Furia(46)

The clock on the TV read just after eleven. There was no sign of my parents. Where could they be at this time?

Relief flashed in Pablo’s eyes before he had time to camouflage it with frustration. “Where the hell were you?” He sounded so much like our father that I recoiled.

Pablo must have heard him in his voice, too, because he put the bottle down and said softly, “You scared me.”

Encouraged by his effort to calm down, I made my way to him and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled like Diego’s new cologne.

“At work, Pali. I thought I’d wait out the storm, but it just got worse.”

Pablo shook his head. “You were with Diego the whole time.”

It was easy for Pablo to imagine the truth. He’d had plenty of similar experiences with Marisol and the other girls he’d hopped between since he’d discovered his good looks and blazing smile.

Thunder rumbled outside, making Nico whimper. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, and my skin prickled. I put the kettle on and made myself a ham and cheese sandwich. “Do you want one?” I asked, looking over my shoulder. He was flipping through the channels.

“Sure,” he said.

It was almost like traveling back in time to when Mamá worked at her atelier downtown and it was just the two of us most days. I never had Pablo to myself anymore.

When I brought the sandwiches and mate to the table, Pablo was laughing at a Simpsons rerun like it was the first time he’d seen it. The episode was almost over. He took a bite of the sandwich and smiled. “Thank you. I was so hungry.”

“You could’ve made something, you know? Your balls aren’t gonna shrivel up and fall off if you feed yourself.”

He laughed. “But you made the sandwich for me. My tactic worked.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Next time, I’ll let you starve.”

The Simpsons episode ended, and the transmission jumped to coverage about Central having all its players, even the reserves and youth teams, attend workshops about domestic violence. Pablo rolled his eyes and turned the TV off.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“I have nothing against the workshops, negra. Some of the guys are violent because they don’t know any better, and they can learn. But, I mean, a lifetime of hard work can go down the drain because of one moment of anger, and like Papá says, some women like the rough, bad boys . . .”

It was one thing for my father to say that and quite another to hear it from Pablo. I tried to remind myself that I wanted to keep my brother on my side, that I needed a lifesaving favor from him. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind, so why should I hurt myself trying? But I spoke up anyway. “So many girls are getting hurt because of that mentality. Look at me tonight. I was scared to come home on my own. I can’t even walk to the bus stop without being afraid someone will attack me. And you were scared, too.”

Pablo clicked his tongue. “Now, don’t exaggerate. Of course it’s not okay, but that’s the world we live in, nena. Maybe you shouldn’t be working at all. When you aren’t home, we worry you’ll be on the next poster. If you aren’t careful, it’ll be your fault if you are.”

“I’m not going to be a missing girl,” I said.

None of the girls and women whose faces plastered the walls of our city had ever intended to become statistics, either, but they were blamed for the crimes committed against them.

“Did you and Diego really go out again?” Pablo asked. “When I texted him, he said he was driving you home. Why didn’t he come up with you?”

I had all my answers ready at the tip of my deceiving tongue. “We didn’t go out. It was a coincidence he found me,” I said. “When I couldn’t venture out into the storm, one of the nuns said Diego was coming over to bring some donations, so I just waited for him.” Pablo nodded, accepting the lie Diego and I had created. “Then everyone wanted to see him and get pictures with him, and before I knew it, it was late. He promised Ana he’d be home tonight, since he’s leaving tomorrow.”

Pablo yawned. “I don’t know why he’s driving that car in this weather. I guess when you have enough money to throw butter at the ceiling . . .”

The jealousy in his voice shone neon green. This was my cue to head back to my room and install the new doorknob. I didn’t want to see this side of Pablo. I picked up my backpack and ruffled his hair before walking away. “Good night, Stallion. Don’t forget to come pick me up when you have your own BMW.”

He scoffed. “My red Camaro, you mean?”

“On these streets? You’ll fall into a pothole and resurface in China.”

Pablo threw his head back in laughter. “At least the Chinese like Argentine fútbol players.”

Now was the time. He wouldn’t deny me.

“Pali . . .” I willed him to read my request on my face.

My brother knew some things were too important to put into words.

He pressed his lips into a hard line, but his eyes were still velvety soft like the old Pali, the one nobody saw anymore. Finally, he nodded and said, “I won’t tell them you came home so late. But don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

I walked away, and just when I thought I was in the clear, Pablo called me out. “What happened to your leg? You’re limping, and your pants are all muddy.”