Page 3 of Blue Sky

Looking for a full time live in nanny for my infant daughter. I’ll be stationed in El Centro for ten weeks. Must be CPR certified. No drugs and no drama. Pay is $1000 a week. Will be taking applications in person January 4th at 4 p.m. at the Navy Lodge, El Centro, room 101.

I dropped the temolote I had been using to grind the salsa from my right hand. Did that say one thousand dollars a week for ten weeks?

Ten thousand dollars?

That money could be life-changing for my sisters and me. I could move the girls to San Diego and leave my mother and her destructive ways behind. I could rent a small apartment and send them to school out there, even get a job at a local restaurant to support them.

I stared at the old clock that was hanging on our cracked wall. It was quarter past two. The Navy Lodge was a few miles away, so I would have to leave enough time to walk. Ay, Dios mío, what would I wear?

I turned to Mónica and grabbed her shoulders. “¡Ayudeme! I need you to watch Ana María and pick me out an outfit. Something simple and classy. Nothing tight. I’m going to finish these enchiladas and bring them to the interview. Do not tell Mama where I went if she decides to come home.”

Mónica’s face dropped as she gazed longingly at the enchiladas.“Our enchiladas? What will we eat?”

“Beans and rice and tortillas. Military men like to eat. These enchiladas could be our ticket.”

“Sí, entiendo. You got this. You’re great with kids. If he hires you, I’ll help out completely back here, no attitude, I swear.”

My hand shook. How would this even work if I got this job? Who would take care of my sisters? My mom wasn’t reliable. My only option was my uncle. He was a goddamn mess but at least he would be there—he never left his couch.

I stared at Mónica. She was completely capable of watching Ana María for ten weeks. If I was offered this job, we could make it work.

Mónica tilted her head. “I wonder if he’s an Angel? I bet he’s smoking hot.”

A Blue Angel pilot . . . he had to be if he was offering one thousand dollars a week. No enlisted man in the support team of the Angels would pay that much money. An infant? Where was her mother?

For ten weeks every year, the Blue Angels descended from the heavens and landed in El Centro. The Angels were notorious as much for their sky stunts as they were for their land antics. They would hit the bars here, romancing the young local Mexican girls who dreamed of a life as a naval aviator’s wife. It was like the sucia version of An Officer and a Gentleman, minus the happy ending; no Blue Angel had ever married a local girl.

But I didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t believe in love. I had never experienced anything even close to love. I wanted a job. I needed a job. A job that could put food on the table, give me enough money to flee this town, and save my sisters from this fate.

My hand shook as I picked back up my temolote and finished grinding the ingredients. I dipped my finger into the molcajete and sampled my salsa verde. The delectable green sauce was perfectly spicy, yet tangy. I spread the mixture over the chicken enchiladas, crafted with homemade tortillas and lots of love, just like my late abuela had taught me. All of the lovers that Mama brought home couldn’t get enough of my cooking. Abuelita would always say, “Un hombre se conquista por el estómago.” The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Maybe that was why Mama could never keep a man—she couldn’t cook at all.

There would be hundreds of women, and possibly even men, applying for this job. I was amazing with kids and had pretty much raised my sisters myself. Even so, I needed an edge. When they were in town, these Angels would haunt the local restaurants, devouring the native cuisine. Carne asada burritos, carnitas adobadas, chile verde, tacos el carbon—those rich white boys couldn’t get enough of our food. Maybe my cooking could truly be my ticket to a new life.

I grabbed a copy of my résumé from the bookshelf and placed it in my purse. Mónica walked back into the kitchen, holding Mama’s best dress, a navy blue sheath with white trim. It was usually reserved for church, which was why it was in good shape. Mama hated to attend for fear she would be judged. A fear in this small town with her shameless behavior that was definitely warranted.

I slipped it over my head and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror; the reflection of a tired, slim, desperate girl staring right back at me. Well, at least the dress fit perfectly, not too tight or too baggy.

Mónica grabbed a little bag under the sink. “Let me do your makeup.”

I shook my head. “No, this is a job interview, not a date.”

“Right. And you need to look your best. Give me five minutes.”

I gave up and let her have her way with me. I needed this job so badly it hurt. As Mónica started applying foundation, I exhaled and did something I hadn’t done in years.

I prayed.

Once a devout Catholic, I had stopped going to church when my abuela died after being hit by a drunk driver. My abuela hadn’t even been that old at only fifty-five. Without her guidance, we Pérez girls had fallen apart. Mama only cared about herself, and now it was up to me to be the adult in the household.

After a few more agonizing minutes of Mónica dabbing, blotting, and painting my skin, she finally released me.

“Look at yourself! You’re beautiful. I would definitely hire you to watch my baby.”

I looked in the mirror again, and this time I saw how green my eyes looked enhanced by the purple shadow and how my curled eyelashes made me appear awake even when I was getting by on only hours of sleep.

But more importantly, I saw an expression I hadn’t seen in the mirror since I’d given up my college scholarship because I was afraid of how my sisters would survive without me.

I saw hope.