“Not my problem.”
“I had to go to my grandfather’s…I thought you understood.”
“Go, Eva.” He slaps his clenched fist against his now soaked jean-covered thigh.
We’re going around in circles, and I’m dizzy and lost. “No, I’m not leaving.”
I jump at the spine-tingling crack of thunder and eye the shelter of the playhouse. It most probably isn’t any safer.
“Fuck, you’re stubborn.” His hands hold either side of his head. “I’ll walk you—let’s go.”
“Come stay at my house.” My lips tremble from the chill or maybe it’s from him.
“Not happening.”
“My father’s working. My mom wouldn’t want you out here.”
“Not interested.” The hard gleam in his eyes is like a kick to my chest.
“Jared—”
“No!” His exasperation hits an all-time high and strikes my very core. “Don’t you get it? It’s better this way. I’m trouble. Just let it be.”
“No, you aren’t, and I can’t…” My heart is in my throat.
“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand, and his touch calms the raging storm within me.
We don’t walk or talk but run against the pelting rain. Once at my house, he deposits me at the front door, and without a word or a goodbye or so much as a look my way, he rushes for the Jeep.
He’s hunched against the wind and rain, and it takes everything in me to not go after him, throw myself on the hood of the car, and beg him to come inside.
He starts the engine, and it sounds like it’s on last its breath. But no matter how dire or in disrepair the car is, he manages to drive away.
A violent clap of thunder echoes in the hollow of my chest. Both my heart and lungs work no more, stabbed by a grave longing for the boy next door.
Inside, the outside storm is a distant muffle, almost as if it doesn’t exist, while the storm inside of me is out of control.
“Eva Ysabel Ramirez.” My mother’s Spanish is a beautiful thing, but when upset, there’s a sharp edge to her words that sends a steel rod up my spine.
“Mamá?”
“Get out of those wet things and explain yourself.” Disappointment rolls off her in waves.
“Jared…” I’m a shaky mess and need to get a hold of myself.
“Tell me what happened?” Her knuckles sweep along my cheek, and that simple, sweet touch does it.
A fissure rips through me and I spill everything. Jared’s brush-off and how I don’t know what’s wrong or how to fix it. Fix us.
She listens, nodding and guiding me to my bedroom where I change, shivering and frantic words tumbling from me.
Bianca steps into the room. “What’s wrong?”
I turn to her, and Mamá’s annoyance colors her frown. Instead of chastising Bianca, she fills her in.
“Tito told me Jared’s been running with his boy, Ike, and he hasn’t been around much. He’s even blown off the band a few times. Paying band gigs.”
“What?” Messing with the band doesn’t sound like him. He loves playing. “What is he doing? The way we left things…I thought we were okay. How do I get through to him?”
“Sometimes you can’t.” My mother curls up beside me in the bed, softly toweling my damp hair. “Give him time. He is a good boy and cares for you.”
“Sounds like he’s moved on,” Bianca says.
Heart pounding and tears filling my throat, I shake away the thought. School starts in a few days, and if we haven’t talked by then, I’ll corner him in the halls and make him talk to me.
“Get ready for bed. We’ll talk tomorrow about where you were,” Mamá scolds, and my sister does as she’s told.
“Do you think she’s right?” Fear clutches at my heart, hoping Bianca doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
“He could be hurting. I saw him a few times over the summer…” Concern etches her beautiful dark features.
“And?”
Her brown eyes are knowing. “I think he feels you abandoned him.”
My sophomore year starts and the weeks blur together. I still haven’t talked to Jared, and nothing matters to me. Our friendship is done before we even had a chance to be more.
He isn’t at school or not that I can tell. He doesn’t go to the park, and there’s no sneaking out at night. He isn’t even staying at the Garcias’.
Sometimes, the Jeep will be there, the same one he drove the night I returned, but never for long. When I see it, I rush next door despite my father’s warning and beg to speak with him. No matter who answers the door, I’m always told he isn’t there.
Apart from my heart breaking, it’s as if everything goes back to normal. My parents continue to work long hours and Bianca’s world revolves around herself.
Then everything changes.
The unthinkable happens.
Mamá dies on Bianca’s birthday in late October.
The worst day of my life.
If I thought things were bad before, I’m shattered now.
Distraught, Papi goes with my mother’s body when they take her from the house that night. Lucia Bernal, my mother’s dear friend and our neighbor, sits with me because Bianca isn’t here.
My mother went to bed after cake, complaining of a migraine. We’d had a gathering to celebrate Bianca’s birthday. And like most eighteen-year-olds, my sister took the first chance to leave. She lied, saying she was at her best friend’s.
Mamá didn’t look well, her complexion pallid and eyes glassy. Papi fixed her a cold compress and brought her painkillers.
She was dead by ten.
Wretched howls echoed through the walls, waking me. At first, I wondered what was so funny? Papi only laughed like that with Mamá.
But the longer I listened, the more the so-called laughter morphed into soul-crushing sobs. I found my father on his knees, crying into my mother’s neck.
Mamá’s face was near purple.
I screamed, rushing to her side, and Papi held me in his strong, wiry arms. I still didn’t understand she was gone.
Later, my father returns, and I’m in the living room. Mrs. Bernal is passed out on the reclining chair but wakes easily, leaving us alone with our grief.
“Where is Bianca?” He looks around, boneless and weary.
She still isn’t home, and before I can respond, the front door opens. Unaware of how our lives will never be the same, my sister slinks into the house, shrieking when she comes face to face with Papi.
“Where have you been?” There’s a quiet edge to his tone, ready to cut down anything in his path.
Bianca stammers, peering past him and finding only me. Her frantic gaze searches for my mother. If anyone can calm him, it’s her.
I’m numb. Bianca’s in trouble, and in another state of mind I might warn her or cover for her. But I am neither clearheaded nor caring.
“I w-w-was with C-C-arly.”
“It is nearly three in the morning.” His back is taut, arms coiled at his sides. “And you think I don’t know where you were? Your madre is too kind.”
His voice cracks, and he stumbles as if his knees may give way. She steps forward to help him, but it’s like she senses something is off and hesitates.