Tía Sanchia didn’t speak of the baby or of Mina. She squeezed me tight and whispered, “May the Lord find you confessed,” instead of goodbye. Which was about what I expected from her. Lupita hugged me tight and told me to give Mina her best. Roman and Angel were next, and as I shook their hands, I knew Oscar would take good care of them.
Oscar. We hadn’t been brothers for a long time, but it was still hard to say goodbye. He stuck out his hand, but that wouldn’t do. I pulled him into an embrace. If I didn’t know him better, I’d have said there were tears in his eyes when he turned away. When he wasn’t looking, I shoved a few twenties in the money tin on the kitchen shelf. It was the least I could do, after all he’d done for me. Then I took Julia from my back seat and put her in Oscar’s arms.He’s such a pushover, I know he’ll take good care of her. It still makes me smile to think about his expression.
I said goodbye to thecolonia,where I’d had a mother who loved me—and a family, too—but had still been an outsider. Goodbye to Hollywood, where I’d tried to be a son to a man who didn’t want me, where good people—and a woman I once loved—destroyed themselves in pursuit of fame and money. Goodbye to the bright, hard sun that left you feeling cold and alone.
I made one more stop before I put Los Angeles and the setting sun in my rearview mirror. Just a little something I’d give Mina when—if—I found her.
That was when I still had hope on my side.
OSCAR
Oscar poured a stream of milk into a chipped saucer on the floor. Just like Max to leave him with another mouth to feed. Oscar bent to scratch the ugly animal between her tattered ears, then ran his hand over her arched back as her purring ratcheted up a notch.
“I thought you said we weren’t feeding it.”
Oscar straightened quick to see Roman lounging against the kitchen wall with a smirk. Oscar put the milk back in the icebox, but he didn’t snap back at his brother like usual. Since Roman’s release from the repatriation facility, they’d danced around each other, not fighting but not talking either. Roman’s face had healed, but every time Oscar thought about that night, his chest tightened with regret.
Of course, he’d gone to confession, and this time Padre Ramirez gave him just an Ave María for his penance. “You’re not telling me to go to Roman, to beg forgiveness?” he’d asked before absolution, just to make sure.
“I think you know what God wants from you,” Padre had said, and Oscar did. But it was harder than he thought, and almost a week had passed.
Now Roman sat at the table, eating a leftover tortilla filled with beans, that cat in his lap licking up the crumbs he offered.
“Roman,” Oscar said. His mouth was a little dry, so he took a sip of his coffee. “About that night.” He studied the gouges in the old table.
Roman talked around the food in his mouth. “I deserved it.”
“But I want to say—”
“I know. You don’t have to.”
“Roman!” He raised his voice, his temper flaring. “Shut up and let me say I’m sorry.”
The cat gave Oscar a disappointed look.
“You said it, then.” Roman’s voice was soft.
Oscar studied the scuffs on the linoleum floor. He did not deserve to be forgiven. “I don’t expect you—” he swallowed hard—“to forgive me for it. But maybe in time, you can find it in your heart—”
“I forgive you, Oscar. Don’t worry about it.”
Oscar looked up quick. Roman took another bite of his tortilla and chewed. His usual smirk was gone. His eyes on Oscar were without grudge. “Just like that?” Forgiveness wasn’t that easy. He should know.
“Sí.”Roman brushed the cat gently from his lap and stood. “Let’s face it, Brother. You and me? We’re going to be at each other’s throats until I get out from under your roof. We’ll be lucky if we don’t kill each other. But we’re brothers. We forgive each other, right?”
Oscar gave a nod, his throat oddly tight. He stood and pulled Roman into a hard embrace. “I can put up with you a while longer.”His voice came out gruff, and he grabbed his hat and left out the back quick, before Roman said something smart.
Forgiveness. It had been easy for Roman, the work of a moment.
He strode down the street toward thesociedades. He thought about Max, heading to God knows where in search of that woman, and no anger came over him. No resentment. It was gone. He wished only good for Max—happiness in whatever way he found it. Somewhere along the way—maybe because of Minerva Sinclaire, or Mamá and Lupita—he had forgiven Max.
Gracias, Senor.What a relief it was.
He reached thesociedadesfeeling ten pounds lighter and with almost a smile on his face. Perhaps today’sfestivaleswouldn’t be as terrible as he had thought. The mood in thecoloniawas not what it had been in past years, what with so many men taken in the raid on La Placita and more raids likely to come. Yet it was the one day in the year that work and the struggle against poverty were put aside to celebrate their own people with parades, music, and the food of their homeland—that warm and beautiful place that most of them had never seen except in the memories of their parents. He took his place along the street lined with his neighbors to watch the parade.
First came thecaballeros, ten men incharrosuits andsombrerosriding splendid horses. Then, a strollingmariachiband playing guitars, trumpets, and violins. Next came the floats. The floats had been crafted by the women of the neighborhood, and each one was a spectacle of spring blossoms and rippling banners in red, white, and green sponsored by the neighborhood businesses—thefarmacia,thesociedades,and even the Hotel Estelar.
The final float was preceded by a roar of applause and murmurs of expectation. It was the honorific society, from whom would bechosen the queen of thefestivales. Oscar had little interest in the women who vied for the coveted prize, but when the float stopped in front of the master of ceremonies, he blinked, shook his head, and blinked again.
