The Same Sky(47)

“God be with you,” began Father. His voice was warm honey. He told us that his blessing was from the families we had left behind, from the mothers and fathers and children we were going to El Norte to assist. He said the prayers were for those who had come before us, and for those who would soon arrive. We bowed our heads and thanked God for our lives, for God’s love and guidance. Father concluded, and I saw Ernesto put his arms around Juliana, holding her under the low sky. Maybe he did love her; who knew? Hand in hand, they walked toward the truck.

Ernesto remembered me and looked back. “Carla,” he said. “Come. It’s time.”

“What about my brother?” I said. No one answered. We all knew Junior was seeking glue. The driver pressed his foot to the gas pedal, making the engine hum.

“God be with you,” said Father.

I was rooted to the ground. To get into the van would be to abandon Junior. It was the hardest decision I had made until this point. I thought about the lurching of The Beast. I thought about my hands, frozen solid, on the hopper rails. I thought about the man with the wolf eyes who had made me into a woman without my consent, how it had felt to be split apart.

“Carla,” said Marcos, “come, child. We must go.” The combi door remained open. The bodies of my companions, none of them my relative by blood, would be warm.

There is no other way to say it: I chose myself.





36




Alice


I DROVE PAST THE Whole Foods, across the interstate, to the Eastside. I parked in front of our house, ran up the walk, and threw open my door. Jake was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Evian and Sam were entwined in front of our television, watching House Hunters International and dry humping.

“Break it up!” I shouted. They separated quickly, Sam sitting up and putting his glasses on, Evian glaring at me sultrily, her lipstick smeared. “One of Sam’s friends was shot tonight,” said Evian defiantly. “And you are not going to tell me we can’t hang out and help each other process!”

“In fact, yes, I am,” I said. “I’m sorry, Sam, but you need to go home now. And Evian, so do you.”

Sam rose, murmured goodbye, and hustled out the door. Evian glared at me. “Someone shot our friend,” she cried. She crossed her arms across her unbuttoned shirt.

“Evian, we need to talk,” I said. I sat down on the couch, and she turned her back to me. On the television, a man said, “They call this a bedroom?” I picked up the remote and turned it off.

“Listen,” I said. “I want to help you. But you can’t live here anymore. I’m going to take you home to your mom now.”

Evian turned to face me. Instead of screaming or protesting, she seemed resigned. She sighed. “Okay,” she said.


The usual dogs rushed my car as we drove toward Evian’s trailer. I shuddered. “They’re dogs,” said Evian nastily.

The trailer was filled with light, and when I stopped the car, a woman with dark hair came outside. She looked exhausted. I took a breath, prepared to open my door. But Evian leapt from the car and ran into her mother’s arms. They held each other, then went inside the trailer. I was unsure about what I should do. Evian had surprised me more than once already.

Slowly, I got out of the car and gathered Evian’s things. The dogs barked at me as I piled them outside the door. Before leaving, I called, “Bye!”

Evian opened the front door. “Um, Ms. Conroe?” she said. “Thanks.”

Evian’s mother appeared. “I appreciate you keeping an eye on this wild thing,” she said. “I do.”

“Okay,” I said. “Well, goodbye.”

I drove away feeling as if something in me had been scraped out. It seemed strange that no one was mad at me—not Evian, for returning her home; not her mother, for letting her stay with me. The truth was painful to admit—I didn’t matter all that much to either of them. As I stopped at a red light on South First, my phone buzzed with a message from Evian: Can u take me to mall this wknd to get dress for Homecoming???

I texted back: You got it.


Jake’s truck was parked on Mildred. Happiness flooded my body at the sight of it. I heard Beau’s voice as I parked the car, and found Jake, Beau, and Camilla in our backyard. “Honey!” said Jake, his face alight at the sight of me.

“Honey,” I answered.

“We brought margaritas,” said Beau.

“The girls are asleep,” said Camilla. “I have the baby monitor in one hand and a margarita in the other. Is this bad parenting?”

“I don’t think so,” said Beau, touching her hair. We only had three porch chairs, so I sank into Jake’s lap. He put his arms on either side of me. I was home.





37




Carla


THE COMBI DROVE all night, and I tried to sleep. Although I was more tired than I had ever been, I stared out the window, unable to rest. We took back roads. At one point in the journey, we stopped to relieve ourselves. My eyes and mouth felt caked with sand. The night smelled of sage. I wondered if Junior had returned to the shelter. I tried to comprehend that I would never see him again.

After a few minutes, the driver said, “Get back inside.”

Marcos and his brothers filed quickly into the combi. They were professionals: sleeping every instant it was possible, completely alert and ready to run in a fraction of a second if necessary. I moved reluctantly. My brain was not well—I considered walking back down the road, finding Junior and telling him he was mistaken: I was not the kind of person who could leave her brother behind.