Blue lights splinter from the doorknob, reaching outward. The lightning isn’t gone after all. I fight the giddy surge that accompanies it.
With a twist of the knob, I push the door open. Moonlight bathes the room in a silvery glow.
I stare for a moment before exhaling. With one flicker of decency, Nick left my drums. I pull the door shut and my shoulders drop. My brain fumbles in slow motion, and I can’t remember whether I saw Ike when I came in the house.
“He wouldn’t!”
I’m chased down the steps by the memory of Nick’s crude comments about turning Ike loose to fend for himself in the wild.
After the last step, I hit the wood floor in the kitchen and scramble to make the corner. I fly down the next set of stairs and jump the last three.
I turn too fast, catch the chunky toe of my boot on the last entryway tile, and twist my ankle as I hit the ground. My elbow lands on the edge of the tile in the gap between grout and carpet. Pain jolts up my arm. It’s a tenth of the pain from tonight’s storm, and I stagger to my feet and stumble toward Ike’s aquarium across the room.
My ankle won’t hold the weight, so I limp the last few feet. The glare from the light reflects on the glass, and nothing moves.
I yank the heavy lid and send Ike racing to the other side of his big glass enclosure. A piece of paper flutters into his cage and settles on his head. I reach in to stroke his spikes, and the note slips from his head. He leans into my palm, safe.
Graffitied with Nick’s dark slashes, the note lies half in Ike’s water dish, and I pick it up to see what brilliant prose he’s left behind.
“I never liked this stupid lizard and you can’t play drums for shit.”
Dick
. I crumple the paper and hold it in my palm.
Just to see how cool this new toy is, I glare at the paper and command it to burst into flames. Nothing. I try again and get the same result.
I hold it out for Ike. His tongue flicks, and he munches the paper into mushy pulp.
“He’s not a stupid lizard, jackass—he’s a red iguana.” And about a thousand times the man Nick is.
I bite my lip and force myself not to be upset. He’s a textbook asshole. I should be skipping around, overjoyed at the twist of fate that forced our lives apart.
Above Ike’s cage, the air conditioner clicks on, and I shiver. I run my hand along the top of Ike’s aquarium and hang my head. No more taking guys at face value, no more blind trust in their lies, no more creeps, no more thieves, no more dicks.
Ike bumps my hand and waddles to his empty food bowl. Whether he ran out of time or vengeance, Nick had left everything in this part of the house alone. Handy, since he hadn’t left anything in the fridge.
I dig slices of dried melon from the Tupperware dish on the shelf above Ike’s enclosure and hold them out for him. He leans into my fingertips, and I scratch under his wide mouth while he slurps the orange squares.
I plop a few more pieces in his cage. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe my eyes with the back of my hand so I can make out the small tin at the back of the shelf.
I shake the tin just to be sure. The melodic rattle of its contents loosens the knot in my belly, and I set it next to Ike’s aquarium and wrestle the heavy lid back into place. “Later, buddy.”
He scratches the glass with his long claws.
I grab my tin, hobble to the front door, and stare at the deadbolt. Nick has a key, and there’s not much I can do about it. As I flick the light switch next to the doorframe, a tiny line of electricity leaps from my finger.
With a laugh that sounds a little dark, I guide the squirming line across the wall to the deadbolt. The metal glows with the same blue jumping light, and I trace the circle of the lock, fascinated.
Even after dropping my hand, the tiny strand of lightning stays in place, slithering and arcing across the metal surface. I cradle the tin and grip the banister, hopping up the flight one stair at a time.
On the landing, I glance back at the blue stream of electricity locking me in. That dark, glowing place in my belly hopes Nick comes back tonight and tries his key.
Chapter 2
An orchestra of rock music, grinders, and torches serenades me through my workday. Another cloud passes over the sun, dimming the room and jerking my attention to the high window. There’s still some blue sky. While I scan the curling edges of the white clouds, I rub the gloved tips of my left hand together, feeling for the slightest tingle, but whatever that was last night stays silent.
I sigh and twist the knob on my torch, killing the flame. After it cuts out, I flip up the welding helmet and survey the weld. Good enough for today.
“Bye, boys.” I toss the helmet, gloves, and apron on the bench and give the frame a final once-over before leaving.
Three grunts and a high-pitched good-bye escort me to the door, and I slip between everyone else’s rides and onto my own leather cradle.
Jax stands at the garage door, chain in hand. He gives me a hesitant wave and I blow him a kiss, but today the reddening around his ears does nothing for me. I roll past him, and he pulls the big door down behind my bike. I bite my lip. Delaying isn’t going to make this any easier, so I fire the engine and roar away from the shop.
Evidence of last night’s storm litters the route. Gutters overflow with winter debris washed downstream, pink and purple flowers poke up from the damp ground, and green shoots tint the edges of winter-burned grass. At the entrance to Mami and Papi’s neighborhood, two tall oaks stand as guardians, their spindled branches stretching toward each other in attempts to unwrap the leaf buds at their tips. I duck my head and barrel up the main street.
One street, two street, yellow park, three. I almost crack a smile at my old silly habit, but the moment vanishes as I turn into their circle and ease over the bump in the driveway.
I tuck the bike beside his Dodge, kill the motor, and sit. A school bus slows at the intersection, and four neighbor kids tumble out before screeching and shoving their way up the block. Last day of school today.
Enough. Quit stalling.
I get off, and my ankle pinches, still sore from last night. Limping, I cruise through the carport, knocking on the back door as I enter.
“Papi?”
Surrounded by blueprints and a wild assortment of tools, he leans back in his office chair. “Hey
mija
. What’s up?”
Silver-haired and soft from years of family and kids, he barely resembles the world-champion fighter everyone else remembers. I never cared, but sometimes I think he misses the fighting and the traveling. Posters of every conceivable vacation locale plaster the walls, maps cover the desk beneath protective glass, a globe on a stick pokes up from his pen jar. I swallow and force myself to make eye contact.
He smiles, and my nerves melt. Nothing can get me here. Not even my bad choices. I lean against the door and blow out a breath. Tears sting my eyes and I blink rapidly.
That gets him flying out of his chair and wrapping me in an embrace of sweet comfort. I bury my face in his collar but just for a second. He smells like sawdust and peppermint.
“I’m fine. Really.”
He holds me at arm’s length, and I fidget. “Come. Sit. Tell me what’s got you on my doorstep.”
As I step away, he pats my wild hair. “Rough night?”
“Mmm. You could say that.” I settle into his office chair, and he moves a giant stack of papers to unearth a stool. He climbs on and pats my knee.
“Spill it.”
I flutter the edge of a set of blueprints. “I need a place to crash.”
“What? Here? Of course you can stay here.”
“Maybe for a couple of weeks. I, um, had to sleep on the floor last night.”
“What happened?” He draws the words out, like he already knows the answer and he isn’t happy about it. It’s the tone of voice I’ve been waiting for. Damn.
“Let’s just say Nick is really good at getting even.”
“You give him money?”
“Some.”
“He was going to pay you back, right?”
Before I can answer, he drops his chin to his chest like I’ve whipped him. My heart cracks. Will I ever stop disappointing him? After too many seconds, he lifts his face, a slight smile on his lips. He pats my knee again.
“I’m glad you’re home,
mija
.”
I fight the tears and twist my fingers together. “Mr. Steinaman’s bringing a few of my things over later.”
“The walking burrito?” he asks.
“Iguana. And yes. Ike is nearly the only thing Nick left.”
Papi flinches, and my commitment to the new no-jackass policy renews itself. This wouldn’t happen to my love life if I could find someone like Papi. Loyal, respectful, hard-working, and insanely in love with my mami.
“Oh! Didn’t Mami leave today? Are you already a bachelor?”
He rolls a pen back and forth across his desk. “And Tia Marie picked up the little girls. They’re excited about having a pool. Tiana’s excited about some new neighbor boy of Tia’s. I took your mamá to the airport this morning, not that I wanted to. Damn stubborn woman.”
“Is she really going for the whole summer?” I lean back and cross my legs.
He grunts. “I guess. Who charges a bunch of abuelitas two grand to paint trees and shrubs for three months?”
I nudge his knee with the toe of my boot. “Or lets his wife go to the other side of the country for a whole summer?”
“
Lets
,” he says. “Like I
let
your mother do anything.”
That makes me laugh.
“I’m not saying I mind, but seriously, she could at least ask.”
My insides warm. “You’re a good man, Papi.”
He twirls his pen and stares out the window long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I hope she left on good terms. They haven’t fought for a long time, but then again, I’m not around much. Something that’s going to change.
After a big sigh, he shakes a few antacids from a bottle on the corner of his desk and turns his attention back to me. “You eat?”
“Nope. What are you making me?”
He snorts. “As if. Your mamá spent a week stocking the freezer.”
I scrunch my nose. “I love Mami’s cooking, but are you sure you want to eat tamales for three months straight? How about Chinese?”
He stands and moves toward the door. “Don’t tell her,” he says over his shoulder. “She worked hard so I wouldn’t starve while she’s gone.”
“Pretty sure she won’t care if we eat out one night.”
“Have you met your mother?”
We laugh, then he gets quiet and does that Papi stare.
I fidget and drop my gaze to the seam of my pants.
“I really am sorry about what happened,
mija
.”
My pants blur and I blink the tears away. Only when I’m certain there’s no trace do I lift my head. “It’s just stuff, right? And money. I’m better without him.” I smile through the ache in my chest. “Besides, now you won’t have to be alone all summer.”
“No, but you might. I don’t know how much I’ll be around.”
I shrug, trying to act like I don’t care, even though I wouldn’t mind catching a few fights with him, maybe having a beer. Shitty timing. One final win for Nick.
Papi opens his arms. With barely a hesitation I stop trying to be tough and launch myself from the chair. As his arm encircles my shoulders, I’m a little girl again, right where I belong. He gives me a big squeeze and quickly lets go, like he’s wary of babying me. I stare at my empty hands. It’s me who’s made him feel that way. Maybe this is a chance to right our relationship, mend a few sore spots.
He digs in his shirt pocket and sets a pair of reading glasses on his nose before tilting his head back to read the screen on his phone. I stifle the building giggle.
“Let’s see. Chinese place.” His fingers work across the screen, but I can see it’s kicking his butt.
I grin and tug it away. “Here. Let me do it.”
Through his reading glasses, his brown eyes are clear and huge. “I can do it.”
I laugh. “We’ll starve first.”
We wander through the back family room toward the kitchen, and I pull up the number of the Chinese place down the street. Before I can call, I miss the first step on the small flight of stairs, and my ankle rolls. Stabbing streaks of pain shoot clear up to my knee. I stumble forward, crashing my shin against the second stair, and the phone spins across the tile. I roll onto my side and clutch my ankle. Stairs dig into my ribs.
“Evy!”
I moan. “It was just getting better.”
“Here.” He scoops his hands beneath my arms and helps me stand.
I lean on him, and we make it up the last step and into the kitchen. “Those damn things get me every time.”
“I know. One of these days I’m going to redo that room.”
He settles me on a stool at the breakfast bar, and we prop my foot on another. He goes for ice, and I glare at the short flight of steps leading from the kitchen down into the family room. What a stupid design.
Otherwise, the worn laminate countertop and gold linoleum floor of the small, outdated kitchen is cozy. Some of my favorite memories live here. We pretty much lived in this nucleus growing up.
Papi wrestles with the overstuffed freezer and curses as everything begins to shift. He yanks out an ice pack and slams the door. I make a mental note not to open it anytime soon.
Though he tries to be gentle with the ice pack, it makes me wince, and I turn away. Against the wall, a worn cardboard box sits totally out of place. “What’s that?”
“Not sure. Your mamá found it in the attic when she was looking for her brushes and paints. She thought it was my father’s stuff.”
I jerk my head. “You haven’t opened it yet?” Balanced precariously, I lean across the counter and tug it closer. “I’ve never seen anything of his.”
With surprising quickness, he jumps around the bar and holds the top closed. “Leave it.”
The doorbell chimes. Papi’s hands flatten against the flaps, and he rubs the length of them once. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was afraid. I shift on the barstool, and he looks up from the box.
“Stay here.” His stern expression says the rest.
Stay out.