A Blossom of Bright Light (24 page)

“If his saliva's on the envelope, we'll know once and for all.” Vega grabbed a set of dishwashing gloves by the sink. “Get me a clean Ziploc bag, will you?”

Adele opened a drawer and held a bag out to him. Vega fished the envelope out of the garbage, stuffed it into the bag, and sealed it. “I'll get this tested at the lab tomorrow.”

“How fast will you know?”

“Probably within a couple of hours. Why?”

“The cook who's being deported? Manuel Serrano? I encouraged him to let the Gonzalezes take custody of his children.”

Vega went very still. “How old are they?”

“Seven, nine—and fifteen.”

“And the fifteen-year-old—?”

“Is that girl I like, Luna. You've heard me mention Luna.” Adele smacked her palm to her forehead. “Oh God, Jimmy. What have I done?”

Vega walked over to Adele and wrapped his arms around her. “You couldn't have known.”

“But—I should've. I, of all people.”

Vega chucked a fist under her chin and brought her eyes up to meet his.

“Why ‘you' of all people?”

A terrible darkness flashed in her eyes. And in that moment, he knew.

“Nena,” he asked softly, rubbing her shoulders, “when you were young, were you—?”

She pushed out of his embrace. “If you're right about Charlie, I will never forgive myself, Jimmy. Ever.”

Chapter 30

P
api called! Luna was so excited, she babbled like a preschooler when Doña Esme picked up the phone on Friday evening and the operator asked if she'd accept the charges. Her father being her father, he spent the first two minutes of the call apologizing profusely to Doña Esme for asking her to pay for it.

Dulce and Mateo hogged the phone. Dulce seemed to forget where Papi was. She told him about the upcoming Halloween parade at school and how her friend Caroline was going as a princess and Dulce could only go as a ghost. Luna wanted to strangle her sister. She sounded so petty and self-absorbed. But judging from Papi's voice on the Gonzalezes' speakerphone, he didn't seem to mind. There was a lot of noise in the background where he was: voices, bells, metal doors slamming shut. It sounded like the locker room at school. Luna suspected he was having a hard time hearing all of them anyway, and Dulce's banter was probably about as much as he could concentrate on at the moment.

There was no privacy. Not on his end. Not on theirs. His answers were short. His pauses were long, as if he could only catch some of their words over the noise. Mateo told Papi he'd had a math test today at school that he didn't do well on. Papi told him to study harder, but they all knew how impossible that was right now, so Papi ended up reassuring Mateo he'd do better next time.

Mateo and Dulce managed pretty well talking to Papi over the speakerphone. Luna supposed that to them, it felt more like their father was in the room. But for her, the public nature of their conversation turned her shy and awkward. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd had a real conversation with her father over a phone. Papi was always “just there” in her life. His voice didn't even sound the same over a phone.

“How are you doing, Mija?” he asked when it was finally her turn with him.

“Estoy bien.
”
I'm fine.
Her first real lie to her father. The first of many, she suspected.

Luna wished she could tell him that all day at school, she felt like she was walking around in a bubble. She sat at lunch with her friends and listened to their chatter like it was a foreign language. She watched her teachers write on their smart boards and read from their lesson plans, and she couldn't imagine why any of it mattered. She didn't take notes. She doodled pictures in the margins: monsters with big noses, long claws, and bushy eyebrows. Fences made of barbed wire. People bleeding from their eyes. She had two hours of homework ahead of her tonight. She had to study for a major biology test Mr. Ulrich was giving on Monday. She hadn't even taken home the study guides. She wanted to tell her father that Mateo wasn't the only one who didn't care about school anymore. But all she said was, “We're doing fine.”

Papi told them what they already knew, that he was in Pennsylvania. He didn't say he was in a prison, and they didn't either. He told them he thought he'd be there until Monday, and then they'd put him on a bus. He promised to call every day if they let him and also to call from Mexico as soon as he arrived.

A man barked at Papi in toneless English. He had to hang up. Until that moment, Dulce had willfully forgotten where he was. But Papi's good-byes started her crying again. Luna clasped a hand over her mouth and hissed: “You can't do that to him! Not now!”

Dulce pinched Luna's arm hard. The little girl's eyes were dead cold with hatred. She had no one else to take her anger out on.

The evening felt sad after Papi hung up. The señor was out at meetings. It was just the six kids and Doña Esme. Luna offered to do the dinner dishes, and Doña Esme quickly accepted. By the time she was done, she was too tired to do any homework. She put Dulce to bed and stayed in their room reading next to her. She hoped Mateo didn't pee his bed tonight. He'd promised her he'd empty his bladder before he fell asleep.

She heard the television for a while in a room down the hall. And then all she heard were the parakeets beneath them in the kitchen.

She woke up shivering in the dark, unsure of the time. The air was so cold, the tip of her nose felt frozen to the touch. Dulce was curled tight beside her on the bed. Their apartment was always overheated, so they slept in light blankets. But here, in this house, the air had a bite to it. Luna cuddled up next to Dulce for warmth, but then her back was cold. She pushed her back against her sister, but that didn't help either. They needed another blanket.

She tiptoed over to a dresser. No blankets. There were none in the closet either. She remembered seeing some blankets downstairs in the basement last night when she was laundering Mateo's sheets. She saw no option but to fetch one.

The hallway was lit by a single night-light. It formed a small puddle the color of apple juice on the gleaming wood floor. Luna took a moment to let her eyes adjust. The bedroom doors were all closed. There were no lights beneath their sashes. The señor must have come home—or not—while she slept.

She crept down the stairs. She was colder now than when she'd been in bed. If she couldn't find a blanket soon, she'd have to fetch their jackets. Without Luna's body heat, Dulce would likely wake up herself.

Luna followed the sound of the parakeets to the kitchen. The digital blue numbers floated on the microwave above the stove: 2:15 a.m. On the windowsill sat a pumpkin Doña Esme had carved with her boys. The triangle eyes stared back at Luna vacantly. The uneven zigzag smile carried a hint of menace to it. She shivered—from cold or nervousness she couldn't tell.

She opened the basement door and flipped on a light switch. The bright fluorescent ceiling lights made Luna's eyes water. She padded down the steps. The quilt that had been on the armrest of the couch yesterday was gone. Luna searched under the couch cushions and along the floor, but she couldn't find it anywhere. She opened the door to the laundry room again, hoping it was in there, but it wasn't. She was becoming desperate for warmth. Maybe there was a blanket in the room behind the third door. Luna slid the bolt and opened it.

It was a bedroom. The walls were painted in a cold and institutional shade of blue. There were no windows. A faint odor of bleach wafted out of the room along with something else. Something vaguely metallic.

Luna flipped another switch on the wall. A pale overhead light blinked to life, revealing a steel-framed twin bed along the far wall with a mattress on top. The mattress was bare except for a white plastic protection sheet. Luna wondered whether she should take the plastic sheet upstairs to put on Mateo's cot. Not that she wanted to embarrass her brother, but it would save a lot of headaches.

Directly across from the bed was a chest of drawers with three votive candleholders on top. All three votives had a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe printed across them. A crucifix hung above the candleholders. Whose room was this? A live-in housekeeper's? If it was, she didn't live here anymore. Not that Luna could blame her. She wouldn't want to live in this room, either.

Still, maybe there was an extra blanket. Luna opened the drawers, hoping to find one. The top drawer contained a few women's sweatshirts and sweatpants, but the second drawer had two thin cotton blankets inside. She pulled them out to take upstairs. And as she did, something between the blankets tumbled out. An envelope full of photos. They spilled across the floor. Luna bent down to collect them and stuff them back into the drawer. Her hand hovered above the images. They were photos of a girl—the same girl whose picture Luna had seen in the garage. Only in these photos, she wasn't wearing shorts. In these, she was naked. Behind her was a blue wall—just like the wall in this room.

Luna's hands shook as she shoved the pictures back into the envelope and threw the envelope in the second drawer. She bundled the blankets in her arms and decided to take the mattress protector too—just in case. She had no wish to return to this room for any reason.

She began to pull the protector off the bed. She gasped at what was beneath: a large, reddish-brown stain the size of a bicycle tire. Blood. Dried blood. In the middle of the mattress. She let go of the protector. It curled back on itself like a roll of wrapping paper, as if it could no longer cover over the raw evidence of something ugly beneath. Luna felt faint and woozy.

“Chica?”

The señor was behind her, standing in the doorway in his underwear again. For a heavy man, his footsteps were whisper soft. Luna turned. The thin strands of his remaining hair were tangled like spaghetti on top of his head. His skin looked sallow and drained under the harsh light.

“I was—I was looking for an extra blanket,” Luna stammered. “To put on our bed. Dulce is cold.” Luna lifted the blankets as evidence.

The señor's eyes traveled to the bloodstains on the exposed mattress. He saw the dresser drawers partially opened. He seemed to guess at what she'd already seen inside them. “Oh, chica, you shouldn't be in this room. This is no place for you.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . .” Luna held the blankets to her chest. She left the mattress protector curled on the bed. She didn't want it anymore. Not after seeing what was beneath it.

“This,” he gestured to the blood on the mattress, “this was—an accident, yes? It does not concern you. Therefore, you should not discuss it. You understand this, chica, right?”

“Yes,” Luna mumbled. She went to scoot by the señor. She could feel his eyes watching her, slowly traveling the length of her body. He didn't move. There was no way she could get past his girth without touching him, and she didn't want to touch him.

The señor wiped the back of his hand across his lips. The muscles in his face tightened, and a dark glint came into his eyes. He stepped closer. His chest heaved in and out as if he'd been running hard, and a layer of sweat gathered on his skin. Luna clutched the blankets tightly to her chest and inhaled, trying to make herself as small and slight as possible. The señor reached out a hand. She flinched as he touched her hair.

“Such pretty hair, chica. You know, one day soon, you'll become a man's wife. That's an important responsibility, yes? You need to learn how to handle that sort of responsibility.”

Her head throbbed. Her legs tingled from pins and needles. She smelled bleach and blood and the sweat of a man who was older than her father. He was panting heavily now. His fat fingers traced a strand of Luna's hair from her ear to where it ended on her shoulder.

“I can teach you, chica. You'll like it, too. I know how to make a girl feel like a woman. It will be so good for you, yes?”

“I don't—”

“We can be good to each other. Very, very good.”

“No, please.”

The señor licked his lips. “Your papi—I know how much he wants to come back. You can make that happen. It's up to you. If you're quiet. If you're respectful—to this family, to me—you can bring your papi back. You can make your family happy. Or you can be selfish. And stupid. I don't think you're a selfish, stupid girl.”

His cold sweaty hand began to travel across her shoulder to her breasts. Luna couldn't breathe. Her skin broke out in goose bumps.

“I believe you have many, many talents, chica. I'm very excited to have you share them with me. Very excited.”

Something shriveled and died inside of her. In its wake, she felt only the cold, dead blankness of existence. The weight of it pressed on her chest and constricted her lungs. Nothing would ever feel whole or right again.
Dear God, what do I do?
If she refused him, he wouldn't help Papi. If she gave in . . .
Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“Luna?” a little voice called down the stairs. “I'm cold!”

The señor's hand instantly pulled away. He stepped back. Never had Luna felt so relieved to hear her little sister's voice.

“I'm in the basement, Dulce!” she shouted, more forcefully than she needed to. “I'll be right up!” Her voice was hoarse as if she'd been screaming. Luna supposed that on the inside, she was.

Dulce stood on the stairs and peered into the room where the señor and her sister were standing. She frowned at Luna. She frowned at the señor. Luna could tell by her face that even though she knew nothing of what had just transpired—even though she was a complete innocent in those areas—she felt something strange and uncomfortable in the air between them. The señor ushered Luna out of the room and slid the bolt across the door again before Dulce could see the blood. Luna was glad. Dulce would have had nightmares forever otherwise. Luna knew that she'd never sleep soundly in this house again.

“You need to come to bed,” said Dulce.

“Yes!” Luna replied, almost hysterical with the thought. “We'll go together!” She led Dulce up the stairs. She was shaking uncontrollably by the time they got back to their bedroom.

“Wow,” said Dulce as Luna spread the blankets across the bed and climbed in beside her. “You're colder than I am.”

And then Dulce did something wholly unexpected. She wrapped her arms around Luna and started rubbing her arms and legs to try to warm her up and stop her from shaking. Dulce's touch soothed. But it couldn't erase the images in Luna's head of the blood on that bed, the way the señor had put his hands on her, the things he'd said. It made her want to stand under a hot shower and never come out. Where did that blood come from? What happened in that room?

“I'll get you warm,” Dulce whispered. But she couldn't.

Luna wasn't sure she'd ever be warm again.