When I Knew You (10 page)

Lupe. On the tape Mom had said Lupe had sent her something. Was this the same woman?

I tucked the cards into my back pocket and opened the small box. There, on the bed of square cotton, was an old-fashioned heart-shaped locket, a little bigger than a quarter with a delicate silver chain. The heart was a tarnished silver. On the back was engraved
Siempre mi corazon. 1960.
My heart, always.

I worked my fingernail into the locket's clasp and it sprung open. On one side was a black and white photo of a man, a laughing face. Even as small as the photo was you could see the spark in his dark colored eyes, his hair looked dark. On the other side was a photo of a woman, her light colored eyes looked off to one side as if she were shy. Her hair looked blonde, but it was hard to be sure. Tucked into the locked was a curl of black hair tied with blue embroidery thread wedged into the space.
 

I looked back up at the bird, which was eyeing the torn envelope.

"Now what?" I asked him.
 

He tilted his head, opening and closing his beak silently, then hopped to another branch and flew into the desert sky.

Chapter 13

I sat in the high school stadium for half an hour, using Pilar's binoculars I found in the back of her truck.
 

The house looked quiet. No cars other than Abuela's silver Carolla were in the driveway. The living room drapes were closed, but that wasn't unusual in the summer. Every layer of protection was used to keep the water chilled air from the swamp cooler from seeping outside.
 

I used to sit on the roof of the house when I was a kid and watch the football games, the tiny rocks from the shingles digging into my knees and palms when I reached over for more popcorn. I couldn't really see the football game from there because of the angle, but I liked watching the high schoolers in the stands, sometimes catching the couples necking down by the entrance where they thought no one could see them.

This was the first time I looked from the stadium back to our house instead.

Bel-Air High was as far from its namesake as you could get. We were ninety-nine percent Hispanic, but our mascot was a Highlander. The sound of bagpipes in the morning was replaced by nightfall with the bass thump emanating out of low riders that cruised our street during football season.

Growing up right across the street from the stadium was a little like living in the footlights. There always seemed to be a drama playing out across the street, winners and losers every Friday, complete with cheers and shouts, and some years, moody silence.

It would be another few weeks before school started. The parking lots throughout the school were deserted and uncharacteristically clean, yellow lines freshly painted, steps on the stadium alternating blue and red.

Our house looked quiet, the thorny desert willow in the center of the circle drive rising higher than ever. August was the rainy season in El Paso, and the cactus always seemed to swell to greater heights by September. There used to be a real willow tree with long curtains of leaves. It stood in the center of the yard, the only willow in the neighborhood. Its long roots eventually ripped into the water pipes in a desperate search for moisture in the desert. When they cut it down, I cried for a month. In its place came this scraggly, scratchy namesake that knew better than to search for what wasn't there.

I folded the binoculars. I didn't have a choice. It was time to find out what was going on.

I parked around the corner at Beto's house and walked over, my hair tucked into a baseball hat. I heard voices inside when I knocked. There was a sound of the door unlocking twice, the knob and the deadbolt clicking back. Her hair was backlit, a curling corona in the cool dim light of the house. Her eyes grew wide.

"Kati! What the hell are you doing here?" Margie hissed. "Are you crazy? They think you're dead. You can't come here."

Abuela called out from the kitchen. "Who is it?"

Margie shouted over her shoulder. "It's Jehovah Witnesses! You want to visit?"

"I think it's my nap time, que no?"

"Hey, wait a minute," I said angrily, pushing past her. "What the hell is going on? What do you mean, dead?"

"This is a bad idea, Kati," Margie said, shutting the door quickly behind me, locking it.

"Kati? No, you can't be serious, Margie. Kati?" Abuela stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a checkerboard dish towel. Her eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth. "Oh no. No, no, no Kati. You can't be here. You're supposed to be dead."

"According to who?" I demanded.

"According to me," he said from the recliner by the television. When Eliah stood, he smiled, his smile stretched from ear to ear.

I felt Margie's hand on my shoulder, and I half stumbled forward, my legs numb. "We were so surprised when Eliah came."

"What are you doing here?" I said, my voice strident. I thought of Father Vincent and his dislocated shoulder, the destruction in the church office, the fire at my apartment. My head pounded and sparks started to stream in from my peripheral vision.
 

Eliah raised his huge hands in protest. "Hey, I just came to let your grandmother know what was going on."

"He got here after the padre called," Abuela said. "We were worried at first, but then Eliah explained everything."
 

"Really?" I said, feeling my anger rising. "Like what?"

"About the fire and the cover story of you being dead and everything," Abuela crossed herself.

His eyes sparked, and there was the briefest flash of the Eliah at the fire as he locked his gaze on mine. "I had to explain the plan, Kati," he said, his voice sweet as a poison-laced tea.
 

He walked over towards Abuela, who suddenly seemed impossibly fragile. He towered over her and placed one of his huge hands on her shoulder. He could break her neck with those hands. "You understand, don't you? I had to tell them so they wouldn't put you in danger. Tell me you understand, Kati."

I understood what he was saying, standing behind my grandmother, his grin satisfied like a cat listening to the pleadings of a mouse.
 

"Yeah. I understand completely." My mind raced. He was no doubt looking for the envelope, but given the ashes of my apartment, I had to accept that it wouldn't be enough just to give it to him. I looked away casually and turned to Margie. "Where's Mom?"

Margie avoided my gaze. "Antonia's having a difficult time with all of this, Kati."

"This is too complicated for her," Abuela said impatiently. "You know how she gets sometimes. "

I felt my shoulders tighten. "Where is mom?"

"In her room," said Eliah.
 

I moved to get past him and Abuela, but Eliah reached out and grabbed my arm as I went by his grip tightening. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."
 

He squeezed my arm and I gritted my teeth. The pounding stopped in my head as I turned to him, jerking my arm away.

"Don't touch me, Eliah."

"Kati!" Abuela admonished.

"It's okay," said Eliah, grinning like a shark about to tear into a seal. "Kati has had a long day. Haven't you?"

I spun on my heel and went into Antonia's room without knocking.
 

She was standing in front of the French door, looking outside, waves of hair like a dark wild river down the back of her bright blue shirt. The room was bright and airy, the walls painted a rich yellow. Pictures were everywhere, on the walls, dresser, the nightstand, affixed with little sticky notes with names carefully printed on them along with a description. Margie. Dr. Davidson. Kati. Cookie (deceased). Mrs. Caro (neighbor).

She swirled around, her face angry, then melting into relief as I shut the door behind me. She raised her finger to her lips, then reached over to the night table where there was a large silver framed photo of the two of us before the accident. My smile was bright, her gaze intense, we were holding each other as if the world could fall away at any moment.

Antonia clicked a button on a tape recorder next to the photo, then grabbed the cassette next to it, tucking it in her pants pocket. From the tape recorder her voice filled the room, and it sounded like she was talking with someone. I recognized the other voice as Margie and they were reviewing basic history.
 

Antonia grabbed my arm, picked up a flower patterned overnight bag from the side table and pulled me to the French doors leading out to the backyard.
 

"We can't just..." I started to say. She glared at me, raising her finger to her lips again. Then we were out the door and headed for the back gate, dodging a dozen potted plants and the water hose sprawled on the patio.

She stopped at the gate. "Do you have a car, Kati?" she said quickly, looking back at the house, then to me. The glare was gone, but her grip on my arm was tight. This was not like her, and I was still stunned.

"Yes, I have a truck, but we can't just leave Abuela and Margie with him. You don't understand, Mom. He's very, very dangerous."

"I know. The lady told me." She pulled me through the gate and I heard sirens. "That's why I called the police."

"The police? The lady? What are you talking about?"

"Kati!" she said impatiently, brushing a long dark strand of hair away from her face. "Later. Right now we have to go. They will be okay, the police are coming. Where is your truck?"

I looked at her, searching for Antonia, for my mother, for the woman who couldn't remember things for more than a week. None of them were there, this woman was a stranger. "The police?"

Her eyes met mine, and she spoke firmly, desperately. "Mija. We have to go. I have to keep you safe."
 

The sirens were louder and I heard a shout.

Together, we ran.

"What is that smell, Kati?" Antonia whispered.

I inhaled and the comforting smell that was a mix of talc, rubber, and nylon mingled with dirt filled my nose. "Climbing shoes, sweaty harnesses, climbing ropes, the usual." I peered out the windows of the camper shell. "Basically the inside of a climbing bag."
 

The sirens were loud, but there was no sign of the police yet. I was beginning to think they were responding to some other call nearby. I wanted to run, to hit the road while we could, but Antonia had insisted we hide in the back.
 

I'd parked the truck at the corner at Beto's house where there was always a ragged collection of trucks, cars, and assorted RV parts. Pilar's truck fit right in. I parked at an angle so I would be able to see the house, but just barely. But from the camper all I could see was the street.

"And this white stuff?" Mom brushed at her shirt and a little cloud of dust rose.

"Chalk. To keep your fingers from getting slippery on the rock."

"Slippery? Really?" She rubbed her fingers together, and then froze as the red and blue lights cut across the windows. She gestured to the windows. "There you go. The police are here."

I peeked out and saw a police car pull into Abuela's driveway. The siren cut out as another police car approached from the other end of the street and pulled along the curb.
 

I felt the back of my shirt tighten as Antonia pulled me away from the windows. We ducked low while outside I could hear heavy footsteps running toward us. My mouth went dry.
No. No, come on, jerk. Don't you have your own car?

A sudden loud bang rang through the camper, like something slamming onto the hood of the truck. I jumped and felt Antonia's hand pressing on my back. I turned my head to look at her, she had her eyes closed and her lips moved silently. There was a rattle of someone trying the drivers' side door. Locked. Thankfully I hadn't unlocked the truck doors when we crawled into the camper area.
 

I heard another bang on the truck's hood and a curse.
 

That's when I realized the back latch to the camper area wasn't locked. The silver handle was still turned, the bars pulled away from the sides of the frame. All anyone needed to do was to grab the handle and lift open the hatch, and there we would be, with nowhere to go and nothing to defend ourselves with but a rope, some climbing shoes, and a chalk bag.

I felt Antonia squeeze my hand. Her eyes met mine and she nodded. The camper seemed to get smaller, the distance between us shrinking, the ceiling dropping and the walls impossibly thin. We lay there, our eyes locked, my lungs too tight to take in air. She reached out and tenderly put her hand on my face, cupping my cheek.

It struck me that it had been a long time since I'd looked into my mother's eyes, and I never remembered them looking like this, warm and intense at the same time. Usually, it seemed like she was looking at the world in soft focus, accepting everything around her as a visitor does, taking in the big picture, but not the details.
 

She blurred before me as tears rose from a place I'd worked damn hard to bury.
Not now, Kati.
I closed my eyes and leaned ever so lightly into her warm hand.
 

I heard it then. The sound of running footsteps again, this time running away from us.
 

"We should wait a little longer, don't you think?" she said quietly, taking her hand away slowly, then lifting her head and glancing back to the street through one of the camper windows.

"Definitely," I said. "Besides, I don't think I can drive until I can breathe."
 

We lay there in the quiet of the camper, red and blue lights strafing the camper's interior.
 

"So. Antonia."

She turned away from the narrow window. "Yes, Kati?"

"How did you know?"

"About the man?"

I nodded. "His name's Eliah."

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Climbing stickers covered the ceiling, creating a mosaic of bad puns and hipster drawings. "It was... it was the lady. Like I told you. She told me."
 

"What lady?"