And where did all these tears come from? What, suddenly I’m a crybaby?
Over the rain I hear Julio talking on the phone in the living room. He’s so happy these days, Julio. All his work is done. All his slaving. Or is it, I wonder? Will the esteemed El Libertador deliver on his promise? Or will he use my parents, my family, as one last way to stick it to me? Everything about him screams malicious. I think back to all the things I said to him, threatened him with. He’ll retaliate somehow, won’t he? How could he not?
It would be wrong of me not to tell Julio. Wrong of me not to warn him. After all, he looks at El Libertador like some sort of earthly savior. It’s disgusting.
I sit up, using my shirt to wipe the tears from my face. I check the mirror on my dresser to make sure I don’t look a mess and find out that I do, in fact, look a mess. But there’s nothing anyone can do about swollen, puffy, dried-up wells for eyes. I lift my chin, and decide that even though I don’t look like I should be taken seriously, it’s still my responsibility to do what I’m about to do.
I make my way down the hall and into the living room where Julio is still on the phone with Mama. They’re discussing which part of the yard they can use to grow a small garden, and they’re talking about bunk beds for Juanita and Hugo.
I can’t bring myself to interrupt. Julio gives me a wide, proud smile when he tells Mama that I’m saving up for a car and how a car will make going to the grocery store much easier. I try not to throw up in my mouth.
When Julio hangs up, I give him a few moments before I destroy his high. “How are Mama and Papi?”
“They’re excited. Selling things they can’t bring with them. Getting Hugo and Juanita used to dry meals.”
The situation is so sad, because they actually think these things are going to happen. It makes what I’ve got to do that much more difficult. But Julio deserves to know the truth. They all do. “I know who El Libertador is, Julio. And he’s a bad man. You can’t trust him.” Lovely. Instead of easing him into the conversation as I’d planned, I go straight for the jugular, straight for confrontation, telling Julio what he can and can’t do—and this from his younger sister.
But I know what I know.
Julio’s nostrils instantly flare. “You know we never did talk about your behavior the other night with El Libertador. I was too angry to tell you how disappointed I was in you. Carlotta, you could have ruined it for us.”
Did he not hear what I just said? Spanish or English, or even a mix of it when I’m mad, Julio understands it all. “I’m trying to tell you something here and you’re still trying to suck up to El Libertador.”
“Watch your mouth, Carlotta. You will treat me with respect.”
I bite back another smart remark because, really, I want to treat Julio with respect. If anyone is the victim here, it’s Julio. Slaving for our parents to bring them over while he could be starting his own life, even his own family. And getting stuck raising his baby sister in the mix of it all. Julio does deserve my respect.
But I deserve his too.
I know Sheriff Moss said not to tell anyone. But I have to. I have to get it out, what happened to me. What I lost. Except the person I lost is exactly who I want to burden this with. Talk it out with. My brother? He’s a distant second choice by miles and miles. Not because I don’t love him and we’re not close in ways, but because Julio is too perfect. He has been a better person than I have from the get-go. He never would have even considered doing the things I’ve done these past couple of months. I can already see the disapproval dripping from his stoic face. He has always been there for me. We have come to rely on each other, he and I.
But this he will not understand.
Of course, it’s not entirely for him to understand. The part that I want to make him understand isn’t why I’ve done all the things I’ve done, it’s what I found out while doing them. That the sheriff and El Libertador are one and the same. And he’s going to royally screw us, I feel it.
And if there is anyone who is the best at keeping secrets, it’s Julio Money-Saving Vega. “Julio, I have a lot to tell you. Will you just sit down please and let me explain?”
I can tell he’s curious, and also sorry that he just scolded me. His remorse will dissipate shortly, I’m sure of it. He gives me a small smile. I’m sure he’s feeling like the savior of the world, being able to talk with Mama about how he’s made enough to bring them over, mostly by himself, and finished raising their child for them. I’ve never seen Julio so relaxed before. So … free.
Should I tell him?
But the answer is yes. It must be yes.
“Would you like a cup of coffee before we sit?” he says, walking the two steps it takes to get from the living room to the kitchen. The coffee is almost ready, and it smells good. But I don’t want any charity from Julio, however small.
We are silent as the coffeemaker spits and spews and huffs the last of its load into the pot. Slowly and with a kind of majestic grace, Julio pours his coffee, leaving it black of course, because he needs no frills and thrills in life. He takes the smallest of sips, savoring it as if it were the gourmet-est of all espressos.
We buy it in bulk from a bent-and-dent warehouse across town.
Julio makes his way back to the living room and sits on the couch next to me, where I’ve settled into the corner and into a mild panic attack. “What do you need to tell me, Carlotta? If it’s about your laptop, I already noticed it doesn’t have the school sticker on it. But I’ve overlooked that, because you deserve a reward every now and then.” Julio wraps both his hands around his mug. “Though I wish you would have asked me. That was a big expense. What if I needed it for groceries?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Wait until he hears what else I’ve done. But first things first. “El Libertador is Sheriff Moss.”
Julio blinks. “What? What do you mean?”
“The sheriff of Houghlin County? The one whose office deported our family three years ago? Yeah, he’s El Libertador.”
Julio sets his mug on the flimsy wood coffee table in front of us. Some of the coffee sloshes out, making a ring around the cup. “You can’t go around saying things like that, Carlotta. What would even make you say such things? If El Libertador finds out—”
“I’ve struck a deal with El Libertador,” I say. Ohmigod. This was supposed to be a delicate conversation. I’m handling this delicate thing as if with a hammer. “He’ll give Mama and Papi safe passage. If I do what he says.”
“No, I’ve struck a deal with El Libertador,” Julio counters. “And if you’ve been talking to him since our meeting, then you’ve been putting my deal in jeopardy.” His brows knit together. Julio’s freedom—the freedom that comes with everything going as planned—was short-lived. Deep down, I mourn the loss of it. Because this conversation isn’t even halfway over. And Julio deserves freedom.
I shut up then, too, because he couldn’t be more right.
I’ve put so much in jeopardy. All for a boy. But Arden’s not just a boy. He’s a piece of me that’s been missing. A vital part of my heart that makes everything else function correctly.
I will never function correctly again.
“I didn’t mean to meet with El Libertador. It’s just that … I’ve been dating someone.”
“You’ve been dating someone, Carlotta? Without telling me? Without asking me?” His hand gestures are all over the place, erratic movements that get speedier the madder he gets. I get somewhat pissed that he’s going to go there. He’s not my father. Technically I don’t have to ask. But our situation is just a little outside the Normal Box. “Who is this boy?”
I swallow. I can’t look him in the eyes when I say, “It’s Sheriff Moss’s son.”
Julio goes quiet. So quiet that I can’t hear his breathing, even though his chest is heaving up and down like a bull focusing in on its next target. “Tell me. Tell me everything. Right now.”
So I do. From the beginning. All of it, no detail spared, except the
extent of the kissing. That’s mine to keep to myself and remember how I want. I don’t want Julio’s opinion tainting what were the best moments of my life.
I tell him about the faux robbery, how I met Arden. I tell him about Arden being the one who actually found me the job at Uppity Rooster. I don’t know why I even bother to paint Arden in a positive light though.
Julio will hate him in about five minutes anyway—if he doesn’t already—just for being the sheriff’s son. And my boyfriend.
I tell him about our little prank spree (I say prank, because really, if we were caught for any of them—except for that last one—we’d get slapped with misdemeanors maybe) and that I secretly cut down on my shifts at the Breeze just for this purpose. And then I tell him about our stupid joyride. The one that ultimately led me to the truth about Sheriff Moss.
And I tell him about the deal I struck with the sheriff in the interrogation room of the county jail with the only camera in the room under repair.
And Julio says nothing. He says nothing for a long time. I stay quiet too. I’m giving his temper space to breathe. I feel the malevolence expand into the room and settle in. The furious energy in here could be picked up on thermal energy radar.
“Julio, we can’t trust the sheriff.” I say it as gently as possible. Before my eyes, Julio has turned from a free spirit to a chained and shackled vassal again. And I’m the reason for it.
But these are things that need to be said. Sheriff Moss will find some way to screw us over. I know it. I’ve made a dark enemy out of that man. This won’t end well for us. We are the ones who stand the most to lose, and lose we will.
“There is no other way, Carlotta,” Julio says finally, defeated.
“Maybe we could just keep sending Mama and Papi money. American dollars buys them a lot in Mexico. They should be living pretty well. Better than us, actually. We could just send them a monthly allowance or—”
Julio’s eyes are wide, accusing. “They are our parents, Carlotta Jasmine Vega. They belong with us. We are a family.”
“Don’t yell at me, Julio. I know you’re mad. And I get why, and I’m sorry. So sorry. But there’s got to be another way. We’ve got to remove El Libertador from the equation somehow.”
“We’ve already made the deal with El Libertador. We’ve already paid him. We’ve already put that trust in him.” He sits up straight then, and looks me in the eyes. “Which is a better place for my trust to be than with you, I see.”
Wow. That hurt worse than I was anticipating. And I didn’t realize how badly this conversation was going to fail. He’s not listening to me at all. Just accusing me and blaming me. El Libertador is still a saint, whose only misfortune was to have to deal with me. In Julio’s eyes, I’ve shifted from hardworking little sister to the lowest scum on the earth. It’s all over his face. I stand up from the couch and take a few steps back, toward my room. This is where the conversation needs to end, I’m sure of it.
“Julio, I can’t do this anymore,” I say softly. “If El Libertador—Sheriff Moss—screws us over … I can’t … I won’t … I’m not helping out anymore.”
Julio’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “You think I need your help? Look at the kind of ‘help’ you’ve given me. Look at what you’ve done. And now you’re saying you won’t do what it takes to fix your mistakes?”
A tear slips down my cheek. “I shouldn’t have done any of it to begin with. I shouldn’t have worked myself to death. Mama and Papi had their chance, Julio, and they got caught. If they wanted to come back to the US, they should have found a way. We should not have been their meal ticket.” Everything about the way I was raised screams at me to shut up. Did I really just say these things out loud?
“Meal ticket? Is that what this Arden teaches you?”
No. That’s all mine. But he has taught me how to have fun. That it’s important to have fun. But I won’t tell that to Julio. Mostly because he still doesn’t see that we are the ones who’ve turned into the indentured servants. It’s not like we can ever get back these years that we’ve lost working our butts off to get our parents here.
But is fun more important than family? Of course not. Have I been treating it like it is? I’m afraid of the answer. But having fun isn’t wrong. Being with Arden isn’t wrong. Is it?
It’s like I don’t know who I am now. Like I’ve lost my identity in the mix of all this.
“It’s Mama and Papi’s fault they got deported,” I tell Julio. “They weren’t being careful enough. It is their responsibility to take care of us, not the other way around.” These things are all true, but it feels wrong to say it.
Am I betraying my family or have they betrayed me?
Slowly he shakes his head. “You are not my sister. Get out. Get all of your things and get out. You no longer live here.”
I didn’t see that coming. Not at all.
“Julio, please. Please just listen to me.”
“I’ve heard enough. More than enough. Be out by tonight.”
Twenty-Six
Arden adjusts the telescope in his room to look for Orion’s belt. The night is clear and the luminaries are crisp, begging to be observed. Orion is one of his favorite constellations because it’s the first one he found on his own, without Amber’s help. He’s almost got the lens in focus when his phone rings. By the ring tone, he knows it’s Uncle Cletus.
“I’m coming bright and early in the morning, old man,” Arden says, tightening the knob for the lens. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”
“I swear you came out of your mama’s womb talking, didn’t you, boy? That’s not what I’m calling about. It’s Carly.”
The name is like a physical blow to Arden’s stomach. He’d been trying to forget that name, to somehow lift the mark it made on his heart. But his heart still jumps at the sound of it. “What about Carly? Is she okay?”
“She came clean with Julio about all she’s been doing with you and about your little cop-car adventure. He kicked her out. She’s staying with me now.”
Arden presses his forehead against the telescope. Julio kicked her out. That idiot. She’s only sixteen. Still in school. Trying her hardest to do what’s right. And he hauls off and kicks her out. And whose fault is that? he tells himself. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened. “If she stays with you, I can’t come over anymore. I told you what Dad said. If he sees us even remotely near each other, Carly’s family is screwed.”
“I know that, boy. That’s why I’m calling you and telling you that I no longer need your services on the weekends. Carly’s going to help me out around the house while she’s here. But you don’t step foot on my property, Arden. Not until Carly gets on her feet and finds her own place. You two don’t need any unexpected run-ins with your pa. You know that’s what’s best, don’t you?”
Arden nods into the phone. It’s what’s best, but it’s the complete opposite of what he wants. He wants to drop everything and speed over there and enfold her in his arms and apologize for ruining her life and beg her forgiveness and kiss her until she does. Walking past her in the halls at school is like walking past his own happiness in human form.
“Tell her … Tell her…”
“There’s not much to tell her, son,” Cletus says gently. “I suspect telling her anything would just torture you both, don’t you reckon?”
Arden sighs. “Yeah.”
“Listen, she won’t want for nothing while she’s here. She tried to give me rent money but I wouldn’t take it. She’s saving up to get her own place, and a car. I’m letting her borrow my truck to take to work. I never did like her riding her bike all alone at night anyways.” A pause. “She wants to cook me breakfast in the mornings, and do my laundry and such. Earn her keep. It don’t feel right, if you ask me. That little girl’s been through so much already.”
“Better let her, though,” Arden says. “She hates feeling like a charity case.”
“That’s what I figured. Pride sticks to that girl li
ke a skinny tick.”
“You’re a good old man, Cletus. No matter what the rumors say.”
“And you’re still my favorite pain in the neck. I just got a few things going on right now. You’ll call me if you need anything, won’t you, boy?”
What I need is staying at your house, washing your flannel shirts, and frying you up some eggs and bacon every morning. “Of course.”
Arden can hear his dad stomping up the stairs. “I’ve got to go. The emperor is home.”
“Alright, son. Talk at you later.”
Arden hangs up just in time for the sheriff to swing open the bedroom door. He paces the room, inspecting the closet, and looking under the bed for potential hiding spots. Not many places for someone to hide in here, but the sheriff is thorough.
“Did you misplace your sense again, Sheriff?” Arden drawls, twisting a knob on his telescope. “You could try the hamper.”
His father eases up to where Arden sits in the recliner. “Who were you talking to on the phone just then?”
“Uncle Cletus.”
The sheriff extends his hand out. “Give it to me.”
Arden gives it to him without a fight. He’s got nothing to hide.
His father scrolls through the numbers. “What’d you talk to Cletus about?”
Arden shrugs. “He doesn’t need my help tomorrow. Calling to tell me so.”
“Good. Because from now on, you have football practice on Saturdays. I talked to Coach Nelson today. You’re back on the team. Quarterback. It’s like you never left.”
Arden stands so fast the recliner rocks violently behind his legs. “I said I would go to him when I was ready.”
“I’ve decided that you’re ready. See how easy it is for me to get things done, Arden? One phone call, and you’re back on the team. One phone call, and that girl’s parents are—”
“Fine,” Arden says, crossing his arms. “It’s fine. Put me back on the team. Anything else I can do for you, Sheriff?”