Beatriz was relieved. At least Celeste was spared this one indelible experience.
“I know it’s just a dream and it can’t hurt me, but it seems so real,” Celeste explained. “So real, I can feel their breath on my face.”
“But no one—this is important, okay?” Beatriz asked. “No one ever touched you or hurt you? It’s okay, you can tell me. Okay?” She had to be sure that Celeste didn’t need much more than some new clothes and a new place to live.
“No,” Celeste said. “I know about the others, but that never happened to me.”
“Gracia a Dios,” Beatriz said. “Thank God.”
Celeste fell quiet and Beatriz began to sing to her again. When she finished the song, she lay her head back onto the couch and closed her eyes. She wanted to cry out for her sister but would save that wailing for another time, when she was alone. Celeste needed her now, and she wanted to be there for her.
“What if I forget her?” Celeste whispered. “What if the only memories I have left of her are bad dreams?”
“I never forgot her,” Beatriz began. “I’ve never forgotten her. She always has a piece of my heart. I think it will be the same for you. I know it will.”
Celeste was quiet for a long time. “How come no one wants to say her name?” she finally asked.
Beatriz had to think before she remembered the gathering in the kitchen with all the aunts, and how Elaine was shushed before she revealed that she was going to name her baby Perla, if it were a girl. Beatriz had hoped that Celeste hadn’t noticed that strange exchange, but the girl was much more perceptive than Beatriz realized.
“Sometimes, when something is painful or confusing, instead of talking about it, people think if they don’t talk about it, the pain will go away. But that’s not always how it works,” Beatriz said.
“Why didn’t you find her? Why didn’t you find us?”
“Oh, mi’ja,” Beatriz sighed. “Believe me, we tried! We tried really hard. I don’t think your mother wanted to be found. She was always really good at hide-and-seek. And for whatever reason…” Beatriz didn’t want to continue but decided she wanted to be as truthful with her niece as possible. “I think she was angry at me. Or she thought I was angry with her. Sometimes, when we were girls, we fought so much you would hardly know we were sisters.”
“But you are sisters,” Celeste said. She said it with such confidence it made Beatriz curious.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because of the way you are. Sometimes you hold your hands the way she does. When you think about something, you bite your lip in the same way. You talk the same. I mean, not exactly the same, but with the same way to make people listen.” Celeste adjusted herself in Beatriz’s lap. “She told me you would take me if anything ever happened. I didn’t believe her, but…”
Her voice began to trail off, and Beatriz could tell that Celeste was falling asleep. And pillow or not, Beatriz closed her eyes, leaned into the couch, and tried to make herself comfortable for the night. As she was drifting off to sleep, the last thought she had was There is nothing I won’t do for this girl. Nothing.
Beatriz was fast asleep when Celeste began thrashing in her sleep, fighting off the unknown demon that had cornered her in the night. She struck Beatriz in the lip with her elbow, and Beatriz could taste blood, but she kept her cool and soothed the girl, rocked her, and told her everything would be all right, until Celeste finally heard her, and slowly, slowly calmed down.
They carried on this nightly ritual for a week, and then another, and then another. Beatriz’s back was wrenched and her neck was stiff, but she vowed to help Celeste tame her nightmares, for however long it took. She arranged to take a leave of absence from work; since it was nearing the summer, the timing was good. During the day, Celeste was fine. She and Beatriz got to know one another, poring over the quinceañera book and planning Celeste’s party as they shared their stories about Perla. Celeste was coming out of her shell, and Beatriz was delighted with the girl, who was so much like her sister. In some ways she was like a small adult, but in others still very much a little girl, frightened by whatever was terrorizing her in her nightmares.
SIXTEEN
Celeste was glad when school was out, because then she could spend more time with Raúl, and Raúl was happy to have a willing companion to share in the whole list of films he had decided they needed to watch. They would start off the “Summer of Blood,” as he called it, by viewing the entire line of Bela Lugosi films. Beatriz almost swallowed her tongue when Raúl brought the subject up, but when she saw that it did not unnerve Celeste, and that, in fact, she was into it, she put her reservations aside. She would let the kids have their fun, but she kept a close watch on their activities in case the films triggered any anxieties in Celeste. Instead, it was Larry who put a dent in that idea when he enrolled his son, along with Seamus and Wally, in baseball league, soccer camp, a week of swimming, and karate—anything he could get the boys into to keep them physically occupied for the summer.
Celeste had her fun, too. When she and Beatriz were not planning her quinceañera, she was going to her own summer classes. At first, Beatriz worried that Celeste would be too shy to participate and struggled to find just the right activities for her—a pottery class at one of the area museums, a filmmaking class for young Latinas at a community center, a dance class, a paper-making class, a cooking class; but it was the last class that she enrolled Celeste in that revealed her untapped talent: softball. She and the boys all went to the same day camp, where they splintered off into their groups, came back together for lunch, then spent the afternoon playing in separate sessions before reuniting again to be picked up in the late afternoon by Larry, Beatriz, or occasionally Lucy. As the summer wore on, Celeste was immersed in so many activities, she was beginning to feel like part of the gang.
The kids didn’t notice that organizing their activities was the only real time Beatriz and Larry communicated with each other. All their talk was centered on what was happening the next day: who was picking up whom, what uniforms needed to be washed, who needed a packed lunch, who needed lunch money, and who needed backpacks, shoes, sunblock, hats, and signed permission slips.
By the middle of summer, Celeste’s bronze skin was a dark, nutty brown. In quiet moments, when she and the boys sat like weary sacks of bones as they were driven home, she would look out the window and think about returning to El Paso. Surely one of her mother’s friends would care for her, if she asked. But the idea of leaving San Antonio and going back to El Paso didn’t seem as urgent as it did when she had first arrived. She liked that she and Raúl looked out for each other, which was necessary more than ever, since they were spending so much more time with Seamus and Wally. Wally was cute, but Seamus—he was always in a bad mood. Why, she didn’t know. But she knew to keep her distance, like she did from her uncle Larry, who always fell silent around her, exchanging only a few sullen pleasantries. He was never unkind; he just wasn’t as present as her aunt.
Seamus, on the other hand, was a jerk. She was annoyed by his snide remarks and rude behavior. He never directed them to her, which was good. Instead he spoke past her and through her, as if she were wallpaper. When he had to acknowledge her presence, he did so with silent, simmering annoyance. He thought she didn’t notice when he bored holes into the back of her head. But she knew. Celeste asked Raúl about their surly cousin, and he assured her he was like that with everyone. The best thing to do was ignore him. She took her cousin’s advice, at first. And then Seamus went too far.
On the very last day of baseball camp, the kids were waiting for Lucy to pick them up. Tired, dusty, and sweaty, Raúl got his second wind, thinking about the “Fright Night Summer of Blood” movie marathon he had planned for the weekend. It was the first time since Celeste arrived that Seamus and Wally were staying over, and Raúl was looking forward to the party.
“Okay, so I have The White Zombie up first, and then we can watch—,” Raúl began.
“Aw, man! How come you get to choose?” Seamus asked. He was testy. He’d been popped by a pitch on the shoulder and was still rubbing out the lingering sting.
“C’mon, Shay! We all want to watch the movie, don’t we?” Raúl looked to Celeste and Wally for support. Wally nodded and Seamus shot his little brother an annoyed look. He didn’t bother to consult Celeste.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen The White Zombie. Is it good?” she asked.
“You’ll like it!” Raúl declared. “So, we’ll get home, and I bet they’ll make us take a shower, and then we’ll order pizza and we’ll watch it in Celeste’s room. Curtain time is at eight o’clock, sharp.”
Seamus began to throw a baseball into the air and catch it in his mitt.
“She has a TV?” Seamus couldn’t believe it. Why does Celeste get her own TV? That isn’t fair, he thought.
“I mean, in the office. You know, where the TV and DVD player are,” Raúl explained. “She sleeps in the office.” That shred of news diverted Seamus’s attention, and the ball he tossed into the air hit the ground with a thump and a hop before it nested in the grass a short distance from him.
“Why is she sleeping in the office?” Seamus asked. It didn’t make any sense. First, he and Wally got banished from the house to make room for Celeste, and then she wasn’t even sleeping in the bedroom—their bedroom? He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Celeste put on her mitt and picked up the baseball, palming it into her glove, enjoying the warm smack of leather against leather. Seamus tried to pretend he didn’t mind that Celeste was touching his baseball.
“So, why is she sleeping in the TV room?” he asked again.
“She’s standing right there,” Raúl said. But before Seamus could ask her himself, he quickly added, “She just does. It’s not that big a deal.”
“So, if it’s not that big a deal, why don’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s none of your business,” Raúl said protectively.
Celeste began to toss the ball back and forth with Wally. The little boy had a huge mitt, but no matter how gently Celeste tossed the ball, he was too uncoordinated to catch it.
“You throw like a girl,” Seamus said.
“I do not!” Wally said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Seamus spat.
“I am a girl,” Celeste said. “Besides, this is how they teach us to pitch.”
“Yeah, like a girl,” Seamus repeated.
“I’ve seen her pitch. She’s got some heat,” Raúl said.
“Oh, really?” Seamus said. This was his fourth summer going to baseball camp. He knew he was a good pitcher and figured whatever Celeste had, he could outdo ten times over. “So then, why don’t we play Toss?”
Raúl and Wally groaned. Toss was a game Seamus made up, and one that he always won. He said he would go easy on his cousins, but when he had the opportunity, he would burn them with a stunning pitch that would either leave them with a stinging hand or running after a zooming ball that went far afield. The game started simply. The kids would stand shoulder to shoulder and toss the ball to each other, then move out in ever-increasing circles, until they were forced to throw the ball overhand. Whoever missed was out, and the last person standing won. Seamus always won because he had the strongest arm. Wally’s hand-eye coordination was still developing, and Raúl usually chickened out by the time Seamus got his arm warmed up and started throwing fastballs.
“C’mon. I’ll be gentle,” he promised.
“Can I play?” Celeste asked.
Seamus thought a moment, and then made a counteroffer. “Okay, but if I win, you have to tell me why she sleeps in the office,” he said, still not addressing Celeste directly.
“What if one of us wins?” Raúl asked.
“Yeah, right,” Seamus snickered.
“Then why would we want to play with you?” Celeste asked. Seamus didn’t expect Celeste to speak, and it caught him by surprise.
“Because if you win,” Seamus said, finally looking Celeste square in the face, “I’ll stop asking why you sleep in the office instead of upstairs.”
“What if I win?” Wally asked. The older kids tried to conceal their pity. Wally was wearing a hand-me-down uniform that was still one size too large, and his new helmet sat on his head slightly askew. “If I win, I get a piece of your pizza, and we get to watch the movie, and you have to not talk through it,” Wally proclaimed.
“That works for me,” Raúl said.
“Me, too,” Celeste said.
The kids started small, and slow, like always. Seamus kept his word to be gentle, but he didn’t like it when Celeste held her own. Wally was out first, after Seamus lobbed a ball high into the air, thinking his little brother could not possibly miss it. But the ball hit the tip of his glove and went rolling away.
“The sun was in my eyes!” he protested over his shoulder as he went to retrieve the ball.
“Yeah, I feel your pain.” Seamus smirked. He thought Celeste would be the next to go, but instead it was Raúl, when Seamus threw a blazing fastball to him.
“Hey!” Raúl protested. “You dork!” He retrieved the ball and dropped it at Seamus’s feet.
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Miss Milligan.” Seamus bent over to pick up the ball and then called over to Celeste.
“Don’t worry,” he said to Celeste. “I’ll be gentle.” He threw her a zinger that he was sure she would miss, but she caught the ball squarely in her glove, the smack of the ball hitting the leather sounding like a slap on the cheek.
“D’oh!” Raúl and Wally whooped.
“Shut up,” Seamus muttered. Celeste took her stance, shifting her weight between her feet.
“Well, are you going to throw it or dance?” Seamus asked.
But Celeste refused to be rushed. She found her balance and then stood perfectly still before finally cranking up and throwing a ball with so much fire, even Seamus was surprised when he caught it. Raúl and Wally clapped and cheered, laughing at the expression on Seamus’s astonished face and thrilled at their cousin Celeste’s ability to keep up with him.
“Oh, hell no,” Seamus muttered. He was through playing nice. He wound up his arm and made like he was going to fire another bullet but instead threw a high Hail Mary that sailed over Celeste’s head. She followed the ball as it hung in the sky then finally began to fall as her cousins held their breath. The sun was in her eyes and she could feel the ground beneath her was uneven, but she caught the ball with a gentle plop in her glove. Raúl and Wally whooped and high-fived each other as she jogged back to her original starting position.
“I thought we were supposed to move out in rings?” she asked.
“He cheats!” Wally yelled.
“So, you know you’re going to lose, right?” Seamus taunted.
“C’mon, Shay,” Raúl said.
“Let me guess—maybe you sleep in the office because you peed the bed. Is that it?”
Celeste had had enough. She wound up her arm and shot Seamus the hardest, fastest, most furious pitch he’d ever received in his life. The ball screamed through the air, and before he knew it, it had flown past him and off into the field beyond him. Raúl and Wally roared in disbelief.
“Take that, sucker!” Wally cheered, doing his version of an end-zone dance, flapping his arms and legs wildly. Celeste was his new hero.
Seamus stood dumbfounded for a moment before he realized that a car was honking in the distance. It was Beatriz, trying to get their attention. Now, in addition to having lost at his own game, he had a deep, sinking feeling. Lucy was supposed to have picked them up, not Beatriz. What excuse did my mother come up with this time? he wondered.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Go get my ball!” Seamus ordered Wally.
“You go get your ball,” Celeste said, pulling Wally by the arm. “We’ll be in the car.”
Seamus would later complain that his arm still hurt, that the sun was in his eyes, and that the car horn had startl
ed him, but no one believed him. He didn’t like that he was shown up by a girl, and especially this girl. But when they got to the house and the evening was over, and he and his brother were allowed back into the bedroom—their room—while Celeste inexplicably bunked on the office couch, he tried to put the defeat behind him to concentrate on more pressing issues. Namely, what was his mother up to now, and how long did he want to continue going through another one of her disappearing acts?
SEVENTEEN
A beautiful Saturday morning, a brilliant blue sky, a choir of birds sweetly singing, a soft pillow, a comfy bed: the perfect day to sleep in—all broken by the sound of hammering, the clatter of tools, and an electric drill. Beatriz heard the racket first, still nestled on the office couch with Celeste.
“What is that?” Celeste whined in her sleep.
“I don’t know. Go back to sleep, mi’ja.” Beatriz unwound herself from her niece and struggled to stand up as Celeste pulled her pillow over her head and turned over to face the back of the couch. Beatriz had to massage the feeling back into her leg before she could walk, but she couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time Celeste had slept through the night without a nightmare. She told Celeste she would stay with her every night, for as long as it took for the nightmares to go away. Had that time come? Could she finally get Celeste to move into the bedroom upstairs? For her neck and her back’s sake, Beatriz was hoping the answer was yes.
Larry was padding down the stairs as Beatriz shuffled into the foyer. They sized each other up, recognizing that neither of them had slept well—Beatriz draped in an old terry robe, the stress of sleeping upright with Celeste on her lap for weeks taking its toll. Larry looked just as bad, his hair ruffled like overgrown grass, his eyes long and haggard. Sleeping without his wife made him restless and unhappy.
Sisters, Strangers, and Starting Over Page 20
