Chapter 1: Summons

My boss’s bald head popped over my cube wall like a prairie dog greeting the dawn. “What’s the word, Carmen?”

I was deep in my analysis of four possible health care plans for one of our mid-sized clients, and Dwayne’s question caught me off guard. “Uhhhhh?”

He knows how I get when I’m in project mode, so his smile — grin, really — was understanding and his tone, as usual, gentle. “Did you get your grades? You said they’d post this afternoon.”

I slapped my forehead with my left hand while fumbling for my phone with my right. “¡Qué pendejo!” After a few seconds of furious two-fingered pounding, I got to the student login page for Western State, plugged in the ID and passcode I’d committed to memory, and pulled up the results.

“Someone looks like a happy girl!” he teased.

I nodded, smiling. “Good enough, for sure.” But I couldn’t maintain my calm facade. Pumping my fist in triumph, I repeated, “Good enough!!!”

“Don’t tell me you were worried. Bright girl like you!”

I shook my head, amazed that anyone could have failed to see what a nervous wreck I’d been. “I have to maintain a ‘B’ average to keep my grant and my scholarship, and last semester was . . . well. It wasn’t good.”

“No worries now?”

“Until next semester.”

“I can see why you said ‘good enough,’ then.” His grin got wider. “It’s after 5:30, you know.” I must have looked surprised, because he shook his head and said, “How you missed that, with all the noise people make when they leave on Friday, is beyond me. Go on now — save off, shut down, and go celebrate. God knows you’ve earned it!”

I giggled, and I don’t giggle. “Yes, sir, Mr. Moriarty, sir!” I wanted to give him a hug, because I felt an overwhelming need to hug somebody. But Dwayne’s not the sort to hug employees.

“I’d tell you to lock up, but then you’d try to do ‘just one more thing,’ and you’d be here ’til you passed out from lack of food. So wrap it up, I want to be outta here in five!” He gave me a final smile then returned to his office to collect his things.

Twenty minutes later I walked into the two-bedroom apartment I shared with two women, allowing all of us to afford coastal California’s insane prices. For the privilege of having the small single bedroom to myself, I paid extra.

“Carmencita, is that you?” Lourdes poked her head out of the kitchen, a broad and welcoming smile on her face.

My answering smile was free of strain for the first time in forever. “Hey, Querida!”

She practically bounced across the living room to give me a big hug in greeting.

“What’s that for?” I grinned into her glossy black hair.

“You got good news! I can see it all over your face! The grades, yes?”

“Got it in one. Good, and good enough!”

“I am so happy for you!” She held me at arm’s length, beaming. “So, you will let us take you out to celebrate, right?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Now, Lourdes —”

“Don’t you ‘now Lourdes’ me! You’ve been putting us off for months! ‘I have to study,’ and ‘oh, I couldn’t,’ and ‘I just want to catch some sleep.’ You have no classes, it’s the weekend, and you just got big news!”

“You know Katie’s had a long week, though –”

“Don’t you try hiding behind Katie! You know what she’ll say when she hears the news!”

Well, that was certainly true. In fact, Katie would have found an equally good reason to go out drinking if my news had been all bad. The rationales were in constant flux, but the goal was always the same. Still . . . “With that software transition, she hasn’t gotten home before nine all week!”

“It’s Friday, and she will be here any –”

“Biiiitches! It’s Friiiiiiiday!!!!!” Katie blew through the door like an armor-piercing shell through rice paper. Raising bare arms over her curly blonde locks and shimmying her whole, lithe body, she hollered, “Time to PAR-ty!!!”

Lourdes looked at me, triumphant. “You see?”

Shaking my head, I conceded the point. “Yeah, well, there really wasn’t any doubt, was there?”

Katie’s feral grin got even larger as she saw my expression and guessed my news. She began to chant, “ParTY, ParTY, ParTY!!!!”

“Okay, guys, it’s just —”

Lourdes joined Katie to drown out my feeble protest. “ParTY, ParTY, ParTY!!!”

I threw up my hands, then hugged them both. “Okay, okay! You win!”

“I should hope so,” Lourdes said, sounding smug. “You are always so serious. Now, where should we –”

“Copper Door, girl. Gotta be!” Katie squealed. “Screaming hot band tonight – everyone’s gonna be there!”

“Well . . . .”

“Sweet!” Katie sang, pleased at her choice. “I’ve got just the thing to wear, and we’re gonna get you outta that drab shit!”

I threw up my hands. What could I do? “Okay, you crazy bitch! We’re in your hands!”

She threw back her head, hair streaming loose down her back, and hollered, “Yippee-kai-aaye!!!!” Then she bounced down the hall to the room she shared with Lourdes.

Lourdes looked at me and smiled softly. “I know . . . you would maybe rather curl up on the couch in your flannel nightgown and watch something romantic on TV. But Camencita, my love, you can do that when you’re forty . . . or seventy.”

I gave her arm a squeeze. “I know, Lourdes. I do need to get out.”

“You won’t do the dating apps.”

I shivered. “Hell, no!”

“And you won’t date anyone from work.”

“I got ya, Chica. Honest!”

“Okay. So we will try Katie’s way tonight. Who knows?”

Nightclubs are just walls of sound that reduce human interaction to its most primal level, but . . . . “There’s dancing, right?”

“All night – well, at least until 2:00 a.m.!”

“All right, then – I’ll be fine!” I returned her smile, and allowed myself to get into the mood. “And I’ve got just the dress for it!” I thought about the stretchy, sequenced LBD I’d picked up on sale the last time I’d gone to a mall to pick up something for work. It had just leaped out at me, and I knew I had shoes that would look great with it.

Ten minutes later, I wasn’t so sure. I don’t remember it being THIS short! The dress hugged my ass tightly, and came down just low enough to provide it with full cover. The neckline was low and revealing as well. Errrrr . . . .

I heard a sharp rap on my door, then Katie poked her head in. “Damn, girl!!!”

“Well, now that I see it on . . . .”

“Don’t you even think about taking that off – That’s what guys are for!!”

“Katie!”

She’d opted for a very hot red, herself, which suited her coloring. Still in bare feet, she pushed into the room and took my hands. “Carmen, you slay! I wish I had legs like yours, and if I did you can bet your sweet, round ass I’d be showing them off just as much! Now, sit down. Let me do your hair, and I’ll get Lourdes to do your makeup.”

I’m perfectly capable of doing my own fluffing, but Katie’s a genius with hair and when it comes to makeup, Lourdes actually is a professional; she works in a skin-care boutique out on Fashion Island. I sat down, Katie hollered for Lourdes, and she started running her hands through my hair, humming happily as she held it one way, then another. “If I was into girls, you’d be in big trouble. You know that, right?”

I laughed. “Thankfully, I also know you're as straight as an I-Beam.”

“Too right. Something about a big, strong, chest, a six pack right where it belongs, and sweet, hot –”

“Okay, okay!!! I get the picture. Slut!”

“Booyah, baby!”

Lourdes appeared in my doorway and gave us a fond look. “She is scandalizing you again, Carmen?”

“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t be a Friday night without it, right?”

“Or any other day that ends in ‘y,’” Katie said smugly.

In an effort to divert Katie’s graphic imagination, I asked her how things had gone with her project at work.

“Lawyers!” She made a face. “Sorry, I know you’re working your squeezable ass off to become one, but Jesus! Any moron should be able to manage our new billing software, but half the partnership is acting like it’s the end of the frickin’ world.”

My phone started to ring, but I was pinned in place. “Lourdes, can you check that?”

She fished my phone out of my purse and looked at it. “Spam – just says it’s from Buttonwillow, CA.”

Katie was the first to recite our mantra. “Towns don’t call people.”

“Nope,” I agreed, once my heart started beating again. I would never forget Buttonwillow, but . . . I’d also never stop trying. I suppose whatever evil software tracks these things knew that I did occasionally talk to one person there, and that’s all they needed. “I don’t want to talk about my car’s extended warranty tonight.”

Lourdes dropped the phone back in my purse. “You should put a different color on your nails, too.”

“Nah – I want to get moving. We should get something to eat before we go to the club, and I’m hungry!”

“That will complicate what I want to do with your makeup tonight, but . . . okay. I can make it work.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Katie asked. “But you don’t suck as a roomie, when you can get your head out of a book.”

“Love you too, bitch!”

“That’s the spirit!” She handed me a mirror. “How’s that?”

She’d twirled it in a way I couldn’t imagine replicating, and only a few strands dangled past my left ear. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m the queen of the castle!” she sang. “All yours, Lourdes!”

“Right. Sit still now,” Lourdes ordered. Her hands started to fly to various items on the top of my dresser. I sat back and let her work her usual magic. She’s good – but she can also be very fast when she wants to be, and she did twice as well as I ever could, in about half the time.

I walked back to the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door and looked at the complete package. Not half bad, Chica! Eight years ago, I‘d have killed to look this good. “I . . . okay.” I took a deep breath. “I guess I can . . . .”

Lourdes laid a hand gently on my shoulder. “Carmen. You look wonderful. Stop doubting yourself.”

“Wonderful? Shit, you ROCK!” Katie shook her head. “You gotta own it, girl!”

I closed my eyes, calmed my mind, then nodded once, sharply. “Okay. I’m good. Let’s get going!”

“Where to?” Katie asked.

“How about tapas?”

“You thinking Bacchus?” Katie sounded up for it.

“Sure. That work for you, Lourdes?”

She smiled. “Always.”

“Let’s go then. I’ll drive.”

Lourdes shook her head. “Let me be the DD tonight. You should feel free to celebrate.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Drinking’s not important to me, Carmen, you know that,” she said, cutting me off.

Katie looked on, amused. “Just don’t volunteer me for that duty!”

Lourdes and I laughed. “Oh, certainly not!” I said, with horror, that was only half joking. Katie worked hard, exercised hard, and partied harder.

Bacchus was a short drive from our apartment; it took us no time to get there. Dressed as we were, we caused quite the stir when we walked in, Katie leading the way with her take-all-comers catwalk swagger. I was only too happy to glide along in her wake.

The host eyed us appreciatively – the kind of look that makes you feel a little tingly, not creeped out. A young, well-built guy, he had warm, dark eyes that made me think of dancing. “Good evening, ladies.” Nice, smooth baritone, too. “Can I get you a table, or would you rather sit in the bar area?”

I said “table” at the same moment that Katie said, “the bar’s great.” We laughed.

The host smiled, displaying nearly perfect teeth. “Shall I toss a coin for you?”

“No,” Katie laughed. “I’ll let the introvert win this one. When we get to the dance club, though, it’s game on!”

He led us smoothly to a table, passed out menus, and assured us that Dante, our waiter, would be with us directly.

My phone pinged with a text and I fished it out. “Hope you’re celebrating!” Dwayne.

I sent my boss a big smile emoji and a thumbs up. I was about to put the phone away when I saw that I had a voicemail. Probably just the “hello” spammers send to try to get you to talk, but I figured I’d clear it.

The fierce, commanding voice I remembered so well from my youth sounded as direct and imperative as ever. “So yo. Tu padre tuvo un derrame cerebral. Ven a casa ahora. Ahora!”

Lourdes and Katie were talking about our waiter, but Lourdes immediately knew something was wrong and stopped. “Carmen? Carmen? What is it?”

I was staring blankly at my phone, lost in a swirl of memories, some of them awful, and most of them worse. No!!!

“Carmen!”

I tried to draw a breath; it came in ragged. “I’m sorry . . . I need to go home.”

Katie said, “What? What happened!”

Seeing my bloodless face, Lourdes looked shaken. “Who called you, Carmencita?”

“Abuela.” On autopilot, the word came out in Spanish. It’s how we’d always spoken to each other, when it was just the two of us. While her English was serviceable she preferred the language of her homeland, and unlike some of his brothers, Padre had insisted that I grow up bilingual. I’m not that person anymore! I forced my brain to function in English again.

“My grandmother.”

~o~O~o~

“Jesus, woman! Can you hear yourself? They threw you out! Fuck them!”

Back in the apartment, I’d taken seconds to strip out of my clubbing dress and change into a nondescript top and capris, before stuffing things randomly into my suitcase. Katie, deprived of her planned night out, was pissed.

No, I told myself sternly. Don’t take it out on her. That’s not why she’s angry. “I know. I was there. But – ”

“But nothing!” Katie hand chopped down like an ax. “He had a stroke. You’ve got a big family, and from everything you’ve told us, they’re, like, all right there. Let them deal with him!”

“You haven’t met them.” My tone was more abrupt than I liked, but I was having trouble containing my own temper.

“I don’t want to meet them. You don’t want to meet them. Not again, anyway.”

“No.”

“Girl, listen!” She grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face her. “You have a job here. Responsibilities. You can’t just . . . .”

“Katie, stop.” Lourdes’ calm voice still conveyed her urgency. “She knows all this.”

“Then why . . . .” She stopped, shaking her head, clearly at a loss to understand me. And I didn’t have time to make it right.

“Your Abuela, right?” Lourdes asked me softly.

I slumped. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Katie said, impatient. “She’s your grandmother and all. So what? She didn’t protect you when you were thrown out of your dad’s house, did she?”

Again, I said, “no,” my voice flat.

I could still hear her words, all these years later. “El es tu Padre. A él le corresponde decirlo.” And that was that. He is your father. It is for him to say.

“Then what do you owe her?”

“Everything.” I thought it, but Lourdes said the words.

“I don’t get it,” Katie said, looking from Lourdes to me, exasperated.

“Tell her, Querida,” Lourdes urged.

How am I supposed to do THAT? Even my thoughts included a snort. I’d met Katie’s grandma — one of them, anyhow. A perfectly pleasant woman from Loma Linda who’d raised the kids while her husband managed a BofA branch. I understood she played a mean game of golf. Maybe bridge, too. Who knows? How could Katie even begin to understand?

“She did it all. Dragged my grandfather out of Oaxaca when the jobs were good up here. My father and my uncles were born in a real hospital. They had a safe place to live, to work . . . citizenship. She worked two jobs . . . three when she had to. Held the family together when Grandfather disappeared back in Mexico. Pushed us all to learn English, to do good in school, to get ahead. I mean, most of us didn’t. God knows, my family’s got its share of fuckups. But still . . . she was the rock.”

“She let them throw you out,” Katie repeated, livid and unmoved.

And I’ll take that wound to my grave. “Yes. But I still have to go.”

“Will you even be safe?”

“It’s not Kandahar, Katie!”

She made a rude noise. “Might as well be. They grow rednecks up there like cabbages.”

“Cotton,” I said absently. Her worry wasn’t irrational, though “redneck” was a strange term to apply to an area that had so many immigrants from Mexico. “I . . . it’s been a lot of years. No one will remember Carlos Morales,” I deliberately deadnamed myself. “And they won’t think of him when they see me.”

“You hope!”

I chuckled ruefully. “Now you tell me I can’t pass!”

“It’s not that! You look awesome and you know it!” Katie’s face suddenly crumpled into tears. “Fuck! I’m just worried about you, that’s all!”

I held my arms open and she crashed into me, hugging me hard. I reached up to stroke her fine, blond curls. “I know, Katie. I know. I love you, too. But I still have to go.”

“Only because you’re stubborn as . . . . Well, as something. I don’t personally know anything as stubborn as you!”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“You’re such a butt!”

Lourdes stood in the doorway, her expression troubled. “Ve con Dios, Carmen,” she said softly.

~o~O~o~

Two hours and a terse phone call later, my eight-year-old Kia was demonstrating its anemic acceleration on an incline as I pushed it through the Tehachapi mountains that separate the LA basin from California farm country. Every mile north through the I-5 Grapevine brought me closer to Kern County and to Buttonwillow, the nothing town where I had been brought up. Yeah. Like a cat brings up a hairball!

I forced myself to relax my grip on the steering wheel. My tension had nothing to do with traffic, however insane. Ever since the pandemic, it seemed like people had forgotten how to drive, but I could cope with that.

Family, on the other hand . . . .

– To be continued

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