What else could Arden be wrong about?
Julio does as he’s told. “I apologize,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” I think he really means it. I think everyone means it when they’ve got a gun pointed at them.
“Shut up.”
It occurs to me then that there’s nothing stopping the sheriff from killing my brother at this point. He has the cash. The only witness that Julio was ever there is the cab driver—someone who’s undoubtedly in the sheriff’s back pocket. To El Libertador’s knowledge, it would be a long time before anyone ever found Julio’s body.
I don’t want to watch my brother die.
The sheriff reaches out, taking several big steps toward us. “Give me your necklace.”
Everything goes dark.
Thirty-Two
Carly won’t come out of the bathroom. Arden can hear her quiet sobs from the other side of the door. “Carly, I’m so sorry, but we have to go. Dad could be home anytime now.”
“Let him come!” Carly shouts. “I’ll kill him!”
“You don’t know that he did anything.” Of course, nobody knows whether he did either. At this point, Arden doesn’t know what to expect from his father. He never suspected he’d be the one smuggling immigrants over the border in the first place. What else don’t I know? Is he dirty too, like Pardue? Does Mom know about any of it?
But the important thing is, they didn’t hear the gun go off. All they heard was scuffling. It could mean anything. Julio still could have gotten away.
The black screen on his laptop isn’t telling.
“He pulled a gun on my brother! He deported my family, Arden! My. Family. Your dad is psycho. Psicópata!”
Arden presses his forehead against the door. “Carly, please. We need to head for Cletus’s house. That’s our rally point, remember? And if Julio doesn’t show, Cletus will know what to do.”
What he doesn’t want to tell her is that they don’t even have enough evidence on his father. He never took his mask off. Arden has talked enough with Deputy Glass to know what is and is not conclusive evidence. And what they have isn’t it. Especially considering who they’re accusing.
His father could sweep all this under his network of rugs.
Just then, he hears a noise from behind him. He doesn’t want to turn around. He knows who makes that sound to clear his throat. This can’t be happening.
Sheriff Dwayne Moss.
Thirty-Three
The sound of the sheriff’s voice pulls me from my self-loathing trance. The actual words send my thoughts chasing after one another on a muddled crash course. I clutch my head in my hands, just in case I’m losing it.
“I’ll have a number one, super size, no drink,” the sheriff says.
What?
“Carly! Come here,” Arden hisses. I nearly break my nose flinging open the bathroom door and stumble into his bedroom. In the dark, Arden’s face shows pale in the laptop light. He gives me a grim look.
“What’s happening?” I throw myself on the bed and peer into the screen. The camera is facing the driver’s seat of a car—the sheriff’s driver’s seat. He must have kept the necklace.
Of course he did. He kept all traces that Julio was ever there. And … is he ordering dinner after just murdering my brother?
“Carly,” Arden says. “That’s our evidence. It ties him to the whole thing. Look. There’s the mask next to him in the seat. We’ve got him.”
I nod, breathless. “But where is Julio?” Because this whole scheme doesn’t mean anything if Julio doesn’t come with it. It wasn’t worth the risk. Wasn’t worth the danger. Stupid, stupid.
Arden’s lips press into a thin line. “I don’t know. But look where he’s at. That restaurant is five minutes tops from here. We have to go. Now.”
* * *
The drive to Cletus’s house is the longest I’ve ever been on. My stomach fizzes with churning bile. My foot bounces uncontrollably. If I wasn’t clasping my own hands so tightly together, they’d be shaking.
Please be there, Julio. Please.
“It’s going to be okay,” Arden says, putting a hand on my knee. But the usual Arden Moss confidence is missing from the words. Before I turn away, I catch a glimpse of panic in his eyes. He’s looking at the road ahead of us. “There’s my dad. Get down!”
I curl myself into a ball in the floorboard, pressing myself under the dash and making myself as small as possible. The sand and general smell of feet invade my nose, sending the urge to sneeze to every nerve in my body. A whimper escapes me. I’m glad his dad drives a car instead of a truck so he has to look up to talk to Arden. This whole hiding thing would be easier if I wasn’t shaking like an earthquake, causing a plastic grocery bag in the floorboard to tremble with me.
Arden gives me a warning “shhh.” The truck slows to a halt. I hear Arden rolling down his window. Hear him turn down the radio. I want to open the door and run. I want to open the door and strangle the sheriff. I want to open the door and see Julio in the backseat of his car, alive and well.
I want to confront the world and hide from it at the same time.
I stay scrunched up in place.
“What’s up?” Arden says casually.
“Where are you going, boy?”
“Cletus’s house.” Why would Arden tell him where we’re going ohmigod.
“For what?”
“Old man says he has a hot nurse. Wants me to check her out. Why all this father-of-the-year concern? You feeling okay?”
“Be home by twelve.”
“I’ll think about it.” I guess an answer like “yes, sir” would have made the sheriff suspicious. Arden really does have a gift for BS. He doesn’t give his dad time to respond. He steps on the gas and the truck jolts forward. When it does, I puke on his feet.
Thirty-Four
“She doesn’t like tea,” Arden tells Cletus.
“She doesn’t have to like it,” his uncle says, lifting and lowering a tea bag in a steaming mug of hot water. “It’ll settle her stomach.”
“She thinks Dad killed Julio.” Arden hopes Cletus can discern the question he’s really asking here.
Apparently, he can. “No way. Your pa’s too chicken.” The old man picks up a slice of lemon and violently squeezes it into the cup.
“Well, if you tried to tell me he was too good of a man, I might not have believed you. But that makes me feel a little better.” Arden taps his fingers on the kitchen island and shifts his weight on the barstool. “Why do you think he kept the necklace? He hates gold chains.”
“Pure greed, if you ask me.”
This all sounds too good to be true. “You don’t think he suspected a wire?” He glances at the servant’s stairwell. Carly has been showering and changing clothes for a solid half hour.
Cletus sighs. “You have to be able to look at things from his point of view. As far as he’s concerned, someone like Julio isn’t capable of pulling off this kind of thing. He’s overconfident, you see.”
“So where is Julio?”
“Hopefully laying low.”
Arden shakes his head. “Just seems like he would have called by now.”
“Has she tried his cell phone?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
“Then how do you suppose he would have called?”
This conversation is too practical for all the emotions Arden is feeling right now. Because what if something really did happen to Julio? How will I ever help her through this?
He remembers what it felt like to lose Amber. He remembers sitting in his room after the funeral while people passed around tissue boxes downstairs. Made themselves plates of food, in honor of his dead sister, who was a stranger to most of them. Hundreds of people showed up. Big names, bigger names, names that meant nothing to Arden and wouldn’t have meant anything to Amber. People Arden didn’t know and didn’t care to know introduced themselves to him at the funeral home, offering condolences or funny anecdotes about her early childhood,
when she appeared normal. The preacher extolled all the many admirable qualities of Amber Moss—an impressive feat, considering he’d never met her. At the time, Arden wasn’t sure what could be worse than having your funeral attended by a bunch of gain-seeking posers.
Now he knows what’s worse: having to attend Julio’s funeral with Carly. Especially if it was my own father who killed Julio.
He’s not sure one human being can actually help another human being overcome something like this. He’s not sure he’s qualified to be that person for Carly, either.
And how will I deal with it myself? Amber’s death broke him. This, though? This will destroy him—and anything left of a relationship he could have had with his dad. Sometimes bridges can be mended, holes can be patched up. Maybe one day, when they’re both old, they could find a way to reconcile over Amber. But this? No way. Never.
Outside, it begins to rain on the tin roof of the back porch. In the distance, thunder claps, rumbling through the old kitchen like a guttural groan. “Got a leak out there,” Cletus says, oblivious to the hole Arden is digging inside himself. “Need you to come fix it this weekend.” He shuffles to the cabinet then, dragging his small oxygen tank on wheels behind him.
Both of them jump when the back screen door opens, then slams shut; the sound of wet footsteps resound through the storm room. Cletus and Arden lean forward, as if doing so will give them a better look at the person heading their way. Arden swears he hears the heavy clod of boots, and wonders whether it was the right thing to tell his father where he was going. Surely he isn’t checking up on him in person, not when a simple phone call would suffice.
Carly is just upstairs. He has no time to warn her. She could appear any second and—
Julio steps into the light of the kitchen, soaking wet.
Thirty-Five
I can barely wrap my arms around the box. It’s heavy and the edge of it digs into my belly, but since I only have to carry it a small distance, I decide to suck it up and go with it. In Arden’s living room I pass Cletus, who’s sitting in an elegant leather recliner, looking groggy.
I stop and peer down at him. “You okay?” I ask, letting the box slide down so I can get a better look. I still worry that he’ll have a relapse, a second stroke or something, and that it will finish him off. But so far, so good. He doesn’t even need in-home health care anymore. He can shuffle around his house without getting too out of breath, and he swears he does his physical therapy exercises every day.
I’ll bet.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Girl, you’ve got bigger things to worry about than old Cletus. Now go about your business.”
“Must be exhausting, to oversee such a huge project like this,” I tease as I use my knee to push the box back up into my arms. Cletus isn’t able to help much with preparing the giant yard sale Arden’s mom suddenly decided to spring on us. But I know if he could, he would jump at the chance to be the first one to move the sheriff’s things out of this house.
“She should just throw it all in the trash, if you ask me,” he mutters. “That’s what I would do.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back, dismissing me.
I laugh and carry on.
Arden meets me halfway through the dining room. “Let me get that,” he says. “That thing’s bigger than you are.”
“I got it,” I tell him, maneuvering past him.
“Duro,” Arden says. He actually nailed the pronunciation that time.
“Your online class already taught you how to say ‘stubborn’? I thought you were still learning how to say ‘I am not a penguin.’” His Spanish classes are definitely paying off though. When I talk to Mama on the phone, he picks up bits and pieces of what we’re saying.
We’ve still got a few months until we visit them in Mexico. Arden was hesitant to come at first, because he wanted to give us some alone time with our family. But Julio insisted. I’m still shocked about that fact, actually.
Otherwise, I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. To hug Mama and Papi again. To finally meet Juanita and Hugo. I’ve already got a stash of candy for them I’m taking with me on the plane.
Arden shrugs. “I looked up how to say ‘stubborn’ on my own. Seems like an essential word to have in my vocabulary, with you as my girlfriend and all. And some cuss words too. You never know when those could come in handy.”
“If you cuss in front of Mama she’ll make you eat ghost peppers.”
Arden gives me a dramatic cringe and grabs a stack of his dad’s clothes that were draped on the dining room table. He follows behind me, out into the garage. “What if your parents don’t like me?” He keeps his voice low; his mother is standing about ten feet away, sorting through a box of what looks like hunting gear.
I watch her for a moment, appreciating the peaceful expression on her face. She looks older than I imagined her to be, with thin, wispy blond hair and bags under eyes, but I suppose she’s been through a lot. Really, she’s still going through a lot. She’s been turning the house upside down these past weeks, declaring it the filthiest house in the South. The truth is, she’s not cleaning so much as she’s been removing everything in the house that belonged to Dwayne Moss. She’s already sold his truck, and even repainted their bedroom. Arden says she hasn’t had this much gumption since before Amber died. We have a theory, Arden and I: The sheriff infused this house with his presence, like black mold, and his mother is trying to remove all traces of it.
And we’re happy to help.
I set the box down on the garage floor and extract the suits and dress shirts from Arden’s arms, placing them on a pile of other clothes. Then I pull him to me, taking his face in my hands. “They’ll love you. They already do. You’re their hero.”
“But all I did was get you in trouble. Julio is the real hero.”
“You went against your dad, Arden, to do what’s right. Family is a big deal in our culture. You risked losing yours to help us. That means a lot to them.”
“And you mean everything to me.” He lowers his mouth to mine but I only allow a tiny peck. I’ve met his mother just a handful of times since Arden’s father was arrested, and I don’t want to overstep my bounds with her. She seems to like me though. And I want to keep it that way.
“We’ve got reporters,” his mom says behind us.
The story of the sheriff’s deceit rocked not just the insignificant boundaries of Houghlin County, but it reached far beyond. Julio’s picture is still being flashed alongside the sheriff’s across major news channels as they talk about immigration issues.
The sheriff’s activities sparked a media wildfire. On my brand-new, unlisted cell phone I get call after call for an interview. Sometimes the reporters are mean. Sometimes they offer to pay me. Sometimes they act like I owe them the interview. They do the same things to Arden and his mother.
We’ve caused a scandal ourselves, what with the two of us openly dating. America wants our story. The story of two Florida kids who came together under unlikely circumstances, then helped bring down the ringleader of a very lucrative human-smuggling business. I can see the movie trailer for it now. And they better pick someone good-looking—and legit Latina—to play me.
Investigation after investigation has opened up against the sheriff’s office in connection with Julio’s allegations. Already, more and more witnesses have stepped forward, claiming to have information against the sheriff, against El Libertador. The FBI is involved, and Homeland Security. This should impress me, I know, but what I feel is that this is happening to someone else, and not to me and Julio and Arden.
People who call themselves experts debate on live television whether or not the laws should be tightened on undocumented immigrants, on whether or not Julio was in the right, on whether or not this will affect the president’s policy on the matter. The president of the United States likely knows my name.
Me, the quiet one.
Arden groans. “The No Trespassing signs are up everywhere. They step foot in the yard, you tell me.??
?
His mother nods. “Looks like they’re just filming us. I wonder if they would air it if I flipped them the bird.” Underneath that fragile exterior of hers, I can see how she and Cletus are related.
Arden chuckles. “Only one way to find out.”
And so she does.
Epilogue
Arden pulls into the dirt driveway of Carly and Julio’s trailer. He’s early, he knows, but he’s brought breakfast because he knows how chaotic the airport can be. They have two connections on the way to Mexico, but grabbing a bite in between could be tricky—and who knows what the food choices will be like. Besides, his mother baked them a breakfast casserole and he’s determined not to let her efforts go to waste.
He knocks on the door and is greeted by Julio, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Buenos dias, Arden. Los osos comen pan?”
Arden laughs. “No, the bears do not eat bread.” Julio has been testing him these past few weeks, speaking to him only in Spanish—and trying to trip him up at every chance.
“Carlotta is in her bedroom,” Julio says in Spanish, talking slowly so Arden can understand.
“Gracias,” Arden says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “Mi madre cocidó el desayuno.” He’s not sure if that’s exactly right, but Julio gets the idea.
“Muy bien.”
Arden heads down the narrow hallway, his shoulders rubbing on either side of the wood-paneled walls. He finds Carly sitting on her overstuffed suitcase, trying to zip it up. “We’re not moving down there, are we?” Arden asks, pulling her up. He plants a small kiss on her lips, then sets to work on her suitcase. “This can’t all be clothes, Carly.”
She crosses her arms. “Of course not. There are shoes in there too.”
But secretly he’s glad she has so many clothes. When they first met, she wore the same outfit at least twice a week. It’s refreshing to see her indulge in something for herself every once in a while. To act like a normal teenage girl.
“Can I ask you something, and you answer it honestly?” she says, sitting on the bed next to the suitcase.