“Don’t go yet,” Tía Isabela said, and I sat back. “What did she ask you to do for her before she gave you that bracelet? What is she paying you to do?”
“Nothing,” I said. She hadn’t asked me to do anything for her.
“I don’t like it. It smells rotten. Don’t trust her,” she said.
How could a mother have such a low opinion of her own daughter? Usually, mothers were notorious for avoiding their children’s weaknesses and faults.
“Remember,” she added, finishing her glass of wine in a gulp and rising, “I warned you.”
She turned and left me sitting there, wondering if somehow I had, as Grandmother Anabela would say, gone from the pot to the fire. After a moment, I rose and went upstairs to my room, too. I wanted to read my new letter from Abuela Anabela right away, but I wasn’t there a minute before Sophia came in, closing the door softly behind her. I put the letter in with my ESL workbook and turned to her.
“Did you hear that?” she asked me, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Did you hear what’s happened to my brother, to Edward? He’s going to lose an eye!” She held her hand over her right eye for emphasis.
“Yes, it is very sad,” I said.
“It’s more than just sad. It’s horrible,” she said, flinging her tissue to the floor. She paced in front of me. “And it’s all Bradley Whitfield’s fault, all of it. I hate him. I hate the air he breathes,” she said, and turned quickly to me. “Don’t you? Don’t you just hate him now?”
“I do not want to see him ever,” I admitted. It was the closest I could come to saying I hated him.
“You’re being too kind,” she said, with the thrust of an accusation. “You’re not going to go preach this forgiveness junk, now, are you? I know you’re way more religious than I am, but you can’t do that. You just can’t, not with my brother in the hospital and losing an eye. An eye!”
“I have heard that to be forgiving is good, but I have also been told perdonar a una persona mala es de permitirlo a ser malo.”
“What the hell does that mean, Delia? You know I barely can say buenas noches.”
“It means to forgive an evil person is to let him be evil.”
She smiled. “Yes, exactly. That’s more like it. We can’t forgive him. I agree. We don’t let Bradley be evil. Exactly. I knew you were okay.” She stared at the floor a moment, pressing her lips together so hard her bloated cheeks looked as if they would explode. “What about the fiesta for Ignacio’s sister? Where is it?” she asked, looking up quickly at me.
I told her the address.
“That’s like Little Tijuana. Good. Go.”
“Why did you want to know?”
“Never mind. Don’t worry. I’m going to look after you better now and make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again,” she said. “I promise.” She smiled and suddenly hugged me. “Poor Edward,” she said. She knuckled another tear away, smiled again, and said, “I’ll talk to you later.” She hurried out as if she had forgotten something important.
I shook my head in amused confusion. Sophia had hugged me and said she cared about me, but was Tía Isabela right about her? Never trust her? Why was everything so complicated here? It was as if I had walked onto a stage. Everyone was playing a part, and you couldn’t tell who anyone really was. It reminded me of how simple my life had been back in Mexico. Even more eagerly, I went to Abuela Anabela’s letter. This one was shorter, her writing harder to read.
My dearest Delia,
You must be doing wonderful things there, and as I had hoped, you surely must have won your aunt Isabela’s heart. Today, I received another money order from her attorney in California. I have put it with the other one, and when I can, I will go to the bank or perhaps have Señor Cortez do it for me. You know how he loves having a responsibility.
You must not worry about me. I am glad you are learning English quickly. Your mother and father would be so proud and happy.
Señora Cuevas asked after you and was so pleased to hear your good news.
I send you all my love.
Abuela Anabela
How quickly I read all her words. It was more painful to have this brief contact with her than no contact at all, I thought, for all it did was make me long to hear her voice, see her face, and have her hold me in her arms that much more. My chest ached, and my tears flowed. At least, my aunt was telling the truth. She was sending money to Abuela Anabela. My coming here had done some good after all.
I read and reread the letter five times before finally folding it up and putting it with the other one, stroking them both gently, as if I were stroking my grandmother’s arm and seeing her smile. I even closed my eyes and felt her kiss me on the forehead. I could hear her whisper her love for me. Homesickness was like a knife in my heart.
It took me a while to settle down enough to be able to do my assignments in my ESL workbooks. I was far ahead of most everyone in the class now. The last thing Señorita Holt had said to me before I left for the day was that I had what she called a propensity for learning languages. She complimented me on my grasp of pronunciation, too. She was thrifty when it came to spending compliments on her students, so to hear one so flattering was encouraging. It was the true highlight of my otherwise most difficult day.
At dinner, Tía Isabela asked both Sophia and me if we wanted to accompany her to the hospital to visit Edward. Sophia claimed she had too much homework and tests to study for. Tía Isabela swung her eyes to me and smiled, as if to say, Have you ever heard a bigger lie? I simply said I would go.