Dream Things True

by Marie Marquardt

  * * *

  Alma stood still in the bleachers as the fans rushed the field. She watched Evan, perched on the shoulders of his teammate, raising the hulking trophy toward the sky. She imagined the trophy joining all the others in the entryway of Gilberton High School, and she knew that another photograph would hang on the wall where she and Evan used to sit on rainy mornings. She imagined walking into the building on the first day of her senior year and standing in front of it, her eyes searching the row of kneeling bodies to find Evan. She knew exactly how he would be smiling, and how the edges of his eyes would crimp the slightest bit.

  It was a relief to know that she would never have to see the photograph.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sabotage

  “These burgers taste like rubber,” Maritza said. She took a deep swig of Coke and swallowed dramatically.

  “And the French fries are vile,” Magda added.

  Whit turned to face them in the backseat. “Why are you looking at me? The Varsity was not my idea.”

  “OK, flaco, it wasn’t your idea,” Maritza replied. “But you should have stopped us. I mean, here we are trying to give Alma something to remember when she goes back, and all she has to go home with is this?” She reached forward and grabbed a silly red-and-white paper cap from Alma’s head.

  The Varsity was not just a fast-food restaurant. It was an Atlanta institution. So as they drove back to Gilberton from the game, Monica, Maritza and Magda insisted they stop at the big red V for a celebratory dinner. In their opinion, the food was mediocre at best. The only consolation was that meals came with free paper hats, just like the ones worn by the cooks.

  “Give me that hat,” Monica said, lunging toward Maritza. “This little salvadoreña is goin’ in there to teach those people how to make a burger.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Alma broke in. “I mean the Frosted Orange is actually pretty good.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Monica said. “How can that thing pass for a milk shake? It’s like drinking crushed-up baby aspirin.”

  “Yes, but Alma’s a good girl,” Whit said. “She likes to take her medicine.”

  “Y’all get off my back,” Alma said. “You’re supposed to be feeling sorry for me, you know.”

  “No,” Maritza said. “We’re supposed to be cheering you up. But obviously, we suck at it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Whit said. “I think it would behoove us all to simply endure her brooding lament. She’s morose, but she’s still Alma.”

  Magda looked at Monica. “Do you have any idea what he just said?” she asked.

  “Dang, Whit,” Maritza added. “Have you got an SAT prep book up there in your head?

  They all laughed. Alma wasn’t exactly having a good time, but she was glad to see that Whit was coming back to himself. He must have decided that she was right about Magda. She couldn’t be the wasted girl from last summer.

  They were still laughing when Magda glanced at her phone and started texting rapidly. It didn’t surprise Alma. Magda was the kind of girl who always had her phone within a few inches. She obsessively checked her texts.

  “Uggggh,” Magda groaned, and continued texting without letting any of them in on the conversation being tapped out in fragments on her phone.

  “I’ve gotta get back to Gilberton,” she announced. “My cousin is freaking out.”

  “Who, Flor?” Maritza asked. “I thought she was in South Carolina.”

  “Yeah, she was. She came back a couple of days ago.”

  “With her baby?” Alma asked.

  Flor’s parents had completely lost it when she finally told them that she was pregnant. Her father almost had a heart attack, her mother went into a depressive slump, and within days Flor was seen leaving the house, suitcase in hand. According to rumor, she went to Padre Pancho and he intervened, convincing Flor’s parents that, instead of disowning her entirely, they should send her to live with an aunt in the country. There had been much speculation on the local rumor mill about who the father might be, but no one knew for sure.

  “Yeah,” Magda said. “She was born in April. She’s super cute. Flor treats her like a baby doll.”

  “I guess that’s what happens when you have a baby at fifteen.” Maritza sneered.

  “Sixteen, now,” Magda said. “She turned sixteen a few days ago.”

  “Sweet sixteen,” Maritza mumbled under her breath.

  “She’s actually doing pretty well with the whole thing. She’s got a lot of help,” Magda said, giving Maritza an eye.

  “Where’s she living?” Monica asked. “I thought her parents kicked her out.”

  “Yeah, they basically did.” Magda answered. “She’s living with her boyfriend. I mean, he’s the dad, I guess. They’re getting married next weekend, so we figure maybe then her parents will start speaking to her again.”

  Magda leaned forward in her seat.

  “Alma,” she said, “this is weird. I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you.”

  “What?” Alma asked.

  “The dad—the guy who is marrying her—it’s your cousin Manny.”

  “What?” Alma cried. “He’s twenty years old. And plus, he doesn’t even live here anymore. He’s in—”

  “South Carolina.” Magda finished her sentence. “He moved to be near her while she was pregnant. He paid for the doctors and everything. When she turned sixteen, they decided to get married and move back to Gilberton together.”

  Alma shook her head.

  “I know you think he’s a loser, Alma,” Magda said, “but he’s been great. He’s gonna work the night shift as a supervisor at Silver Ribbon so she can go back to school.”

  “A supervisor? Are you sure that we’re talking about the same Manny?” Alma asked.

  Manny doing shift work at the poultry plant. Taking care of a baby. It killed her that he got a job as a supervisor when he’d barely managed to get a high school diploma. That was the difference having legal status made—and speaking English.

  “Because he has never in his life done a single responsible thing,” she continued. “Ever.”

  “Yeah,” Magda said. “I saw him yesterday. They’re living in his parents’ basement.” She looked around at Maritza and Monica. “It was the weirdest scene, y’all. Flor was, like, hanging flowery curtains, and Manny was sitting at the kitchen table, studying for the citizenship test with the baby asleep on his chest.”

  “Manny? A citizen?” Alma asked.

  “Yeah, if he passes the test.” Magda said. “He wants to help Flor get papers, you know?” She looked back down at her phone. “Hold on a sec,” she said as her fingers moved frantically across the keyboard.

  “Bastard,” Maritza said, filling the silence left by Magda’s distraction. “I don’t care if he’s stepping up now, he was way too old to be fooling around with her. That’s, like, criminal.”

  “Technically, it is criminal,” Whit said. “At least until they get married. Fortunately for them, our enlightened state of Georgia allows children to marry at age sixteen, as long as they have consent from their parents.”

  Alma felt her stomach contract; Whit’s words dragged her thoughts back to Evan’s proposal.

  Magda looked up from her phone. “Flor’s losing it. Something happened, and Manny went ballistic. He took off and she’s stuck there alone without a way to find him. She thinks he’s gonna hurt someone.”

  “Yeah,” Alma said, nodding. “That’s starting to sound more like my cousin.”

  “Whit,” Magda said pleading, “can you take me to her house, like, now?”

  Whit eased his car back onto the interstate and pressed hard on the gas.

  “Ooohhh, the drama!” he exclaimed. “Tell her we’ll be there in forty minutes—maybe less.”

  * * *

  The party was under way by the time Evan arrived with a carload of his elated teammates. Santiago had old-school hip-hop blaring from the speakers, and Miguel and Jonathan were half st
anding in the backseat with their torsos hanging out of the windows. They sang at the top of their lungs. Evan watched them in the rearview mirror, and he was happy for them. He wanted to feel their unbridled joy, but he felt nothing. The numbness was good. He knew that his only choices were this or overwhelming sadness. Even tonight.

  Evan eased into an empty space as Miguel and Jonathan hoisted themselves out of their respective windows and landed on their feet. The door of the truck in front of them squealed open, and Conway, Peavey, and three junior girls tumbled out.

  Peavey leapt into the air and gave Miguel and Santiago high-fives, while the junior girls mobbed Jonathan with a group hug. Evan hung back, but Conway was headed straight for him.

  “Great game, man.” Conway punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Y’all kicked some serious city-boy ass out there.”

  Evan didn’t respond.

  “And that defender—what was he, like, Indian or something? He couldn’t touch you, man.”

  Seeing Conway in front of him, Evan felt a spark of the hatred that had engulfed him for so many weeks, but the spark wasn’t enough to bring back his fire. It was too late. Evan had worked so hard to forget, to pretend that none of it had happened, or at least that none of it mattered. Maybe all of that work was paying off because now he didn’t want to fight Conway. He didn’t really want to do anything except go home and stare at the walls, but his team had just won a championship, and he was going to celebrate whether he wanted to or not.

  * * *

  The door flew open, and Flor rushed out, her curly hair wild and her eyes swollen and red. She bounced a screaming infant in the crook of her arm. The baby’s face was nestled into her mother’s chest. Alma saw a shock of dark-brown hair, interspersed with a few pink barrettes.

  Magda stepped forward first, reaching her arms toward the baby.

  “Calm down, Flor. We’re here. And give me that poor child.”

  Magda took the screaming baby, who immediately fell silent.

  “Football hold,” Magda announced as she entered the house. “Works every time.”

  Alma, Maritza, and Monica followed, but Whit held back, standing frozen by the car. Alma was too concerned about Flor to worry about Whit. She watched Flor stumble into the house and fall onto a red brocade couch. She slouched forward and buried her head in her hands.

  “Oh, God. What have I done?” she asked. She seemed to be speaking to herself, so no one answered.

  “We don’t have much time,” Flor said, looking up. “We need to find him before he does something stupid. We’re getting married! He’s taking the citizenship test! What if he screws up and gets deported?”

  Alma knew it was possible. Manny had his green card, but he could be sent back to Mexico if he committed a felony before becoming a citizen. Manny definitely was capable of committing a felony.

  “Just calm down and tell us what happened, Flor. He won’t get deported,” Magda said gently.

  “I messed up. Again,” Flor said. “I mean, Manny, he’s been so great about it all. In the very beginning he wanted to know, and I just said it was one of the country-club kids, and it didn’t matter because I loved Manny and it was a mistake. A big one. But now we have Jasmine and she’s so beautiful, and it doesn’t even feel like a mistake, and she’s his—even though she’s not.”

  “You’re not making sense,” Magda said. “Slow down.”

  Flor looked at Magda and said, “Manny and I, we have been together since I was fourteen, but since he was so much older we never told anyone. But we weren’t like, uh, together together. And then last summer—please, you have to promise not to tell anyone this.” They nodded vigorously. “Last summer, I got wasted at a party. I woke up the next morning alone in a fancy house by the golf course. I didn’t remember anything, but I was pretty sure—you know. A month later, I was peeing on a stick.”

  “Oh, God,” Monica said. “That’s horrible.”

  “Manny was so mad at first. I was supposed to be saving myself for him, you know? He demanded to know who it was, but I wouldn’t tell him. He started to harass all of my friends about it. Yazmín told him that I left the party in a black Hummer, but that was all he knew until now.”

  Alma felt light-headed. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and blood rushed to her ears. A series of snapshots ran through her head: Manny confronting Evan at the quinceañera, the strange things he said about a Hummer, Whit standing at the edge of Terrora Dam. It was all beginning to make sense.

  “In South Carolina, he almost forgot about it all,” Flor said. “He promised me that it didn’t matter, that the baby would be his.”

  “So, what happened?” Magda asked.

  Alma had to stand up. She walked toward the door and inhaled the warm night air.

  “Something about coming back to Gilberton set him off. He said that before we get married, he has to know who it was. I told him I don’t know.” She began to cry.

  “But he wouldn’t let it go,” Magda surmised. She stood with Jasmine peacefully sleeping in her arms.

  “No,” Flor replied. “So I just took him by the house. The Hummer was parked in front. As soon as he saw it, he sped home, practically threw me and Jasmine out of the car, and left. He didn’t say a word. I think he knows who lives there. He’s going after whoever it is.”

  Alma leaned against the door frame to balance herself. She wasn’t sure that she would be able to produce sound, but she tried.

  “Where was the house?” she asked.

  “In Lakeshore Heights, on a dead-end street near the country club.”

  “A big brick house on the lake? With white columns?” Alma asked quietly. “And white rockers on the front porch?”

  “Yeah,” Flor said. “Do you know who lives there?”

  “Yeah,” she said. Alma felt herself sinking to the ground.

  At the moment her body touched the ground she realized two things: Evan was in real danger, and Whit was still outside. She turned to look out the window. It was dark, but she saw Whit in the glow of the street lamp, slowly pacing in front of the car. He held something in his hand, and his thumb rhythmically rubbed across its surface.

  Seeing him, she knew. Alma and Whit were the only two people with the information to piece together this puzzle—unless she counted Conway, and she refused to think of him in the presence of that precious sleeping baby.

  She forced herself to stand up.

  “Just stay here,” she said. “Don’t follow me.”

  Alma ran outside and Whit looked up.

  “Is it his?” Whit asked. Alma knew that he meant the baby.

  “No. But we can’t think about that now. Evan’s in trouble.”

  “What? Evan? Why?”

  “Manny made her tell him who the dad is. She couldn’t remember, but she showed him the house.”

  “Evan’s house? Oh, Jesus.”

  His hands fell to his side, and a gold chip landed on the asphalt. He breathed too quickly, his chest heaving.

  “Give me your phone,” Alma said.

  “That’s the girl, Alma,” he said, handing over his phone. “It’s her. I knew it as soon as she opened the door.”

  Alma dialed Evan’s number and put the phone to her ear.

  “I know, Whit,” she said. “But you have to hold it together.” Evan wasn’t picking up. She dialed again.

  “I think I’m going to faint,” Whit said.

  Still no answer. Alma hung up and handed Whit the phone.

  “You are not going to faint,” Alma replied sternly. “You are going to get in that car, and you are going to drive like a bat out of hell to the team party. We need to find Evan.” She took his chin in her hand and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Whit nodded, crouched down to scoop up the chip, and then jogged toward his car.

  * * *

  The party was in full swing. Peavey was trying to do a keg stand, but he was too drunk to get up on his hands. Evan wa
tched, mildly amused, as Peavey gave up and sucked the beer directly from the tap. Behind him, Logan and Caroline stood pressed against a wall, making out.

  So much for the summer of no strings attached.

  Evan sat on a chair in the kitchen, nursing a warm beer. He was bored. He had no interest in being here, but he also didn’t have the energy to come up with an alternative. So he sat and watched from a distance as everyone else celebrated.

  His phone rang. Whit. Evan ignored it and shoved the phone back in his pocket. It rang again, but he didn’t even look. Whit was the kind of guy who called a million times before giving up. Just another way that he annoyed the hell out of Evan.

  Mary Catherine tumbled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was wasted. Her already short skirt rode up practically around her waist. He tugged the skirt down far enough to cover her powder-pink undies.

  “You take such good care of me,” she crooned in his ear.

  “You should stop drinking,” he replied.

  “Or maybe you should start,” M.C. said. “We’re all celebrating you, and you won’t even celebrate.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Evan asked.

  “Barely,” she replied. She ran her fingers along the back of his neck. Evan closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feel of her touch. He didn’t feel a thing.

  Mary Catherine rested her forehead on his shoulder.

  “I need some air.”

  She stood up unsteadily and tugged at his hand, and he followed dutifully out the front door. Evan wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and guided her down the porch stairs. She leaned into him, barely able to stand.

  At the bottom stair Evan looked up.

  There was a sort of charge in the air. Something felt very wrong.

  “Evan Roland.”

  Evan heard the voice first, and then he saw its source. Alma’s cousin Manny was standing a foot away, leaning against the railing.