After her father has a stroke, Carmen Morales is summoned back to the Kern County home she was kicked out of twelve years before, by the Grandmother – “Abuela” – who refused to intervene. Over the course of the weekend, Carmen reconnects with several members of her extended family, including her younger brother Joachim (“Ximo”). Carmen stays with Kelsey, the only family member who had known she was trans, but the situation is complicated by Kelsey’s boyfriend Dace. Dace treats Kelsey poorly; he also reminds Carmen of his younger brother Diego, Carmen’s first crush.

On the Monday after she arrives, Carmen is able to determine that padre is uninsured. Since he remains in a coma, she knows that a conservator will need to be appointed so that the necessary application can be made. Abuela gets Carmen to agree to be the conservator, at least on a temporary basis.

But Carmen’s troubles only mount. Dace sends Carmen a “dick pic” and propositions her. Carmen decides that Kelsey has to be told, even though – as she anticipated – the news enrages her cousin. After she and Ximo visit with Abuela, Carmen swings by to see whether Kelsey is alright. Carmen and Ximo find Dace beating Kelsey in their living room and break up the fight, though Carmen has to fire a warning shot to do it. At the end of Chapter 10, the police arrive and the four of them – Ximo, Dace, Kelsey and Carmen – go outside to deal with them.

Chapter 11: Fallout and Fallback

In the strobing red and blue of the cruiser’s lights – make that "cruisers' lights”; now there were two – I could see Dace spread-eagled against a car, being checked for weapons. Ximo was speaking with an officer out by the sidewalk, and a third officer – a woman, thankfully – was checking out Kelsey’s injuries by the second patrol car.

“Okay,” I called out. “I’m the last one.”

Someone came up the driveway, shining a flashlight right at me. Between the light in my eyes and the backlighting from the cruiser lights, I couldn’t even tell if it was an officer. “Come this way. Place your hands against the garage door.”

I did as I was told and endured a brief and very professional pat-down. “Alright,” he said – it was a he, and mercifully, he shut off the flashlight. Without it, I could see that he was tall – taller even than Dace – and Anglo. Sandy hair, about my age or a year or two older. “Suppose you tell me what happened. Start with your name.”

“Carmen Morales. The victim is my cousin.”

“We’ll get to that,” he said. “Not our first rodeo at this address.”

“What?” Oh, Kelsey!

“So, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, ignoring my question. “You tell me what happened here, then I’m going to write it up, ask you to look it over, and sign it if you agree with my summary.”

“Are you getting an ambulance for Kelsey?”

“I don’t know that yet,” he said, sounding a bit annoyed. “I just need you to focus on telling me what happened, okay?”

“No, I understand,” I assured him. “But during the course of what happened, I fired a warning shot from my licensed handgun – I’ve got a copy of the license in my wallet – and I left it inside on the couch for you to retrieve. Kelsey lives here, so she can give you consent to go inside and get it.”

That got me a sharp look from officer whatever-his-name-was. “You some kinda lawyer?” His tone indicated he had no fondness for the profession.

“No, sir,” I said, honestly. Not yet!

He instructed me to stay put, then went down and spoke with Kelsey and the female officer who was with her.

After a short conversation, he came back. “Where did you say you left the weapon?”

“When you go inside, there’s a living room directly in front of you. The couch is on the right as you enter. You should also find a fresh bullet hole in the ceiling.”

He nodded. “Stay here.” Then he went inside, walking quickly.

Kelsey’s minder was talking on her radio, while Kels stood by, cradling her arm. I caught her eye and shrugged.

A few minutes later, my officer was back, carrying two marked evidence bags. One contained my Ruger, and the other contained a shell casing. He set them down and took a minute to inspect and photograph my concealed carry permit.

After he put his phone away, he picked up the evidence bags and hefted the Ruger like he was weighing it. In a formal voice, he said, “I’m required to take custody of this weapon pursuant to Section 18250 of the Penal Code. Unless it’s needed for evidence, you can get it back in a couple of days. No less than two, no more than five. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll get a receipt for it, of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Now . . . . your statement?”

I ran through everything, and unfortunately had to share the texts from Dace from earlier in the day, my face flaming with embarrassment. While I was in the middle of giving him my statement, an ambulance arrived for Kelsey. The officer asked that I not speak with her until we were finished, so I had to watch her go, all by herself.

After I was done telling the story, he went and conferred with the other officers. They had a brief conversation, then read Dace his rights, put him in cuffs, and one of the officers drove him away.

He said nothing.

Ximo and I waited while they wrote up draft statements, then reviewed and signed them.

“What happens now?” I asked my officer, after I handed him my signed statement.

“You’re both free to go,” he said. “A prosecutor’s going to review all of this, and there are possible charges that could be filed based on breaking down the door and your weapons discharge. Maybe others. But the clip from your brother’s phone makes the situation pretty clear, and we still got audio even after he dropped it. We’re not seeing any need to take either of you into custody at this time.”

“What about Kelsey?”

“They’re taking her to Mercy, in Bakersfield. You know it?”

“Yeah.” I surely do.

“The DA’s going to have to look at her file. Like I say, not the first DV incident we’ve had here.”

“But we can see her now?”

“Don’t see why not. She’s not in custody.”

“Okay. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He checked to make sure no-one else was within earshot. “What that guy put in his text, about cops knowing what to do with trans people?”

“Yeah?” My voice was wary.

He shook his head angrily. “It pisses me off that people think we’re all like that. Sure, there’s some guys, like anywhere else. But the Sergeant who trained me, when I first came on – one of his kids was trans. No one gave him any shit about it.”

I blinked, surprised. Ashamed that I hadn’t done so earlier, I looked at his name tag. “Officer Braddock,” I said, “I appreciate that. I really do. And thank you again for your help.”

He smiled, and he and his colleagues left. Someone had secured the front door first. Good.

I found myself sagging with both exhaustion and relief as I watched them depart, then looked at my brother. “How’r you feeling?”

He rubbed his chest absently. “Not too bad. Fucker just surprised me.”

I kept my smile hidden. “Thanks for backing me up. I’d say I’m sorry I roped you into all this, but . . . damn, I’m glad you were there!”

He gave me a strange look. “You scared the shit outta me, you know that?”

“I been knocked down before, ‘mano.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what scared me. That scream you let out . . . Swear to God, I thought they’d opened the gates of hell or something.”

I probably looked just as confused as I sounded. “Scream?”

“You got some fancy word for that sound you make?”

“Ximo . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” His face was a mask of disbelief.

“Uh . . . no?”

“I’ll play you the tape if you don’t believe me.” He started to pull out his phone.

I honestly was afraid of what I might hear. I screamed? Really? “Later, Bro. I’ve got to get to the hospital and see what the story is with Kels. You’re welcome to come, but you don’t have to.”

“I fuckin’ hate hospitals.”

“That’s okay. You’ve more than done your duty for the day. Let me drop you off.”

When we pulled up to padre’s house he paused before getting out, and gave me a look. “Never saw you fight before. Not once, you know? All the time, growing up, people would just pound on you. And padre . . . .” He shook his head.

I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Finally, I said, “I had to toughen up, Ximo.”

“I guess so.” He gave me another look. “I didn’t ask Saturday, and . . . I guess I should have. Will you tell me about it sometime?”

“Tell you about what?”

“What happened to you. You aren’t who you were and I’m thinking . . . maybe I’d like to know who you are, you know?”

There’s only one response to that and I gave it, though I was very glad that he wasn’t asking to have a heart-to-heart right then and there. But as I got the Kia back onto Front Street and headed back downtown, I wondered.

Did I want to have a relationship with my brother? A day earlier, the answer would have been a resounding “no.” He was an immature 26-year-old who had – as he himself had pointed out – kicked me to the curb when he was 14 and I was 17.

But I sensed something more in him, and that something had a familiar flavor to it. Maybe just a desire to be more. To be better. Better than what we had grown up with, for sure. It was one of the first times I had ever felt any kinship with him.

And that feeling left me all kinds of confused.

~o~O~o~

Kels was at the ER. Coming in by an ambulance dispatched by the Sheriff’s Department, she got higher priority treatment than people who just drove themselves in. No-one was with her when I arrived, and she looked worn-out, cried out, and positively shredded.

“If it isn’t the Pink Power Ranger,” she said sourly.

I came and sat in the chair by the bed. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what? Saving my ass?”

“I should have told Abuela to pound sand when she called. Only thing I’ve managed to accomplish since I got here is cause trouble between you and Dace, and land you in the hospital.”

She started to shrug, but stopped when the motion caused her pain. “It was gonna be somebody. He was tired of me.”

I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice. “Pinche cochino!”

“They’re all like that. And they all get tired of me.” I was about to protest when she said, “Girl, if you go shooting all the cochinos, we’ll run outta dudes.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Yeah, well . . . . Good luck with that.” She gave me a sideways look. “I still think you shouldn’t be shootin’ them.”

“I wasn’t planning on shooting anyone!”

“Sure fooled me. Fooled Dace, too. He might be a cochino, but he can smell a bluff a mile away.”

I squirmed in my seat, feeling uncomfortable.

She tried shifting her position and cursed. “Can you figure out how to raise this bed? I don’t like staring up at you.”

It was straightforward, and we managed to put the bed into the “sitting” configuration. “Better?”

She grunted an acknowledgment, then gave me a serious look. “Carmen. I guess I gotta just say it: You shouldn’t be carrying a gun. Period.”

“If I hadn’t had the gun today –”

“You think I don’t know that?” Her voice shook, and her look was intense enough to shut me up.

When she was sure she had my attention, she continued more softly. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Will you do that?”

I nodded uneasily.

“Yes, I know that Dace would have fucked me up if you hadn’t come when you did. And I know he’d of fucked you and Ximo up, too, if you hadn’t pulled your piece. I get all that, okay?”

“Okay. So . . . ?”

Surprisingly, she reached over and put her left hand on my arm. “I’m saying this ’cuz I love you – even when I want to strangle you. Which is, like, all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I love you, too, bitch,” I snarked. “Now spit it out!”

“You know how many times, these past three days, I’ve seen you go blank? Like you’re suddenly off in some private hell?”

I could think of three without even straining, and those were just the ones where she’d been around. One incident even ended with me clenching a fricking butter knife in a fighting grip. “Enough, I guess,” I sighed.

“Isn’t that what happened tonight, when you got knocked down and came up with a gun in your hand, screaming like something from Night of the Living Dead?”

I looked down at my hands.

“Isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “You’re not 100 percent wrong, but it’s more complicated, okay?”

She just raised an eyebrow, inviting me to continue.

“I don’t remember getting the gun from my purse, or screaming. That much . . . that much, you’re right. But the warning shot was intentional.” I smiled, wanly. “I know I’m not the best shot under pressure. Even I can’t miss the ceiling, when I’m literally in the room.”

She didn’t smile back. “How about when you were pointing the gun right at his chest?”

“I wasn’t in some dream land, if that’s what you’re asking.” I sounded defensive, even to myself.

“You were going to shoot him though, weren’t you?”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Maybe. Probably, even.”

“Just say ‘yes,’ Carmen. You know it’s true.”

“Fine,” I ground out. “Yes. Happy? But it was only because he was so damned fast. If he’d charged me, I’d have missed. Until he dropped, no-one was safe.”

Her eyes were boring into mine, and I endured it. She needed to know I was being completely honest.

“Alright,” she said grudgingly. “Let’s say I buy all that. What would have happened if your little nightmare had lasted just a bit longer?”

“Who knows?” It was my turn to shrug, defeated. “Okay, Kels. You’re right. Honest to God, I was a fuckload better than this, before I came back to Buttonwillow.”

At my capitulation, she appeared to relax, sitting back in the bed and dropping her arm. “I know you used to go shooting, out in the desert. Never figured you for a gun nut, though.”

I looked at my outwardly badass cousin, messed up and lying in a hospital bed, and shook my head. “You of all people should understand. I’m a girl, but I am fuck all done with being a victim. Know what I’m saying?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“And speaking of which . . . .”

“Hey, don’t start on me, okay?” She smiled, but it was brittle. “I’ve had a bad day.”

“Want to tell me how you ended up getting used as a punching bag?”

“Not really. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“Remember, I’m the girl who sprained an ankle trying to walk in your five-inch heels, when you let me wear your Quinceañera dress.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she warned. “Fuck, it hurts when I laugh.”

“C’mon Kels. Give. When you hung up, I wasn’t sure whose head you wanted to beat in first – his or mine.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, that was just my inner Innie, know what I mean? I might want to blame the whole thing on Innie, now that I think about it.”

I caught her drift instantly. “Lost your temper?”

“Couldn’t have found it if I’d tried,” she agreed, adding, “And I wouldn’t have tried. So I burned rubber all the way back to Dace’s place, meaning to clear out my stuff and go. But he was there, and soon as I saw him . . . . You know how it is. I said some shit. He said some worse shit. Went downhill from there.”

Gingerly, very gingerly, I raised the issue that worried me the most. “The sheriff said this wasn’t their first call.”

She looked away. “Yeah.”

I couldn’t think of what to say, so the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length.

She looked back at me and glared. “Fine. We had some fights. Yeah, a couple got outta hand. It’s no biggie.”

“Like this was no biggie?” I challenged.

“I’m not some pinche little girl, and I don’t need a lecture!”

“I won’t. But I want you to ask yourself what you’d say if I was lying in that bed, and you were sitting here, hearing about my ‘multiple domestic violence incidents.’”

“I’d say you’re an idiot. But I’m not you.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m just the chick who can’t keep a man happy.”

“Goddamn it, Kelsey!”

She stopped me before I got wound up. “Okay, okay. I take it back. That was stupid, pity-party shit.” Before I could start in on her again, she said, “What’d they do with Dace?”

“Alright,” I growled. “Don’t think we’re done with that topic. But just for now, and only because you might have some broken bones, I’ll let you change the subject!”

“Ain’t you sweet,” she replied, with a sardonic smile. “Now – Dace?”

One more growl, just for emphasis, then I let it go. “After they got everyone’s statements, they arrested him and put him in a cruiser.”

“Yeah . . . I figured they’d have to.”

Just then some medical type bustled in. Mid-forties, black, and triggering every Gaydar on the North American landmass. “Kelsey, honey! Not you again!”

She closed her eyes. “Fuck me!”

He shook his head disapprovingly. “Don’t you be tellin’ me it was the stairs. You tried that last time.”

She moaned, “Doesn’t anyone else work here?”

“Nope, just me,” he said with cruel cheerfulness. “C’mon now; we’ve gotta take you down to X-ray.

“Just shoot me now.”

“All in good time, my pretty!”

And off she went.

It was after midnight when she was released. She had a nasty lump on the back of her head where she’d been slammed into a wall, a deep contusion on her upper arm, and a broken rib, which she had to keep taped up.

I’d made a few phone calls, so I knew that Dace was being held overnight and would go before a judge for arraignment in the morning. That meant it was safe for Kelsey to go home, which was just as well. In all the excitement, I’d missed the chance to get a room at the Motel Six.

~o~O~o~

I was up around 6:00 am, having slept better than I’d had any right to, even if it wasn’t nearly as long as I needed. Too many late nights were starting to wear on me.

But I checked in on Kelsey, who appeared to be sleeping deeply, then made myself some coffee and dry toast. At the kitchen table I fired up my laptop and found an email from Katie’s friend Al, sent around 10:30, with edits on my draft papers for the conservatorship.

His cover email was nice. “Ms. Morales – You’ve done a good job on this, and it doesn’t need a lot of work. I made minor wordsmithing suggestions here and there, and I suggested a couple of additional citations that strengthen your argument. You should review the cases before deciding to include them, of course. Feel free to contact me if you have any additional questions. Consider this one a favor; Katie’s a rock star and everyone here owes her one or five.”

I sent back an effusive reply and copied Katie on it, then went through his suggestions, which really were minor. After logging into my student LEXIS account, I checked the additional cases he’d recommended, getting up in the middle of the project to make a second cup. Just as I finished reading the last one – he was right about all of them – a voice by my ear said, “Boo!”

Naturally, I whacked my knees on the table as I stupidly tried to jump three feet in the air. “Kelsey!”

She chuckled. “I could always get you that way. Anytime you had your head in a book.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t forgotten – though I sure tried.” Despite my surly words, I smiled as I turned to face her, rising at a more normal rate. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She looked disheveled, weary, and in pain. “Say one thing about how I look like shit, and I’ll hurt you,” she warned.

“You couldn’t hurt a hamster right now.”

“I could start singing.”

“Ouch! Yeah, that’d do it. Look, I’d give you a hug but I think I might break you. So give me two minutes, and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“I won’t fight you.” She stretched — carefully. “But I need a shower first. And coffee. And some drugs.”

“Got it. Do you want me to fill that prescription they gave you?”

She shook her head, decisively. “Fuck, no. Just Tylenol. Advil. Whatever we got in the house.”

I must have looked dubious. “You remember what the doc said about staying ahead of the pain?”

“It’s not as bad as I look.” She moved past me to grab a pod and get the Keurig going. After staring at the machine for a minute while it did its thing, she said, “Remember Janna Corea?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Took a spill off her Scout Sixty. They gave her some sort of pain meds, I don’t know which. She got completely hooked. Fuck . . . I’d never seen anyone go like that. Before you know it, she was breaking her own fingers with a mallet so they’d prescribe her some more. Switching hospitals, ’til they all got wise to her.”

I hadn’t known Janna well, but it wasn’t the first story like that I’d heard. “She didn’t make it?”

Kels shook her head. “No. Died maybe four, five years ago? Anyways . . . none of that shit for me.”

“Stubborn bitch,” I said, before adding, “‘course, it helps that I like stubborn.”

“You would.” She pulled her cup out of the machine and said, “I’ll be out in a few. When I’m human.”

“You need any help getting that binding on and off?”

“Nah. I had a broken rib a few years back and learned how to do it.” Correctly interpreting my sharp look, she added, disgusted, “I fell off a ladder while I was working. Jeez! Want to check my workers’ comp approval?” Shaking her head, she took her coffee back down to the master bedroom.

I quickly finished my last changes on the documents and saved them to a thumb drive for printing. Then I shut down, cleared the table, and looked into the fridge to see what I might be able to make Kels for breakfast.

She had eggs, cheese, cilantro, a red onion, black beans, and some salsa left over from Sunday night. Naturally, she had tortillas, too. That was enough to go by for some huevos rancheros. I got all the prep work done, then waited until Kelsey re-emerged before putting them together.

I held off asking about her plans until we’d pushed the plates back, but I knew the discussion couldn’t wait much longer.

“I’m outta here,” she said definitively. “I was stayin’ with Gomer in a big room over her ’rents’ garage before I moved in with Dace; she said I can crash there ’til I find something else.”

“That’s right, that’s her old Yamaha you’re riding.” Even in high school, Anna Gomez had been crazy about motorcycles.

“Mine now – but only ’cuz her dad fixed up an old Harley for her and she likes it better.”

“Have you already talked to her?”

“Texted this morning.”

“Will you let me help you pack, at least?”

She gave me a look. “You still feelin’ guilty?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, in a tone suggesting this was a no-brainer.

“Well, you shouldn’t, but fuck, I’ll milk it while I can. Won’t take me long, though. I lost ’most everything when they took papí’s house, and since then . . . I like to keep it light, know what I mean?”

She was right. Even taking into account the time it took to clean up from breakfast, all of her stuff was cleared out and packed up in five boxes and two suitcases in just over an hour. We loaded it all into the Kia and I followed her bike out to the Gomez place.

Anna helped me bring it up to the room, after having to tell Kels on no uncertain terms that she had no business lifting anything. Anna’s father Enrico had a three-car garage for his side-gig/hobby of restoring motorcycles; the room over it really was large. It was obvious that Anna had spent some time that morning trying to tidy up. It was equally obvious that she wasn’t prone to do that by nature.

Well, she and Kels – who, after all, made a living from cleaning things – would need to work that out. I suppose they’d managed before.

Gomer didn’t know about me, but she kept giving me looks like she was trying to figure out where she’d seen me before. I decided I didn’t need to deal with that this morning.

I had enough going on.

It was getting close to noon before I was finally able to extract myself. I’d worked hard not to let my impatience show, but there were things I absolutely had to get done, and I’d already lost the morning.

Kelsey walked me down to my car. “I was stupid yesterday. Got so mad, I thought I was bullet-proof.”

“I know.”

She smiled. “Yeah, okay. I had that coming. But . . . thanks for the rescue.”

“He’s gonna want you back, you know. Don’t do it.”

She laughed. “No way! I told you, he’s done with me.”

“I need you to trust me, Kels. Please.” I gave her good arm a shake to add urgency to my words. “He’ll want you back, and he’ll try to sweet talk you, ’cuz he’ll want you to ask them to drop the charges. Don’t let him off the hook.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fuck. Hadn’t thought of that angle.”

“Just . . . tell me you won’t, okay? I won’t be here next time.”

“I hear ya.”

“Kels –”

She stopped me. “I said I hear you. And . . . I’ll think about it. Now get moving, okay? You got shit to do today.”

I wanted to stay and argue, but she really is a stubborn bitch, and anyway she was right about how much I needed to get done. I pressed a hand to her cheek – she was too banged up for a hug – got in the car, and got moving. I told myself that I would follow up with her. Find a way to save her from her own insecurities, which Dace would exploit without hesitation.

I knew. I’d seen it.

In my memory, their faces were both haunted and hopeful, achingly fragile. Women I’d known at the shelter. Black, white, Asian, Chicano, it didn’t matter. They were all battered, abused, wounded in body and soul. Terrified. But still, too often, they convinced themselves that this time would be different. This time, he would be kind. Please, God, Kels. Don’t do it!!!

The rest of the day was a blur. Back to the hospital, where the old man slept on, unchanged. Doctor Chatterji had her letter waiting for me, and her formal assessment was even more negative than the one she had given me verbally the prior afternoon. From there, I found a Staples and got hard copies of all my documents, then a bank, where I was able to get my affidavit notarized. Once the application packet was complete I drove to the probate court, where I filed originals of all of the documents and got a filing stamp on my copies.

I called Gaby, hoping to talk to Abuela and fill her in.

“Sorry, Carmen,” she said, sounding distracted. “I dropped her off at the hospital half an hour ago. I’m helping Lupe at the daycare ’til six, then I’ll pick her up and drive her home.”

I ended the call and thought for a minute. The hospital was about five miles away from the courthouse, but it was close to the highway so it wasn’t really out of my way. With a sigh, I turned the Kia around and headed that direction.

It was probably 5:00 or so when I found myself back in padre’s room.

Abuela sat in the chair by the bed, her head bent. She looked up as I approached, but said nothing.

“It’s all filed, Abuela.”

“And?”

“And, we’ll see. I’ll call them later in the week if I haven’t heard anything.”

“You are leaving then?”

“Yes. I’ll come back early Saturday, though.”

She was silent, still. As motionless as her son. Just as I was about to tell her I had to go, she said, “What do you see, when you look at him?”

“Well . . . I mean, his left hand is clenched, and the side of his face –”

She stopped me. “I know that. What do you see?”

My uneasy shrug went unnoticed. “A man.”

“That’s all? Just ‘a man?’ Not your padre?”

There was no accusation in her tone and I realized the question had nothing to do with how I felt about padre. It had nothing to do with me at all. “I’m sorry, Abuela. I look at him, and it could be anyone.”

“Do you think he is gone?” Her question was dry as the Mohave and her face leached of any expression.

“I don’t know. I only know I don’t see him there.”

She bowed her head. After a long moment she said, “Thin mole, to keep hope alive. But it will have to do.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I could only stand in silence, trying to read the thoughts that must be going through her head.

She reached a hand over to the bed and, after a moment, found padre’s shoulder. Without turning her head, she said, “Go, and do what you must. We will be here.”

I said goodbye and left her at padre’s side, holding on to whatever hope she had been able to find. Resolutely, I got in my Kia and headed south. South, where my job was. Where my friends were. Where I had a life.

Tonight, I would sleep in my own bed.

— To be continued

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