The Book of Broken Hearts (19 page)

“Papi and the mechanic.”

“Who?” Celi asked again. “Wait, is that the cute boy Mom told us about?”

In the background Alejandro whistled. “Juju has a boyfriend?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “He’s just a guy from Duchess.”

“Duchess is the motorcycle shop,” Mari said. “Juju and Papi hired him.”

Thanks for being helpful!
I shot her a look, and she shrugged, like,
What?

I realized then, if for no other reason than protecting Celi’s heart, Mari wouldn’t say Emilio’s name. It was up to me, but I couldn’t reveal it either. Secrecy had been my plan all along: Keep Emilio’s identity in the background, let him finish up the bike and disappear as if he’d never been here. As if I’d never broken the oath.

But I remembered our conversation this afternoon, his hands warm in mine, eyes soft and encouraging, and suddenly it felt unfair. Wrong.

I wanted to spill it. I wanted to tell them that Emilio, more than any of my old friends, continued to show up when he said he would. He listened when I felt like talking, didn’t push when I wanted to stop. He showed me stuff about motorcycles and made sure I understood what he and Papi were doing. He didn’t freak out at Papi’s episodes, and he didn’t treat him like a kid in need of a babysitter.

I wanted to tell them how amazing he was with Valentina, how he seemed to know her on some deep level, more than you could learn from the manuals.

I wanted to tell them how Papi’s eyes sparked whenever
Emilio showed up, how Emilio loved to hear about Papi’s travels and all the people he met and the miles he covered.

I wanted to tell them how Emilio was becoming a good friend, someone I was warned against my whole life but who’d taken better care of my heart than anyone.

But when I saw Celi’s hopeful face, her lips curved in a shy smile, all the right words evaporated.

“How do you know the kid really works there? What if he’s trying to rip you off?” Lourdes’s brow furrowed with concern; even Alejandro pulled up a chair to offer his two
pesos
.

“Juju, Mari,” he said. “Be careful with these people. They could be taking advantage. How do you know you can trust him? Why didn’t you go to the dealer?”

“Harley-Davidson was way expensive,” I said. “Three times as much.”

“So you found some random kid?” Celi raised her shoulders, like,
What the hell?

“Harley referred us to Duchess. Papi and I met the owner, got his opinion, saw all the guys working there, and hired—him.” I stopped short of saying his name. Lourdes probably wouldn’t remember, but Celi would. She’d spent enough time at Johnny’s house to know his little brother, and it’s not like there were tons of other families in Blackfeather with kids named Emilio.

“Sounds suspect,” Lourdes said.

“Papi’s happy,” I said. “He loves working on it; it’s like he’s back in Argentina. Did you guys know he biked all around South America?”

“Really?” Celi said. “That’s so cool! And romantic! Like Che.”

“Before all the killing,” Mari said.

“Don’t be morbid, Mari.” Lourdes rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, back to Papi,” I said.
Che. Really!

“What does Mom think?” Lourdes asked.

I’d been spending my days with Papi,
giving up my last summer
like Mari’d said, but maybe that was the easy part. So far, other than a few meltdowns and confusing moments, our days were filled with laughter and sunshine and the memories he shared from his biker days. I’d been writing them down, tagging all the pictures I’d taken, scanning his old albums. I was collecting them for him on my computer, curator of his memories.

But Mom worked all day. And she came home and cooked and took Papi to appointments and asked the big questions.
What if? When? What next?
She was the one who had to deal with the paperwork and social workers and Big Future Contingencies. She knew Emilio was there to restore the bike, but once the project got under way, she hadn’t said much about it.

I had no idea
what
Mom thought.

My sisters’ faces were etched with worry. I wanted to reach through the screen, slip my arms around them like I used to. I wanted them to be here. I wanted them to promise me they’d figure something out, that all of us would be just fine.

Go back to bed, Juju. . . .

“Mom’s got more important things to worry about now,”
Mari said. “I’d really like to get him on a stricter exercise program, but . . . I don’t know. He loves the Harley. He’s . . .” She looked at me and smiled. It was a small smile, but a real one. “He’s happy when they’re working on it.”

“You sure you trust this mechanic?” Celi said.

Lourdes and Alejandro leaned forward, filling their half of the screen with kind, concerned faces. I looked at Mari and held my breath. Here in Colorado, she had seniority. A shadow of doubt from her could shut the whole thing down.

After a million years Mari nodded. “He knows his way around the bike, and he’s not put off by Papi’s mood swings. He’s a good kid.”

“Super good,” I said. My heart lifted at her unexpected praise.

“Keep an eye on things,” Lourdes said. “But as long as you trust this kid, I don’t see a problem with letting Papi work on the bike.”

“Me neither,” Celi said. “Sounds like it might actually be good for him. Juju, what’s wrong? Why do you look so emotional?”

“I don’t know.” I spoke through the sudden tightness in my throat. “I just . . . I figured you guys would do the united front thing. I thought we’d have to stop working on the bike.”

Celi ran her hands through her chocolate-brown hair and sighed. “We’re just worried. It’s hard being so far away. We want to be there too.”

“We can manage,” I said. “Mari’s here and—”

“I know,” Celi said. “We miss you guys.”

“I’m trying to find a cheap ticket,” Lourdes said. She was totally tearing up. We all were. Family tragedies had a way of smashing everything apart and then gluing it all back together.

The problem was no one ever knew how long the glue would hold.

Celi’s apartment echoed with the sudden cannon boom of fireworks from New York City, two hours ahead of us.

“Happy Independence Day, Americanos!” Lourdes said.

“I’m going up to the roof to watch,” Celi said. “I love fireworks.”

“Do you guys have everything you need over there?” Lourdes asked. “Can I send anything?”

“Dulce de leche,”
I said. “The real stuff.”

We exchanged a round of
besos
and promised to check in again soon. The screen went blank, and Mari shut her laptop and stared at me.

“Sorry I was late today,” I said, hoping to preempt a lecture. I lost track of time and—”

“I got the author.”

“What?”

“The call today. I’d offered representation to an author along with four other agents last week, and today was D-day. She picked me. I can’t even tell you how excited I am about this book.”

“Mari, that’s awesome!”

“I know! I can’t wait to show it to you!” She beamed. “Mom said she’d meet us at the Bowl straight from work. Let’s get Papi ready and pack up the cooler.”

I wanted to throw my arms around her, but something held me back. Mari was so
not
gung ho about the bike project. The sudden change of heart didn’t make any sense—it felt like a trap.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mari asked. She was already hunting for leftovers to bring to the fireworks.

“Emilio.” I shrugged. “You were kind of . . . I don’t know. Defending him.”

Mari set a stack of Tupperware on the counter and sighed. “It was all Papi could talk about at lunch today. He remembers so much about it, Juju—you were totally right.”

Hey, Jude? Your old pal Devil-Jude here. The boss just called—wants to know why it’s so cold down here. We’re freezing!

“For some bizarre reason, he loves that Vargas boy,” Mari said. “He went on about him forever—I almost got jealous. Like, hello, you don’t need a son! Four awesome daughters over here!”

I laughed at Mari’s indignant huff, and I was relieved she’d softened up, but my chest ached with the effort of keeping quiet. I had all this stuff in me to say, things I wanted to tell her about Emilio. About how I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his dimples and how the smell of his leather jacket made my stomach flip. How sweet he was at the garage today. But I couldn’t; her understanding had limitations. Expirations. Once the clock on our project struck twelve, Emilio would be gone, and that was how Mari wanted it.

But that wasn’t how
I
wanted it. Not now. Not anymore. Not ever.

The Bowl was Canyon Rock Bowl, a natural amphitheater carved into the red sandstone that sloped toward the river valley. Across the swoop from the very top, it was a smooth terra-cotta bowl dotted with rock-slab benches and patches of yellow-green scrub grass.

“Watch your step, Papi,” Mari said as we navigated the terrain. “Juju, help him.”

I reached for Papi’s elbow, but he shook me off, the silver Alzheimer’s Association bracelet glinting in the setting sun. “I’m fine,
queridita
. You two keep grabbing at me like little monkeys, that’s the problem.”

“I could use some help,” Mom said. “I wore the wrong shoes for this adventure.” She finally slipped out of her wedges and went barefoot, picking her way along the rocks.

The freaks were definitely out tonight, and by freaks I mean everyone in town plus a good number of tourists, not to mention all the dogs, but we found a spot close to the exits.
We had enough
ensalada rusa
, pressed red pepper
sandwiches de miga
, and
medialunas
to feed everyone here.

I tied Pancake’s leash to a screw drilled into the rock and headed down to the vending area for drinks, which we’d forgotten to pack.

“Jude!”

I almost didn’t recognize her voice, but the wild red curls clued me in fast. Zoe was hanging out at the lemonade stand, pink-filled cups spiked with lemon slices in each hand. She was tan and glowy, and a hot streak of jealousy raced through me when I pictured her and Christina splashing around the Animas, beach towels side by side on the riverbank.

“You have new freckles,” I said when I got close enough for a hug. “Like, a thousand more at least.”

Zoe giggled. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. You should’ve texted!”

So should’ve you. . . .

“Mari’s in town. Family-bonding time.” I rolled my eyes like I’d rather be anywhere else.

“Your sister’s here?”

“She came to help with my dad.”

Zoe swirled her pink lemonade. “How’s . . . everything?”

Glad you asked, because it’s capital-
A
Awesome!

“Okay,” I said. “Considering.” I’d reached the front of the line, and Zoe waited off to the side while they handed over my lemonades and change.

“How’s the play stuff going?” I asked.

“Rockin’ it. I was basically born to be the Queen of Hearts.” Zoe’s mouth curled into a wicked, Queenly grin, but it faded fast. “Alice kind of sucks, though. She’s not from Blackfeather. Animas High, I think. Everyone misses you.”

I smiled. It was a nice sentiment, but for all that missing, I hadn’t heard a peep from anyone but Zoe and Christina since the BHS picnic, and even
their
peeps were getting shorter and less frequent, more like chirps than peeps.

“We’re doing a sneak preview on the eleventh. Like, a special screening for friends and family. I have extra tickets if you and Mari want to come. Oh, Christina’s here too. Come say hi.”

I peered into the crowd to find my family, but everything was a blur. “I should get back—”

“Just for a minute,” she said. “I brought some of the guys from the Crow too—Mad Hatter and Tweedledum. We got a good spot.” A fresh grin lit her face, warm and hopeful and nothing like the Queen’s. “Come on. You’re totally sitting with us.”

I didn’t know the Crow guys—they must’ve been from Animas High like Alice—but Christina wasn’t wasting any time. She’d draped herself over the blond one like a sheet. A wet sheet. A super-clingy one.

The dark-haired guy—Mad Hatter—was loud and brutish, going on about some party happening later that night, but
Zoe seemed into him, so I just sipped my lemonade and waited for the punch line that never came. Christina wasn’t saying much either—too busy flirting with Tweedledum.

At least the lemonade was fresh squeezed and super good and . . .
tart!
Theme of the night.

I turned toward Christina and tried to wedge myself into the conversation. “Have you been watching the rehearsals?”

“Yeah, Zoe is so good!” she said. “You
have
to see her do the Queen. It’s intense. Zoe, show her.”

Zoe cleared her throat and sat up straight. She made eye contact with each of us, seemed to be counting in her head. Her lips twitched. And then . . .

“Off with her head!”

Everyone within a twenty-foot radius turned to stare, and Zoe drank up the attention. Her eyes were wild and convincing, and the boys clapped, and Zoe bowed, and the whole scene morphed into a bunch of Crow inside jokes, most of which Christina was in on too.