Roman lounged against the doorframe. Downstairs, Oscar’s voice was rising again, then his mother’s. Angel and Roman shifted and glanced warily at each other.
“What is it?” I asked Roman. “What are they saying?”
“She—ourmadre—says Oscar and you are together.” Roman’s wolfish look made it clear what he meant.
“But...” Of course she would think that, Oscar sneaking me upstairs in the dark.
“Are you?” Roman asked.
“No,” I answered quickly. Goodness, no.
“You are Max’s woman, then?” Roman said, as if that would explain a lot.
I shook my head and swallowed a sudden lump in my throat.
The mother’s shrill voice rose up the stairs but was silenced with a firm word from Oscar that sounded like an order.
Roman grimaced. “Oscar is reminding Mamá he is the head of our family. She will do what he says. And he says you stay here until tomorrow.”
Silence ticked by, and then I heard her say something more, her voice like ice. Roman and Angel looked at each other with wide eyes.
“What did she say?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.
Roman frowned. “She said you’re a—”
“No sé,”Angel interrupted, glaring at his brother. “We don’t know the English.”
But I knew. Like I said, the woman had a sixth sense. In fact, Señora knew a whole lot more about me than I knew about myself, but I’m not going to get into that now. Feet pounded on the stairs and Roman stepped aside for Oscar.
“Don’t talk to her,” he ordered his brothers belatedly. I couldtell Oscar’s attitude grated on Roman. Big brother and all that. Then to me he said, “Go to sleep. In the morning, I’ll get you out.” The way he said it sounded like I was in jail. “You two—” he jerked his head at his brothers—“downstairs.”
They both moved to obey, but Angel turned back and took my hand, his voice as gentle as Oscar’s was harsh. “All will be well,señorita. You will see.” He left and Oscar, after giving me a look of barely contained disgust, closed the door with a firm click.
I couldn’t possibly sleep. How could I even stay here? Not with that woman who hated me downstairs and Oscar feeling much the same. Not with these questions tormenting me about Max and Roy Lester and the police. Max. I’d kept plenty of secrets from him. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he was keeping plenty from me.
I went to the tiny window, my only way out of this mess. It looked over a small plot of land—a chicken coop, a garden of twisting dead vines, an ancient oak devoid of its leaves. Beyond, a tangle of brush dipped into a ravine like you saw all through the city—rocky gullies that filled with water during the heavy rains, then dried up for the other eleven months of the year. Beyond the ravine, a glow of light that might be downtown.
The not-so-far-off whistle of a train sounded from the other direction. I was close to the tracks, and that meant in a bad place for a woman to walk alone—and at night, downright foolish. I went to the bed and dumped out the contents of my handbag: my compact of powder and a lipstick, the keys to the boardinghouse, a dime, and a nickel. Not enough for a taxi, even if I could find one. Maybe waiting for daylight was my best option.
I lay back on the pillow and went over every detail I’d told Oscar. The drink, the way I’d barely made it up the stairs. If I could hardly stand up, I sure as spinach couldn’t have stabbed a manRoy’s size, could I? Max didn’t believe it. And Oscar, who wasn’t exactly inclined toward me—he wouldn’t bring me to his house if he thought I was a cold-blooded killer.
It was a terrible misunderstanding, that’s all. But would anyone believe me? I closed my eyes, but my stomach twisted in a knot of unease.All will be well,Angel had said. He was a sweet boy, Angel. But I knew—deep down—he was wrong. All would not be well. All hadn’t been well for a very long time.
——————
I opened my eyes to sun pouring through the little window, glinting from the polished crucifix. The air was close and hot. Where was I? Then I remembered. Max. Oscar. The police. The angry woman downstairs. My stomach spiraled. I lurched to the window, pushing it open and gulping the fresh air.
I had to go. And in more ways than one.
I gathered my shoes, ran a hand over my hair, and opened the door. It was time to get out of this house. The sooner the better. At the foot of the stairs, the front room of the house was sparsely furnished. A spotless window draped with a lace curtain, a hard-looking chair. A bright rag rug over the polished wood-planked floor. Three thin mattresses and a few blankets were rolled neatly in the corner.
I had to admit, it surprised me. The newspapers and plenty of the girls I knew had opinions about people from south of the border, making them out as dirty, even diseased. This was a bare-bones kind of place, but any German-born housewife of Odessa would be hard-put to find a speck of dust.
Daylight and the smell of coffee led me to a bright kitchen, where my disposition took a nosedive. Oscar and his mother facedoff. His jaw was clenched tight and her arms were crossed over her chest. At my appearance, they both frowned. He bit out a what sounded like a command, and she snapped back something just as bossy. Neither of them looked like they might help me with my immediate concern.
Oscar glanced at me as he picked up his hat from the table, where a pile of newspapers lay beside a dirty plate and a tin cup. “I bring the boys to work, and then I find Max.” His English was curt and his accent more pronounced, as if he didn’t have the time to work at it. “You stay here. And don’t let anyone see you. You understand?”
His look threw me. His mouth was grim and his movements jerky, as if he were afraid.
