Sisters, Strangers, and Starting Over

by Belinda Acosta

  “You mean the Columns?” the man asked.

  “The Columns?” Josie repeated. “What’s that?”

  “It’s one of those poofy bed-and-breakfasts. Is that what you want?”

  Josie didn’t know what she wanted, but a big poofy bed, with breakfast, no matter where it was, sounded good to her.

  “Yeah, sure. Is it near here?” she asked.

  “Down the street. It’s kind of set back from the road. Easy to miss if you’re driving and don’t know what you’re looking for,” the man said. “Two blocks that way, on the left.” He pointed with his chin as he slid a fresh book of matches toward Josie. “I don’t think they allow smoking, though.”

  “Well, of course they don’t,” she sighed, accepting the matches. “Thanks.”

  The Columns bed-and-breakfast was right where the convenience store clerk said it would be. Josie pulled in, trying to remember how she had heard about this place, storing its name in the recesses of her memory, like that one bit of arcane knowledge game show winners cite as their saving grace. It would be too coincidental for them to have a vacancy, Josie thought, and probably no Wi-Fi. She was ready for an apology when she stepped up to the check-in desk, feeling especially dingy after a long night in her car. But sure enough, a cancellation had just come in an hour before, and the desk clerk was so happy to fill the empty room that she cut Josie a deal. When she mentioned in passing that a new wireless router had just been installed last week, Josie knew she had to stay. She would have called it fate or kismet, if she believed in that sort of thing. But of course, the only drawback, and just like the convenience store clerk had said, was that no smoking was allowed in the rooms.

  “Outside,” the receptionist pointed, peering at Josie over her glasses. “All the way in the back, close to the adobe fence near the jacaranda tree, we set up a place for smokers. You’ll see.”

  Instead of heading straight for a smoke, Josie decided to head straight up to the room. She would try to sleep before finding dinner and making another shot in the dark to find Celeste. She turned on the TV and set it to her favorite cable news network as she began sorting through her things when her cell phone chirped. It was her mother.

  “Bueno!” Josie said.

  “Are you there?” Rita asked.

  “I just got here.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I just got here, I said.” Damn! Josie thought. How does she do that? Josie flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. She could feel her body unfurling and relaxing as she sunk into the plush comforter. The frills and the lace and the overabundance of ruffles were not her style, but the bed was luscious. She thought she could die in the bed and never regret it.

  “So, did you take care of your business?” Rita asked. Josie could feel her lids getting heavy.

  “Not yet,” Josie said lazily. She rolled onto her side, the faint smell of lavender falling over her like a gentle cloud.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Rita asked. “You sound drunk. And who’s that talking?”

  “I’m not drunk, ’Amá. I’m tired,” Josie slurred. She turned down the sound on the TV. “I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

  “Then you better pull off the road and take a nap,” Rita said. She was worried.

  “I am off the road,” Josie said, rousting herself awake. “I’m in a hotel.” Josie didn’t notice the icy silence on the other end of the phone.

  “You’re in a hotel?” Rita finally said. “What do you mean you’re in a hotel? I thought you had a delivery and then you were coming home.”

  Josie forgot that she hadn’t quite told her mother the whole story—that she did have some business to take care of, but that she didn’t know where to start, that she was starting from ground zero.

  “Oh, my gato, Josefina! It’s a sin to lie to your mother! And on a Sunday!” Rita said, sounding as deeply wounded as she possibly could.

  “I didn’t lie,” Josie stammered. “And besides, isn’t it a sin to work on Sunday, too?”

  “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you!” Rita said.

  Josie didn’t want to argue with her mother. “ ’Amá, please. I’m too tired for this. I will try to do what I need to do and get back there tomorrow, but right now, I just want to lie here and talk to my kid. Can you please put her on the phone?”

  “She’s not here,” Rita said stonily. “And besides, if she were, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to talk to her.”

  This jarred Josie, and her eyes popped wide open.

  “You’re like her own personal Santa Claus. I tell her to wait, and wait, and wait, and then the day you’re supposed to be here, you don’t show. Do you know what it’s like to deal with a disappointed kid?”

  Josie felt as if she’d been slapped in the face, as if her mother were punishing her for a choice she’d helped her make.

  “When she was little, it was easier, but she’s growing up now. She’s a person. She knows what it means to miss someone, Josefina, and it’s…” Rita shook her head. Maybe she was to blame, she thought. Maybe she shouldn’t have offered to help her daughter in the way she did. Maybe it would have been better if Josie stayed home, raised her child, and took whatever work she could scrounge up. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

  “I want to talk to my daughter,” Josie said more forcefully.

  “I told you, she’s not here. She’s with your aunt Chata,” Rita said.

  “Well, can I have her cell phone?”

  “She doesn’t have one,” Rita said. “You know how she is.”

  There were worse things than her little girl being with Chata, Josie thought. The thing was, Chata was already old when Josie was a girl, and Chata had only gotten kookier as she aged. Her aunt Chata was always good for a little chisme, but her specialty was wild myths from the ancient past. Her favorite story was of Mictecacihuatl, the queen of Mictlan, the underworld.

  “Who?” Josie had asked when she was a girl, frustrated with all the syllables and not really believing the stories were as authentic as Chata claimed. She’d never seen them in a library book, and she couldn’t pronounce the names well enough to ask the librarian. The name sounded like hacking when Chata said it, and Josie thought her nutty aunt was trying to fool her with her own version of pig Latin.

  “Mictecacihuatl!” the old woman had repeated when Josie interrupted. “Mictecacihuatl! Okay, let’s just call her La Mikke. Now, let me get on with the story…”

  It wasn’t until much later, when Josie fell into a Mexican mythology class in college, that she realized that her aunt Chata’s stories really were part of an ancient tradition.

  “Hey, Tía! You didn’t tell me La Mikke was like the Mexican Persephone.”

  “What makes you think Persephone was not like her?” the old woman scoffed. At the time, Josie didn’t understand why her aunt was so annoyed.

  Well, if nothing else, Josie thought, Paz will be entertained.

  “Oye, Josefina? Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “Hang up the phone, Josefina.” Rita sighed. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay,” Josie said, as the phone gently slid down the side of her face onto the thick bedspread.

  Maybe it was all the driving, all the worry, but Josie was finally drifting off into a deep sleep. Her limbs went limp, the furrow in her brow softened, and the tightness in her jaw came loose. She reached for the remote to turn off the set and when she couldn’t find it, she couldn’t bear to open her eyes to look for it. She had gone without sleep for so long, she clung to it ravenously. She could hear a voice on the TV intoning about some recent tragedy, with screams and gunfire in the background, and she pulled the fluttery bedspread over her head to block out the world. She was almost fully asleep when there was a slump on her bed, as if someone sat down next to her. Josie threw off the covers and sat up with a start, her cell phone and the TV remote, hidden in the folds of the bedcover, flying to
the floor. Josie looked around the room, but there was no one. The only thing stirring besides her galloping heart was the image on the TV, now an annoyingly cheery commercial selling a time-share in the Bahamas. Josie gave up. She sat up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, realizing she was smearing whatever mascara was left but not caring. She decided she needed a smoke.

  She weaved her way through the long backyard, through the carefully manicured garden, stepping on flat, granite stones that led to the back. Large, flowering hedges blocked her view of the adobe fence and the small settee that was placed there, out of sight, for the smokers. She lit up and inhaled deeply, watching the cigarette smoke rise above her and disappear into the sky. A gust of wind rattled the jacaranda over her, sending down a snow of florets, covering her hair and shoulders. She stood to shake them off and walked away from the flowering tree when she heard something eerie—strange music, like from an old-time horror movie. She thought she was imagining it and tried to ignore the sound until she heard a young voice intone with an overly studied British accent:

  “ ‘Even a man who is pure at heart and says his prayers at night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms, and the Autumn moon is bright.’ ”

  The words were followed by a girlish giggle.

  “You know all the words?” the girl said.

  “Yup!”

  “Are you going to say them through the whole thing?”

  “I can!” the boy said brightly, then more shyly, “But I don’t have to.”

  Josie stood and wandered to one of the openings in the fence to take a peek. Through the foliage, she saw a young boy and a girl laying on their stomachs on an unfurled sleeping bag, facing a small DVD player before them. The boy adjusted the screen, and the light from the player splashed on their faces. Josie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She reared away from the opening as if she’d been caught spying. She took a deep breath and turned back to the opening to take another look. Her head was spinning. She sat down to calm her nerves and finish her cigarette.

  It can’t be, Josie thought. She was elated, but suspicious. It would be a miracle if she saw what she thought she saw. She needed to tell someone, get another perspective. She called her mother again, thinking that when she told her the good news, her mother would congratulate her, tell her not to question it, just go with it, be happy—and get herself home. But the phone rang, and rang, and rang. Josie finally snapped her phone closed and sat there trying to make sense of everything. Maybe the conscious part of her sleep-deprived mind had helped her remember this place. Maybe Perla had told her about the bed-and-breakfast behind her sister’s house. Josie was puzzled and amazed at once. Had she really seen what she thought she’d seen? She got up to go take another peek. The kids were still there, fully absorbed in the movie now that it got to the part where Lon Chaney turns into the wolf man for the first time. Josie finished her cigarette and decided to go back to her room and try and get some rest. She didn’t trust that she was seeing what she saw. If she could summon a little sleep, things would make more sense in the morning. As she walked back to the house, another cool breeze tickled the jacaranda tree, loosening mauve florets that happily danced like ballerinas to the ground.

  TWELVE

  Beatriz stayed at the kitchen table when Larry went upstairs. She heard him knocking around in their bedroom above her. When it got quiet again, she went to the front of the house and saw him make his way down the stairs, carrying a small overnight bag.

  She wanted to call his name as he reached the front door, but she was too stunned. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

  “I’ll call you from wherever I land,” he said over his shoulder. Beatriz could only nod.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked. When he turned toward Beatriz, their eyes didn’t meet. He stared past her to the photos of their family on the mantle. She was looking at his bag, thinking it was the one with the broken zipper that he used only for emergencies. Was he really in that much of a hurry to get away from her?

  Larry was hoping she would run over and throw her arms around him and beg him to stay. Beatriz was hoping he would drop the bag and take her in his arms. Their silence was thick with want but neither of them would bend.

  Larry finally opened the door and stood there, fumbling with his keys, untangling the straps of his overnight bag so they would lie flat, before he finally left and closed the door behind him. Beatriz stood in the foyer, thinking that the door might swing back open and there he would be, standing on the porch, unable to leave after all. When that didn’t happen, she went to the door and peeked out the narrow window alongside it. She watched him fling his bag into the backseat of his SUV and climb in. He sat there for a long time, staring into his lap, before he finally started the engine and took off. Carlos came downstairs as soon as his father pulled out of the drive.

  “So, what did he say?” Carlos asked.

  Beatriz was still in a daze. “Say what about what, mi’jo?”

  “You all didn’t talk about me?”

  “I’m sorry, son. We didn’t quite get to that,” Beatriz said. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it all out.” She was trying to convince herself as much as her son.

  “Okay, well, I’m going over to Marisol’s.”

  “Sure, son. Don’t stay out too late.” After Carlos left, Beatriz returned to the kitchen and watched the kids through the patio door. She was pleased that Celeste was enjoying Raúl’s old movies and tried to guess which ones they were watching. She slid open the door and called out to them.

  “Hey! You all want some soda or something?” She was working hard to sound bright and nonchalant. From the distance, and because they were wrapped up in their movie, the kids didn’t notice how shaken she was.

  “I’m good!” Raúl answered back. He looked at Celeste, and she said something to him, after which he called out to his mother, “We’re good!” Celeste pulled on his sleeve and spoke to him again. “Maybe some cake later!” he reported.

  “Not too late,” Beatriz said. Well, if Celeste wasn’t talking to her, at least she was getting to know her son.

  Beatriz wandered back to the living room, sat in the middle of the couch—the same couch that less than twenty-four hours before she and her husband were lazing on, happy and content. She could feel the full impact of what had happened hit her. She had to hold it together until the kids went to bed. And just when she thought she would lose it, she called Ana. “What are you doing?”

  “Ironing, making some caldo for Diego. He seems to have come down with a bug.” Ana paused. “Why?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll call back tomorrow,” Beatriz said.

  “No, no. He’s asleep.” Ana could hear the tension in her friend’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—I—I don’t know, but I think I might have just set the groundwork for my divorce,” Beatriz said.

  “What?”

  “I told Larry I wanted us to keep Celeste, and he said he didn’t want to. Then I told him he really had no choice, and then… he left.”

  “You had a fight? Ay, mujer! I’m sure he’s just driving around to cool off,” Ana said.

  “No, he said he would check into a hotel.”

  “What?” There was a laugh in Ana’s voice, but Beatriz was not smiling. “No! I don’t believe it! I mean, he’s just upset. Let him cool down. He’ll be back.”

  “I don’t know,” Beatriz said, wiping the tears that were flooding her eyes. “I told him he had to choose.”

  “Between you and Celeste?”

  “No—yes—I don’t know! I don’t even know what I said, but I told him that Celeste was here to stay. I owe it to Perla. I want to do it right this time. I can’t turn her away like I did my sister. I was very direct about that.” Beatriz leaned into the couch and pulled her legs up under her.

  “Oh,” Ana began carefully. She was beginning to put the pieces together of what happened between Beatriz and Perla those many y
ears ago. “You put her out. Is that what happened?”

  “Yes,” Beatriz said in a small voice. “Larry and I had just moved in together. We were in grad school, and we were, you know, crazy in love, and things couldn’t have been more perfect—well, except for the not having any money part. I never thought I would find anyone. Never thought someone like him would be the one.”

  “Why would you think that? There were boys around you all the time.”

  “Because—I don’t know. I wasn’t traditional enough, or girly enough, or whatever enough. Remember what my mother used to tell me? She always told me to stop reading and working already and go out and find a nice boy to marry and bring her some grandkids.”

  “Your mom was old school,” Ana said. “So… you and Larry were doing great over there in Ann Arbor. I still don’t understand where Perla comes in.”

  “She was messing up. Messing up bad. I guess she got mixed up with some boy, and when she showed up pregnant, the tía she was living with sent her home.”

  “Perla was pregnant?”

  “We never found out for sure. She was too scared to go to a doctor and too scared to go home, so she came to me in Ann Arbor. She was a mess. She begged me to help her, but I told her she couldn’t stay. I told her I couldn’t help her and that she needed to go back home.”

  “And that’s when she went to El Paso?”

  “Quién sabe?” Beatriz said. “It was like she disappeared! She didn’t come back here and she didn’t go back to Corpus. We looked for her, but it was like she vanished. I think that’s what really made my mother finally let go, near the end. The grief, you know? And it was all my fault! It was all my fault that she disappeared. All because I wanted to protect my life, all because I wanted to make sure Larry would never leave me, and now—look! He’s going to leave me anyway!”

  “No, no, no,” Ana consoled. “I mean, I’m sure he’s upset, just like you. This is a big thing, a big change. And you know how he is—he likes things just so. You guys are a funny pair in that way.”