Woman of Light (52)

“That’s funny,” Luz said. “He didn’t mention he found a singer.”

“Yeah, supposedly she’s real good.”

Luz studied the girl. She was pretty, though somewhat plain. “Who is she? Why haven’t I seen her before?”

“Dunno,” said Lizette. Then, with a whistle, she called to the girl.

The girl lowered her gaze from the ceiling and widened her eyes as if she had won a prize. She first mouthed Me?, and after Lizette nodded, the girl cheerfully stepped across the room.

“Thanks for having me here,” the girl said. “And happy birthday, Luz. Wow. Eighteen. I guess that means you’ll be looking to start a family soon.”

Luz said, “Thank you, I suppose.”

“What’s your name?” Lizette asked.

“Monica.”

“And who are your people, Monica?”

“Oh, I’m a Pacheco. I’m from Delta. My husband and me just moved here.”

It was settled. She was a Western Slope girl. And a husband, too. “I heard you’re Avel’s new singer,” Luz said. “Does your husband mind you singing?”

Monica nervously giggled. “He doesn’t mind me making money. He’s working the night shift at the UP now, or he’d be here to see our show tonight.”

“What show?” Luz asked.

“Tonight. When Avel performs for you. We’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Dammit,” said Lizette, who popped up from her seat and walked the girl back toward the fireplace. “Have you ever heard of a surprise?”

Just as soon as Monica left, two girls approached Luz with heavy, sorrowful expressions. One had a cherubic face. The other was nearly her opposite, flagpole skinny. They asked, almost simultaneously, if she had heard anything from Diego.

“What do you mean?” Luz asked.

The skinny one spoke up. She fanned herself against the room’s party heat. “I mean, is he okay? We’ve been dying to know.”

Luz stared at the white moon of her plate. She couldn’t talk about Diego without getting upset, and so she said, “He’s fine. Don’t worry about my brother.” Luz stood from the sofa and headed toward the kitchen.

She stopped in the hallway and looked at the card table. She was in the dark, against the edge of their light. The men had just finished their game, and Avel was seated before a stack of chips. Luz grinned with pride. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect him to win, but she was genuinely excited to see the jubilant way he studied his chips. The others were congratulating him, shaking his hand and laughing. David had poured a large glass of ouzo, which he glided across the table to Avel.

“Have another,” he said. “You’ve done good.”

Avel shook his head. He held up his hand, signaling no more.

“Come on,” David said. “Just have another. It’s tradition.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” said Avel, taking off his hat and smoothing his blue-black hair underneath.

David said, with seriousness, “It’s a card game. Drink.”

Luz watched them from the hallway, at first smiling at their exchange, but the mood shifted and she soon felt worry enter the room, as if it had taken a seat beside the men and joined their game. Avel, she realized, was already drunk. Very drunk.

“You insult me,” David said. “You don’t drink what I’ve poured for you, and you insult me.”

“Come now,” said Alfonso. “Leave the boy alone. Good hand, Avel. You did good.”

Avel appeared to study the clear liquid resting before him. He reached for the glass, as full as a coffee mug, and guzzled the entire thing. A moment later, he was up from his seat, both hands to his mouth. He knocked the table, spilling his chips to the floor as he leaned over the sink and began to retch. The men laughed and hollered at him to leave the kitchen. “Get the hell out of here,” they said. “Did your mother teach you to drink?” Only Alfonso showed any kindness in the ugliest way. “Come on now, Avel. Take yourself out before you ruin the night for us all.” No one helped, and despite how much she knew it’d embarrass him later, Luz rushed in and pulled Avel away by his shirtsleeve, the vomit stench of his lips and hands rubbing into her skin.

She tried the nearest escape, the laundry closet with its large sink, but the little cousins had barricaded themselves inside and were shouting and giggling behind the door. She pulled Avel upstairs only to find that bathroom occupied by one of the pregnant aunts. And, so, she tugged Avel into the front yard, where she bent him over the juniper and told him to get sick.

“Go on,” she said, the night around them like a curtain. She rubbed his back, her fingers sliding down his spine. “Let it out. You’ll feel better.”

Avel got sicker than anyone else Luz had ever seen from drinking. He was bent over, hands on his knees, retching in forceful waves. Just when she thought he’d emptied the contents of his entire stomach, more came up, bitter and violent. She comforted him, told him it was fine and smoothed his back and shoulders. They were outside for a long time, Avel slurring his words, apologizing, crying out Forgive me, as he rounded into a standing fetal position.

“I have a present for you,” Avel slurred, moving his hands dully to his pockets. When he finally pulled the small envelope from his blue jeans, it fell directly into the bush. He reached for it, but Luz eyed his vomit webbed over the shrubbery and told him they could get it later.