For a moment, Sonia wasn’t sure where the tired voice came from. When the plea was repeated, she realized she was hearing it in her own mind.
“Is that you? Are you speaking in my mind?” These creatures were even more unearthly than she’d realized.
“Have mercy,”the voice entreated again, sounding as if on the verge of death.“I cannot continue.”
Sonia only looked down at the girl. There truly was no life left in her. It was surprising she’d been able to find the reservoir of strength to even follow Sonia back to the chamber.
Neither woman spoke. Faded green eyes beseeched Sonia. Long moments passed, neither sure what Sonia would do.
Sonia knelt and leaned over the mermaid, so close that her black hair fanned out over the surface, mixing with the faded-brown strands. Their gazes never wavered from each other as Sonia reached out and cupped the mermaid’s cheeks.
A quick wrench of the mermaid’s head extinguished what little light had been left, and the mermaid slowly sank below the surface.
Before the mermaid’s body reached the bottom curve of the pool, Sonia had shoved free of the stone door and nearly flown through the cavernous tunnels, making her way up toward the towers of the Cathedral. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she rushed to meet the sun.
Seventeen
FINN DE MORISCO
Christina wasclose to getting her driver’s license, and Mom and Dad had both gone with her to practice before she had to take the driving test the next week. Being seven at the time, I didn’t realize what a big deal this was, both getting a driver’s license and that she was on the maiden voyage of the de Morisco driving gauntlet.
Over the following eight years, Mom and Dad repeated the tradition with Caitlin, Cynthia, and me. No driving test dreamed up by the state could rival the obstacle course contrived by Paulette and Wendell de Morisco. I have a suspicion the test got increasingly worse from child to child and that, being the youngest of four, I had to face tortures Christina and the others never dreamed of. My sisters assured me that they had it as bad as I did. Between Mom screaming about careening semis coming at us from our blind spot as we drove from Encinitas to San Diego on the Five, and Dad quietly slipping the car into neutral, the de Morisco children were prepared for any eventuality, no matter how remote.
Cars were the furthest thing from my mind as Christina tested fate with our parents. The three of them were finally out of the house. Twelve-year-old Caitlin was left in charge of Cynthia and me. Caitlin and Cynthia were making sandwiches with stuff Mom had left out for lunch. The reward for making it through our parents’ driving test was getting to pick any restaurant we wanted to eat at afterward, so the three of us were on our own.
I leftRugratsplaying on the television in the sunken living room and quietly made my way upstairs. I was quite impressed with myself when I made it to the top of the steps. I’d kept my eyes on my sisters all the way up. They hadn’t turned around from where they were arguing about what to pull out of the refrigerator.
After making it to the carpeted hallway that led to our bedrooms, I took off at a sprint, stopping abruptly at Christina’s door. Checking to make sure my sisters weren’t on to me, I peered over my shoulder, then turned the doorknob. Christina had left her door unlocked, which didn’t surprise me. Caitlin was the only one of the family who locked her door, emphasized with a hand-drawn Keep Out sign lettered in red crayon on black paper.
Once I was in Christina’s room, I made a beeline for her white vanity dresser across from her bed. I didn’t even pause to look at Ricky Martin’s teenage face from the old Menudo poster on the wall.
She sat there, back leaning against the mirror, ever-pointed toes jutting off the edge of the dresser top. She was the only doll Christina still had out. I couldn’t remember what the story was, why she was so important. Mom had bought the doll when she’d been pregnant with Christina or when Christina had been very young. Either way, I knew she was the first Hispanic Barbie doll ever made.
Christina had let me play with all her other dolls, but never that one.
I stared at her, scared to actually reach out and touch her now she was within my grasp. She was beautiful. More like a member of a mariachi band or gypsy than any Latin woman I’d seen, but gorgeous nonetheless—long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, red hoop earrings, matching rose choker at her neck, and billowy red skirt. She had a white blouse, and a black fishnet shawl cinched her waist.
Checking once more at the open door, I finally lifted the Barbie off the vanity and stroked her hair reverently. I’d been planning this for weeks. As beautiful as she was, one thing needed to be different for her to be perfect, and I was going to make sure she reached her full potential.
Both Cynthia and I had been obsessed with the color lime green for months. Every time we sat down to color, we made most of the page lime green. We’d had to magically alter the color of the majority of the other crayons in the box to keep from running out of lime green. Mom had even started making a lime-green sugar for the top of the pan dulce at the bakery, especially for Cynthia and me.
I slid my back down the vanity and sat cross-legged on the floor. Within moments, both the doll’s earrings and the rose at her neck were a vibrant lime. I was having a harder time with the skirt. Maybe it was the material or the larger surface area, but whatever the reason, only the top part of the skirt had shifted to the appropriate hue. It looked like green paint had been dribbled over the skirt. The combination of lime and red was horrible.
Redoubling my efforts, I held the doll tighter in my hands and closed my eyes. Lately, I hadn’t needed to cast out loud, and I was frustrated with myself for needing to again, but I began, words coming out in a hushed blur.
“Finn, no!”
I jumped at the sound and stared wide-eyed at the doorway.
Cynthia craned her head around, looking down the hallway, before slipping in and closing the door.
“Finn, what are you doing? You’re going to be in so much trouble.” Cynthia rushed to me, her voice a whispered plea. “We’ve got to change her back before Mom sees her.”
I held the Barbie, her skirt now a brilliant lime green, out to her, certain that, if anyone, she would understand. “She looks better now, right?”
Cynthia’s gaze flashed to the doll, then back at me. “Yes. She does. Still, you’ll get in trouble.” She looked at the door. “Quick, give her to me, and I’ll turn her back.”
Tears threatening to spill, I handed her the Barbie.
