When I Knew You (6 page)

"I won't be able to do shit. They'll come after you, Mija. Whether you know anything or not. I'm not sure why now, not sure what's going on. Maybe it's just because of me, because I came back.

"At this point the only thing I can give you is the things I gathered before they... hit me.

I heard a tap on the recording, and when she continued her voice was different, as if she was in a different room. She spoke so softly, she was practically whispering.
 

"Okay, Kati. First, go to the church in San Elizario. Ask for Father Henry. He's got the envelope and I called him to tell him you were coming—"

I heard a loud knock on the door. I jumped to my feet and quickly stopped the tape. I walked toward the door, fighting the sparks that went off in my head and holding my side where it ached from my sudden move. I looked through the peephole. There was Eliah's neck and chest.

He was waving a white pharmacy bag. "Kat! It's me! Eliah. I have your meds."

Seriously
. If I didn't stop him from this nursemaid routine I was never going to get rid of him.

I opened the door and he walked in with a spring in his step. He dropped the bag on the table and ripped it open.
 

"Pain meds and something to help you rest," he said, squinting at the bottle. "Ooooh, hydrocodone. I used that after my softball injury."

"Thanks, Eliah. I forgot about these."

He palmed the bottle and opened it, shaking out two pills. "Here you go."

"I'm not really—"

Eliah raised a long bony finger, Ichabod Crane preparing for a speech. "You need to take your meds and give your body time to recover. They let you out too early and you clearly still need to rest. It's crazy. Insurance companies want everyone out of the hospital before they are even halfway healed."

I didn't care if I threw up on the side of his car. He was pushing this "friend" thing. "Look, Eliah, I have things to do."

He gave me a stern look and held out the pills to me in his ginormous hand. He was never going to quit. I took the pills from him and headed to the bathroom for water, closing the door behind me. Then I tossed the pills down the drain. I never took those kinds of meds, they knocked me out and made me sick for days. I could deal with pain. I learned that in two years of self-defense classes.

When I got back, Eliah was looking over my mostly bare bookshelf next to the stereo.
 

"Okay, all set," I said. "Guess I should get some rest."
 

He turned, his big goofy grin stretching nearly to his ears. "Right. Okay then. See you tomorrow. You've got a follow-up with the doctor at," he pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. "Noon. I'll be by at 11:30."

"Oh, um, okay." I wasn't sure if I could take any more Eliah-ness. I ushered him to the door. Behind me, I heard a loud mechanical pop. I turned around but didn't see anything.

"See you!" said Eliah.
 

I stood against the door, hoping he wouldn't come back, listened to his heavy feet hitting every stair. Satisfied that he was gone, I went back to the stereo and hit the play button. It made a loud popping sound. It was at the end. Hadn't I stopped it? How could it be at the end?

I hit rewind, listening to the high-speed whine for a few seconds, then hit play.

A soft hiss came through the speakers.

No
. Tell me I hadn't accidentally erased the tape. I swore I only hit the stop button.

The hiss continued. I rewound until I heard her voice, then fast forwarded to the point where she talked about Father Henry. The tape went from words to hiss.

No. Please no. I ejected the tape and slammed my hand on the shelf, shaking loose a couple of books. How could I have done this? I felt sick. I lost her. Again. I lost the other Antonia, my mom, that driven woman, the one who worked in an office, dealt with professors and politicians, a woman examining the world and sketching it in long reports filled with statistical analysis. Someone who didn't need pennies to teach her how to count.

I slammed the player closed. And where the hell were they anyway? Why hadn't Abuela called, where were the other tapes, what was I supposed to do now? I shoved the tape into my pants' pocket and wandered into my tiny spare bedroom where I kept all my climbing gear. Three rope bags were piled in the corner, along with my backpack filled with gear. I grabbed one and threw it on the bed. It was long and lumpy, looking a little like a body was sleeping there. I knelt down and fumbled with the zippered side pocket. I pulled out my spare credit card and keys.
 

I needed to get out.
 

That's when I remembered the other tape. I looked around. My jacket was on the couch.
 

Strange, I'd thought I had hung it up on the coat rack. I checked the pockets. Nothing. Had I lost the tape on the way home from the hospital? Had I lost everything? I searched around the couch, the bookshelf, and back in my room. Nothing. When I bent over to look under the coffee tape, my head pounded to the point I almost passed out. Disgusted, I grabbed my jacket and headed out.

I was exhausted, confused and a little angry, although I wasn't sure at what, or who. Was I angry at my mother for leaving again? Or was I angry that someone took her from me all those years ago?
 

Who was the old man who came to the hospital, I wondered. And Roberto, the guy mom had the argument with before the accident. I'd never heard that name before. Did someone actually try to kill her? Was it Roberto?

I was halfway to the parking lot before I realized I didn't have a car anymore. Pools of light glinted off silent cars in their neat rows, an empty slot where I usually parked. When I closed my eyes for a moment I remembered being on Highway 46 over a week ago, reaching down for my phone right before the truck hit. It was a good thing that I didn't see it coming.

I blinked away my tears and looked up into the sky. The night was cool, the street quiet, the light breeze encouraging. I walked toward the Mexican place that had tortillas that nearly rivaled Abuela's although their refried beans—the true test, she always said—were only passable.
 

When I walked in, I was starving, but once the food arrived, it smelled so familiar I could hardly pick up the fork. A ghost of Abuela's gentle hand seemed to be rubbing my back, urging me to eat. Panic rose at the memory and sealed my throat. Where were they? Why hadn't they called?
 

I had started to pick at my food when the first fire truck roared by the restaurant's front window, the shrieking sirens shaking the glass with muffled fury. Three more followed, each screeching siren louder than the last as if a sound barrier had been cracked open and their desperate cries slipped in and around everyone and everything.
 

I asked for a to-go box to take my still warm food with me, a nagging dread pulsing in my stomach in time with the wailing sirens.

I knew before I turned the corner that the flames were coming from my apartment. My head seemed incredibly light and I felt myself beginning to sway.

Do not pass out, Kat. Do not.

The gathered crowd was surprisingly large as if a tour bus had just dropped off a group of tourists. I lingered at the edge of the group, watching the flames shoot out of my bedroom and living room windows with fierce determination.
 

Everything would be gone. My gear, my clothes, my posters of Big Bend and Hueco Tanks. A deep weight pressed down on my shoulders, driving me into the ground. I weighed 300 pounds, heavy and frozen in place.

I became inexplicably philosophical. At least I was safe. At least I hadn't been home, hadn't taken the sleeping medication Eliah had brought me to help calm the pounding in my head.

I scanned the crowd for my neighbors, for the three guys that lived behind my apartment, for Alyse the balcony gardener on the other side, and David the accountant and acid rock fiend just below. I was about to move in toward one of the firefighters, to let them know that I was all right, when I spotted a very tall man in the crowd. Some would call him freakishly tall.
 

It was Eliah, but he was almost unrecognizable. In fact, if he hadn't been so tall, I wouldn't have believed it was him. Gone was his awkwardness, the goofy smile, the wide, eager eyes.
 

His face was transformed into a series of hard edges, a wry smile on lips tightly closed. He narrowed his eyes as a firefighter aimed the hose into my bedroom window, as if disapproving of the effort.
 

Slowly he began to turn away from the fire, scanning the crowd himself.
 

I stepped back behind a woman who was holding up a squirming toddler for a better look, hoping the kid's head kept me hidden from view. I stepped backward, bumping a young girl who was cracking her gum in time with the fire.

Taking a deep breath, I calmed the overwhelming need to run, forced my legs into a slow walk of a disinterested stranger. When I glanced back over my shoulder, Eliah was heading over to the firefighter at the nearest truck, his face transforming again, concern slipping into place over his features like a wax falling into a mold.
 

I tossed my dinner into a trashcan, shoved my hands into my pocket and felt the plastic cassette tape in my pants pocket. My mother's voice rose in my head.

Trust no one, Katarina.

Chapter 10

I'd left San Antonio at noon the next day, having spent the night in Pilar's hospital room. At that point I didn't know where to go, still couldn't reach Abuela when I called from the hospital, and didn't dare call anyone else. Shock was settling in, with its close cousin, panic. Pilar and I talked in hushed voices for hours about the fire, the accident, Antonia, all of it, my head pounding, eyes burning.
 

"You know, they stopped by after you left that day," Pilar said, adjusting herself on the bed. She was the kind of person that was hard to imagine sleeping for more than an hour at a time.
 

"They did?" I was confused. "They were gone when I went back to my room."

"It was a couple hours later. They came to warn me about some guy."

"The lawyer from the ropes course?" I could see Calderon, uncomfortable in the leather chair. I hadn't heard from him since the accident.

"No, not him. Some older man—same age as your grandmother. She said he wasn't to be trusted. She refused to give me any details. She said to not let him know where you were or that they had been here."
 

A few weeks ago I would have said Abuela was being overly dramatic. Sometimes she seemed to see danger everywhere. I had always blamed the telenovelas. Now I didn't know what to think. "She didn't say his name or anything?"
 

"No. I asked, but she said that wasn't important. That he was just some rancher, then they rushed out of here." She shook her head. "I figured they were going to see you."

We talked for a little while longer, but before long exhaustion smothered my brain. Somewhere in the conversation I'd drifted off, slipping quickly into a dream. I was walking in a dim night, walking toward movement a few yards away. There I saw a couple dancing in flickering candlelight, the sound of a crooning Texas border ballad filling the air. As I approached, I could make out the man. Eliah.

His face was strangely animated, changing over and over as he danced. One moment it was the kind, if over-eager, face of the man I meet a year ago, then it shifted to the hard angles and dead eyes lit by fire, the face I saw last night. Eliah spun his partner and I saw he was dancing with Antonia. Her face was going through the same changes, soft and gentle, relaxed in a moment, then shifting like quicksilver to reveal a harshness, her intelligence burning through every pore. They danced atop of the desert mountain, winds rippling their clothes, their feet lightly sidestepping rocks and cactus as if they'd done this for years, had memorized the exact spot of every stone and thorn. As he twirled her, a sudden gust came from behind me and, without a sound, they tumbled down the mountain side, slipping into a valley filled with smoke. Gone.

I woke as a nurse came in, the lingering sound of music in my ears, my throat filling with smoke from the dream. The nurse, a compact woman, her badge bouncing on the pocket of her lab coat, crossed the room dragging a blood pressure cart. She gave me a friendly nod and moved in to set down her chart. As she took Pilar's vitals, I washed up in the bathroom, only coming out when I heard her soft sole shoes pass the door.

"Bottom line. You have to get back there," Pilar said. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, but that did little to diminish their intensity.

"I know."

She gestured to the room's cabinet and I brought her the scarred leather messenger bag she carried everywhere. She reached into a side pocket, then tossed me her keys.

"Take the truck."

I shook my head. "Pilar, I can't do that. What if something happens?"

Her lips curled into a wry grin. "I'm not going to be driving a stick shift anymore, Kati. I've got no use for that truck." She waved me off. "Go. Call me when you get there."
 

I reached for her bag to put the keys back. "It's too much, Pilar. I can't..."

"Don't argue with the gimp," she said, grabbing my arm. She hadn't lost an ounce of strength in her arms, arms that could scale a wall better than most climbers in the state. "Take it and find out what the hell's going on."
 

I'd taken a bus over to Pilar's place and picked up her metallic green Nissan. It had a matching camper shell and was easily 10 years old. It ran like a tank, partially because she'd rebuilt the engine herself. The dusty smell of climbing ropes lingered along with the debris of a dozen recent climbs: rocks, leaves, bits of mud knocked off hiking boots. A mini fuschia carabiner hung from the rearview mirror on a length of thin nylon rope with a bendable stick figure climber at one end, posed so it looked like she had just made it to the top of the mirror.