Before You (21 page)

T
en hours forty-three minutes. Thirty-eight thousand five hundred eighty seconds appear and disappear like a cruel magic show that no one cares to see. I want to bottle up time and chuck it into the ocean and watch it sink to the murky depths where it will wait in darkness. The same kind of darkness it leaves me in.

Ten hours forty-three minutes.

That is how long it takes for Diego to open his eyes.

“Diego,” I say, clutching his hand. My voice is emotion bleeding out, hemorrhaging at every syllable.

He grunts. Blinks. I wait for him to say something.

“What? Where?” His voice is gruff.

I remember how much it hurt for me to talk when I was lying in a hospital bed after surgery, just like him. I explain everything.

“You were stabbed.” I try not to choke up. I swallow hundreds of tears. Still nothing will dislodge the panic that has taken residence in my throat. “The ambulance rushed you here as fast as possible, took you to surgery right away. Oh God. Diego, I should've come sooner. Maybe if I'd called the police quicker. I don't know.”

Diego reaches for my hand. “Not your fault,” he whispers.

I wipe a tear. “The blade pierced your spleen. They had to remove part of the organ. You almost bled to death, Diego.”

I break down then, bury my head in his sheets. They look like roughly tossed waves.

Diego runs his fingers through my hair. “Almost doesn't count,” he says.

I laugh through tears, attempt to wipe my face and look up at him.

“Where is Javier?” he asks.

“He's okay,” I say. “Better than you. The bullet hit his arm but missed the bone and major blood vessels.”

A white drape like whipped cream separates the room. I pull it back. Javier lies still, a blanket covering him up to his stomach.

“They made Javier my roommate?” Diego laughs, and winces from the exertion.

“Yes,” I answer. “They gave him something powerful. Morphine, I think. Knocked him out so he can sleep through the pain. He was up most of the night with me, worrying about you. So was your dad. He went home to shower and change. He'll be back soon. You should probably know that the police have been here, Diego. They want to talk to you.”

The fight wasn't his fault. But cops have a funny way of looking at things. I don't want him going to jail.

Diego watches me silently. “What?” I ask. “Why are you quiet? Are you in pain?”

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, but that's not why I'm quiet. Faith, please tell me they caught Wink.”

I wish I could tell him that. “He got away. I'm sorry.”

Diego curses.

“Do you remember anything?” I ask.

His lips are dry, cracking even. I want to wet them and suck them and make everything better and never let him go.

“Not anything past the stabbing. I blacked out,” he answers. “Faith, I think you might be in danger.”

“Don't worry about me,” I say. I can't be concerned with that now.

“
Escúchame.
Wink has your personal information. Do not go outside at night. Lock all your doors and windows. Do you have a house alarm?” he asks.

I nod.

“Good. Engage it at all times. Keep your cell on you, too,” he instructs. “Don't answer the door if you don't recognize the person, okay? Especially don't answer deliveries or people posing as repair guys.”

I think of Grace. I can't let anything happen to her.

“Promise me,” he says.

“I promise.”

He sighs. “This is my fault. Maybe it would be better for you to stay away from me.”

“No. Absolutely not. Don't even go there, Diego. You're not pushing me away again. I belong with you.”

I lean over and kiss his lips.

“I belong with you,” I repeat.

He nods, agreeing. “I can't push you away. I just don't know what to do. I'm desperate to keep you safe.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I say as I kiss him again. “We'll find a way.”

“Would you two get a room?”

I break from Diego to see Javier smiling at us.

“Some of us are tryin' to sleep, you know,” he jokes. His words are a little slow, as if the medicine has stretched them out, slowing their exit from his mouth.

Diego grins. His face is richness and color and memories surfacing.

“Good to see you're alive,” Javier says. His arm is bandaged, the rest of him intact.

“You, too, man,” Diego replies. “
Lo siento,
cuz. Didn't mean to drag you into this.”

They both look like someone took a marker to them: black and purple with tinges of green.

“That's what
familia
is for
.
I got your back,” Javier says. “Though
mi mama
is another story. She said you're in trouble as soon as you feel better.”

“Aw, man,” Diego replies. “I hope it's not as bad as that time I broke her favorite vase.”

They laugh and wince from the effort. I watch their interactions with love. They are family in the truest sense. They are family dealt a hard fate.

“It's a tough life,” I mumble to myself. Though I'm glad to see them laughing about it now.

“What?” Diego asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

Sitting on Diego's bed, my feet dangle toward the ground, the booted one feeling heavier. I contemplate lying back with him.

“Did you just say ‘it's a tough life'?” he asks.

“Yes. Why?”

He grins. “No reason.”

As Diego and his cousin talk, I decide on a chair between them. Diego holds my almost healed hand like he never wants to let me go. I hope he doesn't. He taught me to stop running from my heart.
Because of him,
I think as I gaze at Diego.

It's all because of him.

O
ne good thing about being stabbed is that it has given me more time in the last three weeks with Faith. She comes over nearly every day. She even told her dad that we're dating. He doesn't know that I'm Latino or that I have tattoos and scars. But he'll find out today.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Maybe we should put it off a little longer,” Faith says for what I swear is the hundredth time.

I grab her hands so she'll stop fidgeting with her shirt. She pulls away.

“Dad already knows I'm benched from the dance team, and he's dealing with my wardrobe changes surprisingly well. He even supports my decision not to be with Jason, but I swear that any moment it'll all crumble and he'll change his mind,” Faith says. She's talking fast. Too fast.

“Faith,” I say, trying to get her attention. She won't look at me.

“What if he makes a scene?” she says. “He's done it before. Ninth grade, for example. Right before I met Jason, he caught Melissa and me out past curfew with boys. We only went to the bowling rink, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the boys weren't Caucasian. And they didn't attend our church.”

She's pacing around my apartment like a caged mouse, looking for a way out of life's problems.

“Dad and one of his church friends found us there, in public, and humiliated me, told me to get in the car and warned the boys off. I wonder if he would have acted the same if he didn't have that church member to impress.”

“Faith,” I say again.

“He made a scene at the fair a couple years ago, too, when a nice guy hit on me. Sure, I was with Jason, and I planned on telling the guy that I was taken, but Dad beat me to it by telling him to back off.”

It's unsettling for sure, but Faith is eighteen. Hopefully by now her father will allow his daughter to make decisions on her own. People need to fall sometimes to know how it feels to pick themselves up.

“He only tolerates Jason because he attends our church and his parents volunteer.”

Maybe he can learn to tolerate me, too.

“I mean, it's a real possibility, him freaking out. It's my sister's sixth birthday. I don't want to ruin her party. There'll be people from church there. Not that I really care. It's my father's reputation I'm worried about. I just thought that this would be the best day to break the news. At least today he'll be happy and there will be distractions so he can't get too mad. This is a special day for Grace, though. I wasn't thinking about that. What if I cause problems on her special day?”

“
Mami,
” I say.

She's still not hearing me.

“What will we do if my dad starts yelling? If he kicks you out, do I go with you? I love him and I'm crazy about you, Diego. What if I have to choose between you? I can't do that.”

“Faith!” I yell.

She finally looks at me. I get off the couch and walk to her.

“Chill. Breathe,” I say.

Her breaths are raw, ragged.

“Everything will be all right,” I assure her. “Yes, he may get upset. So what? If I need to leave, I'll leave. You and I have seen each other through some serious stuff. This is nothin'.”

“You're right,” she says. Exhales deeply. “Okay. I can do this.”

My hand slips silently into Faith's, desperate to soothe her.

“You can do this. And I'm not lettin' you back out.”

“All right.” She grins. “Hate it when you're right.”

We walk to the door. I don't take my eyes off Faith, knowing that she needs someone to hold her accountable, someone to make sure she follows through.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods. Nothing about her seems ready: restless, eyes too wide, hands clammy like she applied too much lotion. I know it's nerves. When we pull up to Faith's house, the street is lined with cars. We end up parking at Melissa's instead. The walk only takes a minute, but when we get there, Faith pauses on the lawn.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Mmm-hmm,” she says. “Just give me a sec.”

I'm nervous, too. But I won't tell Faith.

What guy ever looks forward to meeting his girl's father for the first time?

Though I met Mr. Watters at the hospital, I doubt he'll remember. I'm hoping he doesn't. That's easier than explaining Melissa's lie, that I was with her. Part, or maybe all, of this visit is bound to be uncomfortable.

“If he tells you to leave, I'm coming with you,” Faith says.

“Okay,” I agree. Javier is on backup in case I need a ride.

“And I want you to be yourself. You will hear a lot of ‘yes, sir,' ‘no, sir' from other people when they talk to my dad, but I don't want you acting like someone you're not. To them it's respect, but coming from you, it would be wrong,” Faith says.

I don't have any problem with saying “sir,” but I get what she's implying. Respect comes in different forms. She wants me to wear the one that fits me.

“Let's do this,” I say, pulling her forward. I have a feeling we'll be standing here all day if I don't rush this along.

Inside Faith's house, I take a second to look around. It's not big, but it's not small, either. Squared pictures form a patchwork on the walls. Decorative pillows the color of lemonade and tangerines accent a beige couch and love seat.

At least she doesn't have to buy a new chair so I'll have a place to sit
.

Balloons and streamers scream with brightness. A clown crouches in the corner, painting kids' faces. Grace's guests include twenty children under the age of seven. I grew up with Javier's family, so I'm used to
niños
being around all the time.

“Do the kids make you nervous?” Faith asks, noticing my stare.

“No,” I answer with a smile. “If anything, they ease my worries.”

Faith's dad is another story.

An older woman approaches, a hello jumping off her lips ten feet before she reaches us. When Faith introduces me as her boyfriend, the woman's face suddenly looks as though she's sucking on a lime. Faith takes it as our cue to leave.

“Sorry about that,” she says, as we walk to the backyard.

I stop walking. “Faith,
mírame
.” When she looks at me, I continue. “I don't care what they think. Don't apologize for other people. This is about you and me.
¿Entiendes?
”

She gives my hand a squeeze and nods—just as her father approaches. His features remind me a little of Faith's. He has the same green eyes, but pinched at the corners. He is wearing jeans and a black polo shirt with a dark brown apron. I'm guessing he's the one manning the grill.

Faith's palm is still in mine. Her father's gaze drops from my face to our entwined hands.

“I believe we've met,” he says, sticking out his hand.

He does remember.

“Yes. Diego,” I say.

Faith looks confused.

“Carl Watters,” he says, shaking my hand firmly.

Faith taps her foot nervously.

“So, you're Faith's new boyfriend?” her dad asks. Have to love a dude who gets straight to the point.

“Yes,” I answer.

He eyes me for a second before speaking again. “Well, Diego, are you good on the grill?”

“Yeah.”

I hope he doesn't intend to pull me aside and interrogate me, or order me to stay away from his daughter, because I really don't want to get into it with Faith's father.

Faith's brows furrow. “I'll help, too,” she says.

“Not necessary,” her dad replies, holding up his hand. I'm guessing that's his way of telling Faith to give him a moment with me.

She does. I walk off with her father to the other side of the yard, where the grill stands, while Faith takes a seat near the door. She's not even close to being within earshot. That could be good or bad. Depends on what direction her old man wants to steer the conversation.

Mr. Watters hands me a spatula to flip the burgers. “Why didn't you tell me at the hospital that you were her boyfriend?” he asks.

“Honestly? I thought that was up to Faith, not me,” I answer.

There are a lot of people around us, but no one pays attention to our conversation.

“How long have you been seeing each other?” he asks.

That depends on what he considers “seeing each other.” “A few months.”

Mr. Watters squirts some oil on the burgers to keep them from drying out.

“What's your story?” he asks.

Great, so this
is
going to be an interrogation.

“I moved from Cuba at the beginning of senior year. Faith was my peer helper—” I pause, smile, think about how Faith has helped me in more ways than one. Mr. Watters is staring at me. I clear my throat. “I live with my dad. I have other
familia
in the area, too.”

“Why did you move from Cuba?” he asks.

I grit my teeth and try to aim for calm when I answer. “Things didn't go so well for me back there. Let's leave it at that.”

He eyes the scar on my neck. “Listen, I don't know what kind of trouble you got into back home, and it's really none of my business, but when it comes to my daughter, I want to know that no harm will come to her. I'm not naïve enough to think that I can control her anymore. She's her own person, an adult, I know that. But I still want her to make good decisions. I'm not sure about you yet, but my personal feelings are irrelevant. All I need to know is that she's safe and happy. Do you plan on keeping her safe and happy, Diego?”

I don't hesitate. “With all that I am.”

“Good,” he says, flipping burgers over. I do the same. “Do you love her?” he asks.

Of course, but Faith's father shouldn't be the first one I admit that to.

“That's something I'd like to tell her first, if you don't mind.”

He nods. “Be careful with my daughter, Diego. She's been through a lot.”

Grease splatters on my shirt, leaving a stain. “I know,” I reply.

He asks questions, but doesn't fret over the notion of Faith and me together.

“She thinks I don't understand her, that I can't see what's happening. But I do. You make her happy, happier than she's been in a long time. And I think she loves you.”

My breath catches when he says the last part.

“I see the way you look at her,” he continues. “I'm not going to pretend I like the tattoos. Don't take it personally. I don't like hers, either. But I also don't believe that a person should be judged by their appearance.”

“Thank you,” I say. I could never see me and this man being best friends, but we don't need to be best friends in order for me to make it work with Faith. As long as we have a mutual understanding that Faith's happiness is our main concern, I think we'll be good.

The burgers are done. I set the spatula down and wipe my hands on a towel.

“She may think I don't care about her feelings,” Mr. Watters says, “but she's wrong. I know she worries about what the church will think. I wish she'd let me deal with the church and just enjoy being young. Do you think you could help her let go, Diego?”

“I wish she would,” I say. “I've been tryin' to tell her that for a while.”

Mr. Watters chuckles. “She's a stubborn one. She means well, though. It's tough for me to get used to the new clothes and a new boyfriend, but I think you might be good for her. Acting like the majority of the people at church isn't Faith. I'd rather take the true version of Faith over the fake one she's tried to be.”

I am awed. “Have you told her this?”

“No,” he replies. “Faith and I don't talk much. Plus, do you honestly think I'd make a difference?”

He's probably right. Still, all this time Faith thought she was doing right by her father when all her father really wants is for Faith to do right by herself. I have respect for him. He knows who, and what, Faith is.

And more importantly, what she isn't.