Chapter Thirty-One

Sierra woke, sensing something was wrong. Sunlight dappled her bed, and Mom moved in the kitchen. She could smell biscuits and sausages. The alarm clock said 9:03 a.m. She should be getting ready for church.

Then it came to her. The day in Tonkawa Creek.

She lay in bed for a long time, not moving, not able to think about doing anything. All she could think of was Dad planning his own death. Thoughts of his last day, of what he must have been feeling, trapped her beneath a lead blanket of exhaustion.

She raised her fingers and began counting as she whispered, “One foot and the next / he steps into speeding cars / and embraces death.”

Seventeen syllables, Mr. Prodan. How’s that for a haiku? Not very poetic, but it was true. With his last breath, her father hadn’t chosen her or Mom. How could he have said he was doing it for them?

Eventually, the idea of lying in bed, letting the misery win, pricked at her. That’s what Mom was so afraid of—that she was like Dad. It’s why Mom grimaced when she found her teaching herself Romanian or reading a book late into the night. And Sierra had been like him.

But not anymore.

She slid out of bed and dressed in a yellow sundress Mom had bought for her, a dress she’d never worn. She brushed her hair till it shone and came into the living room.

Mom sat in a chair by the window, working on a sketch.

Sierra gripped the doorknob. “I’m not like him.”

Mom looked at her, perplexed.

“I’m not going to hurt myself. You can stop worrying about me. You can stop protecting me from the truth.”

Mom blanched. “Sierra …”

She stood and edged toward her, but Sierra backed away. She wasn’t going to let Mom finish. It would be too painful to listen to her apologize, to explain, to tell her it would all work out.

“It’s all right. You were worried I was like Dad, but I’m not.”

Sierra could see Mom trying to work it out, what Sierra knew, what she could say.

Sierra patted her mom’s arm and quickly drew it back. “It’s okay, Mom. Really.”

She could still feel her mom groping for something to say as she slipped out the front door and began walking nowhere in particular. What was the point in going to church today? What was the point in staying behind to talk? Words were useless now. Mom had been right about that all along. The only useful thing was to be strong, be happy, and leave the darkness behind.

 

Monday afternoon, after Mom had gone to work, Sierra stood in the bathroom looking in the mirror. Comb your hair out of your eyes, Sierra. Stop hiding your lovely face behind your hair, Sierra. She didn’t like the girl she saw in the mirror. She was timid. Insipid. The grieving girl Dad left behind. It was time for a change.

With her left hand, she pulled her hair back, letting her whole face show. The scissors lay on the counter. Mom often trimmed a bit of her own hair, making sure her short strands of hair stayed feathered just right. Sierra let go of her hair and picked up the scissors, holding them up in the light, considering. Then, with one snip, she sent a long chunk of hair to the bath mat below. And then another.

Her neck shone white and free in the mirror, and then her whole face. Until there was nothing but a cap of dark hair from her hairline to the nape of her neck. She clipped at the top and teased bits of hair, rubbing gel in until her scalp burned. But she’d got the look she’d wanted, more or less.

She felt naked, looking in the mirror, with her face for anyone to see. But she wasn’t hiding anymore. She would look people straight in the eye.

After sweeping the hair up, she stood in front of the mirror and practiced looking herself in the eye. But she wasn’t suddenly stylish and interesting. She only looked shorn.

In her room, Sierra pulled out a few copy-paper boxes. She piled the books and photos from her bottom drawer into one. Dad’s Bible. The paper he’d been working on when he died. His Greek dictionary and Latin grammar book. Pictures of him.

She laid her hand on them, a final good-bye. On top, she laid clothes that wouldn’t do anymore. Her oversize jackets and darker clothes. Those belonged to the Sierra who had been hiding from the world. They belonged in the back of her closet.

 

When Mom saw her at the kitchen bar the next morning, she made a little moan. She put her hand up to her mouth, her eyes big, but she didn’t say anything.

Sierra patted her hair. “It’s okay, isn’t it? It’s even?”

Mom didn’t answer.

Sierra had seen it in the mirror. It was short, but it wasn’t lopsided or patchy. She looked her mom in the eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I just wanted a change.”

That’s what Mom needed to hear. She gave Sierra a weak smile. “It’s nice, really. Makes you look like a pixie.” She headed into the bathroom. “Let me even up the back for you.” Her voice wobbled, and Sierra began to worry she’d made a mess of it. She peeked in the glass on the hutch in the dining area for her reflection before she followed Mom into the bathroom.

Mom edged the scissors against the nape of Sierra’s neck. “I had a call from Joe Wheeler today.”

The scissors scraped metallically as Mom began to cut.

“I had to know, Mom.”

“Sierra, I’m so sorry. I never intended not to tell you. At first, I thought you’d be strong enough to hear it in an hour, then a few days, a few weeks, and then it had been so long—”

Sierra put up a hand to the mirror. “I guess I gave you reason to worry about telling me the truth. But you don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

Mom put the scissors down and leaned back against the sink. It was the posture of a long conversation. But Sierra couldn’t do it. She had to get to school. She needed to be able to smile and look people in the eye. “I don’t want to be late.”

She walked out of the bathroom, picked up her backpack, and raced for the door.

At school, people she didn’t even know complimented her. They thought the new look suited her. Carlos caught up with her at lunch. He slid onto the bench next to her, the smell of hot grease rising off the pizza on his tray.

He rubbed her hair with his knuckles. “Hey, Brown Eyes. Nice cut.”

She smiled brightly. “Think so?”

“I miss the long hair. But it’s nice. Modern, you know.”

Sierra felt better. People liked her look. Maybe the new Sierra had a future.

“I got the afternoon off.” He leaned close to be heard over the roar of students in the cafeteria. “What are you doing with yourself?”

“Homework.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Brief images flickered across her mind—Mom helping Dad with the work he’d been too tired to complete, arranging his doctor’s appointments. There were days she had even had to help him get dressed. It had been an unspoken arrangement. He’d be the weak one; Mom the strong one. Carlos was perfectly willing to step into Mom’s role.

Poor Sierra, who couldn’t get her act straight. Poor Sierra, who needed to be found when she didn’t come home at night, who needed to be protected from Emilio, who needed to be reminded of her homework, who needed and needed and needed.

“Thanks, Carlos.” She stood with her lunch tray. “But I think I can handle homework on my own. See you ’round.”

She refused to look back, to see the flash of confusion on his face as she walked away. She smiled. Oh, she smiled until she thought her face would crack.

 

Carlos met her as she left the school steps the next day. “Hey, Brown Eyes.”

“Hey.”

“You weren’t planning on walking home alone, were you?” he asked.

“It’s not far.”

He put his hand on her arm. “I’ll walk you home.”

“If you want.”

It was a tense ten minutes. The red hand was up at the crosswalk. Cars sped by, oblivious to the school zone. How fast were they going? Forty-five, fifty-five miles per hour? Just inches from her feet. She couldn’t catch her breath all of a sudden, and she could feel Carlos looking at her.

The light changed, and they crossed the street. Carlos said nothing. She said nothing. As they turned the corner, the sound of a bus dieseling nearby sounded the only refrain above the noise of the traffic.

Carlos punched in the security code at the apartment gate and opened it for her, following her inside.

At the foot of her stairs, he stopped. His face was drawn tight, and she knew that was her fault.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

She smiled. “Of course not.”

He leaned on the iron banister. “Then what, Sierra? What’s with all the smiles-but-don’t-get-too-close stuff?”

She met his gaze, trying to look sure of herself. “You’re not too close, Carlos. I’m just changing. I don’t need help at every turn.”

“I never thought you needed help walking home, Sierra.”

Smile, she told herself. Look sure of yourself. “No, of course not.”

His face was hard when he looked at her, but she could see the hurt in his eyes. “You know, the one thing I thought I could always count on with you is that you were for real. What’s with the empty words that don’t mean what they say and the smiles that aren’t really smiles? You’ve turned all plastic.”

Her smile faltered. “I don’t have to listen to that, Carlos. If you’re going to be rude, I’ll go inside.”

“No, you don’t have to listen to me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been by your side almost since school started last fall. I took you places when you needed to go. I helped you find your dad’s friends. I listened when you wanted to talk and kept quiet when you didn’t. But you don’t have to listen to me.”

“That’s just it. Don’t you see?”

“See what, Sierra?”

“You don’t have to rescue me. I’m not weak.”

His mouth dropped. “I get that. But could you maybe talk to me instead of cutting me out?”

“I thought it was time for a new start, you know?”

“A new start?” He looked at her so hard she had to turn away. “A new start without me? Is that what you’re saying?”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. Even in the courtyard, she could still hear the cars rushing by on the road. They were going so fast. And they sounded so close.

“You’re so special to me, Carlos. I won’t ever forget you.”

He gripped the banister, and his whole body tensed. He shook his head. “Don’t.”

She swallowed.

“Don’t, Sierra.” The words that came out of his mouth sounded hoarse. “You want to be strong, I get that. But what you’re doing, that’s not strong.”

She sat down heavily on the steps. “I think you should go now.”

His eyes were liquid. He didn’t go at first. He stood there, staring down at her, as if he could make her change her mind if he looked at her long enough.

“Sierra.” That’s all he said. Just her name.

Finally, he turned and walked back toward the gate. With each of his steps, it got harder for her to breathe. When he reached the gate, she stood, as if her legs had a mind of their own.

He turned back, not moving toward her, waiting, looking. She tried to mouth words that would make sense, words that would change things. But she couldn’t find them, and he swung through the gate.