Marisol didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. She stormed out the front door, throwing her shoes and the rest of the cod fritter into a garbage can on the corner, the concerned yells of the restaurant owner trailing behind her on the heavy dusk air. She took off in a march, her body leaning forward with determination, her fists tight by her sides.
The food fought to come back up as her bare feet hit the pavement with teeth-rattling thuds. The tears she fought so hard to keep down were also threatening, the image of the purple evening streets mottled behind her water-filled eyes. With each step she felt the familiar heat of rage igniting her limbs, running through her veins, filling her lungs. She strode faster and more determined, weaving through traffic, turning corners with race-car precision.
She didn’t realize where she was heading until she stood in front of 60 Calle Santa Cruz.
Her childhood home.
Marisol weaved her fingers through the chain-link fence that surrounded the partially destroyed building, the edge of the metal sign that pronounced that it was the future home of an American fast-food restaurant cut into the side of her hand. Grasses had overgrown the path of stones where she had taken her first steps. A sleeping backhoe sat dug into the side of the building, invading her mother’s bedroom with its metal claws.
The fading yellow front of the stone building was covered with spray-painted names and its windows were dark and empty eyes staring out onto the crumbling street.
No.
She was not going to let this happen.
She’d lost her family and her home, and now her neighborhood was being stolen piece by piece, by people like Lupe.
Sold by complicit Puerto Ricans like Esteban Dávila.
The “cangrejos” who wasted their energy on drugs, money, and music while their island was being destroyed beneath them by invaders. Even her idiot “boyfriend” Keno, who was more concerned with the labels of his clothing than the fact that their home was being yanked out from beneath his two-hundred-dollar sneakers.
No.
She was done.
Tears flowed freely now, salty and cool on her overheated cheeks. She tightened her fingers on the fence, welcoming the sharp pain of the metal edges cutting into her palm, her fingers, as if it were something earned, until her blood dripped down the silver links.
They were going to have to pay.
The thumping filled her skull, but this time she welcomed its familiar rhythm, reveled in the blackness, the numbness it brought with it.
July 6, 6:36 P.M.
Lupe
LUPE WAS STILL buzzing from the confrontation in front of the church as she and her uncle sat on the patio outside his low concrete house, watching the sun inch lower. It brought relief from the 100-degree heat of the day. She reminded herself to be aware of the deepening orange light dancing along the surface of the pool, to listen to the tiny coquís begin their evening serenade. She knew she should be appreciating it, but all she could see was that girl’s twisted face.
And how was Izzy messed up in all this? She pulled out her phone and typed another message.
Primo! It’s Lupe … again. Where r u?
She put her phone away and looked over at her uncle. He seemed almost relieved by the silence. Lupe bet his job didn’t allow for much quiet. When he finally spoke it was as if he’d read her mind.
“That incident at the church this afternoon, Lupe, that had nothing to do with you.”
Her head shot up. “What? Of course it did! That girl—”
“I looked into her background: that girl isn’t well to begin with, and then her brother was just brutally murdered.”
“Yeah, I know.” Lupe felt chastised. She hated feeling chastised. “But I didn’t do anything to her and she got in my face.”
Esteban nodded. “That’s true.”
“What was all that about white people ruining her life?”
Esteban shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t find out anything about that, but I’m going to look into it further.”
Lupe sat up straight. “Wait, is Marisol a suspect now? She wouldn’t kill her own brother … would she?”
“It’s very unlikely, but you know we have to consider all options.”
“And that guy, who the h—who did he think he was, stepping in like I can’t defend myself?”
Her uncle chuckled at this. “Yes, that wasn’t wise on his part. But many boys here are raised to protect girls, though I think that tradition is starting to fade away.”
Lupe folded her arms across her chest and stared at the ground. Yet another thing she didn’t understand. It didn’t help that she couldn’t stop seeing the boy’s face, the deep brown of his eyes. That only made her angrier at herself. “Clearly he’s never met a feminist.”
Her uncle chuckled. “Clearly he had no idea with whom he was messing.”
A smile tugged at the edges of her lips despite her best efforts to stay angry. Unlike her father, her uncle seemed almost proud of the fight in her. She took a deep breath of Guaynabo’s cooling evening air, heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers, and the buzzing quieted a bit. The sounds of water running, the metal clang of pots, and the sizzle of oil coming from the open kitchen window were so comforting. Being with her aunt and uncle, well, it was almost like she was part of a normal family.
Speaking of family.
“Tío, I want to see Izzy, but he’s not answering my texts.”
Esteban paused, took a sip of his soda, then looked at the surface of the pool. At the setting sun. Anywhere but at her. “Just keep trying, sobrina.” Still no eye contact.
Hmmm. Something was up. Maybe she could get something out of her aunt Maria. She started to stand. “I should go help tía in the kitchen.”
Esteban took her hand and stopped her. “I’m sure she can manage, m’ija. Besides, you do the cooking at home, yes?”
She snorted. “If you can call it that. I eat a lot of dinners by myself in front of the television.”
He tugged her back to sitting. “Still, this is your vacation. I’m learning that you have too many responsibilities for a young woman.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
He cleared his throat. “There’s something your aunt and I want to discuss with you. But she felt it was best if you and I spoke alone first.”
Lupe swallowed hard. She hated when adults started conversations like this. It always meant something serious was to follow. Like, “About your C in algebra, we feel you’re not working up to your full potential,” or “We know you were the one who crossed out Columbus Day on all the calendars and wrote in ‘Celebrate the Oppressor Day,’” or “I’m afraid your mother left us.” It’s never good news.
“Okay?”
“We don’t talk about it much, but even though we’re far away, we know things haven’t been easy since your mother left. It seems that Jorge isn’t meeting his responsibilities.”
She could see the anger build behind Esteban’s eyes. Whenever they were down there, tío was always lecturing her father about responsibility and family. It was nice to have someone get mad on her behalf.
“You know we have no children of our own.”
Now Lupe really started to squirm. She always wondered why they’d never had kids, but it’s not like it was any of her business. She concentrated to will him through so they could get whatever this was over with, like when her father stepped on an imaginary brake whenever she was driving.
“This solo summer visit is the perfect opportunity to try things out.”
“Try what out?” What was going on?
“Your aunt and I would like to invite you to come live with us.”
Huh? Her mouth hung open as she stared at her uncle. Live there? In Puerto Rico? Her entire body went numb. This she hadn’t seen coming. Was he serious? Probably You’ve got to be freaking kidding me was not an appropriate response. Her mind was skittering around like a dog on ice.
“You would have your own roo
m and go to a private school nearby. You would want for nothing. We haven’t discussed this with your father yet; we wanted to see how you felt about it first.” He cleared his throat and regained his Police Chief posture. “Lupe, this isn’t the way I would normally handle such things. Traditionally, with someone of your age, I would have talked to your father and if he agreed, everything would be arranged without consulting you at all, you understand?”
Lupe felt her back go up like a cat about to hiss. A flood of choice words for this option rose up from her gut. Before any made it to her tongue, she noticed her uncle was laughing.
Now she was just confused.
“That look, I know that look of yours. You’ve had that look since you were two years old and didn’t want your diaper changed.” His eyes twinkled at her in the dusk light. “I like this side of you. That’s why we’re talking to you about it first. You’re excessively … independent.”
She relaxed in her chair and smiled back. What would it be like to live with people who actually cared about her? Who knew where she was at all times and asked her how her day had been? It was that knew where she was at all times piece that made her feel like her skin was too tight. People telling her what to do made her want nothing more than to do the opposite.
Esteban cleared his throat again and she realized she had to say something. What was the proper response to such things? She didn’t have a clue. “Tío, I’m just so … that’s so kind of you. It’s just, I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“Yes, and you shouldn’t have to. You should be going to movies and dating boys.” He put his hand on his sidearm. “Nice boys, that is.”
She laughed out loud then. The idea that he wanted to physically protect her was so alien, yet still so comforting. And a slight bit claustrophobic. Yeah, she was in a tailspin.
“In some ways it’s selfish.” His look softened. “You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a daughter.”
Lupe’s throat tightened. It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. Her uncle coughed and Lupe looked off at the horizon.
“Just think about it, niña. I know this is a big decision. You have your life and friends in Vermont.”
If only he knew. A bunch of “acquaintances” who thought her bizarre, a father who had checked out, and a school that hadn’t challenged her since the second grade. Would she hurt him if she said no? Did she even want to say no? It wasn’t like the house in Elmore felt any more like home than her tío’s house. What about her father? Would he drink himself to death without her around?
This would take some serious thinking. She was tired just thinking about that much thinking. Silence fell over them again, but it weighed heavier this time. The question was a huge-ass elephant sitting on the wicker coffee table in front of them. She could almost see it mocking her with its trunk and massive waggling ears.
Lupe’s uncle sighed and slipped deeper into his patio chair. “Ay, sobrina. An old man gets tired.”
Though Esteban was a few years older than her father, he was the one her massive father deferred to. He was impossibly tall and strong.
“You’re not old.”
“Ah, but this drug dealer’s murder is going to age me, I’m sure of it.” He took another sip of his soda, his thoughts pulling him away from her again.
Lupe was at a loss. When on the phone, the talk about his work had always energized him, made him more, well, him. Her father didn’t have anything to give him that sense of purpose. He dragged himself to his state job every day as if it were simply a step toward the real goal of returning home in the evening to the couch, with NCIS on the tube and a bottle of rum.
“Do you have any leads?” Talking to him was the only time she got to try out the language she learned from DOA Newark. He never laughed or made fun of her and she learned a lot. Besides, this conversation took them away from the massive question of his offer.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. This body is not your typical murder, if there’s such a thing.”
“What about the body?”
“That boy, he was wounded by some unusual weapon, something my coroner has never seen before. And so close to El Rubí, all those children sleeping two blocks away.” He smacked a mosquito on his arm, leaving behind a bright red smear of blood.
At those words, Lupe remembered the old woman in El Rubí, the victim’s grandmother. She felt that electric feeling bumping across her skin, like a tiny wave making its way over rocks and shells. She shook it off.
Her uncle stood up to his full height and adjusted his belt. “Okay, sobrina. We’re going to work on a self-defense move”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“especially if you’re going to wander around El Rubí all alone.”
Lupe swallowed. Of course he knew. He knew everything.
“Stand here. No, there. Good. So, if someone comes at you from behind, I want you to stay calm. Try not to struggle.”
“Oh yeah, right!” She held on to her uncle’s hairy arm, which he held loosely around her neck, and made to bite it. He bent his tall frame into a crouch in order to hold her.
“No, really. You need to relax your elbow, pull it back, then yank it back into your assailant’s nose.” He pulled her arm up in the proper movement. “See?” He let her arm go.
“Like this?” And her arm yanked back as if it were on a spring, nailing her uncle so hard in the nose, she heard a crunch. He dropped to the ground with a groan, taking two lawn chairs with him.
Lupe put her hands to her face. “Oh my God! Tío! I’m so sorry!” She went to help him to his feet, but he was so heavy he pulled her down to the ground. “You did that on purpose!” she yelled and jumped on his back, and he reared around like a horse with a gnat. By the time her aunt came out they were laughing and covered in grass stains.
“I’m so glad that your uncle is helping to raise you as an elegant young lady, Lupe,” her aunt said from the doorway with a sly smile. “Now wash up for dinner, you two.”
They made their way inside, washed up, and settled down at the table.
Lupe looked down at the piping dish in front of her. It looked like a square of lasagna, but instead of noodles there were long slices of what looked like bananas on top. The smell was caramel sweet with a spicy edge. “What is this, tía?”
It was her uncle who answered. “Ah, you’re in for a treat, sobrina. This is Maria’s specialty, pastelón.”
Maria chuckled. “Lupe, he’s kidding. He knows my specialty is takeout.”
He took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Well, that’s what you prefer, but when you do cook, it’s a delicacy.”
Lupe loved watching them together. They were so kind to each other, full of respect. #relationshipgoals. She took a forkful and closed her eyes. The contrast of the sweet plantain with the salty, spiced beef danced on her tongue. She loved the starchy goodness of the plantain, caramelized and crispy on the edges, soft and rich in the middle. Yeah, this would be a good part to living on the island. She’d have to take up running.
“So, Lupe, what would you like to do while you’re in Puerto Rico this trip?” This was the kind of thing adults always asked, but Maria was really interested. The woman listened like no one else Lupe knew.
She thought about her visit to El Rubí that afternoon. “I’d like to see parts of Puerto Rico I’ve never seen before.”
Maria perked up. “Oh! Like the Camuy caves! We can go on a boat tour this weekend, perhaps.”
She was so enthusiastic, Lupe hated to disagree. “Actually, not really the typical touristy things. I just want to get a better understanding of the real Puerto Rico.” Did she even have an idea of what that was? Both her aunt and uncle were staring at her. Maybe they didn’t either. “It’s just, I don’t even know what part of me is Dávila.”
Her aunt smiled and pointed to Lupe’s now empty plate. “Well, your appetite is totally Dávila.” She put her fork down and put her hands together in front of her like she probably did in the hospital boardroom. �
�I like that you’re interested in this, Lupe. How about we drive around Amapola and we can show you where your great-grandfather was born? Did you know he was mayor of Amapola at one time?”
Lupe perked up. “What?”
“Yes! Esteban, you’ve never told her about your family?”
Her uncle wiped his mouth with a napkin, his plate just as clean as hers. “No, but she knows more about the history of policing methods on the island than most of my staff.”
Maria threw her hands up. “Great. Such an appropriate and interesting subject for a fifteen—”
“Sixteen!”
“—a sixteen-year-old young woman.”
“No, he’s right, tía! I love that sh—stuff! In fact, when we were in El Rubí today—”
Her uncle was reaching for seconds when his hand froze, and her aunt slowly put down her fork.
Esteban recovered quickly, serving out another helping of rice and beans to his plate. The air was slightly electrified, the silence crackling.
Uh-oh.
Her aunt glared at her husband. “You took Lupe to El Rubí?”
Esteban put his hand over his wife’s and patted. “It’s okay, mi amor. She was surrounded by my officers.”
Lupe had no desire to upset her aunt, but this was important. “When I was there, I met this old woman who turned out to be Vico’s grandmother. Maybe she knows something about what really happened?”
Esteban put his hand up in his stop-it’s-the-police gesture and said, “Now Lupe, how could a seventy-year-old woman help with this case?”
“But maybe she can help with Izzy.”
Her aunt’s gaze shot up from her food. Maria was paying attention now.
Esteban seemed to notice that, so he gave his wife the condescending stop gesture, too. “Sobrina, I think it’s best you leave this to the professionals. We—”
“She said something about how if Izzy didn’t behave, ‘he’ll come for him, too.’”
Her aunt stood up as if her seat were electrified, the chair legs scraping against the tile floor with a screech. Her eyes stayed focused on Esteban as she fingered the gold cross that hung from her long neck. Then, with shaking hands, she gathered her half-filled plate and scurried away to the kitchen without a word.
Five Midnights Page 4
