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What?
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I refuse to look at him, though. Maybe because I know I’ll do something that will take more time. I’m not sure if I have it. I’ll drag Ava out if she’s in there.
“You should be.”
I shrug.
“Look at me, Lucila.”
I turn my face a fraction, looking at him from the side of my eye.
“Eat,” he says.
“Or?”
“I’ll know.”
“How?”
“You’re mine now, Lucila. I’ll always know.”
Right. Because light and dark always make shadows.
Later, after my stomach settles, I replay his words over and over. I think about him the entire night while in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
It’s no longer my gut but my heart that’s twisting in knots.
He told me he is darkness. What did that make me? His light?
You’re mine now, Lucila.
I have never felt light inside of myself. All I feel is bitterness. Pain. Except for the times when Minnie distracts me from it all. When Ava needs me, and I forget about my issues for a while.
He knows me, though. My pain called out to his. That’s what he was telling me.
Maybe mine is different from his? But somehow, they’re the same? Maybe different branches but from the same tree?
He’s trying to save me from it. Save me from the darkness that he’s so comfortable in. Or maybe he wants me there with him.
The sun can’t even push him out the next morning. That’s when I know. Not him, but the shadow of whatever he makes me feel will follow me around for the rest of my life.
Because light and dark always make shadows.
For the first time in…I can’t even remember, I crave something other than the usual. I crave his next breath more than I crave mine. Because it’s the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.
LILO
PRESENT DAY
Every so often, she turned her face and narrowed her eyes, looking over her shoulder. My car crept alongside her, creating shadows that sometimes touched her legs.
She was hell-bent on walking. Not riding in the car with me and her sister. Where she belonged.
She might have made the decision to walk ahead, but I made the decision to follow. I made it long ago when I claimed Lucila Girardi for my own.
I used the steering wheel to make a call. Unc—one of my ma’s brothers—answered on the second ring.
“This is Aren.” He sounded tired. Worn out.
