Dream Things True (39 page)

Broken Parts

Alma burst out of the car. She wanted to catch him before he fell. She was too late, so she tumbled to the ground with him, shielding his crumpled body with her own.

“I'm so sorry, Evan.”

She whispered into the place where his shoulder pressed against his ear. “I tried to get here in time. It's my fault. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry.”

He sat up and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face into his bloodied sleeve. Sorrow and relief, confusion and pain, joy and longing and love—all of these feelings welled up inside her, and she finally gave them room.

No one came near them. Alma pulled Evan gently to his feet. She led him to Whit's car, and the crowds of onlookers stepped back to let them pass. They climbed into the backseat and sat with arms and legs intertwined, curling so closely into each other's bodies that they seemed to merge into one. From there, they watched as a truck sped along the road and pulled up next to the police cruiser. Flor flew out of the truck and threw her body against the window. Manny looked at her through the window and spoke, but Alma knew that she couldn't hear him through the thick glass and the sound of her own anguished cries. Magda was leaning over an infant car seat in the truck, cooing at the baby. Maritza sat in front. Her father was driving.

Whit sat frozen. His hands clutched the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“What's her name?” he asked.

“Flor,” Alma replied.

“And the baby?” he asked.

“Her name is Jasmine,” Alma said.

“That's a pretty name,” Whit said.

It was such an earnest statement, not the kind of thing Whit usually said.

He turned back to the scene unfolding on the other side of the windshield, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. They watched as Magda approached Flor and gently coaxed her away from the police cruiser.

“Will he get deported?” Whit asked.

“Probably,” Alma replied.

“Even though he's got a green card?” Whit asked.

“It doesn't matter. If he committed a felony, he gets deported, and he probably committed two tonight.”

Evan sat up, and Alma hated to feel him pull away from her.

“I attacked him,” he said. “He didn't do it.”

“It doesn't matter,” Alma replied. “No one will believe you.”

Whit turned to look at Alma and Evan. “I can't make this situation right,” Whit said, “but I can make it less wrong, and I will.”

He started the car and drove slowly away from the scene.

Alma couldn't imagine how Whit must be feeling right now. But she knew that some part of what he felt was genuine remorse. Although it would be impossible for him to repair the damage he had caused, he deserved a chance to make it better.

“I don't think there's anything you can do Whit,” Alma said, trying to express sympathy.

“Yes, there is something,” Whit said firmly. He sucked in a deep breath. “Fortunately for us, my father cares about nothing more than protecting his reputation, our reputation. I'm going home right now to tell him what I did, and then I'm going to threaten to go public with it if he doesn't get Manny's charges dropped—tonight.”

“Do you think he'll do it?” Alma asked, trying to hide her eagerness.

“Is Flor legal?” Whit asked.

“No,” Alma replied. “Why?”

“That's good,” Whit said. “He'll never let it come out that, at the tender age of seventeen, his son fathered a so-called anchor baby.”

“Anchor baby?” Evan asked.

“That's what the anti-immigrant people call babies born in the United States to undocumented immigrants,” Alma said.

For the first time in months, Alma felt something akin to hope. Whit was right. Senator Sexton Prentiss would want nothing to do with Flor and her baby.

“He won't believe you,” Evan said. “He'll think you're just pulling a stunt to piss him off.”

“I'll threaten to take a paternity test and make it public,” Whit replied.

“But what about Conway?” Alma asked. “What if the baby's not yours?”

“He can't ever know about Conway,” Whit replied. “No one can. I was the only person with her. I borrowed Conway's Hummer and drove her to your house. Conway stayed at the party.”

“Do you think it will work?” Evan asked.

“Yes, I know it will,” Whit said.

“Conway can't get away with this,” Evan said.

“I know,” Whit replied. “I'll think of something to get him busted, but he can't have anything to do with this.”

“OK,” Alma said. “I trust you.”

Evan struggled to lean forward, wincing as he reached out to grasp Whit's shoulder.

“Whit, man,” he said, “I never thought I'd say this, but I trust you, too.”

Whit shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“First things first,” he announced, almost cheerfully. “I'm dropping you two off at the marina.”

“The marina?” Alma asked. “Why?”

“Because it's time for you to make up, before you drive us all crazy. And there's no place better than the open water to get your shit together.”

Alma stared out the window, afraid to look directly at Evan. Was he ready for this? Did he even want it?

“I need to get back to my car, Whit,” Evan said.

He wasn't ready.

“Like hell you do! You are in no condition to be driving,” Whit replied.

“It's late, Whit,” Alma said.

Whit dug around in the center console. He lifted a key and tossed it toward Evan. Evan caught the key and then grimaced and grabbed his shoulder. Alma sat forward and tried to break in, but Whit shut her down.

“I refuse to come back until you have worked through all of your basically nonexistent issues and made up entirely,” Whit said. “So I'll pick you up in the morning.”

“The morning?” Alma cried out. “My grandmother will kill me.”

“What's she gonna do?” Whit asked. “Ship you off to Mexico?'

He had a point. It didn't matter anymore.

“Listen, Alma,” he continued. “I have a lot of experience in this department. I'll come up with some excuse.”

“I don't know,” Evan said. He carefully studied the key chain, as if it might offer some guidance. “I don't want to risk getting her in trouble.”

“Believe me when I tell you, Evan, it's not a risk. The risk is that I will strangle you both if you continue sulking,” Whit said.

Evan looked into Alma's eyes with a question in his own. Even through his swollen cheek and bloodied lip, she saw him. She really looked at him for the first time in so long, and she knew that she would not let him go.

She didn't have to explain this. She didn't have to tell him that she wanted to be with him, that she had no choice but to go with him.

“For God's sake,” Whit said, “I absolutely insist. If you won't do it for yourselves, you
will
do it for me. You can't expect me to endure your misery forever.”

Alma shrugged and Evan smiled. Then he rested his head in Alma's lap and closed his eyes, his body trembling slightly. The three of them rode together in silence as Whit turned onto the highway and sped toward the marina.

 

 

That night, the lessons Evan gave Alma so many months ago were put to use. His shoulder was hurting, and he'd had a couple of beers at the party. So he sat in the passenger seat and Alma eased the boat away from the dock. It felt amazing to drive, just fast enough that the wind blew through her hair as she steered out into the open water.

Evan sat, watching her. When they reached the center of the lake, he touched her arm.

“Do you want to swim?” he asked. “I'm sort of a mess.”

Alma nodded and cut the engine.

Evan walked to the rear of the boat and threw the anchor. He didn't speak. He pulled off his bloodstained T-shirt and shorts and stood at the edge of the boat, waiting. Alma did the same and then stood beside him. The air felt scrubbed clean by the afternoon's storm, and the clouds had all passed on. Alma took his hand, and they fell together into the cool water. When they floated to the surface, they were still holding hands. Evan tugged Alma, pulling her through the water toward him. She felt his other hand on her back.

They kissed, treading water.

The feel of Evan's lips sent such relief through her body that she released his hand and floated to the surface. She felt Evan's touch move from her back to her hip and along her torso. He held onto her waist and swam behind her. He pulled her on top of him so they floated, staring up at the clear, moonless sky, her body wrapped into his.

“Are we really alone?” Evan asked.

“Yes,” Alma said.

Evan kicked slowly, and they floated toward the edge of the boat. He dived under the water and emerged near the engine. She watched the silver streams glide down his back as he lifted himself out of the water and climbed the ladder. He took a towel from under the seat and held it out for her.

Alma stepped forward and placed a finger on his chest, where a spot of blood was beginning to spread.

“You're bleeding,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Alma dabbed his chest and then traced the red marks with her fingers, mapping the wounded places with the motion of her hand. Even in the dark, she saw them. She grazed the swollen skin under his eye, the tender spot above his cheek, the small cut at the base of his chin, the bruise on his collarbone. They watched in silence as her fingers continued to his ribs, where the swollen, red flesh was beginning to turn purple.

He winced and then closed his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Should I stop?” she asked.

“No.”

He stood perfectly still. Her touch filled them both with longing and relief.

“Alma?”

“Hmm,” she replied, lightly running her finger along his abdomen.

“You were wrong.” His voice was tender, not angry. “It's not our love that's causing all of this.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

He reached out to stroke her hair.

“I thought it would be better for you if I found a way to make you leave,” she said, “but…”

“It wasn't,” Evan said simply, leaning down to kiss the soft skin of her neck.

“I just wanted to make things right,” Evan said. “I just didn't want you to hurt anymore.”

“I know,” Alma said. “But I guess things can't always be right.”

Alma gently stroked his bruised cheek with the back of her fingers.

“I love you, Alma,” he said.

“I love you,” she said, looking up at him. “You know that, right? I lied when I said I didn't love you. I think maybe I've loved you from the moment you landed on my lap, in my dad's stupid truck. Or, at least, I wanted to know what it would be like to love you.”

Evan smiled. “I'm sorry I spilled your precious coffee.”

“I forgive you,” Alma said. “And I'm sorry I lied to you.”

She took his chin in her hand and led his lips to hers. They kissed slowly, allowing their bodies to remember it all—the touch and the scents and the quiet sounds that they had created together so many times before. But it was different this time. They weren't afraid—maybe because they were alone; maybe because there was nothing left to fear.

He knelt in front of her and leaned his forehead into her chest. Warm energy spread through her body.

“Evan,” Alma said, “I'll always think you're beautiful, even if these bruises never go away. I think maybe the broken bits are good, too, you know? Because they're part of us.”

“Let me see your broken parts,” he whispered, placing his hand on her stomach.

“They're all inside,” Alma said.

They lay intertwined at the bow of the boat. Alma told Evan of the fears and the memories that came to her in the dark of night, and Evan whispered the truths that his family held silent. With the touch of their hands and the sound of their voices, they explored each other's broken parts, and they coaxed each other back into the light of day.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Home

“Mom,” Evan said from across the breakfast bar, “are you absolutely sure that you know how to start my car?”

“Of course, pumpkin. It's just a car,” she replied, pressing a button on the blender. The churning of her morning smoothie reverberated off the kitchen's marble surfaces.

The school year was over. Evan was a high school graduate. And, now that summer was here, Evan's mother was on her way back to boot camp at the club with Aunt Maggie in preparation for swimsuit season.

For a brief moment, Evan thought about how nothing ever seemed to change, but he knew that was wrong. Everything was different.

“Would you like a detox smoothie, honey?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, trying to hide his reluctance.

She split the smoothie into two tall glasses. Evan took one from her, and they both gulped in silence. He wouldn't exactly describe it as good, but it wasn't terrible. It tasted like cilantro, which was a little weird this early in the morning.

“Your uncle Sexton called from Washington,” she said. “He tried your cell, but you didn't pick up.”

Evan wasn't ready to talk to his uncle. “I was probably in the shower or something.”

“Well, he just wanted to say good-bye. He said to call if you need anything.”

“OK,” Evan said. “Thanks.”

“He cares about you very much, Evan. You shouldn't push him away.”

“I know, Mom,” Evan said. “I'll call on the drive. I promise.”

Evan meant it. It was pointless to blame all of this on his uncle. Uncle Sexton had the power to help make things right, but he wasn't the one who made them all so wrong. At least, he didn't do it alone. Plus, he had helped Manny and Flor—a lot. He got all of Manny's charges dropped, expedited his citizenship process, and even found Manny a paralegal to fill out the paperwork for free. He also gave Evan a Spanish-English dictionary and a guidebook to Mexico for graduation, along with a big check. It was pretty cool of him. Evan figured that was Uncle Sexton's way of saying, “I'm sorry.”