She looks at the cracked door leading to Esteban’s room and nods slowly. My heart leaves my chest when she rises and walks to the threshold. She turns to look at me once before shutting the door behind her, leaving me with the tarot cards on the table.
These cards aren’t about her or us; they’re a message for me. If I really care about her, then I’ll lead her to the truth. A truth that will wake us both when the nightmares come, and the memories return. When I find her screaming from the bedroom at 3 a.m., the moment she realizesshewas the one who shot Esteban.
Chapter 26
Alma
Something lingers in the air. I can smell the Florida water Efren sprayed, but something feels off. It’s like I’m a little girl again, worried about what monsters will expose themselves from the closet in the middle of the night.
Every time I close my eyes, the hum of the ceiling fan blends with the frantic beating of my heart, and I feel an urge to jump up and run back to the living room, where I’m safe. Where Efren is waiting, his strong arms open and ready to shield me from the darkness, calling to me. A cold chill rattles through my body. I close my eyes again and imagine the warmth of his embrace until the thought finally lulls me to sleep.
Tossing and turning throughout the night, I wrestle with sleep. When I open my eyes again, the clock on the end table blinks 3:00 a.m. There’s a subtle tapping of a tree hitting the window.
Tap
Tap
Tap
I try to drown out the sound, but it only grows louder in my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the sound persists. After a while, it fades, and sleep grabs me again.
I’m stuck in a dream, standing in the Nevarezes’ kitchen. Looking to the side of me, I find Missy there. She’s in her favorite dress, an all white caftan with lace trim. Her hair is down, and her eyes are filled with concern as she stares into mine.
I reach out to touch her, but can’t. Even in the dream world, she’s unreachable.
“There’s a dust storm coming,” she says.
Her tone is flat. I look around her to see myself, Esteban, and Efren. We’re sitting at the kitchen table with a half empty bottle of Jose Cuervo. I’m in a long white shirt that hits mid thigh. My hair is in a bun, and my face is bare, slightly flushed.
I remember this night. Bud and Angela were both working late. Esteban wanted to play a drinking game, but Efren refused.Turning, I find Missy’s ghost still standing next to me, watching the scene play out before us.
“There’s a dust storm coming,” she repeats.
I’m locked in whatever story is playing out, and yet I can still hear the outside world.
Tap
Tap
Tap
Turning back to the kitchen, I find Efren holding the phone to his ear as he paces around the table.
“It’s Pa. I guess they got a flat tire,” Efren says and puts on his coat.He stops at the table, leaning down until our eyes are level. “Go home, Alma.”
It’s more of a plea than a warning, and this drunk version of me laughs in his face.
“Ya dejala,” Esteban scolds.
But I can see it now—the concern etched on Efren’s face. He gives Esteban and I one last look before he exits.
“Don’t pay attention to him. That fool’s too uptight. Let’s get you another drink.” Esteban grabs my empty glass and the bottle of Jose Cuervo from the table.
He moves to the counter, his back to me. I walk toward this version of me and take her in, her flushed face and dilated pupils.
Turning, I feel my curiosity pull me closer to Esteban. He’s mixing orange juice with a shot of Jose Cuervo. The spoon swirls and clanks against the glass. He reaches into his pocket, grabbing a small Ziplock bag full of pills.
His head turns to check on me before he crushes the small white pills between his fingers. I gasp, stepping back, and bump into something. Or someone.
