Furia(35)

“Chau, Karen. See you tomorrow,” Sister Cruz called after she placed a slice of bread in my open hand.

I turned to say goodbye, too. On Karen’s shoulders, a shopping bag hung as if it were a backpack. The front cover of her notebook showed through the semitransparent plastic.

“You aren’t staying for your snack?” I asked.

When she turned in my direction, I noticed the grease-stained paper-wrapped package in her hands. Karen blushed bright red, and her feet fidgeted like they itched to be somewhere else. She shook her head and turned to go.

In a little voice, Bautista filled me in. “She’s wanted back home. Her little ones get hungry at this time of the day.”

“Her little ones?” My eyes lingered on her vanishing figure.

“Her siblings.”

Mad at myself for not being more observant or more tactful, I ran to her. “Karen, take my bread, too.”

My arm was outstretched, the warm bread getting cold in my hand.

“Thanks,” she said with a small bow of her head, and took my offering. She didn’t smile, not even out of courtesy, and I admired her so much for it. Without another word, she walked out of the courtyard and through the main door.





14





After a stop at the ferretería for a new doorknob and a chain that ate away at my Sudamericano money, I arrived home.

Mamá still sat at her worktable, embroidering another dress, as if she hadn’t moved all day. When she saw me, she set her work down.

“Hola, hija,” she said, and I kissed her on the cheek. “Are you hungry?”

“Always,” I said, my stomach roaring for food since I’d teased it with homemade bread. My appetite didn’t understand charity and compassion. “What’s in the fridge?”

“Milanesas from lunch. Should I make you a sandwich?”

Tender deep-fried steak sprinkled with lemon juice was the way to my heart.

“I’ll add a fried egg,” she said, the pan already sizzling on the burner.

“Temptress.” I filled the kettle while Mamá filled the mate gourd with herbs.

“How was studying at Roxana’s?” she asked. “Will you be okay keeping up with regular school?”

My hand jerked, and I almost burned myself with hot mate. I wiped up the spilled drink with a napkin, relieved it was clear. Mamá hated mate stains. The green never came out.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, glancing in her general direction, trying not to make eye contact. I swerved into my confession like a 146 bus merging onto Circunvalación—full throttle. “And actually, I found a job teaching English.”

My mom looked at me like she was a judge. “A job on top of prep courses and school? I don’t know, Camila.” She hesitated. “We’re okay for now. I work hard so you don’t have to. How did you find this job, anyway? Is it worth it?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. The image of Karen walking back home with a bundle of food for her siblings flashed into my mind. It was worth it.

“Actually, it’s at El Buen Pastor, Mami. Did you know it was reopened? The priest there organizes workshops for the community. A group from the States is funding English lessons for the kids.” I was surprised my constricted throat let enough air through for me to speak.

She scoffed. “I wish a group from the States funded your education. We’ve spent a fortune we don’t have on it.” She passed me the milanesa sandwich. I chewed slowly to stop myself from talking.

At least she hadn’t made a connection between El Buen Pastor, Father Hugo, and Diego.

She passed me the mate and said, “I don’t know, Camila. Maybe you shouldn’t do it. You have me to support you as long as I’m able to work. You need to focus on school.”

Gathering strength from somewhere inside me, I made myself look at her. “They pay very well. And I can use this opportunity to build my resumé. Besides, if I don’t keep using English, I’ll lose it.”

The change in her expression was instantaneous.

“In that case, I guess it’s a good idea. I worked too hard and spent too much for you to lose it.”

She said it as if I hadn’t been the one studying till all hours of the night to ace my tests. Before I could remind her, she said, “Make sure to tell your father before he finds out from someone else.”

“I will.” My voice didn’t waver, and my mom’s gaze was fixed on the design of her lacy shawl. She pulled it even more tightly around her.

She placed a hand over mine. “Everything okay with Diego?”

Heat rushed to my head. I wanted to tell her everything. But the sound of voices approaching the door from outside shattered the moment. My father and Pablo were arguing. Marisol laughed.

My mom looked at me and groaned. “Don’t tell me he brought her again!”

“Mamita,” I said, chewing the last bit of my sandwich. “I hate to break it to you, but Pali’s in love—”

“No!” she exclaimed. “What he sees in her is beyond me.”

Before I could enumerate all the things Pablo saw in Marisol, the door swung open. Nico sprang to his feet and bounced on his hind legs to greet Pablo and my dad and even Marisol, who shooed him away with a wave of her hand. Then he beelined to the person behind them. I should’ve known why my dog was so excited he had started to cry.