“Time!”
“Ten eighteen. You beat last night’s by twenty-one seconds.”
“That’s it?” She was out of breath, and her forehead was balmy. They put away the equipment in the supply closet and headed to the stairwell, ready to do it all two more times.
“Mi amor, you have the strangest way of keeping yourself entertained,” Omar said before he turned on the vacuum.
“I can’t help it.” It was both a relief and a surprise that he believed she was doing this for fun. She wouldn’t have wanted to worry him with the truth—that making a game of it was the only way to make it go faster.
She did it because she couldn’t stand the cold of the bathroom tiles. She couldn’t stand how the lines between each square intersected, forming crosses just like the ones she had prayed to that night at the stash house, all for nothing. She couldn’t take how even a small, dark stain or a cloud of mold in the grout made her think of the blood that had seeped, so slowly, out of her attacker’s body.
What she hadn’t told even Omar is that she didn’t scream for help right away. That night, in the moment after she stabbed him, she had pressed her body against the bathroom wall and watched him die.
The blood had pooled out of him like watercolor on paper, perfectly round and silent. He hadn’t grunted or grimaced. His entire body had tensed, as if he were trying to squeeze every muscle tight enough to seal the wound.
He never took his eyes off of her, and Elda had found she couldn’t look away. He was boiling, evaporating right in front of her. It seemed vital that she not interrupt. It seemed vital that she bear witness.
She had watched his hand start to tremble, then his leg. A string of saliva formed between his lips, glistening in the moonlight like a spiderweb, when it became hard for him to breathe.
In the end, his head did not collapse onto the floor, nor did his open-eyed gaze simply go vacant. Watching him die had been like watching someone fall asleep; she counted his breaths until they faded. It had possibly been the single most intimate moment Elda had ever shared with anyone, even Omar. When he was finally gone, only then did she feel how his spirit clung to her. Only then did she scream.
Nearly a year later, she still knew by heart how long it takes for a man to die. She hadn’t been keeping count, but the moment’s stretch came back to her constantly, so much that it became its own unit, a measure of time only Elda could understand.
It was in her coffee, steaming and then suddenly cool enough to sip. In between the second-to-last stop along their bus route and the moment it dropped them off blocks from work. In the number of seconds Martin spent suckling at her left breast, then her right. Most of all it was in the bathrooms she cleaned night after night. It didn’t matter if it took her ten minutes or fifteen. The moment expanded, filled the time. It lived and breathed and pulled her with it.
CHAPTER 27
It was easy for her to keep her promise to Martin; Claudia blamed her work for not calling, and Isabel felt so guilty about making Elda uncomfortable during Eduardo’s birthday party, that she didn’t dare bring up the subject again. An odd silence reigned over the family that summer. Everyone seemed busy and happy enough that there was not much to report when they saw each other. Work was good, the kids (as Martin liked to call Eduardo and Diana) were fine. Life moved forward in that slow, steady pace that makes it hard to notice anything is changing until it has changed.
It was a Sunday, and as usual they were on their way to Elda’s house for supper. They drove in separate cars, with Eduardo and Diana trailing them at a two-car distance, just as Martin had taught. Isabel watched through the rearview mirror for full stops, for eyes on the road, and for hands at ten and two o’clock. She winced anytime Eduardo’s knuckles slipped below the dash.
“It’s okay,” Martin said. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about.” In the lane next to theirs, a convertible swerved in and out, in a hurry to overtake them. “If he ever got pulled over—”
“He won’t. He knows he can’t goof off like most kids do.”
“How do you know that?”
“Seriously? Eduardo makes Superman look like a troublemaker. He wouldn’t bend a rule to save his own life.”
It was true. It was hard to believe how much he had changed. Like any other teenager, Eduardo still had his mood swings and lapses in judgement, but they trusted him to make good decisions in the end.
“You’re right. He reminds me of you sometimes, when you were his age. Except without the pleated pants.”
“Hey. You barely knew me then.”
“I paid attention. You were like a tiny adult. Always serious and helpful and obedient.”
“You thought I was a mama’s boy, didn’t you?”
“Your words. Not mine. I would just say you were . . . innocent.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’d say spineless. I’m just glad I grew out of that phase in college.”
She was about to say she liked this Martin better anyway, when they heard a horn honk behind them. She turned just in time to see Eduardo, still at a safe distance, and a truck speeding up to pass them both. It had a giant hot-pink-and-purple bear-shaped piñata strapped to its roof, and as the driver made an angry gesture, its strings flailed against the truck’s windows like frantic tentacles. It cracked them up so badly, Isabel thought she would cry, then she saw Diana and Eduardo in the rearview mirror laughing along.
They pulled in to Elda’s driveway, still giddy from the bizarre display of road rage. “That was crazy,” Eduardo said as he helped them carry the food out of the car. “But see how calm I stayed?”
They praised his driving and alertness while they waited at the door.
“Oh good, you guys are finally here!” Claudia said when she opened it.
“What do you mean? It’s barely five after five,” Isabel said.
“We agreed on four, but it’s fine.”
“But Elda told me five,” she said, trying her best to sound unaffected.
“No, I told you and Claudia four. I’m trying to eat earlier now, remember? What does it matter? You’re all here, and you made it in one piece!” Elda leaned in to kiss her and whispered, “We would’ve called to check on you, but we didn’t want to make Eduardo feel rushed.”
Standing in the foyer, Isabel gazed at the tiled staircase that towered before her, wishing she could run up the steps and hide in the first closet she stumbled into. She couldn’t picture the second floor of Elda’s house beyond this slice of space. It was not the same home she had visited as a child, years before Elda became vice principal at the high school. Isabel had gotten a tour of the house the first time Martin brought her, and since then, there’d been no need for her to go back upstairs. The house was not particularly large; the downstairs housed a half bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. The vague idea of Elda’s bedroom hung over her, and she imagined it as an extension of the staircase—walls white as milk, thresholds and windows framed in bright Mexican tiles that repeated colors and patterns like a kaleidoscope.
“You okay?” Diana had come over while the others set the table.
“Yeah. I just thought I forgot something in the car. But I didn’t, it’s fine.” Lately, Isabel found it easier to act distractedly instead of saying what was really on her mind. There was comfort in I forgot; no one ever bothered to challenge it.
In the dining room, she found Eduardo saying hello to Elda’s best friend, Yessica, who always marveled at how fast he was growing. It made Isabel think that maybe he had. Maybe she was simply too close to notice.
They finally sat down. What would normally be a flurry of mixed conversations was replaced by a sudden dumbness. Elda, Claudia, and Damian exchanged glances, their lips pursed together in self-contained smiles.
“Oh, no. Don’t look at me,” Elda said. “Like you asked my permission in the first place.” She waved her hand as if hurrying them along.
“Well
the thing is, Claudia and I are engaged,” Damian said.
The first thing they all heard was a gasp—Diana covered her mouth in what looked, to Isabel, like a Miss Universe impersonation, and then the congratulations and the raised glasses came, chairs screeching against the tile as everyone got up to hug the happy couple.
“You almost gave me away,” Damian said to Isabel. “I’d just started shopping for rings the day you got to talking about weddings at Eduardo’s birthday party.” His voice trailed off, as if he had just noticed his own foot sliding into his mouth.
“Lucky guess, I guess. So happy for you two.” Isabel stole a glance at Claudia just as she looked away from Isabel. She wondered how much longer they would keep this up.
“So have you set a date yet?” They had finished eating, and Isabel had followed Claudia into the living room to pick up a few wine glasses left on the coffee table. She ran a damp napkin in circles that spiraled in and out of each other over the wood, even though the glasses had left no water rings.
Claudia shook her head. “Nope. I mean, we just barely got engaged like two weeks ago.”
“Right. Two weeks is nothing,” Isabel said, wondering how long it had taken Claudia to tell her coworkers about the engagement. They had probably been first to see the ring and hear all about how Damian proposed. “If you need any help with any of the planning . . .”
“Thanks. But we’re not really doing any of that big wedding stuff. I mean, not that you guys did. Or I mean, I guess you did, and it was great, but I just don’t think—”
“It’s fine. I get it.” She excused herself to help Elda and Yessica with the rest of the dishes. They were standing by an open cabinet, taking turns placing a bright red bowl inside of it or in a drawer next to the oven.
“If you put it there, it’s in plain sight,” Yessica said.
“To you, maybe. But I’m used to it being in this drawer. That’s where it goes, for years now.”
“Fine. That’s what I’m saying next time you call asking if I took your red bowl.”
“Ay. Don’t exaggerate, Yessica. That happened once.”
“Three times this month!” The charms on her bracelets jingled as Yessica shook her hands in the air.
“Three?” Isabel said.
“Ignore her. She’s just making a big deal out of nothing.”
“You guys are so cute,” Claudia said, squeezing through the kitchen door past Isabel. “You sound like an old married couple when you fight.”
“Who’s fighting?” Elda said.
“Who’s old?” Yessica added. She took the bowl from the drawer and placed it back in the cabinet while Elda was looking away. “Mija, when you’ve been friends as long as we have, you keep each other young.”
CHAPTER 28
FEBRUARY 1983
In his second job, Omar’s favorite thing to do was refill the bowl of peppermints by the hostess stand. It wasn’t officially part of his duties. After all, being a busboy was the most straightforward thing in the world. This is what his boss, Jimmy, had told him the day he walked by, saw the “Help Wanted” sign, and inquired with his most rehearsed words in the English language: “I am interested in the job.”
“Well, that was quick! I only put that sign up yesterday,” Jimmy had said, his face beaming bright red. “Let me give you a tour of the place, walk you through the job.”
Omar had liked the man instantly. He was thrilled that for once, he could understand such a large portion of a conversation. Jimmy was the first person he’d met in Texas who actually spoke like the man on the English-language cassette tapes he had checked out from the library. His voice was even and mild mannered, each word articulated slowly. This had been unexpected from a man in the restaurant business, but not surprising considering his age. He had explained that he and his wife, Melissa, owned the place.
“You could say we’re failed snowbirds. Came here to escape the cold in Iowa for a few months, stayed the rest of the year, and bought a restaurant. Turns out we’re not great at being retired, either.”
Jimmy had walked him through the restaurant, pointing out the booths against the walls, which he indicated were most difficult to clean because breadcrumbs tended to get caught in the caulking that welded the windows and tables together. He pointed out the smaller tables in the center of the space and grabbed a large rectangular bucket.
“See these two-tops and four-tops? That’s what we call them because that’s how many people they’ll seat. Anyway, just be careful when you clean them.” He ran a wet rag over the blue and gold speckled surface. “See how it wobbles? Some of the legs are just the tiniest bit uneven, so you gotta just, wiggle them like so.”
He had shown Omar the jukebox and pay phone near the back of the restaurant, the restrooms with the doors labeled “Gals” and “Guys.” There was an L-shaped counter where lone diners sat on separate stools; Jimmy walked behind it and into the kitchen, and Omar followed. The air was filled with hot steam coming from the ovens, sinks, and dishwashers.
“Let’s see. I think that pretty much covers it. Not much more to being a busboy. Maybe keep an eye out for things that need doing. Keep the mint bowl full, sort out the menus when they get all mixed up . . .”
“And the hours?” Omar had asked.
Jimmy hesitated. The job was part-time and all day shifts, which were generally less busy than the nights. It was exactly what Omar had hoped for. He hadn’t wanted a job that would replace his night shifts with Elda; he had just been looking for some additional income. Back home, his family was hoping to join them across the border, and they had been asking his help with the fees.
“I’ll do it,” he’d said.
Jimmy shook his hand and told him his wife would be pleased they had gotten someone so fast. They agreed he would start the next day.
“I almost forgot about employee perks,” Jimmy said. “The menu’s half off, but the salad bar is free for employees. It’s all-you-can-eat.”
Omar couldn’t understand why this was so exciting. It was now his fifth week working at the restaurant, and he had tried every combination of salad he could think of. He was so tired of eating lettuce and tomatoes and carrots that he gave himself a stomachache one afternoon eating nothing but hard-boiled eggs and tuna.
The next day, Elda started packing his lunch. This way was better, because he had been wanting to take his breaks in the park across the street, now that the days had gotten warmer.
“I’d make a mess eating those huge salads on a park bench.”
“I don’t understand. Why own a restaurant only to tell your workers that salad is all they can eat?”
It wasn’t until the following week, when their neighbors invited them to a buffet-style Chinese restaurant, that Omar realized the misunderstanding. He was more amused than embarrassed, and when he told Jimmy, the man laughed so hard he let Omar have anything off the menu, on him, for the rest of the week.
Omar ordered a club sandwich with fries and crossed the street to the park, just as he had planned. He watched a family of ducks swim in the man-made pond. Not two blocks away, he could hear children’s voices and the shrill blow of a whistle. Minutes later, the sound of footsteps rose out of the bushes, and he turned to see a group of twenty, maybe twenty-five, kids jogging down the trail along the pond.
They wore green shorts and yellow T-shirts, and they seemed to clump together by level of athleticism: the spry ones, far ahead of the rest of the class, while the ones whose feet barely lifted off the pavement limped at a steady pace, just a few yards from the kids who had stopped to walk or clutch at their sides.
He scanned each of their faces as they passed, wondering how old they were. When Martin was born, Omar had looked at his son’s face for the first time in complete disbelief that he could hold an entire person in his arms. He still had a hard time believing the boy was walking. One day he would run just like these perfect strangers’ children.
“Who do you think he’ll be like?” he had asked E
lda that day at the hospital. “More you or me?”
“Both. And neither. I think that’s the whole point,” she’d said.
Since then, they had moved out of the crowded apartment the coyote had left them in, and they had found a place much smaller, but that they had to share with no one. It was a bedroom and a kitchen and a dining room in one. The only space behind a door was the bathroom.
With their earnings from cleaning offices at night, they managed to pay for rent and utilities, bus fare, groceries, and the occasional large purchase like the mattress they bought when they moved in. But for the most part their money went to family back home and things for the baby. Even going to secondhand stores, it seemed they were never done shopping for him.
They began to cut expenses. The first things to go were Elda’s weekly phone calls to her mother. They then went from speaking every other week to once a month, with Elda often crying throughout their conversations. When she would hang up, she’d tell Omar that their son was growing so fast, it seemed impossible to cover thirty days in ten minutes.
“Mamá doesn’t think it’s fair she should be separated from her daughter and now her grandson. She thinks God is punishing her.” Elda had just finished nursing the baby, and Omar had put him down for a nap.
“For what?”
“For not standing up to Papá for me. She thinks he would have accepted us being together eventually. She blames herself and says it was all for nothing. That Martin and I should’ve stayed behind.”
He popped open a can of soda and leaned against the refrigerator. “She just misses you, that’s all.”
Elda sat against the kitchen window, at the small fold-out table the last tenant had left behind. The sun shone through the curly tendrils that always seemed to orbit her forehead, no matter how tight a braid she wove. Omar thought she never looked more beautiful than when she was coming slightly undone.
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