We sat in the kitchen, Señora, Lupita, and I, each in a private cocoon of worry. Drips of water fell from the ceiling into a tin can, ringing out the moments like an irregular clock, Sanchia’s rosary beads clicking in desperate harmony.
Lupita’s hands fumbled with her embroidery, taking out more stitches than she put in. I hemmed her dress, the tiny stitches blurring before my eyes, and prayed as if God would hear me.Please,God. Please.I knotted my thread and cut the tail with the little silver scissors.Let Oscar walk in with Roman and Angel. Please, God. Please.
I searched the cigar box for more thread but came up with an empty spool.
Sanchia put down her rosary and wrapped her black scarf over her head, covering her hair and most of her face. She said a few words and went out the door. I sent a questioning glance to Lupita.
“She’ll get thread from the store on the corner,” Lupita told me.
“But the rain...” She’d be soaked in minutes.
“It will give her something to do. The waiting, it is so hard. And she will get the newspaper. They have only the English, but I will tell her if it say anything about the raid.”
Roman and Angel. Were they afraid, wherever they were being kept? Was Roman still acting the tough? Was God listening to Angel’s prayers?
“What can we do? There must be some way to get them released.”
Lupita shook her head. “No sé.Alonso, my brother, he say we need money to bribe the officers. Five hundred dollars at least, for each.” She shook her head and lifted her shoulders. “It is too much.”
A thousand dollars? It was impossible. I smoothed Lupita’s bright cotton skirt over my lap. “They blame me. Oscar and Sanchia.” And they were right to. If I hadn’t been here, Roman wouldn’t have fought with Oscar, and he and Angel would be home right now. I should have turned myself in from the very first.
Lupita didn’t deny it. “Roman was, what do you say—an accident waiting? And Angel will always stay with him. At least theyare together.” We returned to our silent stitches and the beat of the rain.
Minutes later, the front door opened and Sanchia’s hard-soled shoes clacked in the hall. She walked into the kitchen, her face pale as the moon. Not even taking off her dripping head covering, she slapped a newspaper on the table in front of Lupita and spouted a string of questioning words.
“Qué?”Lupita put down her embroidery and leaned over the table. Her lips began to move as she read. She glanced at me and there was confusion, maybe even shock in her eyes.
My heart sped up. I put down my stitching. My own face looked back at me from the front page, but that wasn’t the surprise. It was the number beside it that took my breath away.
REWARD $1,000.For me. It was too much to believe.
But the two-inch number in the headline didn’t seem to be what had Sanchia tied in a knot. She flipped the paper over to the bottom half, where the picture of another woman topped Louella Parsons’s gossip column: Lana Love. It was enough to send a sickening jolt through my belly.
Lana. What did you do?
Lupita bent over the paper, her brow furrowed, her mouth moving again. Sanchia started babbling, her voice high and hard. Lupita shook her head and held up a hand while she read. Sanchia went silent but crossed her arms and tapped her toe rapidly on the floor.
“Qué?”Lupita whispered again. “It can’t be.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “It isn’t true.”
My stomach was doing a slow twist. I sat down heavily and read enough to understand.
SINCLAIRE ROOMMATE TELLS ALL!
No one need ever know.That’s what Lana had said. Until she told them. The Rose. Taxi dancing. Liquor and bills changing hands, among other things. The newsprint swam in front of my eyes, details coming into focus. A new man every night, according to Lana. And Bert—the guy who got the biggest cut of the deal—spouting some line about running a decent place, about being in the dark about it all.
Lupita’s eyes sought mine, but I couldn’t look at her. Sanchia bit out an order, poking at the article with her bony finger. She wanted Lupita to tell her what it said. All of it.
Lupita translated to Sanchia.
Lana. My so-called friend. What happened toUs girls gotta stick together? How much did she get to ruin my life? But I should have known. That’s how it worked in this town, where friendship was as flimsy as a cheap cigarette and left the same bitter taste in your mouth.
I put my head in my hands, suddenly so weary. Memories I’d tried to shut away... Cal’s hot hands, the smell of sweat and mothballs. Alex.
My mind whirled like a tornado. Papa. Would thePierre Dailyrun the story? Then my heart dropped like a brick.
Max.
He would know. He would think...
