by JB Salsbury
She moves close and uses her fingers to tilt my chin up. “I am never disappointed in you, Angel.”
But you don’t like what you see.
I cannot voice the words, but she must sense a question in my eyes.
Her expression turns sad. “You are not the only one who carries a burden of duty.” She goes about making sure my gown is draped perfectly on my shoulders. “We do what we must even if we don’t like it.”
“Yes, Señora.”
She continues to dote on me until the lock clicks and my bedroom door creaks open. She gives my gown a few good swipes of her palm before turning to stand behind me.
Papa strolls inside, closes the door behind himself, and hits the lock. His dark hair and matching black clothes are all I can make out in the dim light.
“Papa.” I lower myself to a kneeling position.
“Señora,” he says, “she looks perfect.” The click of his fancy shoes echoes around me as he walks in circles to see me from all angles.
“Gracias,” she says but doesn’t move from my back.
Papa comes to me and squats down to my eye level. “Angel, I have a special guest for you to entertain tonight.”
Entertain? That is not what I do.
“There is no need to be nervous.” Papa presses a thumb against my lips, and only then do I realize they’re trembling. “I will not leave you alone.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I say against his thumb.
He nods over my head to Señora, who pads across the room to the far table, where a kettle and teacup sit untouched. She prepares my serum, and my stomach rumbles while my power surges in anticipation.
A teacup with little blue flowers appears at my face, and I take it gladly, drinking back greedy gulps until it’s gone.
“Good girl.” Papa helps me to my feet and then takes me out the hidden door and into the sanctuary rather than waiting for the serum to kick in. Señora stays behind, and when we make it to the big, dark room, we are there alone—no methodical beat of the drums, no incense.
Just Papa and me.
He motions for me to take the big velvet cushioned chair. I lower myself into it, and when my palms meet the softness of the seat, they run along it in slow swipes that send a warm caress up my arm. I nestle in, rubbing my bare back against the seat and submerging myself in the glorious way it feels.
“The serum is working,” he says, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Perfect.”
Someone knocks softly on the door, and when Papa opens it, he sticks his head out and asks, “What?”
Someone murmurs quietly.
“This is none of your business,” he whispers, but it’s loud enough for me to hear.
Another soft murmur.
“Just do your job and . . .”
I can’t make out the rest of what he says, but whatever it is must’ve worked, as the door closes again.
“Any minute now.” He paces the open floor of the sanctuary. The sound of his shoes is a different kind of drum beat that matches the pace of my pulse.
More time passes, and finally the door swings wide open without warning. I close my eyes against the bright light that pours into the room. I cannot see who enters, but I feel a commanding presence expand as it seems to suck up all the air in the room. A dark silhouette is all I can make out, yet I sit upright as its authority calls to me on a spiritual level. The dark shape grows bigger as it comes forward, and when it stops an arm’s reach away, I recognize it as a man.
“You’re late,” Papa says in a growl he uses only when he’s angry, then he slams the door behind himself.
The man doesn’t address him directly but keeps his eyes forward on me. “Impatience doesn’t suit you, rafiki.”
“Angel,” Papa demands, “come forward.”
I nod and rise slowly, the way I’ve been taught. Careful not to stumble on my gown, I walk slowly toward the man, who is shoulder to shoulder with Papa. The closer I get, the more I can make out. His hair is black like Papa’s, but his skin is lighter, and when I stop, I’m close enough to see his eyes. They’re light, like the sky.
“You weren’t kidding, rafiki.” His deep, dark voice crawls along my skin. “She is everything you promised.”
Papa speaks back to him in a different language I’ve never heard before and with a tone that makes me cringe.
The man only chuckles and steps closer. He smells of spice and smoke, reminding me of the rich ceremonial incense. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Angel. I’ve heard so much about you.”
My eyes dart to Papa, and he nods, giving me permission to respond, but his jaw tics beneath his skin, which makes me nervous.
“Thank you, sir.”
His gaze roams my face, sliding down my jaw to my neck then settling on my chest. He licks his lips. He mumbles something in his language that Papa answers in the same.
The man moves around me slowly, examining me as if I were one of the books Señora has me study. “She is exquisite.” His knuckles run the length of my spine from neck to tailbone, making me shiver pleasantly at the tender touch. “These are beautiful.” His palms run up my back to my shoulders. “So soft,” he mumbles in a voice heavy with an emotion I cannot name. “May I?”
I can’t see him, but Papa must nod, then there’s a firm tug at my head that sends my hair unraveling to cascade down my back.
The man makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.
“She isn’t ready.” Papa curses as if he didn’t mean to speak my language, then he continues in the one that only the man can understand.
“But soon.” The man circles around to stand before me.
My chin tilts up to meet his eyes. I reach out my powers, searching for what he could possibly need, for how I can help him, but nothing is there, only fear and darkness.
“I can’t see,” I whisper.
The man smiles, but it’s slight.
I don’t understand. “What—what do you want?”
He tilts his head and slides his fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp until a low purr rumbles in my throat. His thumb makes a pass along my cheek, and he whispers, “What I want, Angel . . . is you.”
I gasp as Papa jerks me from the man’s hold.
“Señora!” The door flies open, and Papa guides me away. “Take her to her room. Now.”
She grabs my hand and rushes me back through the private passage leading to my room.
As soon as we’re out of sight, Papa explodes in the strange language. Tears burn my eyes. I’ve caused him to be upset, and I don’t know how, but I know he’ll make me pay.
Milo
THE NEXT FEW days fly by with nothing special to report. Carrie seems to be everywhere I turn, rubbing up against me like a feline in heat, while I constantly have my eye out for Mercy. The only times I worry about her is after school when I have to work, and if she doesn’t have one of her biweekly therapy appointments, she’s hanging out around school for hours. I know she is safe with Miguel and Julian, but she always seems so fragile.
The last bell of the day rings just before noon, and I skip dropping books off in my locker in order to get to Mercy’s classroom. I stroll up just as she’s zipping up her backpack.
“You ready?” I ask.
She grins into her bag and then looks up, and her smile widens. “Very much ready, yes.”
Ms. Murphy’s putting away a box of flash cards, and she smiles at me. “You guys off to do something fun for the rest of the day?”
“We’re going to the beach,” Mercy answers as she heads toward me at the doorway. “I’ve never been.”
“Sounds fun! It’s warm for this time of year. You guys should get some good weather at the coast.”
I lift my chin to the teacher, and Mercy gives her a wave goodbye. We walk together to the parking lot, where we’ll meet Miguel and go pick up Julian.
I was a little disappointed to see Mercy dressed in a long-sleeved shirt this morning. It’s thin and fits her well, so I’m su
re it’ll be okay for the beach temps, but I was hoping she’d brave the sun on her shoulders.
“Will we get lunch while we’re there?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m starving.” I look down at her and marvel at how far she’s come in the last few weeks. Her head is high, her eyes forward, and although kids still stare and whisper, she doesn’t seem to care or notice. “What sounds good?”
“I could try a tamale again.” The excitement in her voice has my heart pounding just a little harder.
“All right, Güera.” We push out the doors and take the steps down to the parking lot. “Except this time we’ll try one a little less sp—” I almost slam my chest into Carrie’s face when she steps out in front of me.
“Hey, guys.” She smiles and looks between us. “What’s up?”
I shrug. “Not much. What’s up with you?”
She runs her thumbs beneath her backpack straps, pushing her boobs together in her low V-neck top. I’d like to say I didn’t look, but sue me. I’m a guy. “A bunch of us are headed to Disneyland.” She looks around then leans in. “I’m sneaking in some vodka.” She ignores Mercy and just stares up at me. “You should come.”
Ha. Disneyland. It costs a hundred bucks just to get in. I know because I tried to save up enough money to take the boys on Julian’s birthday two years ago, and once I did, I stared at the pile of cash it would’ve taken just to walk through the gate and decided the money would be better spent on a car.
“Can’t go, but”—I nod at Miguel, who’s coming toward us from the steps—“thanks for the invite.”
He stops next to Mercy. “Ready?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” says Mercy softly to Miguel.
“Where are you guys off to?” Carrie smiles sweetly at Miguel, which only earns her his blank stare in return.
“We’re going to the beach,” Mercy answers for him.
Only then does Carrie address Mercy, who’s been standing in front of her this entire time. “Really? Which one?”
Mercy shrugs and looks at me.
“I was thinking Santa Monica.” I really didn’t want to tell Carrie where we’d be. The way she’s been acting lately, she’s liable to show up.
“Fun.” Her sarcasm makes it obvious she thinks it would be anything but.
“We better go.” I guide Mercy toward the car, and Miguel follows. “Thanks again, though. Have fun at Disneyland.”
She lifts an eyebrow by way of goodbye, and I’m grateful she didn’t invite herself along with us. This clingy thing she’s been pulling is annoying, and nothing about desperation is attractive.
Two hours later, I’m slipping cash into the underground pay lot at Santa Monica Beach, with a backpack full of beach supplies hanging from my shoulders. It’s April, so the air is a bit chillier than usual, but the sun is out and warming the sand enough to keep it fairly busy, even for a Thursday.
Mercy stays close to my side, and Miguel has his fingers hooked into the back of Julian’s shirt to keep him from making a beeline straight to the stairs.
“Everyone stick together. The only thing Laura said was I had to come home with all three of you.” I shove the last dollar into the pay slot. “All right, let’s go.”
We head above ground and toward the beach. A decent cloud cover is overhead, so Mercy doesn’t seem too bothered by the sun, and her head swivels on her neck as she takes everything in from behind her dark sunglasses.
“Can we ride the rides?” Julian says as he attempts to keep a slower pace with us.
“Not today, ʼmanito.”
After lunch and the ridiculous amount they charge for parking, I only have enough cash left to get us a couple drinks. I probably should’ve thought that through and brought more cash. I’ve saved up enough for a down payment and a couple months’ rent on a cheap apartment, but I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get a job after I graduate, so I’m tight as fuck with my cash. I would’ve enjoyed taking Mercy on some rides. I wonder if she’d get scared and cling to my side or if she’d throw her arms in the air no-guts-no-glory style.
“Aww.” Julian pouts but quickly lets it go. He’s used to disappointment.
We parked in a lot tucked behind some big buildings, and when we come out from between them, Mercy’s feet freeze to the asphalt.
I’m not worried because I know she’s not hurt or scared. I follow the direction of her gaze, firmly fixed on the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
Her mouth falls open, and even though her sunglasses have slid down her nose, she makes no move to reset them. “Wow.” The single word is whispered from awestruck lips.
“Not bad, huh?”
“It’s so . . . big!”
Miguel snorts, earning a glare from me, and Julian looks like he’s doing everything he can to keep from laughing.
“It is.” I follow her line of sight and try to see it all with virgin eyes. What must all that blue, disappearing into the horizon, look like to someone who’s never seen it before? That reminds me. “Can you see it okay?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“Let’s take a closer look.”
She takes a step forward just as a bicyclist speeds past. She yelps and scrambles to my side.
“It’s okay. Just look both ways before you cross.” I guide her across the boardwalk just as the clouds break and sunlight douses the beach in front of us.
I open my mouth to reassure her, but Julian beats me to it. “It’s okay, Mercy.” He slips his hand into hers. “Come on.”
She hesitates, but eventually, he gets her to step forward. She winces a little when the full force of the sun hits her, but her feet keep taking her forward. Once on the sand, I let Julian explain that she should take her shoes off. We all carry our shoes while trudging through the deep sand closer to where the waves are breaking on the shore.
We swerve through clusters of people, and I’m sure they all take note of Mercy’s skin and hair, but I wouldn’t know because my sights are trained on her, searching for any sign that she’s unhappy or overwhelmed. Other than the slight tension she holds in her shoulders, she doesn’t seem to hesitate following my little brother toward the water. Only when they get a few feet away and the soft, pliable sand turns wet and hard does she stop.
I step up beside her.
“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
I’m looking right at her, and if I wasn’t afraid of sounding like some nerdy schmuck, I’d say it’s not nearly as amazing as she is. What. A. Dumbass!
I clear my throat and turn away to watch a couple surfers bobbing up and down in the distance. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the ocean before.”
“I haven’t seen much of anything.”
Two college-age girls walk by in nothing but their string bikinis. They snag Mercy’s attention, and she frowns when they pass, showing off their G-stringed backsides. Her white brows pinch together.
“Almost anything passes for clothes in LA, Güera.”
Her cheeks flush, and she goes back to staring out at the breaking waves. Miguel plops down on the sand with his headphones, and Julian plays the game with the waves where they chase him ashore then he chases them back to the sea. After a few silent minutes pass, I worry about Mercy being exposed to the sun without protection. I grab my backpack and unzip it to pull out a baseball hat. “Here.” I pop it on her head. “I don’t want your head getting burned.”
She tugs it down snug. Next, her legs. She looks great in shorts, but Laura would never forgive me if Mercy came home with Betamex sticks for legs.
I pull out the SPF 50. “You need to put this on your legs, hands, even your feet, okay?”
She looks over at me and nods then sits with both of her long white legs out in front of her, eyes on the ocean. I stare down at her. What does she expect, for me to rub the crap on her myself?
Strangely, the idea of doing that makes my stomach tumble and my blood buzz through my veins.
Running my palms all over her creamy white skin would be sexy as hell, but I can’t risk getting turned on in front of Mercy and my brothers.
I crouch down beside her. “You gonna to put it on?”
She looks at me and then down at her legs, almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. Then something snaps into place, and she nods. “Yes. Do I just . . .” She grabs the bottle of lotion and flips it over a few times in her hand as if she’s trying to figure out how to get to it. “I’m not used to . . .”
“Here.” I pop the top and squeeze a liberal amount into her hand. “Used to what?”
“Where I come from, people did this for me, but with oils.” She shakes her head. “I just . . . forgot.” She sounds embarrassed or ashamed.
“You were like royalty where you came from, huh?” I’ve never heard of a kid being abused or mistreated with daily oil massages.
She smiles shyly. “You could say that.”
I supervise her sunblock application, making sure she doesn’t miss a spot. I even make sure she gets some on her neck and face, where she needs a little help rubbing it in, and I’m more than happy to assist.
“I want ice cream!” Julian skids up to me and Mercy, his body covered in wet sand up to his thighs. “Can we get some?”
I turn around and clock how far the ice-cream place is from where we’re sitting. It’s not too far down the beach. “Güera, you want ice cream?”
She shakes her head. “I’m still full from the . . . What’s it called?”
“Tostada.”
“I’m still full from that.”
It was the only thing on the menu that I didn’t think would light her mouth on fire. I focus on Julian. “If Miguel takes you.”
“Miguel! Can you? Please?”
He pops off a headphone, and Julian repeats himself. He agrees, and I toss the boys what’s left of my money. Once they walk away, I drop to my butt next to Mercy, and we sit in silence as she stares out at the ocean.
Minutes stretch into more as we watch the waves and the people passing us by. I know what Mercy is experiencing is new and possibly overwhelming, and rather than interrupting her first experience with the Pacific Ocean, I sit back and stare at her. The salty breeze tosses the ends of her hair, and the mix of her citrus scent with the brine in the air makes for a sweet combination. I imagine her squinting behind her dark glasses. I wonder how much of it her weakened vision can pick up. I’m sure she sees enough but misses out on the tiny glimmers that dart off the water’s choppy peaks. I doubt she can see the pelicans and seagulls in the distance, diving down to scoop up their next meals, or the shiny dorsal fins popping up beyond the break as a pod of dolphins swim the length of the shoreline. None of what she can’t see seems to matter, as she’s still transfixed.
