Chapter Eighteen
Ricky
AVELINE WALKED BRISKLY in front of me, her puffy black winter coat protecting her from the winter wind. Her legs reminded me of willowy tree branches, her tight black leggings and knee high brown boots highlighting just how small her frame was. She looked over her shoulder once, adjusting her brown glasses farther up her nose as she made sure I was still there. Following her.
Why was I following her? I had already told her, and more importantly myself, that we had no place together. Yet, I stalked after her, a strange deep need to make sure she was safe consuming me.
She placed her bag in the trunk, stopped, and straightened her back. I wondered if she was thinking about speaking to me. God, I wanted her to, but I also hadn’t thought through what to say if she did. Because if she opened up to me and asked the questions I wasn’t ready to answer, I would really be up shit’s creek. I couldn’t be honest, but I couldn’t lie to her either.
She opened the door to her car, climbed inside, shut it, and started the engine. My breath rushed out in a relieved puff of air and I tracked her car the entire way out of the garage before I walked to my bike.
Backing out of my space and revving my engine, I accelerated, turning sharply on the corners and feeling adrenaline course through me.
The pressure of Papa’s medical worries weighed on me like a thousand-pound rock. As soon as I understood Dr. Redmond’s class project, hope sparked. This could be the chance I needed. I could get into her home and meet her parents or get information that I could use to contact them again and get the money we needed.
I could introduce her to Papa. I could explain that her mistake, while unintentional, caused all of his problems. I could demand help from her and her family.
My desire to merely be around her was just as important to me. As much as I fought it, she drew me in. The darkness inside me grumbled loud and low, and my chest physically hurt. What was I doing? I had to stop thinking about the pretty little pixie girl. I gunned the engine, pulling into the parking lot of the bike shop in record time.
Get the money, Ricardo. That’s what my family needed. That was all that really mattered anyway.
* * *
I TEXTED AVELINE later that day.
“Can we get together tomorrow for the project?”
She wrote back a minute later. “That works. Should I come to you?”
“No, let me come to you first. 2:00?”
“Sure. I’ll text you my address in the morning.”
I put my cell down on the coffee table, my fingers tracing the grooves and watermarks etched into the surface as I tried to survey the room through Aveline’s eyes. I never imagined bringing her here. Hell, most of the guys who I was closest to in the world had never been here. They’d pick me up and I’d run down to their car, hoping like hell no one ever asked to use the bathroom. It wasn’t so much that I was embarrassed by where we lived. More pervasive was the fear on behalf of my family. If any of them saw the pity that I had to believe would be in my friend’s eyes… that just might break something inside of me.
Mom sat rigid in a high-backed kitchen chair in front of Papa, pulling his left leg straight and then up and down and around, making circles as she stimulated blood flow to prevent blood clots. Papa had been released from the hospital yesterday. They’d administered the medicine he needed for his infection and advised us to seek more therapy.
Therapy insurance didn’t cover, of course.
The couch I reclined on was threadbare. It had been in this room, in this spot, all my life.
An ancient television was housed on a bookcase across the room. No flat screens had crossed this threshold. We had the old school bubble screens with a small bare-bones cable box attached to the top. That one luxury allowed my dad to watch television during the day, Univision solely playing Spanish news, and telenovela soap operas.
Next to me, Marcela sprawled across a recliner, her books open in her lap, but her eyes closed, a small snore escaping from her open mouth.
“Mama, I’ll be right back to help get Dad in bed.”
Mama nodded, a small hum of acknowledgment as she focused on my father.
I moved Marcela’s books off her lap, stacking them on the coffee table. Scooping her into my arms, I carried her into our room.
Our room.
All three of us.
What would Aveline say about that? In a two-bedroom apartment, there was no other choice.
The room was dark as I eased open the door. Teresa lay on the top bunk, her body rolled into a ball. Moving down onto one knee, I eased Marcela’s body onto the bottom bunk, pulling her covers up to her shoulders.
My bed was mere feet away and I settled on the edge, my elbows on my knees as I scrubbed my fingers down my face. I stared at that bunk, where my sisters had slept their whole lives, long since having outgrown it.
We all sacrificed in the ways we could to make this family work. My sisters poured themselves into their studies, knowing I’d been given a scholarship to college. That was the expectation for them as well. And with college came high paying jobs. The unspoken words in this home were that we would take care of one another always. In all ways.
Mama and I worked, and the girls ignored boys, parties, sports, and fun. Instead, they studied, cooked for the family, cared for our father, and anything else necessary.
How I wish I could help them live a better life. A life like Aveline’s.
The rush of familiar anger surged through me, but I swallowed it down, packing it away for another time.
And I stood, moving back into the family room to help move my father into his bed for the night, making sure his ventilator was working and his catheter clear so that his basic comforts were met.
Aveline would see all of this. Contemplating her reaction scared me as much as it filled me with wonder.