Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(115)

But when violence came into our home, when she knew what was going to happen next, she also chose to take our little brother into her arms. She held him close. She tucked his face against her chest so he would not have to see his own death.

In that instant, she chose our family again. And she was the sister and daughter we all knew she could be. And that’s love, yes? Not making all the right decisions all the time, but being there when it matters the most.

I had a sister, Lola Baez, and I know she loved me.

I had a brother, Manny Baez. I was seven years old when my mother brought him home, and I was already scared for him. My mother liked to drink a lot by then. Her new boyfriend, Hector, drank as well. I took care of my little sister, and now I would have this baby, too. But the first time Manny gripped my finger with his tiny hand and looked at me with those dark eyes, I knew I would love him forever, and I promised him the world, the stars, the moon at night.

In return, Manny offered smiles and laughs and pure joy from the bottom of his little-boy heart. He was the light of our lives, and nothing that happened next ever dimmed the strength of his devotion to us.

And that’s love, yes? To give generously, selflessly, endlessly. Manny didn’t have to learn any lessons during his nine years with us. He was our teacher instead. A reminder of what the rest of us could achieve, if only we could open up.

I had a brother, Manny Baez, and he loved me so, so much.

I had a friend, Mike Davis. We met when we were eleven. He saw me when no else did. He tried to help me when no one else could. He called me a bright, bright light when I have only ever felt like the ugly stepsister, lost in the shadows.

He would’ve loved me, but I never let him.

He killed for me. He took away the boy who once hurt my sister and me. But he also took away the family who loved me.

He died for me. Opening his mouth, drinking in the pepper spray. The boy with no parents, the boy who’d always been alone, he didn’t believe I would forgive him. He didn’t understand that I, of all people, know love is imperfect, and it’s the trying that matters.

I had a friend, Mike Davis, and I killed him.

I have two dogs, Rosie and Blaze. They are old and blind and prefer long days spent napping in sunbeams. They thump their tails when I approach. They rest their heads on my lap and let me stroke their long silky ears. They provide solace on the days I can do nothing but cry. They give me strength, because I know they remember our family, and miss them, too.

I have friends. Flora, Sarah. I am still getting to know them. They understand pain and loss. They tell me I won’t always feel like this. They remind me that I have the strength to survive. They promise that one day I will learn to live again. They have introduced me to other people who know what it’s like to not be able to sleep at night. And sometimes, talking with all these other crazies, I feel almost sane again.

I have a guardian, Hector Alvalos. Manny’s father, my mother’s former boyfriend. He lived with us when Manny was born, and once he was the closest thing to a father I’d ever had. He had to go off to fight his own demons for a while. And yes, he’s made his share of mistakes.

But he came back. And that’s love, yes? He returned for Manny, and to make peace with my mom, and to get to know my sister and me again. Now, he and I are family. We live in his little apartment with Rosie and Blaze and so many pictures on the wall. Manny when he was first born. My mother twirling happily in her new red dress, the day she brought us home from the courthouse. Lola rolling her eyes at something silly. All of us piled together on a sofa.

Captured moments to help Hector and me through the bad nights. Frozen images to remind us of the good times.

These photos of our perfect family.