Furia(55)

I nodded, and she grabbed a handful of rice from a porcelain bowl that sat on the table. I looked at my mom for an explanation, and she smiled nervously.

Miriam dropped the rice into a cup of water. Immediately, most of it sank to the bottom, but five grains rose to the surface, making a circle that spun and spun.

The hairs on my arms prickled. Once again, I looked at my mom for an explanation. In reply, she placed a calming hand over mine. Miriam muttered under her breath, and a scent like a summer breeze enveloped us, bringing the smell of the Pampas’s wildflowers and hierbabuena.

For a second, my whole body tingled. When the rice stopped spinning, Miriam took my hand firmly and closed her eyes. She muttered a prayer. Her nails dug into my flesh. I couldn’t catch the words, but I felt they were good. Light came in through the window, falling on the three of us like a blessing.

When she was finished, Miriam smiled. She looked tired, the wrinkles under her murky green eyes more pronounced. “I’ll pray again tomorrow and Monday,” she said. “You don’t have to be here for it, but try to rest the leg as much as you can.”

“Will this work?”

Just like the boy who had sold me the estampita, Miriam shrugged. “It depends on your faith.”

My mom opened her purse and took out a roll of bills, which she placed on the table.

Miriam’s eyes dropped. “You don’t have to, Isabel.”

“I want to,” my mom said. “You have cured my babies of empachos, pata de cabra, evil eye, and more. And me? You saved me last time. You helped me with my marriage, and I’ve never given you enough. Now that I can, this is the least I can do.”

The corners of Miriam’s mouth turned down. “Isabelita, that atadura . . . I regret doing it for you. It tied your husband down, but it tied you down more. I see it in your face.”

My mom’s eyes flickered in my direction, as if I were a child to be shielded from the truth. But I’d been a witness to her struggles with my father all my life.

My mom led me to the door, holding my hand tightly, and before I walked out, Miriam whispered in my ear, “Lies have short legs, guapa. Don’t forget, or you won’t run.”





23





The street that led to the heart of Barrio Rucci was so crowded, the taxi driver had to let us out a block away from the community center. This wasn’t an ideal meeting place, but it was free.

When we got out of the car, my mom looked across the street to the Natividad del Se?or parish and crossed herself. Then she followed me. I tried to walk slowly, hyperaware of my injured leg, but I was too excited to hold myself back. The two most important women in my life, my mother and Coach Alicia, were about to meet for the first time. To my surprise, my leg didn’t even hurt that much. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe Miriam’s prayers and rice were already working.

My mom and I followed the smell of fried bolitas de fraile and hot chocolate and the sounds of girlish chatter to the main room of the community center.

Surrounded by players and parents, Coach Alicia looked like she hadn’t slept in days. When she saw me, relief flashed across her face. Her shoulders relaxed. She put her phone down on a table and came up to me, her arms outstretched. “Furia,” she exclaimed. “You’re here! You’re here!” She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.

The self-assurance my mother had shown that morning was gone. She eyed Coach Alicia timidly.

“This is my mom,” I said, standing between them. “Mami, this is Coach Alicia.”

The two shook hands, and then Mamá smiled a little more confidently and leaned in to kiss Coach on the cheek.

Coach beamed at her and then said, “Thank you for letting Camila play. Five of my players have dropped from the team.”

“Five?” I asked, dismayed. “Who?”

Roxana walked to my side and draped her arm over my shoulder. “You know about Sofía and Marisa. The others are Abril, Gisela, and Evelin.”

“What are we going to do?”

Coach pursed her lips and pointed to the other side of the room with her chin. “Rufina, the girl from the Royals, brought a few of her teammates along. Carolina, Julia, Silvana . . . I forgot the other names.”

Roxana added, “Milagros and Agustina.”

My mom craned her neck to take a better look at Milagros and Agustina, who were holding hands, and when she turned back to Coach, she asked, “Are those girls . . . a couple?”

Coach Alicia put a hand up and said, “Se?ora, my players’ personal lives are private and not subject to scrutiny. I think more than one person here is happy to have a full roster, right, Hassan?”

I flinched. “I didn’t complain at all, Coach.”

“I was just asking,” my mom said, shrugging one shoulder.

I elbowed Roxana, who quickly changed the subject. “Carolina is a goalie, though. Another goalie? Aren’t you happy with me?”

“I’m delighted with you.” Coach laughed and ruffled Roxana’s hair. “We need a plan B just in case, Chinita. But don’t worry, you and Furia are irreplaceable.”

My mom cleared her voice. “Furia?” Her eyes shone when she looked at me.

Roxana said, “Look at this, Se?ora Hassan.” She placed her phone in front of my mom, showing her a video. The reporter, Luisana, spoke in the foreground, and images of my last goal of the championship game played behind her.