And, God, don’t I miss my mother? Sure, she’s asked a lot of me, but things would be different if she hadn’t been deported. I believe that. I shouldn’t resent her so much for something she couldn’t help.
And where did all these tears come from? What, suddenly I’m a crybaby?
Over the rain I hear Julio talking on the phone in the living room. He’s so happy these days, Julio. All his work is done. All his slaving. Or is it, I wonder? Will the esteemed El Libertador deliver on his promise? Or will he use my parents, my family, as one last way to stick it to me? Everything about him screams malicious. I think back to all the things I said to him, threatened him with. He’ll retaliate somehow, won’t he? How could he not?
It would be wrong of me not to tell Julio. Wrong of me not to warn him. After all, he looks at El Libertador like some sort of earthly savior. It’s disgusting.
I sit up, using my shirt to wipe the tears from my face. I check the mirror on my dresser to make sure I don’t look a mess and find out that I do, in fact, look a mess. But there’s nothing anyone can do about swollen, puffy, dried-up wells for eyes. I lift my chin, and decide that even though I don’t look like I should be taken seriously, it’s still my responsibility to do what I’m about to do.
I make my way down the hall and into the living room where Julio is still on the phone with Mama. They’re discussing which part of the yard they can use to grow a small garden, and they’re talking about bunk beds for Juanita and Hugo.
I can’t bring myself to interrupt. Julio gives me a wide, proud smile when he tells Mama that I’m saving up for a car and how a car will make going to the grocery store much easier. I try not to throw up in my mouth.
When Julio hangs up, I give him a few moments before I destroy his high. “How are Mama and Papi?”
“They’re excited. Selling things they can’t bring with them. Getting Hugo and Juanita used to dry meals.”
The situation is so sad, because they actually think these things are going to happen. It makes what I’ve got to do that much more difficult. But Julio deserves to know the truth. They all do. “I know who El Libertador is, Julio. And he’s a bad man. You can’t trust him.” Lovely. Instead of easing him into the conversation as I’d planned, I go straight for the jugular, straight for confrontation, telling Julio what he can and can’t do—and this from his younger sister.
But I know what I know.
Julio’s nostrils instantly flare. “You know we never did talk about your behavior the other night with El Libertador. I was too angry to tell you how disappointed I was in you. Carlotta, you could have ruined it for us.”
Did he not hear what I just said? Spanish or English, or even a mix of it when I’m mad, Julio understands it all. “I’m trying to tell you something here and you’re still trying to suck up to El Libertador.”
“Watch your mouth, Carlotta. You will treat me with respect.”
I bite back another smart remark because, really, I want to treat Julio with respect. If anyone is the victim here, it’s Julio. Slaving for our parents to bring them over while he could be starting his own life, even his own family. And getting stuck raising his baby sister in the mix of it all. Julio does deserve my respect.
But I deserve his too.
I know Sheriff Moss said not to tell anyone. But I have to. I have to get it out, what happened to me. What I lost. Except the person I lost is exactly who I want to burden this with. Talk it out with. My brother? He’s a distant second choice by miles and miles. Not because I don’t love him and we’re not close in ways, but because Julio is too perfect. He has been a better person than I have from the get-go. He never would have even considered doing the things I’ve done these past couple of months. I can already see the disapproval dripping from his stoic face. He has always been there for me. We have come to rely on each other, he and I.
But this he will not understand.
Of course, it’s not entirely for him to understand. The part that I want to make him understand isn’t why I’ve done all the things I’ve done, it’s what I found out while doing them. That the sheriff and El Libertador are one and the same. And he’s going to royally screw us, I feel it.
And if there is anyone who is the best at keeping secrets, it’s Julio Money-Saving Vega. “Julio, I have a lot to tell you. Will you just sit down please and let me explain?”
I can tell he’s curious, and also sorry that he just scolded me. His remorse will dissipate shortly, I’m sure of it. He gives me a small smile. I’m sure he’s feeling like the savior of the world, being able to talk with Mama about how he’s made enough to bring them over, mostly by himself, and finished raising their child for them. I’ve never seen Julio so relaxed before. So … free.
Should I tell him?
But the answer is yes. It must be yes.
“Would you like a cup of coffee before we sit?” he says, walking the two steps it takes to get from the living room to the kitchen. The coffee is almost ready, and it smells good. But I don’t want any charity from Julio, however small.
We are silent as the coffeemaker spits and spews and huffs the last of its load into the pot. Slowly and with a kind of majestic grace, Julio pours his coffee, leaving it black of course, because he needs no frills and thrills in life. He takes the smallest of sips, savoring it as if it were the gourmet-est of all espressos.
We buy it in bulk from a bent-and-dent warehouse across town.