by Tia Louise
8
Angel
I’m sitting on my bed with my back against the pillows. Sofia is on my lap, hugged against my chest, and I slide my fingers through her soft hair, soothing her as well as me.
Thinking about tonight reminds me of that ancient, black and white clip of the Hindenburg, engulfed in flames and burning up everyone with it.
My brother acted like a total jackass, and I will not be treated like a prisoner in his home… like I have much choice in the matter at this point.
A fact that makes me really, really frustrated and angry.
Sofia lifts her little head, looking at me with tearful eyes. “I wish we were at mamma’s house. I wish you were making me monkey bread and tucking me in for stories.”
Monkey bread… It’s been a long time since I made my improvised version of that cinnamon-bun delicacy. I would use canned biscuits and a melted butter-cinnamon drizzle.
“I can tell you a story, Snicklefritz. We don’t need monkey bread.”
“I wish we had some.” Her voice is small and sad and I pull her tighter against my waist.
I know what she means. Warm, buttery cinnamon bread makes everything a little more bearable.
“I wish we had some, too.” I’m quiet, thinking of cold nights and warm bread and old movies.
“Uncle Beto was like King Triton breaking all of Ariel’s treasures.” She sniffs, looking up at me. “Ariel runs away to Ursula after that. Are you going to run away?”
The wobble in her voice aches my throat, and I squeeze her tighter. “No…” I exhale heavily. I want to leave. I want to cry and throw things.
“I’m an adult. Adults don’t run away from their problems. We face them.”
Not that I wasn’t ready to walk out that door if Deacon hadn’t stopped me. I guess Sofia was the one who stopped me, crying and asking me to hold her. I hadn’t expected to find my phone smashed to bits. I guess it happened when I tried to push past Mateo and we both hit the floor. My hip is still aching from that misstep.
A soft tap on my door makes me tense. “Who is it?” My voice is sharp.
It opens, and Lourdes steps inside. Her dark eyes are wide, and worry covers her face. “Holy… crap.” She glances down at Sofia hugged tight in my lap. “That was crazy. Did you know that was going to happen?”
“No.”
“Beto kept saying his name… What is it? Some kind of family feud? Are y’all the Hatfields and McCoys?”
“How would I know?” My brows are tight, and my jaw is set. “Mamá never talked about our family history.” I only know the little bit Valeria told me. “Clearly she sheltered me from stuff I ought to know. Some ugly stuff.”
“Hey, goober-nut, you okay?” Lourdes pokes Sofia on the leg, and my little sidekick shrugs at her.
“Carmie is like Ariel. King Triton doesn’t want her to fall in love with our enemies.”
“What do you know about enemies?” I reach down to goose her ribs. She makes a noise near a squeal, and I pull her up so I’m hugging her close. “Deacon isn’t your enemy. He’s a good guy.”
I look down at my demolished phone in my lap and over to Lourdes. “Can I borrow your phone to text him?” Her brows furrow, and I show her mine. “He’s going to worry.”
She smiles, reaching for her device when another tap starts on the door.
Valeria doesn’t wait for me to invite her in. “We need to talk.”
“Welcome to Grand Central.” Lourdes reaches for Sofia. My little cousin looks at me, and I give her a nudge before she walks across the bed into my bestie’s arms. “I’ll have peanut downstairs.” She pauses at the door. “And I’ll let Prince Eric know what happened.”
I’m confused for a moment, but then I remember. Ariel’s prince is Eric. “Thanks.”
Valeria watches them go before she walks over to where I’m sitting on the bed, nursing my wounds.
“I’m sorry things went this way, Carmie.” Her hand is heavy on my leg. “I thought we dealt with this a long time ago.”
“You said he was my enemy, but you didn’t even know him. You made me promise, but you didn’t ask how I felt about it.”
“Would it have mattered?” Valeria studies my eyes, and I know she knows.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
It was already too late.
I drop my head back against the headboard, doing my best not to be completely selfish. “Is Lo okay? Is she still having fun? Did we ruin the party?”
“She’s okay.” Valeria exhales a shaky laugh. “They think it’s very Quinten Tarantino to have a fight break out at Lo’s party. Apparently, that makes her cool.”
The way my cousin says cool is decidedly not cool. Still…
“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to be the reason she had a bad time.” We’re quiet for what feels like a long time.
I listen to the wind outside my window. I think it’s starting to rain. I listen to the clock on my nightstand. After a while, I hear the cicadas scree, and I realize it isn’t raining. It’s only the never-ending wind. I look down at the shattered face of my phone and decide I’m tired of waiting.
“Are you going to tell me what really happened now? Why he’s our enemy?” It sounds so foolish to my ears.
Her eyes meet mine, and her shoulders drop. “It’s not something I like digging into…”
I’m not in the mood to beg. “Tell me what happened.”
Valeria settles back on the bed like she’s about to reveal a deep, dark truth. The air around her seems to still as I wait. I can’t decide if I’m impatient or annoyed.
“Back before you were born, our grandfathers worked together in the oil fields.” She speaks like she’s telling a bedtime story. “Rogers Western Dring and Manuel Luis Treviño, Papa Luis. They were best friends. Traveled together through the western territories. Both of them were committed to finding a better life, making it rich.”
“What happened?”
Valeria shrugs. “That’s the part no one knows for sure. Deacon’s grandfather accused ours of stealing. Our grandfather claimed he was innocent.” Her voice trails off. “Papa Luis was thrown in jail, and we lost everything.”
“What’s everything?” I’m still skeptical.
“All the land around Fate.”
“Fate, Texas?”
“It was our family’s land before the Drings sold it to the developers.” She heaves a sigh. “There’s more, but that’s the gist of it.”
“I think you’d better tell me everything.”
Dark eyes flicker to mine, and my heart beats faster. “Some things are better left unsaid, Carm. Maybe you don’t want to know everything.”
“No.” I exhale a heavy laugh. “I definitely want to know everything.”
“Well… Rumor has it…” She looks down at her hands clasped in her lap. “The story everyone believes is Rogers Dring shot your grandfather down.”
The ticking of my cat clock is the only sound in the room for several seconds as her words settle around me.
I’m having a hard time believing this. “You’re saying he murdered our grandfather? But why?”
Val shrugs, looking up at the ceiling before returning her eyes to mine. “Why does anything happen? Love… Money.”
“Love?” my eyes are really wide now. “What are you saying?”
“See? This is why I didn’t want to go down this path.” Valeria shifts in her seat, tugging on the bodice of her navy gown and acting self-righteous. “There’s no proof of anything. It’s all gossip and hearsay. I’m not one to repeat gossip.”
Reaching out fast, I catch her wrist in a tight grip. “This is important, Val. I need to know if it’s true or not.”
“It’s true.” The deep voice I know cuts through my room. Beto stands at the door with his fingers hooked in the loops of his belt. “His grandfather shot yours in cold blood. It’s a truth you can never escape.”
Heat flares in my chest at the sight of him. “I’ll tell you a truth. I’m
not spending another night in this house. I’m finding my own place.”
“You’re not moving out.” His tone is grave. “I’m your brother. You’ll stay here with me.”
“You can’t make me stay.” After how he acted tonight, I can barely even look at him.
“No, I can’t make you stay. But I can make you listen.”
“Technically, you can’t do that either.” I’ve had enough of his bullying. Still, this is a story I need to know. “I will listen, because I want to know my family’s history. I want to know what no one has ever told me.”
My brother straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not your enemy, mija.”
“And I’m not your child.”
He steps forward, heels clicking on the dark wood floor. “You dishonor our family by giving yourself to that man. Rogers Dring murdered your grandfather in cold blood.”
“Valeria said there was no proof. How could you possibly know?”
“Because our father told me.” His voice is stony, and he looks out my window at the limbs swirling on the trees. “He was there when it happened. It would be a slap in his face for you to ignore the truth.”
My heart freezes at his words. At the same time, everything inside of me fights against them. It’s the past. This isn’t our story. Deacon and I didn’t play a role in these events. We shouldn’t be made to pay for them. None of this matters to Deacon and me.
Beto stands over me, surveying my lack of response. Finally, after another minute ticks by he goes to my door, pausing before he exits. “Now you know.”
He’s gone, closing the door behind him, leaving me sitting on the bed facing Valeria. We’re both breathing quickly. She’s watching me just like my brother, like I’m as much of a mystery to them as they are to me.
Only Valeria should know me better. We’ve lived in the same house for so long.
“Your brother is certain, but your father was just a boy.” She stands heavily, exhaling deeply. “It’s like I said, no one was in the room when it happened. No one could verify the events.”
Blinking up at her, I frown. “So it’s not true?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m sorry, Carm. I tried to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? Gossip and hearsay? That’s what you called it, not me. You said that.”
“All I know is you can’t keep your family and this man.” Her voice is sad but kind, tender and motherly. “You have to decide.”
“But he didn’t do anything. I love him.”
Her dark eyes press closed and she shakes her head. “I asked you to promise—”
“Well, I’m sorry. It’s too late for that.” I stand off the bed and pace my room. “I’m not a part of this. I’m not carrying on this feud. It has nothing to do with him—or me.”
“It has everything to do with you. It’s your family.” She leans down and places her hands on my upper arms, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Rest. Drink some water and try to sleep. Things might look different in the morning.”
I don’t know how anything is going to look different. From where I’m standing I see my family on one side of the Grand Canyon and my love on the other, and it’s not a hard choice. They’re the ones putting him on the other side of the chasm for no reason.
As much as I want to hold my family together, my heart is with Deacon.
I won’t walk away from him.
9
Deacon
“But she’s okay?” Rain beats on the roof of my car, and I’m parked in the empty lot of a Best Buy outside a strip mall in Plano.
Adrenaline pulses in my veins, and my chest is tight. It’s a mixture of too much information and too little all at once.
Lourdes is on the other line reassuring me. “She wanted to call you, but her phone got smashed in that tussle with Mateo. It must’ve been under her when she hit the floor.”
My eyes squeeze shut, and I can’t get that image out of my head. Fucking Mateo with his fucking hands on her. Her cry of pain; the tears in her eyes. I’ve never felt more helpless. I hate it.
“I need to talk to her, Lor.”
“I know.” It sounds like Lourdes is walking fast as she speaks. “I can’t do anything. She’s in the room with Val and Beto.”
“What are they telling her?” Scrubbing my forehead with my fingers, I’m trying to get a grip on what happened tonight.
Beto said the past couldn’t be undone and he kept saying my family name. Would Winnie know what he’s talking about? Hell, I don’t even know how to approach this with her.
“Not sure. I took Poogie out of the room before it got too heated.”
Frowning at my phone, I try to understand. “Angel has a dog?”
“She has a four-year-old cousin.” Lourdes says it like I should know Sofia’s million nicknames.
“Sofia, right. Is she okay?”
“She’s a trooper.” I hear the small voice in the background, and I realize Lourdes has her.
Leaning my head against the headrest, I think about how I left. How much I hated walking away from her. Angel was angry and helpless, and I told her to trust me. “I need to see her tonight, Lor. I need to talk to her and decide what to do.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop, don’t worry. Just hang tight for a little while. The party’s still going, but it should be winding down before too long.”
We disconnect, and I watch the large drops of rain coating the outside of my windshield in a glassy sheen. I’m amazed the party didn’t end with the fight, but I guess teenagers are more resilient these days.
I grip the steering wheel, tightening my fists over and over. This is worse than being at school. I can only trust she’s okay, trust she’s not crying or starting to believe bad things about me. I don’t even know what I’m being accused of doing, other than having the wrong last name.
How could I not know about a connection between our families? Has Angel known all this time? Is that why she kept putting off our meeting? I want to be pissed at her, but the tears in her eyes make it impossible.
Turning the key in the ignition, I decide I have to fill this space of time with something. I hit the gas and head in the direction of our family’s estate.
“My goodness, Deacon, it’s almost eleven. What in the world are you doing here? You’ll spoil my beauty rest.”
The kitchen is dim-lit, and she stands on the other side of a dark granite bar from me. Winnie’s hair is in a cream satin turban, and she’s wearing a blue velvet robe. She looks like something out of an old movie.
“It’s Saturday, Win. You can sleep late in the morning.”
“I absolutely cannot. I’m expected to be in our family pew at the Presbyterian church at eleven.” She flicks her hand as if I’m being obtuse and goes to a small wet bar in the opposite corner of the large, updated room. “I would think you might deign to join me sometimes.”
“I’ll see what I can do. First, I need some information.”
“Information?” She wraps her robe tighter around her neck and turns the tap on the small hot water faucet, filling a teacup. I watch as she adds a slice of lemon and returns to me, looking up expectantly. “About what?”
“What’s the connection between Grandpa Dring and Manuel Treviño?”
If I hadn’t been watching her so closely, I might’ve missed the flinch in her eyes. She blinks down, taking a sip of hot water to cover it. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
I cross my arms and lean my hip against the granite countertop. “Tell me, Win. Who was Manuel Treviño?”
“Honestly, Deacon. It’s very late, and I’m very tired. I can’t possibly be expected to dig through the forgotten details of your grandfather’s past at this hour.”
“So he is connected to my grandfather’s history?”
“Connected is probably too generous a term.” She takes another sip of hot lemon water. “From what I remember, he was your grandfather’s hired man. He helped with his horses and help
ed him prospect. Carried supplies or whatever those old men did. Honestly, love, I have no idea what all he did for your grandfather. They believed that was men’s business.”
“Did something happen to him?”
She frowns, exhaling deeply and lifting her chin as if the answer is written on the ceiling somewhere. I can’t help looking up as well, and I notice the stained-glass window above the sink is a Thomas Grey quote, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Not the most optimistic sentiment for a prospector.
“Well? Did something happen?” Pushing off the bar, I step a little closer.
“Oh, I remember there was some confusion. Father never talked much about the past. Hell, he never talked much at all. I think the most I heard him say as a child was Heya to a horse once.”
My memory of my grandfather is very faint, but I know this is true. He stood back silently observing us, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set. Once he offered me chewing tobacco, but I was only seven. I didn’t try it.
“What happened, Win?” My voice is calmly urging.
She puts her cup into the sink with a heavy sigh. “What does it matter? It was a million years ago. It’s ancient history.”
“It matters to me.” I reach out and catch her slim upper arm.
Her brows pull together over her blue eyes, and she lifts her elbow, pulling out of my grasp. “It’s the same story with all those people. He was a drunk and a liar, and he tried to make his problems your grandfather’s.”
“I don’t want to hear racist polemics. Tell me what you know.”
“I know he stole from your grandfather. The Treviño man went to jail, so it must have been of some significance. I was just a child at the time.” She exhales heavily. “Anyway, they’re all gone now.”
“Gone where?” I already know the answer to this question, but I’m curious how much she knows.
“Wherever those people go, darling. They have legions of family. For all I know they’re back in Mexico now.”
“But they were Texans.”
