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“I don’t want to talk about any of this until we find my sister.”
“I will be honest as well.”
“Go ahead,” I said when he hesitated.
“You and Noah will need to resolve these things between your families before you’re able to move forward with your future.”
“Tryst…I…I don’t know what to say.”
“Let me walk you back to the casita,” he said, standing and holding his hand out to me. I took it and stood to follow him.
It wasn’t a long walk, but it was a quiet one. When we reached the porch, Tryst put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s as important for you to be honest with yourself as it is with other people.”
I watched him walk away until the moon went behind a cloud and I could no longer see him.
Before I went inside,I made a decision. I’d tell my mother we would not be discussing anything to do with Ridge Winery or Hewitt Ridge until after we found my sister.
When I opened the door, I saw a single light on, in the kitchen. The plate of tacos sat on the table, covered with plastic wrap.
It was better that my mother had gone to bed. I felt drained after my conversation with Tryst, and I was also worried we hadn’t heard anything from Noah.
I grabbed a blanket and went out to the porch. I pulled the chair farther out so I could see the moon and sat down. The clouds were no longer covering it, and I could see more stars.
After my father’s accident, we endured four long years of him remaining in a coma. As it was explained to us at the time, he was in a deep state of unconsciousness. There were indicators of brain stem responses and spontaneous breathing.
Given my father was not “brain dead,” my mother would not consider removing him from the fluids and nutrition keeping him alive.
“The doctor said your father could recover consciousness,” she’d repeat even though my sister and I’d stopped asking.
I remember the phone ringing late one night, a rarity in our house, and my mother’s wail of anguish. I also remember feeling sad, but for me, my father had died four years prior. I’d never believed he would recover.
It was far harder on my sister. Luisa was twelve when the accident happened and sixteen when my father passed away. There were so many things she didn’t understand, and kids at school were merciless to the point I suggested my mother homeschool Luisa.
She would come home in tears after being taunted as a murderer’s kid. “They say I should’ve died instead,” she’d tell me. Since I was over eighteen, I was the one who’d contacted the school and pleaded with them to intervene with the bullying, but I never got anywhere. The only reason the principal had considered talking to me was because everyone knew my mother spent her days at the hospital, with our comatose father.
Luisa graduated and was accepted into Cal Poly, but she’d remained wary of making friends. She did, but it took a long time to gain her trust.
I could see someone like Jorge recognizing her insecurities and preying on them. She was especially vulnerable, having lost her father at such a young age. And really, she’d lost her mother too.
Luisa was the reason I’d never considered getting a job very far from home. I thought about suggesting we both relocate once she graduated.
I closed my eyes, raised my face to the moonlight. “Please, God, keep Luisa safe. And Noah too.”
