria reaches for my hand across the table. “We don’t have to discuss it right now.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” Beto walks away from where we’re sitting. “It’s settled.”
I’m not in the mood for him. “How’s Lo feeling today? All grown up?” I wonder if anybody catches the irony in my question.
“Who knows?” Valeria sits back, lifting her coffee. “I don’t understand half the stuff she says anymore. It’s all YouTube quotes and video game references.”
My brother returns, placing a white box on the table in front of me. It’s a brand-new, latest model iPhone.
“What’s this?” I frown up at him.
“Lourdes said your phone was broken when you fell.” He looks down, and while his tone is stern as ever, I do see a flash of something almost like an apology in his eyes.
Whatever.
“So you’re paying for my phone now?”
“Mateo is the reason you broke your old one. He was following my orders.”
Orders. I love how he tosses that word around like he’s el presidente.
Opening the box, I lift the shiny new device. “It’s yellow.”
He shrugs. “It’s as close as I could get to your favorite colors.”
Anger mixes with frustration mixes with annoyance. Deacon says my brother loves me. I want to believe it, but after the way he’s acted since he returned…
He’s nice then he’s controlling. He’s thoughtful then he’s infuriating.
“Thank you.” I’m not smiling as I stand and go to the door.
“Where are you going, Carmie?” Valeria looks at me with concern.
I look from her to my brother, with his arms crossed. “I’m going to church.”
“By the waters of Babylon, we hung our harps on the willows and wept.” Father Molina gazes at the stained-glass windows of our cathedral.
At fifteen, when most kids were defying parental traditions and rules, Father Molina kept me in mass with his subversive sermons. He talked about pushing back against oppression, peaceful resistance, keeping the faith. He appears solemn and reverential, but he’s a fighter.
“How could they sing songs of joy with invaders in their land?” His eyes return to us, seated in the pews looking up at him. “Because God was their ally. God brings justice to all.”
My eyebrows rise, and I watch as he goes on about God’s ability to save us from all our troubles. My mind wanders to my own troubles, and I think about what Mamá would say about worry and fear.
Worry is a story we create in our minds about a future we don’t know. The future is always uncertain, she would say. All we have is the present. She had a little quote about the present being a present… It was a play on words. I wish I could remember it exactly, but it was something about how being in the present is peace.
Focusing on the now is enlightenment.
We file forward to receive communion. It’s an older church, not too large, but still it has arched, stained-glass windows the original congregation raised money to install. The pews are polished wood with deep red velvet cushions. It’s dark and solemn with a good Catholic vibe.
Once we’ve all returned to our seats, Father Mo holds his arms wide over the congregation, speaking in a strong voice. “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face to shine upon you and give you rest.”
It happens. Calm filters through my chest, and I close my eyes to receive his blessing.
A strong clutch on my forearm snaps me out of my moment of zen. The organ plays a joyful exit hymn, and Valeria’s friend Rosalía smiles at me. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay…”
Parishioners file around us heading to the double doors where the priest stands, telling everyone goodbye.
Rosalía is the same age as Valeria, but she’s much slimmer with a white stripe running down the middle of her black hair. Her dark eyes are excited. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
I have to think. “Lunch, maybe some painting. I don’t have any plans… Why?”
She does a little bounce, grinning wider. “Can you come with me? I got you a job… I think.”
“A job?” What in the world?
“An art job,” she whispers.
Father Molina shakes my hand and says something, but I’m too distracted by… what the heck is an art job?
We’re out on the lawn, and Rosalía turns to me. “The rich old lady I work for wants to have her picture done… A portrait? Anyway, she’s been having all these artists come to the house and show her their vision or whatever. She hates all of them… So I told her about you!”
She claps, and I’m trying to catch up. “You told a rich old lady I would paint her portrait? I don’t really do portraits, Rose.”
“Nonsense! You do sketches of people all the time.”
“It’s not really the same thing…”
She leans closer, gripping my forearm. “This woman has more money than God, Carm. I heard her say she would pay fifteen thousand dollars for it.”
My mouth falls open. She has my attention now. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, I was dusting the chandelier in the drawing room, and I heard her complaining they were all kitsch, and she wouldn’t hire them if they worked at the Whitney.” She’s not making sense, but I’m doing my best to be patient. “So I very nicely went over and said my best friend knew a very good artist, and I would be happy to recommend her.”