CHAPTER 14

Alegría barely shifted when Santiago eased her off his back onto the dirt. Only her head rolled to the side as she gave a little snore.

“Next time remind me how stupid it is to go hiking in new shoes,” María Dolores said while beating her sneakers against the ground to soften the stiff backs. “How are your feet?”

He rocked back and forth in his new shoes as if he’d just put them on. “They’re fine.”

A couple of flicks from the lighter confirmed they were alone. Luis from the car hadn’t found the cave.

“Should I light a fire?” Santiago asked after the lighter almost burned his fingers for the fourth time. A fire, he hoped, would also mask the smell of his offending feet when he removed his shoes. It worked when his gassy tío lit a match after leaving the bathroom.

“Do you know how?”

“Sure.” Someone, Domínguez maybe—if this really was his designated cave—had stocked the cave with twigs and a couple of larger branches. “La mal— I mean, a relative’s stove needed to be lit every day to cook. Some mornings I had to be up three or fours hours before sunup so the cooking could be done before it got too hot.”

“Is she the one who hit you?”

He tugged his shirt even though the cave remained dark, and turned his back to her voice. He lifted his arm to search for a draft. There, a hole in the rocks and the slight oily residue of soot on the sandstone indicated a natural chimney. By feel, he reached for the small twigs he’d noticed during the last flick from the lighter. He then shaped them into a peak, adding tufts of dry grass and bark. “She did not always hit me. As I got older, she preferred throwing things—bricks, knives, boiling water. Or if I got too close, use me as an ashtray.”

He broke a fat branch into thirds against his thigh and added the pieces to his pile of twigs and debris.

“But I didn’t always have to live with her. Sometimes she could convince a different relative to let me stay with them, instead. I lived with an uncle who was great. Drunk all the time, but a happy drunk. Instead of getting angry, Tío Bernardo just sang. Then one night he turned on the stove when he got back from the bar and set the house on fire. Neither of us got hurt, but we had to return to her house. He doesn’t sing anymore.”

Santiago lit the bits of dried grass at the bottom of his mound. They caught and began to burn the twigs and thin branches. The heat began to rise, and the flames grew stronger.

“When the last relative didn’t want me anymore, I decided I wasn’t going back.” He fed the fire a few more sticks.

“What happened to your parents?” María Dolores placed a hand on his shoulder. He ignored her touch and watched the shadows from the flames dance against the cave wall.

“I never knew my dad. Relatives say he was a no-good chulo malcriado. Mami never mentioned him, and she died when I was five.”

With the fire going strong and bright, he took inventory of the cave. Narrow in the front, it opened up to a larger space big enough for six or eight grownups to sleep side by side. In some places it was as tall as two men standing. Alegría continued to sleep, grunting occasionally, and María Dolores kept her eyes on Santiago. As if she really cared what he had to say.

“What do you remember of your mother?”

He leaned back on his heels, enjoying the comfort of the fire and the heat it brought despite their long hot day. He’d never talked to anyone about any of this. “Little things. She didn’t care what people thought about her. Sometimes we’d walk through town singing off-key at the top of our lungs. Other times, we’d stop in the middle of the road to save a beetle. She was always in a good mood and liked to point things out. Birds, interesting clouds, the color of the dirt.”

“She sounds like she lived freely. I wish I could have met her. What was her name?”

He smiled and let the name roll off his tongue. “Sofinda. I’ve always thought it’s a pretty name.”

“It is.”

“Sofinda Reyes de la Luz,” he said.

A half breath, half sigh escaped him as he sat on the ground and finally turned to look at María Dolores. “Why did you decide to leave?”

This time María Dolores turned away. “I was with a man who didn’t treat me well. Alegría never liked him. I should have listened to her.”

María Dolores lifted a pant leg to reveal scars on her shin.

“The first time I let myself think it was an accident. The second time I knew we had to leave. He went into a horrible rage and told the police I’d stolen from him. The engagement ring was mine to sell; he broke his promise to care for us when he hit me. That’s how I’ve been able to afford everything. A friend got us out of town and we traveled east instead of north so he couldn’t find us.”

That explained the scenic route to Capaz. It hadn’t been to save money, but to evade detection.

“María Eugenia, my sister, kept telling me to come live with her. She married a nice man, and they run a restaurant. She makes the best enchiladas suizas. I swear, I’d give anything for a plate right now.” She handed Santiago a bit of chocolate, which he gladly accepted.

“I’d be happy with just arroz con pollo,” Santiago said with a sigh. “No matter how bad you cook, that’s one thing that’s hard to mess up.”

María Dolores let out what sounded like a laugh, but sad and bitter. “Trust me, it’s possible. I have mastered the art of burning raw rice. And I’m talking completely raw, not the chunks of sticky burned rice at the bottom of the pot that I used to demand when I was younger.”

“Pegado,” Santiago said. At least that’s what la malvada called it. As if giving it a name made it appetizing. He didn’t realize other kids requested sticky burned rice.

“Yeah, love it, can’t make it. My ex used to say I was useless because I couldn’t cook.”

“Was that Alegría’s father?”

“No.” María Dolores gave another of her part-laugh, part-snort sounds. “That was the ex I told you about. My mamá and I fought a lot about Alegría’s papá, so I got kicked out of the house.”

Santiago wanted to say he felt sorry for her—she’d gone through so much—but the words seemed empty. No one had ever shared things with him before, and he wasn’t sure about the correct protocol. “Alegría is lucky to have you. You’re the best mom for her.”

“I’d like to think so.” María Dolores smiled, pulling him close. This time he didn’t flinch or resist. “Did I tell you she was the one who pointed you out when you walked over to the food truck? She liked you from the start. Recognized you as a good egg.”

She gave him a teasing nudge. He slid a bit until his head rested against her shoulder. She hugged him closer and kissed him on the top of his head before whispering, “You’ll take care of her, right? If something happens to me?”

He straightened up, breaking away from the embrace to look her in the eye. “You’re dying?”

“Oh, no. But just in case, ’cause you never know. That’s the problem of being a madre soltera. I want to know she’ll be taken care of. That I’m not the only one she has.”

He stood up to feed the fire another branch. A few insects fluttered around the flames, debating how close they could get before getting burned.

“I won’t let anything happen to her, I promise,” he said, returning to his spot, but not close enough for her to touch him again. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”

“So you’ll stay and live with us?”

Stay? With these two and the older sister in el otro lado? In a real home? “Claro que sí.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“That will never happen.”