Purple Hearts(78)

I handed it to her. “No,” I said.

“He was a musician,” she said, her back to me as she stood at the sink. I froze. Of course. Duh. Of course. Then she laughed. “He wasn’t even that good. In fact, I can guarantee you are better than him.”

I swallowed a million questions, savoring each word. Not because I cared about my nonexistent dad. But because my mom was the one telling me.

“I wish I had a picture of him but I think I burned them all.”

I laughed. “That’s okay,” I said. She turned to me. “Really. I don’t care. You’re all I need, Mamita.”

She opened her arms to me and I embraced her. We didn’t move. “I’m sorry I don’t tell you enough how proud I am of you,” she said.

“Me, too. For everything,” I said into her shoulder.

“I won’t try to talk you into being a lawyer.”

“At least for a while.”

“Yes, for a while,” she amended.

“So, you agree with me?” I asked, my chest tightening. “That I can actually pull this off? Because a tour and an album means money, Mom. And if I do well, I can make another album, I can even teach lessons in my spare time . . .”

“I always have believed that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ha!”

“I wasn’t just worried about your ability to take care of yourself, Cassandra,” she said, squeezing me. “I’m also worried you’re going to leave me forever.”

I brushed her head, feeling tears well in my eyes once more. “I’m not going to leave you forever.”

“If you become famous at music you will. You’ll move to Los Angeles or something. You tell me I should get a life, but I think I should get used to being alone. Except for MiMi.”

We let go, and I looked at her brown eyes, her dimples, the lines that formed when she smiled. I took a deep breath. “Mom?”

She raised her eyebrows, sarcastic. “Yes, it is me, your mom.”

Nice to know we’re back to normal, at least.

“Will you come to my show tomorrow night? There’s a song I want you to hear.”

“Of course I will be there,” she said.

I smiled big and we went back to finishing the dishes, my tense muscles falling still with the running warm water and the lavender soap smell and the texture of the thick clay bowls I had washed so many times as a girl.

I felt larger than I had when I came in, towering against the sink and the task and the counter at my hips, not only because I was bigger against this house now than I was in my memories. I felt big because my mother had said she was proud, and this time, she meant she was proud of all of me.





Luke


Something buzzed in the silence. I bolted upright on the couch. I heard the sound again, rattling the kitchen table. I felt around. My phone was on the armrest, where I’d left it. Cassie must have left hers here before she went to Toby’s. The ringing stopped. I sat up and hobbled my way across the room and picked up the phone.

Five missed calls from “Mom.” At 2:16 a.m. This did not seem good.

The phone buzzed again in my hand.

I answered.

“Ma’am?”

She was breathing hard. “Mija?”

“Ma’am, this is Luke.”

“Oh. Is Cassie there?” Her voice was shaking. I sat up fully.

“She’s at . . .” Toby’s I finished silently. “She’s out tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Someone has come into my house. My window is broken.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Have you called the police?”

“Twenty minutes ago. They’re not here yet. I’m outside and worried the person might still be in there.”

“Okay.” I paused, my head racing. She shouldn’t be alone. “What’s your address? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I moved faster down the stairs than I ever had, adrenaline overpowering the pain. Rita hadn’t said a word when I told her, just grabbed the keys from a hook near the door.

“Go,” she urged.

I used Cassie’s cell to call Toby’s phone on the way, panic cutting through what should have been an awkward conversation. Cassie’s sleepy voice immediately turned sharp as I spoke.

“I’ll be right there,” she said before the line went dead.

When I arrived at Cord Street fifteen minutes later, Cassie’s mom was crouching next to a Camry, her keys spiked between her fingers.

“Marisol?” She jumped when I said her name.

She held a finger to her lips and pointed to the bottom floor of a duplex not unlike Cassie’s, except this one was light yellow, surrounded by flowers, bushes, bird feeders. “Cassie’s checking it out,” she whispered.

“Oh, good, she got here?”

“Just now.”

“Cassie,” I called lightly.

She emerged from the side of the house, holding a baseball bat, squinted, and jogged over to me. “Oh, thank God.”

Without thinking, I opened my arms. Cassie moved into them, squeezing. I could feel her fingertips trace the middle of my back as her hands clenched. “Are you all right?”

“Yep,” she said, her breath on my shoulder. For a second, everything else faded.