CHAPTER 9

The chef urged Santiago to finish off the menudo to empty the pot. Enough remained to fill two bowls. Santiago mopped up the sides of the giant pot with a flour tortilla and ate that himself while the chef warmed up more tortillas to place on the plates under the bowls. Santiago walked slowly up the stairs, careful not to spill a drop. He paused outside their bedroom door—he’d left without the key, and knocking with two hot bowls of stew in hand seemed impossible.

“María Dolores, it’s me. Open up. I brought lunch.”

No answer.

No footsteps heading to the door.

The bathroom door stood ajar, and no sound of running water came from the shower room.

He balanced on one foot and used the other to knock while calling out again. A trail of broth spilled from one of the rims and burned his thumb.

Still no one answered.

“María Dolores? Alegría?” The words choked him, or maybe it was the silence that followed.

They’d left him, abandoning him even after that stupid story about the lava rock. If he had a free hand, he’d get rid of the stone right now. It always happened—people got tired of having him around. He should be used to it. But it’d been a long time since someone he liked had left him. Two someones he had started caring about. It just proved that the only one he could trust was himself.

“Santi, over here!”

He whirled around so quickly, half of the menudo spilled from the bowls he still carried. Through the dark hallway came Alegría running toward him with María Dolores smiling behind her. The little girl hugged his legs.

“José moved us to a nicer room. Didn’t he tell you?” María Dolores said.

Santiago shook his head, not daring to speak.

“This one’s got a bigger window and enough room for a pitcher of water and a mirror. We’re talking a high-end suite here.” With her hands outstretched, María Dolores reached for the bowls of stew before stopping short. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

Again he shook his head and kept his face down so she couldn’t see.

“Ay, cariño.” She handed Alegría one bowl and held the other while she reached to put her free arm around his shoulders. He shifted away. “It’s okay; we’re here.”

She motioned for him to follow them through the hallway and into the new, bright room. The blinding light gave him the chance to shut his eyes for a few seconds. He took two deep breaths before rubbing his eyes open.

“Eat. The food’s getting cold.” He leaned out the open window. The sun blazed down on the top of his head and into the alley, where two cats pawed through the trash.

“Santiago.” María Dolores spoke softly as she walked up to the window. “Can you talk to us?”

He pushed away from the view and curled up on the far bed, his back against the corner, arms over his head. “I found you a coyote, but he charges a fortune. If you can afford it, you two go. I’ll stay here. I think Don José might let me work for room and board.”

He heard María Dolores start to say something then stop. Instead, the clink of spoons against the bowls filled the room. After a few minutes, a gentle tug on his shirt made him look up. Alegría took that opportunity to crawl into his lap.

“Santi, have you met Princesa?”

“No?” The response came out as a question. Whatever he thought Alegría would say, it hadn’t been that.

“She’s right here.” The girl pointed to the empty space next to them on the bed. “She’s my best friend, but she only speaks Unicorn.”

Santiago straightened up further and held out his hand to let the invisible unicorn sniff it. “She’s very beautiful.”

Alegría nestled closer against Santiago’s chest. His fingers absently ran through her pigtails, ready to untangle any knot.

“Yes,” Alegría agreed. “But she’s a little scared.”

“Why is Princesa scared?” he asked.

“She thinks you’ll forget about her.”

So Alegría understood what needed to happen, what he needed to do. He wouldn’t forget about her—either of them—but better that Alegría forgot about him.

“Did you know it’s okay to be scared?” The words had been Mami’s, but he’d said them a few times to comfort his cousins. “Being scared means you have feelings, that you care. And because you care, that lets you be brave. So I know Princesa might be scared, but she’s also very brave, right?”

“Sí.”

An arm wrapped around Santiago’s shoulders. His body tensed as María Dolores rested her head against his. He caught a whiff of fruity shampoo from the two girls’ heads.

“I think you need to remember your own words,” María Dolores whispered in his ear. “It’s okay to be scared, and to care. That’s part of your bravery too.”

Words rose to argue with her—that wasn’t what he meant at all. And besides, he just said it to comfort the five-year-old.

He felt an impulsive need to break away and flee, but he was stuck. He’d have to leave, eventually, but a few more minutes would be okay.

“Do you really want to stay and work in the tavern?” María Dolores again spoke quietly, her head still next to Santiago’s.

“No.” He lifted Alegría from his lap and slid off the bed, unable to have them there so close any longer. “But you need to take care of ustedes dos.”

“How much money does the coyote want?”

“Nine thousand five hundred pesos por persona.”

“So?”

“That’s nineteen thousand pesos.”

“Three times nine thousand five hundred is twenty-eight thousand five hundred.”

“You can’t spend that much money on me!”

“Mira.” She got off the bed and took his chin in her hand so he’d look at her. “You asked to come with us, and I agreed. That’s part of the deal. I knew what that meant. But let me say, if you want to stay with us, you have got to stop thinking we’re going to leave you at any moment.”

He tried to look away, but her hand remained under his chin. He averted his eyes. “It’s that—”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. We look after each other. You found a coyote; I take care of the finances. It all works out.”

“But you said you’re not rich.”

“I’m not,” she agreed. “I got my first job at eight and was kicked out of the house at thirteen. I’ve had to work hard most of my life and put up with a lot of bad things to get here. But I also know money isn’t everything. It buys neither happiness, ni amor. I can’t take it with me when I die. I might as well use it while I have it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

He struggled to see the logic of that. All his life he’d heard what a burden he was, how expensive it was to keep him fed and clothed. But here María Dolores seemed almost indifferent to money. It didn’t make sense.

“You don’t have to understand what I’m saying.” Her tone softened. “I just want you to know that I get to decide how I spend my money. If that means getting the three of us across the border, then I’m doing that, because I think it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

He saw no benefit in disagreeing. What he’d do was simple: He’d help them get to el otro lado. Once there, he’d go to some rich city and get a job that paid him thousands of pesos a day so he could pay her back. They say everything is possible in el otro lado if a person works for it.

“You have to come with us, Santi, have to.” Alegría hugged his leg, sitting on his foot.

He nodded.

María Dolores smiled and gave him an affectionate shove on the shoulder. “So tell me, who’s this coyote that’s taking the three of us? Don’t say it’s that Domínguez.”