Out of Darkness

by Ashley Hope Pérez

  “Tell him ‘Yes, but a little later’?”

  She nodded. “Something like that. To buy time, like you said. I can pretend I just want to make it to the end of the school year. And I’ll say we can’t tell anyone yet, have to keep up appearances.”

  He frowned, taking it in. That horny bastard living in the same house as Naomi, and him thinking they were engaged. It stank of risk.

  “I know,” she said. “I don’t like it, either. But how else?”

  Wash stared out at the river. A beaver was swimming downstream with a long, thin branch grasped between its sharp teeth. He sighed and rolled his elbows onto his knee.

  “I don’t like it, but I don’t see a better way until we’ve got enough money,” he said finally. “As soon as I can scrape the funds together, we’re gone. Just be careful till then.”

  “Gone how?”

  “By the time school lets out maybe we’ll have enough for the train. Third class.”

  “But four train tickets?” Naomi sounded doubtful. “All the way to Mexico?”

  “We only need three tickets once we get to San Antonio. I’m going to sign on as a porter. You and the twins will ride together in a passenger car. Once we’re in Mexico, we’ll figure out our next move.” It sounded far-fetched even to Wash. He tried to smile. “We’ll make this work. Just save whatever you can, okay?”

  “I have a little saved. I used to skim from what Henry gave me for groceries, but then there was Christmas. There’s maybe eight dollars left.”

  “That’s still dinero, right? And start talking Spanish to me.”

  “Claro que sí.”

  “Of course?”

  She smiled a little. “Sí. Tienes razón, guapo.”

  “Guapo?”

  “Handsome. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  They sat for a while, listening to the sounds of spring in the woods. The sharp cries of jays and mockingbirds filled the silence between them. Somewhere a woodpecker was hammering his dinner out of a tree.

  “Doesn’t it seem like they’ve been gone a long time?” Naomi asked after a while.

  “Are you complaining?” he asked. “Is it that awful to just sit and talk to me?”

  She nudged him a little with her elbow. “Hush, you.”

  “There’s the tree. We don’t have to talk...”

  She shook her head. “They should be back soon. Although...” she hesitated.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Just how Cari’s been acting. So angry.” She shook off the worry. “Come on, let’s walk a little. We’ll meet them halfway.”

  BETO “Got it,” Beto called. When Cari didn’t respond, he walked to their bedroom and stood in the doorway. He waved the bar of Ivory at her.

  Cari didn’t look at Beto. She was sitting on his bed, staring straight ahead. Edgar twined around her, purring loudly, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m going to do it,” she said finally.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her expression was all impatience when she turned to face him. “You know what. There might be answers.”

  Beto stared at the floor. Of course he knew what. “We promised. And anyway, there are some boxes you aren’t supposed to open,” he said. “Remember?” They had both read the encyclopedia entry on Greek mythology.

  “We’ve waited long enough,” Cari said. “She’s never going to show us.”

  Beto sighed, but he knew from the set of Cari’s jaw that, this time, she was going to do it with or without him.

  “Just a quick look,” he said.

  She was already reaching under the bed and pulling the guitar case out.

  “What do you think she’d do if she knew?” Cari asked.

  Beto swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Cari grabbed the handle of the case and yanked it closer. “She was our mother, too,” she said fiercely. She snapped the latches open.

  They sat on opposite ends of the bed, and spread the contents of the case between them.

  One red dress;

  Two red high-heeled shoes;

  Faded holy cards for Saint Cecilia, patron of music; Saint Francis of Assisi, patron of the animals; and Saint Benedict the Moor, patron of dark peoples;

  Four bits of a broken doll: one blue eye and half an eyebrow, a bit with a curl of black hair attached, an ear, and a hand with perfect tiny fingernails;

  A dented Saint Christopher medal on a copper chain;

  A cracked rubber nipple from a baby bottle.

  They had seen the dress back when Beto fixed the radio, but the rest was new. It wouldn’t have seemed like much to anybody else, but after seven years of only having their mother secondhand, the fact of actual objects that their mother might have touched seemed to them like a small miracle.

  Still, disappointment lay leaden in Beto’s belly. He had expected something more. Maybe a message from their mother, something along the lines of “My dear twins...” Maybe a photograph that Abuelita and Abuelito hadn’t shown them. Something.

  “What do you think happened to the guitar?” he asked.

  Cari shrugged. “Maybe Abuelita made Abuelito sell it.”

  Beto weighed the idea, but it didn’t feel right. He picked up the medal and swung it back and forth, a tiny pendulum.

  “Sleepy,” he said. “You’re getting very sleepy. Your eyes are heavy.” He smiled. He had thought of it before Cari.

  She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Please.”

  “Shhh,” Beto said. “Follow this medal with your eyes. Your eyes are getting very, very heavy. Soon you will be in a deep, deep sleep...”

  “You’re no hypnotist,” Cari insisted, her voice sharp with irritation. “But—” She tugged on one of her curls and narrowed her eyes. Beto could see that she had an idea brewing.

  She fingered the hem of the red dress, then lifted a shoe in either hand. “These were hers for sure. She had Cinderella feet.” Cari slipped the shoes on.

  “Cari, don’t!” Beto hissed.

  “Why not?” she said, and she raised an eyebrow. “Look, they fit me.” She pulled the dress over to the edge of the bed and shook out the wrinkles. When she did, something fell from inside the frilly skirt.

  They both jumped, then stared.

  “It has to be hers,” Cari said. She picked up the long braid. It had been carefully banded at the top and bottom so that it wouldn’t come undone. She traced a strand from top to tip. It was almost identical to Naomi’s. Cari thought back to all the times she had seen Naomi holding her own braid, eyes closed.

  They held the braid between them.

  “This will be perfect,” Cari said, stroking the tail end.

  “What for?” Beto asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “You’ll see,” she said.

  He began to protest, but he already knew that he was going to go along with her idea.

  Cari studied their mother’s things. “How well do you remember what you read from the S’s?” she asked.

  Beto shrugged. “Never as good as you do.”

  She went to the kitchen and came back with the Community House Coffee calendar under her arm. She tapped a date: March 18.

  “That’s our day,” she said. “Three days away.”

  Beto knew only one important thing about that date: it was their mother’s birthday.

  NAOMI Naomi made her move the next night when Henry came home in high spirits. This had been his first job as the top man on a rig, and he’d hit oil in the first week of drilling.

  “Congratulations on the strike,” she said. “It’s something to celebrate.” She served him a plate of pork chops, butter-drenched green beans with bacon, and mashed potatoes with brown gravy, and she got out the piece of lemon cake she’d tucked up in the cupboard.

  “Your favorites.” She laid the plate in front of him.

  He forked up a bite and then looked over at her. “You already eat?”

  “Wit
h the twins.” She forced a smile and pressed her trembling hands flat against the front of her apron. She wanted to turn back to the safety of the dishes she’d left in the sink, but she had to stay the course. There wouldn’t be a better time.

  “This is good,” he said with his mouth full.

  “Want to bless it?” she asked. She slid into the chair beside him and offered him her hand before he had time to answer. She bowed her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  He swallowed. “Bless this food, Lord. We’re grateful for all the riches you provide. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she said softly. She pulled her hand back and slipped it into her lap.

  “Riches, indeed,” he grinned. “Tool pusher job pays real good, you know that? Graham sounded like maybe he was thinking to put me in charge on another drilling project. Said he’d call me up soon as we all have a chance to sleep off the excitement from the strike.”

  “That’s good,” she said. She smiled at the salt and pepper shakers.

  “Good for us,” Henry said, thumping the table. “Not a gusher, but a solid strike. It’ll be a steady producer, that well.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. The words she needed to say dried up on her tongue, and she sat by him numbly until he asked for another helping.

  She refilled his plate with deliberate movements. While she was turned away from him, she said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” The words came out in a rush, but he was smiling when she turned to him.

  Naomi laid the plate in front of him and sat down again. This time she chose the chair across the table. Out of reach. She could see the calendar over his shoulder; it was March 15. She wondered if he remembered that Estella’s birthday was in three days, wondered if it gave him any pause.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers tightly around Wash’s ring. Then she tested the waters. “Did you keep any photographs of my mother?”

  Henry’s eyes shifted briefly toward his bedroom. Then he rubbed his ear and looked her straight in the eye. “No, I didn’t.”

  She should have been angry, having seen the wedding portrait in his drawer, but his lie made it easier for her to go forward with her own. “That’s too bad. I thought maybe I could make a dress like hers.” She forced a smile.

  “Are you saying...?”

  “You know what I said before. I still have my doubts, but...”

  “Your granny talked some sense into you?” He smiled and then wiped a bit of grease from his lips and ran a finger under his collar.

  When she didn’t say anything, he slapped the table. Her eyes widened, and he laughed. “I was kidding; that was a joke. I know you had to make up your own mind. Of course you did.”

  Naomi forced Abuelita out of her mind, but the image of Abuelito, bedridden and drooling, remained. If she ran with Wash, she’d be running away from them, too. She’d have to work that out, somehow. Try to send money. She pressed her eyes closed and gripped Wash’s ring more tightly.

  “After graduation,” she said. “I want to finish school first.” There were less than three months before the end of the school year. They’d have to be gone by then. Three months. She could live this lie for three months.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  She could feel his smile even with her eyes closed, and it sickened her, but she propped up the corners of her mouth and forced herself to look at him. “It’s a ‘yes, but give me a little time.’” She spoke the words to a point directly above his head.

  “That’s swell,” he said, beaming. And he was up out of his chair coming toward her with his arms out.

  “No!” she said quickly. “That’s another thing. Not a touch. Like I still am ... your daughter. As long as we’re not married, we need to be pure.” She swallowed. “Like how Pastor Tom says, ‘Thy body is the Lord’s temple.’”

  “I’ve never been so ready to get in the temple.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “There’d be talk if people knew ... our plans.” She swallowed. “So we wait till after graduation to tell anyone, even Muff and Bud.”

  “Whatever you want,” he said. “Can we celebrate?”

  “Have another pork chop?” she suggested.

  “Nah, come on, let’s take a drive.” He pulled on his hat and had the door open before she could protest about leaving the twins behind.

  He drove fast and talked the whole way, spinning out all manner of foolish ideas. She chose not to listen. He was talking for himself anyway. She kept her arms folded across her chest with the burn scar on top. It was faded now, but she wanted to display any bit of ugliness she had. She buried her fists in her armpits out of fear he might try to hold her hand.

  When they stopped, she saw that they were at the lookout point above Happy Hollow. One rise over, she could see the magnolia where she had met Wash on New Year’s Eve.

  She didn’t cry. Instead, she pasted a false smile on her face and made a choice. As Henry talked on, she traveled in her mind to the tree in the woods. She folded her true self up and put it away like a dress she hoped to wear again without being sure when. The Naomi of the woods, the Naomi on the twins’ wooden Christmas ball, Wash’s Naomi, she would stay in the tree. For safekeeping. For after they got away. For when the plan worked.

  But something had to stay behind. For the next two days, Naomi’s body moved through her daily routine. Whole hours disappeared uncounted, unlived. School. Washing and hanging and folding. Serving meals and clearing them away. Sweeping, mopping, dusting. The house was cleaned but not lived in, not by Naomi.

  It was a way of surviving, and it was a preview of what her life would be if their plan failed.

  NAOMI Naomi pulled open the door to the cafeteria cleaning supply closet with no more thought than she’d given to any other task over the last two days. She was vaguely aware that she was here to get a box of baking soda for the home economics teacher. She did not expect to find children sitting in a circle on the floor, holding hands. She did not expect to see a ring of candles with her mother’s braid and red dancing shoes at the center.

  Her eyes adjusted, and she recognized faces. Cari, Beto, and Tommie’s cousin Katie. Their eyes were wide and surprised.

  “Cari! Beto! What is this?” Naomi pulled the light chain, and the bulb blinked on, revealing two more children crowded into the back of the closet.

  Cari jumped up.

  “When did you take these things?” Naomi pointed at the floor. “You had no right.”

  “She was our mami, too.” Cari’s chin jutted out. “Right, Beto?”

  Beto kept his eyes on the floorboards.

  “Hey, am I gonna get my nickel back?” A freckled boy standing in the back crossed his arms. “This ain’t no say-dance.”

  “Séance. And it’s gonna be, just hang on.” Cari flashed a salesman’s quick smile, but Naomi wasn’t buying. She blew out the candles and grabbed her mother’s shoes and tucked them under her arm. She cradled the braid.

  “They’re too small for you,” Cari said, “and anyhow, my shoes are back in Miss Bell’s room.”

  Naomi pushed off her own worn black shoes and kicked them toward Cari.

  “You promised us voodoo,” a girl by the brooms whined, fingers twined in her stringy bob.

  “It’s called spiritualism,” Beto whispered.

  “Back to class, now.” As she said it, Naomi looked at each child. They shifted to their feet but didn’t meet her gaze. Except Cari.

  “It’s not fair,” Cari said. “Why should everything be yours? Why didn’t she leave us something?”

  Naomi stiffened. “She did. She left me.”

  “Well, we want her.”

  “Yeah? I do, too. But I lost her when you were born, so let’s not talk about fair.” As soon as the words were out, Naomi wished she could snatch them back. Cari’s face turned to stone. Tears slid down Beto’s nose.

  “Go back to class,” Naomi said again. She could hear the coldness in her own voice. Later, she’d explai
n. Later, she’d make the twins understand.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl with the bobbed hair said.

  “Hey, I still want my nickel back.” The freckled boy reached for Cari’s sleeve.

  She shook him off and stared at Naomi. “I hate you,” she whispered. She shoved her feet into Naomi’s shoes, pushed out of the closet, and clomped across the cafeteria. Beto and the others hurried after her.

  Naomi followed them partway, seeing them out the cafeteria door. Only Beto looked back, his face a plea she could not answer, not now. She watched from the window as they trudged along the long sidewalk back into the main school building. Once she’d seen them go inside, she gripped the braid tight and stumbled back to the closet.

  The mindless, mechanical ease she’d managed was now gone. Reality settled on her shoulders, and she felt the cruel weight of it. It was her mother’s birthday. She was engaged to her stepfather. The twins hated her.

  BETO Beto got back to Miss Bell’s classroom half a minute before Cari, who refused to hurry.

  He slid into his seat in the desk he usually shared with Cari. Not today he wouldn’t, though.

  “Deenie.” Beto leaned across the aisle to whisper to the pale girl with red hair. “Come sit next to me.”

  Deenie hesitated for a moment and then slid over into Cari’s seat.

  Cari arrived just in time to see her place being taken. She glared at Beto but spoke to Deenie. “That’s my spot.”

  “No, that’s just as well,” Miss Bell said from the front of the room. “You and Robbie should be separated after your misbehavior. Ida Mae’s absent; come take her seat up here, Carrie. I’ll be by with your punishment.”

  Cari shot Beto an angry look and then marched to the empty seat at the front of the room. Even the back of Cari’s neck looked mad. That was fine with him; her anger was proof he’d been on Naomi’s side. This time, Cari had gone too far.

  Miss Bell handed him a scrap of paper. “A hundred times,” she said sternly. “I expect exemplary penmanship.”

  He had not yet opened his notebook, but he could already hear the explosive scratch of Cari’s pencil across her page. She could blast through a punishment in half the time it took him. He knew exactly how she was writing her hundred lines: