“Not Araceli,” I said. “The motorcycle. Valentina.”
He waved me off and slumped back on the couch. “Valentina doesn’t have a motorcycle. She’s too young.”
Our kitchen was a war zone to match our yard—black holes and gutted walls around the stove, broken dishes on the counter. I poked around the house and opened the rest of the windows, turned the fans to full blast, splashed my face with cold water at the bathroom sink. I wanted to crawl into bed, wake up later to the news that this whole thing was a dream.
But I knew it wasn’t, and I couldn’t leave Papi alone again.
“You want something to drink?” I asked when I got back to the living room. “Lemonade? Maté?”
He shook his head, but his eyes were fixed on the wall over the television, scanning the photos that had hung there for all eternity, now complete with labels.
DAUGHTER LOURDES, ROAD TEST.
DAUGHTER MARIPOSA, HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION.
DAUGHTER ARACELI, COLLEGE GRADUATION.
DAUGHTER JUDE, SMILING.
Smiling. I was, too. It was summer; I was maybe ten. I’d just caught a fish, a rainbow trout, and I held it up to the camera with pride.
There was no real sound in our house now. Only the soft whir of the fans and a stack of magazines on the hall table fluttering in the breeze and the endlessly ticking grandfather clock. Even Pancake was subdued, curled up silently at Papi’s feet.
I sat down next to Papi again and looped my pinkie finger in his. I wanted him so badly to joke about this. Or to freak out and yell at me to clean it up before Mom got home, or even to start ranting about that treasure again.
But he sagged on the couch and squinted at the wall, breathing heavy through his mouth, trying desperately to memorize the pictures of the girls he’d one day—soon—forget.
Chapter 29
For all Mom’s dislike of strangers at the house, the place had seen more strangers in four days than it had in my entire life. Strange people. Strange voices. Strange boot prints. Strange mouths on our blue coffee mugs, strange hands on the cold empanadas and medialunas, strange fingers dipping pastries in the dulce de leche Lourdes had sent. Susana prepared a feast for us too, sent it over with Emilio, and now the Vargas and Hernandez family food mingled on the dining room table in foil-wrapped dishes.
You’d think we were having a party, a celebration, but it was nothing like that. It hardly felt like home anymore, and with every bang of the hammer and whirl of the drill on the kitchen walls, my heart fractured a little more.
Emilio and Samuel knew a guy, and the three of them had shown up this morning to put the kitchen back together, Emilio and Samuel working on the walls while the other guy handled the wiring and hooked up the new stove. Mom had left me cash for everything—labor, supplies. She didn’t want to deal with it face-to-face.
After everything I’d said to Papi the other day, neither did I. Emilio tried to talk to me in his soft, gentle tone, as if we were at a funeral, as if I were made of glass. He was patient, he was amazing, but whenever I looked into his eyes I saw my own shame, and my mouth filled with dust and I couldn’t speak.
Now I set out a fresh pot of Dark Moon blend with some of Celi’s mugs—birds, these three had. A matched set. I fixed myself a plate of Susana’s home-cooked favorites: fried plantains, some chicken thing, rice and beans, pasteles. I wasn’t hungry, but I hadn’t had a hot meal since the stove got destroyed, and everything smelled so good, so I heaped on as much as I could and slipped out the still-broken kitchen door with an overloaded plate and a hungry dog.
Please drop something, please oh please oh please, I love pasteles! I love everything! This is better than bunnies! Wait, bunnies? BUNNIES! And he was off, leaving me alone in the barn with a taste of the island and a view of the bike we’d worked on all summer.
Valentina gleamed as if she’d just rolled off the assembly line. Yesterday Emilio added a set of white leather saddlebags trimmed with fringe—Papi had covertly ordered them from Duke the day he’d wandered off to get ice cream. They were the final accessory, and after Emilio had finished putting them on, it was dark outside and Papi was asleep and I stood in the shadows of the barn, watching him polish the red Harley-Davidson logo on the gas tank with a soft cloth.
After all that, he packed up his tools. Valentina was completely restored.
Unlike my father.
I’d failed him, watched the light in his eyes go out after the fire. And now I sat in the barn looking at his prized possession, his Valentina, thinking about everything that had changed, everything that would end.
“What are you thinking about?” Emilio showed up a few minutes later with Pancake, both of them covered in sawdust, their eyes shining through the dirt.
I thought I’d wanted to be alone, but seeing him again in the barn, in the space that had somehow become ours, my heart rose.
“Endings. Life. Time machines.” I smiled. As usual, there was no judgment in his tone, no scorn. There was no need to avoid him earlier, and now I was glad he’d found me. “You know, fun stuff.”
“Can’t be as fun as watching Samuel tell an electrician how to install an outlet. Talk about good times.” Emilio sat next to me on the bench. “El jefe still lyin’ low?”
“They drove to Denver yesterday. Mari’s back from New York, and Lourdes and Celi flew into DIA this morning.” I poked at the chicken on my plate. After the fire my sisters booked the first flights they could find, no more long-range planning or procrastinating. “Mom thought Papi could use a day away. They’re all on their way back now.”
Papi didn’t want to be here for the kitchen work. He was mortified—Mom told me as much. He still didn’t remember how the fire started, only that it was his fault. I was certain he remembered the aftermath though: the firemen. The smell. Emilio staying with him after I flipped out.
He hadn’t looked me in the eyes since.
I tried to shovel in some food, but it was useless. I set the plate on the ground and let Pancake go to town.
“Valentina . . . she’s perfect, you know? Like new. And I know it sounds stupid, and totally illogical, but part of me wished . . . I don’t know.” I looked into Emilio’s caramel eyes for the first time in forever. “Papi remembered so much about that bike. I thought if we fixed it, somehow it would fix him, too.”
I never wanted to believe them—my sisters, the doctors, Mom, all the research and the websites—but they were right. The bike couldn’t fix Papi. It was blind hope, a daydream that never stood a chance anywhere but in the softest part of my heart. If motorcycles—or any object from a person’s past—could cure this thing, it would no longer exist. People would unearth their family treasures, polish up the old jewels, bring their loved ones back from the moon.
“It’s not stupid, Jude. You love him.” Emilio leaned in closer, ran his hand over my hair. “You did so much for him this summer. You’re not a doctor, okay? And I don’t know your sisters. But anyone can see how happy you make him. Every single day, you make him smile.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, admiring Valentina while Pancake scarfed down Susana’s food. Far away and muffled, the drills and hammers continued their incessant march.
“We’re almost done in there.” Emilio tucked a loop of the hair behind my ear. “Just have to attach the new door frame. After that I’m not doing anything. You wanna go for a ride? Mango shakes or something?”
“I should wait for my sisters,” I said. “Maybe in a few days when things settle down?”
“Jude . . .” Emilio brushed a layer of sawdust from his shorts. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
The words, soft as they were, dropped into my stomach like river stones. I knew it was coming, knew it was on the near horizon. He’d take the road and find some wild, beautiful place that time hadn’t touched, and he’d leave this summer behind, our ride up the mountain pass, our lips pressed together under the sky. He’d ride all the way to the sea, like he’d planned, and by the time he heard the ocean, I??
?d be a memory.
It was another inevitable good-bye, and I thought I’d prepared for it. But now there was a giant hole inside me, a black space that already missed him, edging its way toward my heart.
“My offer still stands, princesa,” he whispered. He stared at my face as if he were trying to memorize it, as if he already knew my answer. “I meant what I said. I want you to come with me.”
I’d promised Emilio I’d think about his invitation, give it serious consideration. And I had, only now it felt more like pie-in-the-sky dreaming. Back then I still believed Papi might get his last ride. I still thought my sisters would postpone their visit and, by extension, the genetic test that would confirm which of us was bound to Papi’s legacy. I thought I’d have time to outrun it, to slip away in the middle of the night while the demon looked the other way.
But now I knew the truth. None of us had time. Time had us.
“You took good care of Papi this summer,” I said. “Me too. I’ll never forget it.” The last part was a whisper, a breeze. “I really wanted to go with you. I wanted to see all those places, all the thumbtacks on your map.”
Emilio’s eyebrow rose. He finally nailed it, perfect, and it sent a jolt right through my heart. “You were in my room, huh?”
I smiled despite the sadness. “Maybe.”
“I knew you were a stalker.”
“No,” I said. “Just . . . okay. Kind of stalkerish. Your mother was in there with me. Um, part of the time.”
“Like that makes it better.” Emilio laughed, but soon his dimples faded and he reached for my hand, wrapped his fingers around mine. “You’re gonna say no, aren’t you?”
“I can’t go with you.”
His eyes clouded, dimples totally vanished. “You going to the Dunes, then? With Zoe and them?”
A ground squirrel scampered across a rafter. I turned my face toward the sound. He was fast, a little beige blur against the old wood.
“Christina,” I said. “Zoe called me after the fire. That fireman, Jeff? He’s her brother. He told her what happened. She said I needed to go with them, get my mind off everything.”
Before the fire, Zoe and I hadn’t spoken since the Alice in Wonderland preview, and she was worried about me, she’d said. Hated that we’d been apart all summer. She wanted us to make up for lost time on the road, put all the awkward stuff behind us before we left for college.
“Sand Dunes is a cool place.” Emilio tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but I sensed it anyway, sharpening the edges of his words. He kicked at the dirt floor with the back of his work boot. “I been there once. You’ll like it. Good for pictures.”
I scanned his face, the full curve of his lips, the scar on his chin. “I told her no. I’m not going. It didn’t feel right, not after everything this summer.”
His eyes widened and he grabbed my hand. “So come with me. We could—”
“My sisters will be here tonight. I need to deal with all this family stuff. See what they decide about Papi.”
“I don’t have to leave this week,” Emilio said. “We could let your sisters get settled, see how things look later this month?”
His smile was full of hope, but it was fragile and fleeting, not strong enough to climb over all the boulders in our path. Later meant more discussions and arguments and painful choices about Papi’s care, about the fate of the four Hernandez sisters, about Mom. Later meant me facing the reality of college, packing up my life, moving on, growing up, starting a new chapter.
Either way, Emilio and I would have to say good-bye.
I laced my fingers through his. “You can’t wait on me forever. You have to go. For Danny, like you promised.”
Emilio watched me with deep, intense eyes, full of fire, full of possibility. I waited for him to invite me again, to insist that I come with him, to tell me that nothing ever meant anything until he met me. I waited for him to grab me by the shoulders and push me against the wall, to smother my mouth with his, to swallow all the protests and doubts.
I wanted him to kiss me and make me believe it all again, to say that he wanted nothing if not to take me on his motorcycle, to ride all the way to the sea.
Maybe I would’ve said yes, if he’d asked one more time.
Maybe I would’ve left immediately, jumped on the back of that bike and never looked back.
But he didn’t ask again, and when I wrapped my arms around him, he pressed his lips to my forehead, lingered for an eternity. When he finally pulled away, I looked into his eyes and smiled.
He squeezed my hand, whispered my name.
My heart fluttered.
My heart aches.
To feel it.
To deny it.
Life.
Death.
Possibilities.
Endings.
Chapter 30
The Holy Trinity had arrived. A blessing and a curse, as it had always been with my sisters.
I’d been hiding in the barn, waiting until they unloaded the luggage and cleared all the small talk. My heart was still raw from this afternoon, from watching Emilio test the kitchen door one last time, pack up his tools, start up his motorcycle. I’d memorized the smell of his leather jacket, the feel of his lips on my skin, the way the bike’s deep rumble rattled through my chest. I’d archived it all, replayed it a hundred times to be sure, because he’d be gone tomorrow, a new life on the road.
I’d given him no reason to wait. I had to let him go.
Now, as I walked up toward the house, a dull ache throbbed with every step.
Lourdes, Celi, and Mari were in the dining room with my parents, chatter floating out through the window like little birds. They were playing the “everything’s gonna be okay” game. In this round, they passed around Mom’s empanadas, fresh from the new oven, and poured Malbec that Lourdes had brought from their winery in Mendoza.
I leaned against the side of the house and listened, let their laughter seep into my heart. This is how I wanted to remember us. Happy. Carefree. Together. Unbroken. I let it fill me up, imprint on my memories. If I was lucky, when the demon struck, it would let this one be.
I slipped inside. Tiptoed through the kitchen, air still scented with smoke and fresh sawdust, things ruined and rebuilt. I stopped in the dining room doorway before anyone noticed. They looked different in person than they had on Skype. Lourdes was tan and fresh faced, her dark hair gleaming. Celi looked more like her each year, and now they had the same hair, long and full like mine. Mari sat between my parents, and both of them looked happy too, eyes shining, the mood deceptively light.
“Welcome home,” I said.
“Juju! Where were you?” My sisters squealed in unison and pulled me into a group hug, and I marveled again at the miracle.
For the first time in five years, all four Hernandez sisters were together under our Blackfeather roof. All four of us were home.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to say good-bye.
Mom sat across from me at the kitchen table after she’d tucked Papi into bed, her hands wrapped around one of Celi’s bird mugs. She’d replaced her usual late night maté with coffee.
“Papi’s not well,” she said. “Juju, you have done wonders for him this summer, mi amor. But he’s . . . Very soon he’ll need professional care.”
From the chair next to me, Mari reached under the table and found my hand.
“Home care is too expensive,” Lourdes told me. That’s how it felt, as if she were telling me, as if they’d already had this discussion without me. “It’s not really an option for us.”
I knew this conversation would happen, but now that I was in the middle of it, everything felt surreal and twisted, and beneath the table, my legs trembled. “So we let him get worse? Ignore him?”
“No, Juju,” Celi said.
Mom pulled a letter from beneath her place mat. “We’re not ignoring him, querida. Never.”
I took the paper from her hands, but as soon as I saw the letterhead
, I knew what it meant.
Transitions.
It was a welcome letter.
They’d already made the arrangements.
“It’s a nice place, Juju,” Mom said. “Top-notch. And they have excellent financial assistance. It’s right near my hospital. I’ll go every day on lunch hour, after work. You can see him too, whenever you want.”
I squeezed Mari’s hand, crushed it under the table, waiting for her to put up a fight. To jump up and knock over her chair and convince Mom and Lourdes we’d find some way to keep him home. But she just frowned at me, big and compassionate, and then it hit me.
“You knew,” I whispered. “All this time . . .” The rest of the pieces clicked into place, a picture emerging from the broken haze. I pulled out of Mari’s grasp. “All you guys knew.”
“You’re going off to college,” Mom said. “It’s not safe for Papi to stay here alone. Home care is too expensive.”
“What about your retirement money?” I asked.
“I went over the statements.” Lourdes thumbed through a pile of paperwork spread out on the table. “They can’t dip into the retirement accounts without penalties since Papi’s so young. Even if they liquidated some of their other investments, it wouldn’t be enough. Not long term. And where would that leave Mom?”
“Use my college money,” I said. “I can take out more loans.”
Celi sighed. “No, Juju. Anyway, it’s not enough.”
“It’s like, tens of thousands—”
“Celi’s right,” Lourdes said. “We’d burn through it fast. Transitions is the best option.”
“But Papi—”
“Papi knows what’s best too. It’s what he wants.” Mom tried to be firm, but her voice was weary, as if the weight of one more decision would break her. “The best thing we can do now is live. Live your life, Juju. Make your college plans. See your friends. That’s your life, querida. It’s important to Papi that you enjoy it.”
“This is my life,” I said. “You guys. And Papi.”
“Don’t be upset,” Celi said, clearly upset. She kept blowing her nose on a napkin. “We still have time with him. This probably won’t happen right away—we could be talking weeks. Months, more likely. The doctors can’t predict—”