“Thanks,” she says.
Tomás smacks his lips and blinks. “I think I fell asleep,” he mumbles.
Happy laughs. This time it’s real. It’s a beautiful sound.
It still hurts, but it’s healing. I don’t want to cover the tattoo up. I want to show it to the world and yell, Jordan loves me! But I can’t. The carp has to stay hidden. I’m not supposed to have it.
Mom would freak if she knew about Jordan. Marie would freak if she knew about Jordan or the tattoo.
I pull on a high-necked shirt. In one year and a couple days, when I’m eighteen, I can show it and Jordan off, and there’s nothing Mom or Marie can do about it.
I give the stuffed carp a squeeze and put it back in the middle of my bed. It adds a shock of color to its gloomy surroundings. An island of happiness in a sea of gray. It’s Jordan sitting in the middle of my life.
I told him I have birthday plans with Mom. That’s a total lie. Mom will tell me happy birthday and then spend the whole day feeling guilty because she can’t buy me a present. I don’t want to be around for that. I told her I had plans with Paige.
But I’m going to surprise Jordan. Really, really surprise him.
—
“Can I help you?” A woman with a sharp nose and clothes that probably cost more than all the money I ever made at No Limit Foods waves me over to the counter. I take the five steps, like I belong there. Like the coffee-colored cashmere sweater in my hands could be mine and not a cast-off from my rich friend.
“I’d like to return this.” My voice betrays my lack of confidence. The woman glances at it and at me. She probably thinks I stole it. She picks it up and examines it for defects. “The color doesn’t look good on me,” I lie. She raises an eyebrow, but she scans it and punches at the screen on the register. The drawer pops open.
I walk out with a wad of cash, feeling giddy, like I won the lottery—or robbed a bank. This money could help Mom and me a lot. It could supplement our food stamps. We could eat nice, nonclearance, unexpired food for a month.
I have had to think about taking care of Mom for seventeen years. This time is for me. With the carp under my shirt, I feel strong, determined. I know exactly where I’m going and what I’m going to buy.
—
The second I walk into the store, with its lace and smell of perfume, I melt like chocolate in a hot car. My strength, my confidence, my feeling on top of the world, all lie in a puddle around my feet. I feel twelve years old again, standing outside and giggling at the headless mannequin in the black lace teddy displayed in the front window. There are crotchless panties hanging on the wall above my head.
I can do this. I walk up to the salesgirl and hope she can’t see my nervousness. “Hi,” I say. She slips the strap of a huge leopard-print bra onto a mini–plastic hanger and turns around. She has a gold ring dangling from her nose. I flinch. Maybe this was a bad idea.
I start again. “Hi, I’m looking for something, uh, simple.” I cringe and wait for her to sneer at my virginal innocence.
But she doesn’t really see me. I’m another faceless customer standing between her and her break.
It’s awesome.
A few minutes later, I’m in the dressing room with a collection of slick, satiny things. The first one I try on is a black bra with white polka dots that pushes my boobs painfully up to my neck. It comes with matching panties so tiny I can’t figure out which side is the front. The second set I try on is equally revealing.
I work my way through the hangers, rehanging the ones I don’t want. This is a stupid idea. Who am I kidding, trying to buy fancy underwear to surprise my boyfriend? I should take my cash, get back on the bus, and buy Mom a nice dinner.
The last one is more conservative, a bright red satin bra thickly trimmed with lace and matching lace-trimmed boy shorts. It’s probably this store’s version of white cotton granny panties. I try the set on. It fits. It’s kind of sexy.
Even though the salesgirl couldn’t care less about me, I’m embarrassed when I put the lingerie on the counter. I make a couple of surreptitious glances over my shoulder. The world passes by outside in the mall. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own heads to notice my purchase.
—
“Here.” Paige hands over a paper shopping bag from the expensive organic grocery store.
I peek inside. I don’t know if it’s a real sign of friendship or if she’s just going through the motions, but it’s exactly what I asked for. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m just borrowing these. I’ll give them back next week.”
“Whenever.” She lingers, looks down at the floor, bites the inside of her lip. She wants to know, and I want to tell her, but that’s not who we are anymore.
“Do you want a ride?” she asks.
“No, I have some things to do.” I point over my shoulder at nothing.
“Oh.” She slides her bracelet up and down her arm.
I put the shopping bag down, and I hug her. She’s surprised. Even though the dance team is a huggy group, it’s never really been our thing.
“I’ll see you on Monday?”
She nods. As I walk away, I hear her whisper, “Happy birthday.”
—
When I pass apartment 21, a bloodshot eye examines me through the cracked-open door. “No,” I say, and hold up my palm.
Finn sticks his head out. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Whatever you were thinking, the answer is no. The answer is always no.”
He feigns being hurt, and then I realize I better be nice to him. I’m going to need his help.
“Hey, Finn?” I say, all sweetness. “Tomorrow’s my birthday. You know what would be the best present in the world?” He perks up. “If I could borrow your car.” And he perks down. That’s not what he was hoping for.
“Come sit with me for a while first,” he says.
“Okay, but that’s it. I’m not doing anything.”
“Did I ask you to do anything?” he snaps. “Just come and sit. Keep me company.”
I believe him, because I know he’s lonely.
Mom will have heard our voices in the hall. Right now, she’s standing on her toes, hand braced against the doorknob, eye straining against the peephole.
I choose myself over her discomfort. “Okay,” I say to Finn, and go inside.
He busies himself sweeping debris off the couch. “Sorry it’s such a mess.” I laugh, but then I see the hurt in his eyes. Deep down inside, Finn is a sensitive little boy.
I sit down. A black cockroach crawls along the windowsill across from me. I stamp my feet to stop the ones hidden on the floor from getting any ideas. How long do I have to stay before I can ask for his keys and get the hell out of here?
“Do you want something to drink?” He opens the fridge and peers inside, but I know his is emptier than ours.
“No thanks.” He closes the fridge. There’s a smile on his face. I don’t know what he took today, but it has made him cheery and bouncy.
“I found something.” He disappears into the bedroom. Maybe I could find his keys and take them. But there’s so much crap on the floor and on the table. It would be like turning over rocks in the woods. Any number of disgusting things could be lurking underneath.
Finn sticks a beat-up gray teddy bear with a well-chewed bow around its neck under my nose. “This is yours,” he says.
I take it by the ear. It’s the bear he gave me a thousand years ago now, or at least, that’s what it feels like.
“Thanks,” I say.
He steps back and examines me. I fidget on the couch. “You’ve grown up real good.” He beams, as if he had something do with it.
The first knock on the door is so soft I think the sound is coming from a pile against the window. The second is loud enough to send Finn into a panic, shoving his pipes and plastic bags in between the couch cushions next to me. If it’s the cops, he can claim they’re mine. Classy.
His movements send a set of keys sliding along the coffee table. As s
oon as his back is turned, I pocket them.
He opens the door and sucks in a deep breath. I jump up, afraid it really is the cops.
“Send my daughter out,” Mom says. I’ve never heard firmness in her voice before. She’s more of a let-the-world-push-her-around kind of person.
“It’s nice to see you, Tracey,” Finn says. His cheeks are red, and his eyes look down to the floor.
Mom’s face twists, as if she’s feeling a thousand emotions at the same time. “Send my daughter out.” Her voice shakes. This is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. Her demons live with Finn in this apartment, and she’s facing them. Trying to protect me. Guilt slashes through my guts.
I pick up the shopping bag from Paige and hold the teddy bear by the ear. “Thanks, Finn.” I step out into the hallway. Mom grabs my arm and pulls me to apartment 26. She pushes me through and slams the door. I watch her with curiosity, wondering if she’s going to yell at me. That’s never happened before. She’s always been afraid that if she did, I would run off, get high, and relive her life story.
She doesn’t yell. Her back slides down the door until she hits the floor with a thump. She rests her head on her knees. I place my hand on her shoulder. “That was brave, Mom. Thanks.”
I shove the old teddy bear into the back of my closet and toss Finn’s keys onto the bed. He won’t even notice they’re gone. The look on his face told me that as soon as his door shut, he was going to crawl into the crack between the couch cushions and not come out for days. If he ever comes out at all.
Angie stands in the corner of C&J’s, rocking Manny and cooing softly. Lawrence watches nervously. Rosie bounces around him, whining that it’s her turn to hold the baby.
Happy, half dead with exhaustion, props her head up with her hand and picks at a plate of enchiladas. Adrian examines me, like I’m a science project that has yielded disastrous results.
Mom sits at a table ringed with flowers, oblivious to the rest of the world.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. The restaurant is empty. Mr. Morales serenades us with his beautiful voice. Mrs. Morales paces back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, lost in the list in her head of what still needs to be done for the wedding.
I have a taco in front of me. I’ve been doing well. My baggy clothes almost fit me. No one has to fear any longer that feeding me might cause an eruption.
But not today. The taco, my favorite thing on C&J’s menu, is unappetizing and gray.
When I woke up this morning, there was a pink Gerbera daisy lying across the top of my pillow. I picked it up and twirled it in the brilliant late-March sunlight. For a brief moment, I forgot. I was happy. Full of feelings of promise.
Then the March sun made me remember. I stumbled into the kitchen. Mom smiled at me sadly and placed a giant, cakelike blueberry muffin from a bakery in El Paso in front of me.
She didn’t say anything.
I break off a piece of taco shell and put it into my mouth. Happy’s eyes are so heavy I’m afraid she’s going to face-plant into the salsa.
“Hey,” I say, “do you want to go lie down or something?”
She glances up at the baby. She’s become fiercely attached to him, and I know she doesn’t want to leave him. “Angie’s not giving him up anytime soon, and everyone else is waiting for a turn. You won’t get him back until closing time.”
“Okay,” she concedes.
I retrieve the keys to Mom’s car as Happy pushes herself out of the booth. She’s asleep before we even pull out of the strip mall.
The sun is in my eyes, but it feels nice on my face. Soothing, like I could curl up and take a nap too.
I stop at a red light. Everything is quiet. An older, chunky couple on motorcycles tools by, but otherwise, there isn’t any traffic.
As the light on the cross street turns yellow, a bright blue hatchback pulls up behind me. I glance in the rearview mirror. The driver is a man wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses. He could be anybody.
I pull through the intersection. Happy’s head is cradled in the top of the seat belt. I slow way down and gently roll over a collection of potholes to keep from waking her up.
The lane next to me is clear. I expect the driver of the blue hatchback to use it to speed past me and mumble obscenities about my old-lady driving. But he doesn’t. He slows down too, keeping a car length of distance between us.
He’s got my attention now. My skin itches. I try it again. I come to a dead stop in the middle of what is usually a busy road. Again he doesn’t pass me; he doesn’t raise his hands in the come on! gesture; he doesn’t flip me the bird. His left elbow rests on the doorframe. His right hand is relaxed on the wheel. He bobs his head, like there’s music playing in the car.
My imagination is in overdrive again. The spring air has made my skin prickly, made my body jump at every noise, made me look over my shoulder. Happy is still asleep, peaceful.
I turn right. The car follows. I drive at a good clip down the residential street. A few people are out working in their yards. They raise their heads and wave before they realize they don’t know me. I turn right again. The car follows. That’s two right turns. What are the odds that he happens to be going exactly where I’m turning?
There’s only one way to find out. I turn right again. The street with the potholes comes into view in front of me. We’re back where we started. He’s following me. My head clears. Now that I know it isn’t my imagination, I feel calm and in control. I turn left. Back to the strip mall. I watch him in the rearview mirror. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I’m ready to hit the gas. Take Mom’s little car out into the desert. Activate every Border Patrol sensor between here and Mexico.
This isn’t Adrian’s doing. He would never put Happy at risk. I glance over at her and then dig out the black monster. No buzzing, no flashing, no missed calls. It hasn’t done anything for days. I’ve never had silence like this before. I hoped it meant that I was being a good girl. That somehow I was living up to his expectations.
Maybe not.
The hatchback stays put at the stop sign for an unreasonably long time. Then it slowly turns to the right. Its bumper disappears into the distance behind me.
I suck in a shaky breath. Happy stirs. “Go back to sleep,” I say in my most soothing voice. She obliges.
I was going to take her home, but not now. If someone’s coming after me, I’m not leading them to her. I take a twisty path up and down streets I’ve never seen before. The blue hatchback never makes a reappearance.
I drive past my street and check the curb for any unknown vehicles. There aren’t any. I throw the car in reverse, back up, and whip around the corner.
When I stop in the driveway, Happy wakes up again. She seems confused as to why we’re at my house, but she’s too tired to ask. I walk her inside, and she crashes on the couch. It’s warm in here, but I cover her with an afghan anyway.
I slip my shoes off and dash to my room in my socks. I dial the number—the only number—on the black monster. It rings twice. “Who’s following me?” I yell the second it picks up. There’s a chime on the other end. A pleasant robot lady tells me the number has been disconnected.
I check the number and try again. Nothing. Where is he? I don’t know what this means. Does it mean I’m free? Or does it mean it’s over. That I’m over.
No echoes through my head. No, this wasn’t the deal. No, I’ve been a good girl. No, I was just starting to figure out this life.
—
It’s getting dark when Happy finds me curled up on my bedroom rug. She stretches out a crick in her neck. “I feel so much better.” Her eyes narrow. “Did you fall asleep there?”
I hoist myself up to sitting and rub the carpet mark on the side of my face.
“Tomás can sleep anywhere too,” she laughs. “Can you take me back now? Manny is probably hungry.”
“Sure.” I look at her face and see it. I memorize the dimple in her chin; the crinkles around her eyes f
rom smiling; her dark hair, staticky from lying on the couch.
I glance at the black monster peeking out from under the bed.
It’s flashing.
“Are you okay?” Happy asks.
I try to smile. I try to make my face look like all the horrors of my entire life aren’t passing through my head right now. “Yeah, I’m just tried.”
She snorts. “I so get that. Most of the time I don’t know if I want to laugh hysterically or cry.”
I nod. Right now I want to burst into tears. Happy reaches her arms up to stretch. I shove the black monster into my pocket.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say, and slide past her.
The black monster has a text from an unknown number.
Time to pay the piper.
Mom’s car was covered in dirty spots from when it attempted to rain a few days ago. No one looked twice when I pulled up to Sam’s Car Wash. I wait on the other side of the dark mouth where the car will reappear all shiny and clean. Tomás stands across from me, holding a squirt bottle and a rag. He gives me a polite head nod.
My stomach churns. This isn’t the way to treat friends. People who have been good to me. But I don’t have a choice. I’m doing this to protect them. To protect all of us.
I dash over to Tomás. “I need to talk to you.”
He’s surprised, but he must see the desperation in my eyes. “My break’s in ten minutes.” He uses his head to point to a chicken place next door.
—
Tomás buys a soda and sits down across from me. He looks so tired. His head bobs, like it doesn’t want stay on his shoulders.
“I need your help,” I say. I lower my voice. “There’s a reason I’m in San Justo. Something from my past.” I glance around. “I need to be able to protect myself.”
Tomás nods sagely. He slurps up soda. I don’t think he cares about my problems. But he loves Happy, and I’ve become part of his extended family that is San Justo.
I open my mouth to explain. Tell him everything. But he raises a hand. “I get it.”
I take a gasping breath. “I won’t get caught. I promise.”
The Truth Beneath the Lies Page 19
