A Different Blue(37)

leave you there or go to the police. But he didn't. He didn't trust the police. Probably thought

he'd be blamed for something he had nothin' to do with. He didn't even know your name. He said

you just kept saying Blue, Blue, Blue. So that's what he called you. It kinda stuck, I guess.

“As far as I know, no one ever came looking for you. Your face wasn't on a milk carton, or

nothin'. Three years ago when Jimmy turned up missing, I thought I was done for. I knew somebody

was gonna figure out you weren't his, and they'd throw me in jail for not tellin' on him. So I

just told them you were his daughter, far as I knew. They didn't press too hard. Jimmy didn't

have a record or nothin' – and you said he was your father. It's why I took you in. I felt like

I had to keep my eye on you for his sake, and for my own. And you've been a good girl. I expect

you to keep on bein' a good girl. No more shit like you pulled tonight. Last thing I need is a

kid endin' up dead on my watch.”





Over the next few months, Donnie would come over when Cheryl was at work. He was always nice to

me. He always offered comfort. A caress, a brief touch, crumbs for the hungry little bird.

Cheryl dumped him eventually, maybe sensing that he liked me a little too much. And I was

relieved, recognizing that his attentions weren't entirely appropriate. But I'd learned

something from Donnie. I'd learned that there was comfort to be had for a pretty girl. Physical

comfort, comfort that might be fleeting but that would fill me up temporarily and take away my

loneliness.

Joan of Arc said sacrificing who you are and living without belief was a fate worse than death.

I had lived on hope for three years. Hope that Jimmy would come back for me. That night, hope

died, as did my sense of self. I didn't sacrifice who I was, not exactly. It was ripped from me.

Jimmy's little blackbird died a slow and painful death. In her place I built a gaudy, colorful,

blue bird. A loud, obnoxious peacock with bright feathers, who dressed to call attention to her

beauty at every moment, and craved affection. But it was all just a bright disguise.





Chapter Seven





Gloria Olivares, Manny and Gracie's mom, was never home. It wasn't because she was a bad mother.

It wasn't because she didn't love her kids. It was because providing for them meant working

non-stop. The woman was bone thin and 5'0 if she stood on her tiptoes, and day in, day out, she

put in 18-hour days. She was a maid at the same hotel where Cheryl was a dealer, but she also

worked as a housekeeper for a wealthier family in Boulder City. I didn't know if she was legally

in the U.S. or if she had more family still in Mexico. She had a brother, Sal, who had supplied

me with wood a time or two, but Manny and Gracie never spoke of a father, and there certainly

wasn't money coming in from another source.

Gloria took her responsibility for her kids very seriously. They were clean, they were fed, and

they were warm, but her options were limited, and she had had to leave them alone a lot. It

wasn't as big a deal now that they were teenagers, but Manny said he had been babysitting Gracie

since he was five years old. Maybe that was the reason Manny considered himself mama to his

younger sister, even though they were only two years apart. Maybe that was the reason Graciela's