As she washed her hands, she began to cry silently, feeling stupid and grimy and achy and so breathtakingly alone. She wanted to go home.
I’m here, like you wanted, ’Amá. Now what? Celeste thought. She waited for some sign from her mother. A sound, a voice, something, anything. But there was nothing. She splashed her face with water and ran her hands through her now-flattened curls. She was wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing for two days—a bright white hoodie over a T-shirt and jeans. She was dying for a shower. But it was probably upstairs and she didn’t want to go up there. Besides, she didn’t want to get undressed in this new place, surrounded by strangers.
When Celeste left the small half bath, her belly was growling, her hunger wrestling with the other pain in her abdomen. A large platter of wedding cookies sat on the kitchen counter, and she immediately went to the tray, pulled back the plastic and took one of the cookies. But then she changed her mind. She wiped the ghost of powdered sugar on her jeans and re-covered the platter. The wood floor was cool beneath her bare feet and she suddenly felt chilled. She shoved her fists into the pockets of her hoodie and wrapped herself tight as she began to retrace her steps back to the room where she had slept. She paused in the living room, a room much softer and more inviting than the office space she slept in, which had been full of sharp edges and cold, mismatched fixtures. The living room was large and airy, painted in greens and browns, with matching curtains. Bien fancy, she thought, like a hotel. A huge fern sat where logs should have been in the faux fireplace, and above that, a parade of photographs and cards. She tiptoed over to get a better look. The picture she noticed first was of Beatriz and Larry, looking much younger than they did the night before, and then another one of them closer to the present day. Curly lettered cards singing “Felicidades!” and “Happy Anniversary!” were propped up between photos of boys, all the same, but at different ages—smiling, pouting, or making faces at the camera.
Celeste didn’t know who was whom, but she could see that the boys favored Larry, lanky and lean. Only two of the boys had Beatriz’s dark, espresso-color eyes. The oldest had the curly hair, like her aunt Beatriz, while the rest of the boys had straight hair like Larry. The boy with the round nose like Beatriz’s and the older boy with the curly hair were the perfect café con leche blend that could come from the ruddy Larry and la morena beauty of Beatriz. The other two boys were different. Their skin was pale, flecked like vanilla ice cream, which looked even paler against their black hair. Although the light-skinned, raven-haired boys were in many of the photos with the other boys at the same birthday parties, the same baseball games, the same picnics, Celeste could see there was something wild about them, something damaged, something that only another damaged kid could recognize, even if she didn’t have the words to express it. She knew them better than she, or they, might expect. She continued studying the photos intently, trying to get as much information from them as possible. She could see her aunt Beatriz’s world was filled with things Celeste had seen only on TV: Little League, Boy Scout uniforms, lunchboxes, braces, holidays filled with large, brightly colored boxes, and mountains of toys and food. The one thing she didn’t see was something she couldn’t name but that she hoped would make itself obvious to her—something that would tell her without hesitation that she belonged there.
Lost amid the photographs, Celeste was surprised when the boys came tumbling down the stairs like wild monkeys. She wanted to go back to the room she slept in, but if she did that they would see her. She silently dashed back into the kitchen and into the half bath, hoping they were leaving the house. But as soon as she closed the door to the small room, she heard the boys in the kitchen hunting for food.
“She was totally into me!” Seamus declared, heading directly for the refrigerator.
“She didn’t talk to you for a half hour,” Raúl said, tearing the plastic off the wedding cookies and grabbing several.
“That was only because she felt sorry for you when all those little kids started to chase you.”
“We were playing tag! Besides, what would a girl like that want with a runty leprechaun like you?” Raúl asked.
“Tell him, Wally. She was totally into me!” Seamus crowed.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” the little boy said.
“You know, Carmen! She came to the party and was totally into me,” Seamus said.
Wally didn’t understand why his brother was so excited, and he was more concerned with his empty stomach. “I’m hungry,” he whined.
“Hold on.” Seamus rummaged inside the refrigerator for something to feed his brother.
Celeste didn’t know what to do. Maybe they wouldn’t take long. Maybe she could slip out unnoticed. Maybe if she stopped breathing and closed her eyes, they wouldn’t see her. She anxiously sat on the commode and waited for them to go away.
Raúl was the one who found her when he opened the bathroom door.
“It’s a dame!” he said in an elastic, cartoonish voice, mimicking a line from an old movie musical he once saw. He’d been dying to use the line ever since but had never had the chance.
Wally and Seamus ignored him. They were used to their cousin saying goofy stuff all the time.
“It’s a dame!” Raúl said again, louder and more insistent, taking in the dark, willowy girl with the lopsided curls, barefoot and shivering in the half bath.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Seamus finally said, gnawing on a leftover chicken wing. Wally finally went over to see what his cousin was talking about.
“Oh! Who’s that?” he asked.
“What did I say?”
Seamus walked over to where the boys were and the three of them stood, looking at Celeste, who was anxiously biting her lower lip, staring back at them suspiciously.
“Who’s that?” Seamus asked.
“I dunno,” Wally said. They both looked at Raúl, who only shrugged.
“I am Celeste,” she said loudly.
“Who?” Seamus demanded.
Before Celeste could speak again, Carlos walked into the kitchen, his hair frizzy and his open robe revealing his bare chest.
“Jesus! Could you guys be any louder?” Carlos yawned. “What’s wrong with you tontos?” But the boys were quiet now. Carlos walked over to where they were, wondering what held their attention.
“What the hell is wrong with you all?” Carlos pushed the boys out of the way, and when he saw Celeste in the bathroom, standing there like a rabbit cornered by a pack of dogs, he shooed the boys away as he pulled his robe closed and quickly cinched the tie around his waist. “Descúlpeme! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yeah, but who is it?” Raúl said to his big brother’s back.
“Who sent you?” Carlos asked Celeste, but he didn’t wait for her to answer. “Did la señora from next door send you? Ella le envío?” He turned to the boys. “Move, you dorks! She’s here to help clean up, I guess.” Carlos didn’t think Celeste looked old enough to be their neighbor’s cleaning woman, but like most of the women who took jobs cleaning other women’s kitchens in the neighborhood, Celeste could be described as having “el nopal en el frente.” It literally meant “a cactus on the forehead.” He knew the term because Marisol used it to describe herself, meaning she was a Mexicana, through and through; not only proud of her heritage but of her dark skin, large black eyes, and her small stature. And though Carlos was sure the girl didn’t live in their neighborhood, he could see there was something familiar about her, something that he recognized but could not name.
“Mira! You all act like you never seen a girl,” he scolded the boys.
“What’s going on?”
Beatriz’s voice couldn’t break the younger boys’ trance, who all still stood staring slack-jawed at Celeste from behind Carlos’s back, like she was a road map they were trying to read upside down. When Beatriz got to the huddle, the boys splintered into other parts of the kitchen as Beatriz gently whispered to Celeste.
“Come on, mi’ja. They act like a bunch of payasos, but they’re not that bad.” She motioned for Celeste to follow her. “Boys, I would like you to meet Celeste. She’s your cousin from El Paso. She got here last night.”
The boys all looked at each other, each thinking what Seamus said out loud.
“She is?”
“Yes. She’s going to be staying with us, verdad?” Beatriz said, looking at Celeste for confirmation, but the girl kept her eyes on the boys.
“Where?” Seamus demanded. He did not like where this was going.
“Where, what?” Beatriz said. “With us, silly! Oye, your uncle is going to drive you and Wally back home, and why don’t you two”—she motioned to Raúl and Carlos—“go with him?”
“C’mon, boys,” Larry said from the kitchen door, already dressed and ready to go. “We’ll go by way of the Waffle House.” He jangled his keys, making Raúl and Wally leap like trained dogs, tearing out of the kitchen and running upstairs two steps at a time to change. Seamus and Carlos stayed behind.
“Shay, make sure you and your brother pick up all your things,” Beatriz said.
“And make sure you get all your books for school,” Larry added. “I know you have a test tomorrow, right? So, no forgotten math books, or notebooks, or anything, you hear?”
Seamus brushed by his uncle as he left the kitchen, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.
“C’mon, son. The bus leaves in five minutes,” Larry said to Carlos, as he left the kitchen.
“I don’t mind cooking for us,” Carlos offered.
“No, no, mi amor—just go with your father, okay? We’re going to stay here,” Beatriz said to her son. “Your dad will explain,” she added in a low voice.
“ ’Amá, I called her the maid!” he whispered to his mother.
“Carlos!”
“I know!” Carlos turned back to Celeste. “I’m real sorry for being un tonto,” he said.
“No importa,” she said. “If you didn’t come, those boys would still be staring at me.”
Carlos extended his hand to Celeste. “Con much gusto. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome.” Celeste nodded politely and took her cousin’s hand. He was surprised at the girl’s firm grip. As he shuffled out of the kitchen Beatriz put her hand on his shoulder and held him back. She had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek, and Carlos, feeling like he’d received his mother’s blessing, continued up to his room to change.
Ana was coming into the house as Larry and the boys were leaving. She had a small basket filled with clothes under her arm, with a crisp brown paper sack perched on top. From the living room window where Larry had announced the arrival of the police the night before, she watched the boys pile into Larry’s SUV and then pull out and away.
Beatriz came into the living room, guiding Celeste with her hands on her shoulders.
“Ah, buenas días,” Ana said cheerfully. “I found some things mi hija Carmen wasn’t wearing anymore, and I thought… I couldn’t tell if you brought much in that little backpack of yours. I thought you might like to look through here. You might find a couple of things you’d like.”
“That’s nice,” Beatriz said. “Gracias. Isn’t that nice, Celeste?”
Celeste nodded and stepped forward to shake Ana’s hand.
“You are such a tiny thing!” Ana said. “But I bet there’s something in there that will fit. If you want.”
“I bet you’re starving!” Beatriz said, watching Celeste’s face again for some clue as to what she was thinking. “Why don’t I make us something to eat and you can take a shower. Let me show you where it is, and when you’re finished, we’ll have a nice breakfast. ’Stá bien?”
“Sí,” Celeste said meekly. “Thank you.”
Beatriz took Celeste upstairs to the bedroom where Seamus and Wally had been sleeping, and Ana followed with the basket.
“Why don’t you set your things in here while you shower,” Beatriz suggested. “And when you’re done, you can finish changing in here.”
“Is this where the boys sleep?” Celeste asked, noticing a pair of boxer shorts on the floor.
“Ay! Los cochinos!” Beatriz said, swiping up the shorts and throwing them out into the hallway. “My sons, your cousins, Carlos and Raúl, have their own rooms. This is the room that Seamus and Wally sleep in when they stay here. They’re your cousins, too. Once removed—or is it second cousins? Seamus and Wally belong to Larry’s sister, Lucy. Larry, mi marido, es tu tío. So, they’re your cousins, too.”
Celeste was confused, and Beatriz began to run through the family tree again when Ana gently broke in.
“You know what? I think we should let her take a shower,” Ana said. “There’s time to get the who’s who later. Verdad?”
Beatriz took a long, calming breath.
“Yes, yes. Of course! That makes sense. Here,” she said, handing Celeste two thick towels. The girl thought there must be a mistake.
“You want me to use these?”
“Of course,” Beatriz said.
Celeste pressed her hand into the soft pile. “I will be careful.”
“I’ll leave the basket here,” Ana said.
“We’ll be downstairs. Come down when you’re ready,” Beatriz said.
“Oh! And in here,” Ana said, handing the brown bag to Celeste, “are some things you might need. If not now, save it for later.”
When the two women left, Celeste carefully peeled open the sack and was relieved to find it filled with a deodorant, a small bottle of shampoo, a powdery soft bar of soap, a brand new box of sanitary pads, and a smaller box of tampons. She had forgotten those items when she gathered her things for her long trip. Those were the kind of things her mother would have taken care of. Celeste knew that she would know better next time. Pulling out all the new things and bringing the box of soap to her face to breathe in its scent brought Celeste a momentary happiness that she hadn’t experienced in weeks.
Downstairs, Ana put water in the teakettle while Beatriz pulled out eggs, a bowl of chopped pineapple, and whatever else she could find in the refrigerator to make breakfast. The two of them mindlessly ate cookies as they waited for the water to boil.
“So?” Ana began. She didn’t know where to go from there.
“So,” Beatriz added. “I’m—stunned! I just can’t believe it. I mean, I believe it, but it’s not real to me yet.”
“I hate to ask this,” Ana said carefully, as she brought down two mugs and a box of tea from the cupboard, “but, well—are you sure she’s who she says she is?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Beatriz said. “She looks exactly like Perla, don’t you think?”
Ana couldn’t remember. Too much time had passed without Perla’s name even being mentioned. There were no photos that she remembered seeing, no indication that Perla had ever existed.
“And besides, Celeste’s birth certificate was in the packet of papers she brought,” Beatriz said. “It’s her. She’s for real.”
“What else was in the packet?” Ana asked, spooning some pineapple into small bowls.
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked though it yet. Larry has, a little. It was so late, and with all the excitement…”
Ana nodded. “So, what happens now?”
“I guess—I guess I’ll enroll her in school. I need to call my brothers and tell them. I should take her to the doctor for a checkup. I really haven’t had a chance to talk to her and find out what happened,” Beatriz said as she dropped tea bags into mugs. “But it’s just—even with her standing there in living color—I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be a dream.”
Ana could see that Beatriz was as distracted as she was excited. She had never told Ana much about her sister, and now Ana wasn’t sure where to begin asking questions.
“My brothers are going to freak out,” Beatriz said after a long moment.
“What does Larry say?”
“We were both so stunned and exhaus
ted from yesterday, we thought we should get some sleep and deal with it all in the morning. He’s fine with her staying here,” Beatriz said, not imagining that her husband would have it any other way. She began to crack some eggs into a bowl.
“So—Perla,” Ana asked carefully. “You never heard from her after, you know, she left?”
“Nope.” Beatriz began to whisk the eggs, thinking of the last time she talked to her sister. If she could do it all over again, things would be different. Not only would Celeste not be a stranger to the family, but that knot Beatriz carried—the one that untied from time to time and wove itself over her like a lead blanket, heavy with guilt—would not exist. She contrasted her last image of Perla, tired and desperate, with the vision of Perla as a child that she saw in the backyard, in the street, and in her dreams. Was it a ghost? A phantom created from the memories the day had stirred? Whatever it was, it was the image of Perla that Beatriz wanted to believe was how Perla lived the rest of her days: happy and carefree.
“She was something,” Beatriz said after a long silence. “A little wild. Not bad, really, but so hardheaded, that one! She was only a little girl when I was a teenager, and híjole, she knew how to get under my skin! But she really looked up to me.” The regret rose to the surface like bubbles in soda water. “When I moved away to go to school, things weren’t the same. She started messing up, and my parents were pretty old by the time she was a teenager. So—” Beatriz’s throat began to tighten. She had stopped beating the egg but still gripped the whisk, struggling to maintain her composure by focusing on the frothy yolk.
Sisters, Strangers, and Starting Over Page 5
