Chapter 6

Behind the kitchen, there’s a small hallway leading to the place where Alan brews his beer. He’s rented the space next door. The clean white room has high ceilings, scrubbed cement floors, industrial sinks, and metal counters. There are mysterious steel tanks and hoses and pipes everywhere, but everything is clean—clean like a hospital—so I feel comfortable here right away.

Alan eats up the rest of our time talking about the process of brewing beer. I can tell he was a teacher, because he makes sure I have at least a little understanding of what he’s saying before he moves on. He talks about barley and malt and yeast and hops and wort and fermentation and I hope to God there isn’t a vocabulary test at the end of this tour because I’d fail it for sure. He cracks jokes about beer that make him double over with laughter and I’m laughing not because I understand the jokes but because there’s a nerdy white guy neighing like a horse in front of me and of course I find that funny.

He loves what he does. How can I not respect that?

When sees me glancing at the wall clock, he says, “I wish I had more time to show you how all this equipment works. We could brew up a batch together. It’s pretty interesting. What are you doing next Monday?”

Monday nights are gym nights. It’s Labor Day but my hours will be the same, so I agree to come by that afternoon. He’s going to be making Dogtown IPA and with all his enthusiasm, I’m kind of curious to see how this weird laboratory works. We shake on it.

“Thanks for the food,” I say, “and the tour. I never knew there was so much to beer before.”

Alan walks me out the back door and he’s still talking beer as I head down the alley to the street. I have to get to work, but I turn around and wave, gently cutting him off.

“I’ll see you, man.”

Finally, he puts an exclamation point on the end of his sentence. “Sounds good, Sal. See you Monday!”

After an uneventful shift at the gym—it’s Barry’s night off, so he can’t give me the side eye about that trainer job—I finally get a solid workout in.

In the quiet of the early morning, I turn off all the music, take out my notebook and pencil, and get into the zone. I write down every exercise I do in neat rows, just like I learned from the old books about weight lifting I read in prison. Alan had notes about his different brews and recipes—his notes are just as neat as mine, just as obsessive.

As I work out I realize the similarities in what we do. We’re both coming up with formulas. Apply movement. Apply weight. Apply repetitions. Measure. Adjust. See how much progress you’ve made, push yourself harder each day, stay accountable.

At the end of my workout, I weigh myself. There’s a measuring tape behind the front counter at the gym and I take my measurements as best as I can. I write all my numbers down. My weight’s down a little bit, which bothers me. I wish I had more money to eat better, but I can’t use that as an excuse not to stay healthy—to stay strong. With the Organization surrounding me in prison, I had no enemies. I had to stay strong by staying accountable. My body became my enemy. I fought it every day. I fight it now.

I finish a hard run on the treadmill just as the sun comes up in the front windows. I wipe everything off and put all the weights in their correct spots. I put my notebook and pencil in my backpack and take a shower. I leave and lock the door before anyone else arrives.

This is how I like things.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

---

I sleep and when I wake up, Regina feeds me again. I clean up her kitchen and listen to her new complaints about Spider. He still hasn’t come home. He’s not taking her calls.

The kids are at school. I give her a hug when I leave because she’s sad, and I know what it’s like to give love and not get it back the way you need it.

She holds on to me a little tighter than she should, kisses me on the cheek too close to my lips.

“Gina,” I say softly. She’s come on to me before, even when Spider lived at the house.

“Fuck, Ghost. It’s not fair.”

“You’re a beautiful woman,” I say, because even after three kids and marriage to a headache of a gangster, she is. She’s beautiful and tired and deserves better.

“Just once,” she whispers. “No one will know.”

“Mira, corazón. He’s my homeboy. I can’t do him like that.”

She leans her head against my shoulder. “I’m lonely as hell.”

“I know. I know.” I let go of her and gently lead her to a chair at the kitchen table. I pour her a glass of water and get her some tissues even though she’s not crying. “He’s being an asshole. I’m not going to defend him. But he’s still my friend. Just like you are.”

She says nothing. Her arms are folded and she’s staring at the pictures of fruit on the plastic tablecloth.

“Tell you what,” I say. “The church carnival is coming up this weekend. Let’s take the kids. Get you out of the house.”

“What? No, no. We don’t have money to waste on that.”

With my reduced rent at Vanessa’s, I know I can spare a little. “Look. A churro? A ride or two? A balloon? We can do it. I’ll help you. It’ll cheer them up a little. They miss him too.”

She shakes her head, and I wish I could smack some sense into my homeboy. This woman would do anything for him—I’ve seen it—and he can’t step up. It makes me mad.

“Twenty bucks?” I say. “Maybe thirty? We can put something together, you and me. It’ll be worth it.”

She says nothing.

“Gina?”

She looks up at me and shrugs. “Sure. Why not.”

“Good. It’s a plan.” I kiss the top of her head. She smells like corn tortillas and rose petals, like the kind of sadness that lingers.

I head for the back door and turn around. “I’ll see you, okay?”

She nods and takes a drink of water.

---

I’m going through Ben’s old toolbox when Vanessa pulls into the driveway. Through the branches of the avocado tree, I can see she drives a Toyota Camry, a few years old and a little beat-up but clean. I watch her as she gets out of the car. She’s wearing another sexy office outfit with her usual pearls and red lipstick. Stone-faced, she hangs a big computer bag over her shoulder, gets her wiggling kid out of the car, picks up the girl’s backpack, and grabs two enormous bags of groceries in a single fist. She shuts the car door with her foot and uses the remote to lock it before heading inside the house.

I have good manners—I should jump up and help her out. But I’m hypnotized by this tiny woman in high heels carrying it all by herself without a single grunt, groan, or complaint—like she does this every day.

And then I remember, she’s a single mom. She does.

Inside, Chancla the evil wiener dog starts barking and scratching at the back door. Chinita is playing cards with the other chismosas tonight, so when Vanessa opens the back door to let the dog out, that little fucker runs straight at me, snarling and scratching at my shins.

“Leave me alone,” I say quietly, pushing him away with my hand. When he doesn’t stop, I stand up and growl at him, teeth and all, and finally he slinks away to the bushes.

I feel kind of satisfied by this until I see Vanessa standing on the porch with her daughter. Both of them are laughing.

“What?” I say with a smile. “I showed him, didn’t I?” I wipe my hands on a clean rag and go over to them. The girl looks up at me and I see a bit of his ghost—Sleepy, her father, his wide forehead and high cheekbones. But just like her mother, she’s got a hard, straightforward stare.

A little warrior.

Good—this world needs fighters.

“This is Sal,” Vanessa says. “He’s going to live in the garage for two months and help us out.” She emphasizes the “two months.”

I hold out my hand and the girl shakes it, looking me in the eye. “Hello,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Brianna,” the girl says. She’s wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt, a pink skirt, and rainbow tights. There’s a ketchup stain on her T-shirt. She’s got a little bowl cut like my brothers had when they were kids. On her it looks cute. On my brothers? Well, they looked like a Mexican version of Moe from the Three Stooges. My hair was curly. I was Larry, I guess.

“In the house, what do we call you?” Vanessa says.

“Muñeca.”

Little doll. “Muñeca,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

The girl cracks a smile at last. Vanessa ruffles her hair and says, “Go upstairs and wash your hands. Change your T-shirt. You can play until dinnertime, okay?”

“Can I play with your phone?”

“No, mi’ja. How about the Tinkertoys? Are you going to make me the nail salon like you said?”

“The nail salon?”

“Yeah. I wanna see it.”

Muñeca raises her eyebrows. “Okay.” She turns and goes inside.

“We went to the nail salon on her birthday. She’s obsessed with it,” Vanessa says. She comes down the steps to my level and again, I’m surprised by how short she is. Even in heels, she barely comes up to my shoulder.

“So what have you got for me today?”

“See for yourself.”

She looks at the boxes I’ve lined up on the driveway. There are five. I labeled them with some Post-it notes I found in a box of office supplies.

Looks expensive.

Looks important.

Looks useful.

Trash but I’m not sure.

I don’t know what this is.

She reads the box labels. “I like your filing system.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I was just being honest.”

Finally—I make her smile. Mission accomplished. But before I can get a good look at it, she covers her smile. Covers it—why?

I point to the stack behind the boxes. “There’s an old dining table and four chairs. I found a high chair. And there’s a wedding dress in a bag. I think you could sell those pretty fast if you wanted.”

“There’s a wedding dress?” she asks.

“It looks like a wedding dress. It’s white.”

“Where?”

I hold up the dusty garment bag for her and watch as she unzips it. When she pulls all the puffy white fabric out of the bag, the smile on her face brightens and I decide I’ve found my new life’s work—to make this woman smile. As much as possible.

“It’s my first-Communion dress.” She holds it up. It’s got big sleeves and a big skirt. It’s covered with white roses and all these little pearls. I can’t imagine this dress on a grown woman, much less a little girl.

She looks at my confused face and laughs. If I thought I wasn’t a goner when I saw her smile, I’m definitely a goner now. Her eyes light up and her laughter is deep and real. It goes into me. It grabs me from the inside out and for a second I’m speechless.

“What?” she says.

“I didn’t say nothing.”

“Don’t look at me like that. My mom chose it! She wanted me to be fancy.”

I nod, even though I’m not thinking about the dress. “It’s definitely…fancy.”

“She was in love with Princess Diana. She wanted my dress to look like Diana’s wedding dress.” She touches the roses and a softness comes to her eyes. “I was eight. I wanted her to be happy, so I said yes to everything. We were at a dress shop in the garment district and the seamstress kept asking her questions. More roses? Yes. Bigger sleeves? Yes. A poufy skirt? Yes, yes, yes. She loved it.”

“And you? Did you love it?”

Vanessa shrugs a little. “Yeah. I kinda did.” Still smiling, she holds the dress to her shoulders and looks down. “During the class picture, I took up the whole back row. Like, this mountain of white. I did feel like Princess Diana, though.”

Carefully, we put the dress back in the bag together. I don’t remember ever meeting Vanessa’s mom. I wonder a little bit about her, that woman in the old photograph with the sunken-in cheeks. She had that half-dead junkie look in her eye, a look I can recognize as an adult. But as a kid? Would I have trusted that woman? Would I have wanted her approval and love, just because she was the only mother I knew? What was that like for Vanessa?

I shake myself out of psychotherapy mode and walk Vanessa through the rest of the discoveries I made in the boxes. She listens and carefully creates her own piles, much more practical than mine: trash, sell, donate, keep. She has the final say, and she doesn’t hesitate when she makes decisions. Things go or things stay, and that’s that.

When we’re done with the day’s haul, I close up Ben’s toolbox and carry the donation items to her car for her to drop off at Goodwill tomorrow. It’s almost time for me to head out. “My bus leaves soon. I gotta clean up and find some food,” I say, sorry to have to say goodbye.

She looks at me for a moment and I can see she’s struggling with something. Finally—something she’s got to think about. I wait.

At last she says, “When does your bus leave?”

“In an hour.”

“If you want,” she says, “you can have dinner with me and Muñeca.”

I take another shower and change into fresh clothes. Feeling like a guest on his best behavior, I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the table. The doorbell rings. When Muñeca says, “Pizza again?” I realize Chinita was right: the kitchen is not one of the many realms Vanessa has conquered. That’s okay. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Vanessa as she comes back from the front door holding a big box. She moves around the kitchen with purpose and energy. She’s changed into a tight black T-shirt and sweatpants. She’s taken off her lipstick but her hair is still tied up tight. I sneak a glance at her truly amazing cleavage as she pours Muñeca a glass of milk and makes her eat some carrot sticks.

“Vitamins too.” She puts two gummy vitamins on the little girl’s paper plate. Muñeca chomps them down, smiling at me. She’s changed her Hello Kitty T-shirt into one with a zebra on it.

Vanessa takes a seat at last. We start on the pizza.

“I don’t know what you do for work,” I say. “Something to do with…accounting?”

“Right now, I’m a freelance bookkeeper,” Vanessa says. “I keep the books for a few restaurants and restaurant suppliers downtown.” She blots a slice of pepperoni and takes a bite. “But I’m studying for the CPA exam. I took two sections of it last March. I’m taking the last two sections in a couple months.”

“CPA?”

“Certified public accountant.”

“Mommy studies really hard,” Muñeca pipes up.

“Mommy does,” Vanessa says. She turns back to me. “How about you? Did you study when you were inside?”

“A little. I got my associate’s degree.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? What was that like?”

“The coursework was pretty easy,” I shrug. “Way back when, I wasn’t really bad in school. When I went.”

As we chat, I put away two pieces of pepperoni. This feels nice. Relaxed.

Muñeca points to a tattoo on my hand. “What’s that?”

“A ghost.”

“Why do you have it?”

“It’s my nickname.”

“Ghost,” Muñeca says, “are you a friendly ghost?”

I nod. “Yes. Not a scary one.”

“Not the Halloween kind? The screaming kind?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not that kind.”

She points to the tattoos on my arms. “My daddy had some like those too. Did you know my daddy?”

Vanessa and I make quick eye contact. “Yeah, I knew your daddy. A little bit. He was my friend.”

“A school friend?”

I pause. That’s actually a good question. We were little troublemakers, constantly in and out of school, but were we ever in the same school at the same time? I frown. “I can’t remember. More, I knew him from the neighborhood.”

“All of my friends are school friends.”

“Not all,” says Vanessa. She crunches on a carrot stick. “You have soccer friends. Tell Ghost the name of your team.”

This launches the little girl into a long, long explanation of how her peewee soccer team got the name Snickers when they wanted to be the M&M’s and how it wasn’t fair that even their second choice, Skittles, was already taken. Vanessa looks at me with a sideways smile. Muñeca goes on and on and when she’s done, I stand up, tell her how sorry I am about how she has to be a Snickers instead of an M&M or a Skittle and that I have to go to work now.

“To be honest, I like Snickers a lot,” I say.

“I do too,” she says with a sigh, “but I like M&M’s more.”

I clear off the table. Muñeca goes upstairs to brush her teeth before bed. There are no dishes to wash, so I take out the trash for Vanessa as I head out the door.

“Thank you for the pizza,” I say.

Still not finished with her day, the woman is folding a giant pile of laundry on her couch. She yawns but shakes it off. There are little T-shirts, miniature pants, dozens of tiny socks in a rainbow of colors, and a stack of yoga pants. I try and fail to look away from the flowery bras and thongs hanging on the armrest and my mind immediately goes where it shouldn’t.

She sees what I’m trying hard not to look at and grins to herself. “Whenever you’ve got nowhere to go for dinner,” she says quietly, “just come inside, okay?”

Goddamn.

“Okay,” I say.