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. After Carmen determines that Padre is uninsured, she discusses the need to appoint a conservator with Abuela. Abuela gets Carmen to agree to be the conservator, at least on a temporary basis, with the understanding that she will return to her home in Orange County and only come back to Buttonwillow when needed.

But Carmen’s troubles only mount. While in Buttonwillow, she stayed with her cousin Kelsey and Kelsey’s boyfriend Dace. But Dace propositions Carmen, which causes Kelsey to blow up. Carmen and her brother Joaquim (“Ximo”) break up a domestic violence incident which results in Dace being arrested and Kelsey going to the hospital, where she is treated from bruises and a broken rib. Carmen spends the night with Kelsey and helps her move to a friend’s house the next morning. Then she gets the paperwork filed for the conservatorship and starts driving home.

Chapter 12: Touchstones

My suburb-loving Kia practically breathed a sigh of relief as it crested the high point of the Tejon Pass and began the long descent through the dry canyons and bare hillsides of the Tehachapis.

So did I.

I’d only been gone a few days, but family, Buttonwillow, Kern – all of it – had almost effortlessly yanked me back in time and away from the better life I’d made for myself. I felt a desperate, aching desire to reconnect. People talk about the need to “go outside and touch grass”; in my case, I needed to touch something else. Something bigger. Harder to describe, more intangible, messier, and far more complicated. I needed to touch civilization.

Sometimes it feels like everyone loves to hate on Southern California. They make fun of “Valley Girls” and mock the endless suburb that occupies virtually all of the San Fernando Valley. They carp about LA traffic, crazy housing prices, homelessness, gangs. You name it. And sure, fair enough. It’s a huge place and it’s got problems to match. I barely survived my baptism by fire in urban LA, so I know the downside way better than people who have more opinions than experience. I still think all the haters should be rounded up and forced to spend a decade or two in Buttonwillow.

From the San Gabriels to the Mexican Border, Southern California is people. Anglos and Chicanos, Asians, Blacks, Slavs, Armenians – heaps of Armenians! – you name it. They come from everywhere, and they bring their languages, their foods, their feuds and their passions with them. It’s wild and dynamic and scary, and I love it.

It’s home.

It was so good to be back that I didn’t even mind hitting the heavier traffic as I descended through Sylmar, or the stop-and-go nonsense that inevitably slowed my progress once I passed Burbank. I was eager for home, and my roommates were waiting for me, but all of that traffic meant people, and all of those people, in a strange way, made me feel safe again. Anonymous. Just one of a wild, weird, patchwork of humanity.

The sun was just touching the Pacific as I passed Griffith Observatory, and even a hater can’t help loving that amazing view. My smile just got bigger with each mile I drove, until I was finally able to get off the freeway in Santa Ana and drive to my apartment.

I had barely gotten out of the car when I heard Katie’s excited “Carmen!!!!” and looked up to see her jumping up and down on our balcony. She bounded out of sight and tackled me before I even hit the door of our building.

I dropped my bag and held her like she was the human embodiment of sanctuary. I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew the comparison was absurd. Crazy, hard-charging, fun-loving Katie, a sanctuary? Any port in a storm!

“Told you so,” she scolded.

“Told me what?” My voice has no business shaking!

“Shoulda stayed home, girl. Nothin’ but rednecks up there.”

“Mexicans and Chicanos, mostly.”

“Fucking rednecks!”

That got me to laugh, which was just what I needed. I released my death-grip and gave her a smile. “Thanks, Katie. I can’t begin to tell you how good it is to be home!”

“Yeah, I think I got that part. C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”

Of course, when I saw Lourdes I just about lost it all over again. Our embrace was gentler; I always felt like I might break her, even though she was as sturdy as any of us, and quite capable of exuberance. But she is also one of the kindest people I know. “I missed you,” I said huskily.

She pulled back and pinched my cheek, smiling. “You’ve only been gone five days, Carmencita!”

“I know! But it feels like forever.”

“Well, come in and tell us about it. We’ve got dinner waiting.”

“Dinner? I hope you guys didn’t wait for me!”

Katie shook her head. “It’s not that late. Jeez, girl, this ain’t Buttonwillow!”

I laughed and moved to the kitchen. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “You guys are just the best! How did you know I needed sushi?”

They laughed, and we all squeezed around our small table, and soon the chopsticks were flying. They got me going, and the story was pouring out, broken with many exclamations and interruptions and scolding and talking over each other. Katie, as always, jumping in; Lourdes, more often holding back, saying less and listening more. By the time we were down to sipping Sapporo and nibbling on pickled ginger, I felt completely at home again.

“So,” Katie said after I wrapped up today’s happenings. “You go back Saturday?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m going to need to do this every weekend, or even most weekends. If I need to be up there, it’ll probably be during court and business hours. But with everything so up in the air right now, I think I’d better.”

“But you will stay someplace safe this time, yes?” Lourdes gave me as stern a look as she could manage.

“The Motel 6, probably. It’s sixty bucks a night, and I sure wish I didn’t have to spend it. But it’ll do.”

“Dace, though,” she pressed. “He’ll be out by then, yes?”

“I assume so. I doubt the Court will make him post bail, though I expect he’ll get a ‘stay away’ order to keep him from Kelsey.” I thought for a moment then added, “Actually, he’s probably out already; he was supposed to be arraigned this morning. With all my running around today, I didn’t check.”

“It’s great he has to stay away from Kelsey,” Katie interjected. “But will the court keep him away from you?”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry. I should have asked about it, but I don’t know.”

Lourdes shared a look with Katie, then said, “From what you have said about this man . . . I think he will want to get back at you.”

“I’m sure he’d like to . . . but I’m also sure he’d like to stay out of jail. Anything happened to me up there, he’d be the first suspect.”

“Not the only one, though, given your crazy family,” Katie said sourly.

I chuckled. “You may have me there. Though honestly . . . they’ve been better than I thought they would be. Well . . . better than I feared, anyway. Aunt Maria was her usual nasty self, but the rest of the ones I talked to . . . .” My voice tapered off. That unsettled feeling was there again, pulling at me.

Katie made a rude noise, but Lourdes smiled slightly. “Perhaps you feared the end of the world?”

“I suppose I did.” I poured the last of my Sapporo into a glass and took a sip. “I mean . . . when I got kicked out, it kind of was the end of the world – the only one I’d known. And since I’d been rejected by Padre, Ximo, Uncle Fernando, and Abuela, I just assumed they all felt the same way.”

“Yeah, well . . . Just remember, that’s not your world now,” Katie growled. “Even if you’ve gotta pop in now and then to keep the rednecks from fucking everything up.”

“Chicanos!” I protested, futilely.

“Rednecks! And all the ones you didn’t run into are probably waiting in the tall grass. Fuckers.”

“Katie’s right about one thing, Carmen,” Lourdes said, gently redirecting the conversation. “It’s good that things are better with some of your family. That will make your work up there easier. But they can’t destroy you, like they did before. You have family here, too.”

“I know.” I extended my hands to each of them. “And I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Just knowing your two were here . . . I couldn’t have gotten through these last few days without that.”

We wrapped up shortly after that. Sushi, fortunately, does not require much clean-up, and my bed was calling to me. It was only a twin bed, the mattress sucked, and I’d intended to wash my sheets over the weekend when I’d gotten called away, but I didn’t care. It was my bed, in my apartment, which I shared with fantastic roommates.

It was heaven.

~o~O~o~

“The big difference,” I explained, “is the coverage. The premiums are about the same, though the deductibles are lower on the alternative plan. But if you look at the size of the network in your current plan, you’ll see that most of the services you’d need, almost all of the time, are in-network. The out-of-network costs on the alternative plan are higher, and the network is smaller.”

“Those new, higher, deductibles, though,” our client mused. “The employees aren’t going to like that.”

I found myself nodding, though he couldn’t see me over the phone line. “It may be worth asking your employees to check whether their primary medical services are covered by the alternative plan. Whether their PMP’s in the network, for instance, or if they have a specialist they go to regularly. With a plan your size, it’s worth checking.”

Back in the office, professionally dressed, I was doing my job and appreciating every minute. It wasn’t what I wanted to do for a career, but I was good at it and I enjoyed feeling competent and in control. Helping regular people, small business owners mostly, with normal health care coverage issues, without having to deal with any crazy emotional baggage.

Once I wrapped up with Kevin Carlisle, I checked my watch and decided I had time for a quick bathroom break before I was scheduled to meet with my boss. Dwayne had poked his head in my cube earlier to welcome me back, but he had to run to a meeting so we’d set a time to talk later.

I did my business quickly, then washed my hands and examined my reflection critically. I still looked a little worse for the wear after several nights with too little sleep –- not to mention, days with too much drama. But makeup is a wonderful invention, and provides women with a big advantage in situations like this. Guys have no clue what they are missing. I snorted as I imagined Kelsey’s response in my head: Guys have no clue, period.

While Lourdes could have done a better job with the concealer and foundation – she is a professional – my own efforts were good enough. It was time to stop stalling. I walked briskly to Dwayne’s office and wrapped on the open door at 10:30 precisely. “Good morning again,” I said brightly.

Dwayne is the sort of manager — the sort of person — who hates having people sit in front of his desk while he parks behind it. His computer table faces a side wall, so when people come in he just swivels his chair to connect to the conversation group in the other corner. “C’mon in, Carmen,” he said, waving me into a seat and rolling over to join me, coffee cup firmly in hand.

I smoothed my summer-weight ivory skirt under me and sat. Much as I liked Dwayne, I found myself defaulting to posture as formal as it had been the day I showed up for my first interview, almost ten years before, when I’d felt unqualified for even the receptionist/gofer position that was all they had available. Back straight, knees at ninety degree angles, ankles tightly crossed.

His eyes softened. “Relax, Carmen. It’s okay. You’re not in any kind of trouble — not with corporate, and sure as hell, not with me. You’ve got a family issue to deal with, that’s all. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

”Okay,” I said, responding with genuine warmth. “It means a lot to me.”

”So . . . Why don’t you give me the Cliff’s Notes version. How’s your father doing, and what are your next steps?”

I’d already thought about what Dwayne would need to know — and all the many things he very much wouldn’t need to know — so I didn’t hesitate. “Like I told you on the phone, he had a stroke last Friday when he was out in the fields, and it was a while before anyone found him. It’s been five days now, and he’s still in a coma. The doctors aren’t very optimistic. They figure he’ll be pretty impaired even if he does regain consciousness.”

He set his coffee cup down on the side table with a thump. “I am so very sorry to hear that. How old is he?”

“Only forty-nine.” I shrugged. “It’s a hard life, and he didn’t take care of himself very well.”

Something in my tone alerted him to the possibility that Padre and I hadn’t been close; Dwayne’s got an instinct for those things — and for finding ways to keep conversations professional. He made a smooth transition. “You mentioned having to get a conservatorship set up?”

I nodded. “Right. I filed the paperwork yesterday. My grandmother asked me to serve as the temporary conservator so I could get his insurance situation untangled as soon as possible, but I told her the family would need someone else to take over as the permanent conservator.”

He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Yeah . . . I can see where that makes sense. I’ve had one or two clients over the years go through the process. You’ll need to go up for a hearing. Probably an interview, too, though they might do that by Zoom these days; I don’t know.”

”And that’s just to get appointed,” I agreed. “After that, I’ll need to deal with his banks and any retirement plans — that sort of thing. I’ll have to be physically present for at least some of it. But once my credentials are established, I should be able to do almost everything else remotely.”

”Good. I checked your records; it looks like you’ve got a PL day, three days of accrued vacation, and six days of sick leave left. It’s not a lot . . . But if you can try to ration the time you’re up there during the week to the days you absolutely have to be present, it’ll probably stretch longer than you think.”

Yeah, I thought glumly. Until I’m in crunch time at the end of next semester, and I desperately need a couple of free days to study! But I nodded anyway. “That’s what I was thinking, too. I’ll do unpaid FMLA leave if I need to, but I don’t have a lot of extra savings.”

”Understood. I wish there was something I could do about working remotely, but right now my hands are tied. It might be different by New Year’s, though. I just think corporate wants assurance that things are genuinely back to normal before they start to consider exceptions and hardship cases.”

There wasn’t really anything I could say to that. I knew it had been a struggle to get everyone back in the office, and I knew some people who absolutely abused the privilege of remote work. One of the disadvantages of working for a good-sized company is that they tend to have rules designed with the worst employees in mind.

”One thing we absolutely can do for you, Carmen,” he said, picking up his coffee cup again. “When you have the information you need about your father’s income and assets, Margaret can work with you on the State coverage application. She’s got a lot of experience with all of those programs.”

”That would be great!” Margaret was a lovely person, and extremely thorough. Having her help on the applications would make a huge difference.

”Good. That’s settled. Now, just give me as much notice as you can on when you need to be out of the office, and to the extent possible, try to avoid having to reschedule meetings with clients. They really get up my ass when we reschedule. Okay?”

”Yes, sir,” I said, smiling.

~o~O~o~

For two whole days, life was blissfully normal. No strange looks. No awkward questions. No one treated me like a freak, or an embarrassment. In this part of the world transwomen weren’t so rare as to be novel, and everyone knew people who were stranger than me. I mean, way stranger. It’s SoCal.

I settled back into being “me.”

Of course, it wouldn’t last. Friday morning, deep in a research project for an accounting firm, I received a call from “Flanders and Soto” on my cell phone. Since the number had a 661 area code, I decided I had better answer it.

“Good morning, Carmen Morales speaking.”

A man with an extremely smooth baritone voice replied. “Ms. Morales? Good morning. My name is Andar Kasparian. I’m calling about the conservatorship petition you filed on Wednesday.”

“Yes?”

“Based on your representations concerning your father’s condition, the Probate Court determined that your petition qualified for expedited treatment. Are you familiar with the process?”

“In general terms,” I replied. “Have you been appointed to investigate the claims in the petition?” Given that the call hadn’t come from the Court itself, it seemed like the safest assumption.

“Ah! You are familiar with how this works! That should make things quicker. Yes, I received the appointment this morning. Do you have access to the online docket?”

Oops! “I haven’t got that set up yet,” I confessed. “But I should be able to take care of it later today.”

“No problem. For now, I can send a copy of the Court’s order to the email you provided in the application.”

“Thank you, that would be great,” I replied.

“Now, I am required to attempt to speak with the proposed conservatee. I understand he wasn’t conscious at the time you filed the petition. Has that changed?”

“I’m afraid not. At least, it hadn’t as of the end of the day yesterday, and the hospital should have informed me of anything significant since then.”

“I am very sorry to hear that.” He sounded genuine, though it was possible he’d just had a lot of experience with this kind of work. “I will need to visit the hospital personally, however. If he is conscious, I’m required to speak with him alone, though obviously if he isn’t, I can be accompanied by you or another member of the family.”

It seemed a little weird to have some stranger wander in and give Padre a once-over. Not that he would notice, and complete strangers from the hospital staff were popping in at all hours. Still, I thought Abuela might prefer someone to be with him. “What time were you thinking of going?”

“I’m pretty tied up for the rest of the day, so I was figuring I’d go Monday morning. Do you want to have someone there?”

“Yes, probably,” I said, a bit apologetically. I didn’t want him to think we didn’t trust him, after all. “It shouldn’t be difficult to arrange; we have a lot of family in the area.”

“Yes, I saw that from your list of family members in the first and second degree,” he said, sounding amused. “That said, apart from your father, the first person I need to interview will be you, as the proposed conservator. If you were available Monday, we could do your interview after visiting your father.”

“Oh! Well, of course, though . . . I had hoped that perhaps you might be able to interview me over the telephone, or by Zoom.”

“I see you aren’t local.” He sounded guarded. “Honestly, for a variety of reasons, I prefer to conduct these interviews in person if at all possible. Especially for the proposed conservator. And I’ll have to include information about how the interview was conducted in my report to the Judge.”

My heart sank. Dammit! “Let me just check my work schedule,” I said, as I pulled up my calendar. I had plenty of work to get done, but I didn’t have any scheduled client meetings. There was no reason I couldn’t extend my weekend trip an extra day. Other than the extra cost of the hotel, and the loss of my last PL day for the year, I thought sourly.

But of course, I didn’t say any of that. “I don’t have any meetings scheduled for Monday, Mr. Kasparian, so, yes, I can be there.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice warm again. “I appreciate your flexibility on such short notice. It really will help to move things along quickly, and I know that’s important to you.”

We set a time to meet and ended the call, after which I hunted down Dwayne and told him I would need to be out on Monday. Fortunately, he didn’t have any issue with it. When I had a few minutes at lunch time, I did a little research on the Flanders and Soto firm and on Mr. Kasparian, so I would recognize him on Monday. I didn’t like walking into meetings cold.

Lourdes asked me about him when we had dinner together at the end of the day. Katie had left us to our own devices, full of apologies. But she had a date with someone she’d been practically stalking, and I insisted she not throw away her shot just because I was going to be gone again for a whole three days.

“So, what did you think of this investigator?”

“He’s younger than I would have thought – graduated from Southwestern Law back in ‘16, so he’s probably early/mid thirties. But he’s got a fair bit of experience – looks like he’s done the investigations for over a hundred conservator and guardian petitions.”

“He has experience. Good.” She nodded approvingly. “But what did you think of him?”

“Seemed nice enough. Polite, anyhow.”

“Armenian?”

I snorted. “With that name? Oh, yeah.”

She nodded, then smiled. “Handsome men, Armenians.”

“Lourdes!” I laughed. “You’re as bad as Katie!”

“Now who’s being silly,” she teased, her smile just getting bigger. “No one is as bad as Katie!”

We cleaned up from dinner and she followed me into my room while I started packing – something I intended to do much more carefully than I had the prior week! But it felt like even the stupidest decisions were giving me trouble. Which shoes to bring. Whether to include an extra pair of dress pants.

After watching my indecision over a lightweight three-quarter sleeve blouse, Lourdes said, “what’s bothering you, Carmencita?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Mostly, I just don’t want to go back. I feel so at home here. By the end of the day Wednesday, it almost felt like the whole Buttonwillow trip was some crazy dream. This is what’s real.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” she said, reasonably. “Your life will still be here.”

“Thank God! But . . . when I’m up there, it’s harder to keep it all at a distance, you know what I mean?”

She sat on my bed, and patted the spot beside her. “Tell me.”

I tucked a leg under my butt and sat, trying to put it into words. “I’ve spent a lot of years, just trying to get on my feet, you know? To be able to look out for myself.”

She nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she reached out a hand and slowly rubbed my back, letting me know I should take my time.

“Anyhow . . . when I’m up there, it’s hard to hold on to the person I’ve become. To escape who I was. It’s hard to think of myself as ‘normal,’ when everyone around me thinks I’ve got three heads or something. I’ll be doing something, or talking to someone, and suddenly I’m strangling on old memories. Fighting old battles. Here, I feel safe.”

She thought about that for a moment before venturing a reply. “When your Abuela called last week, you didn’t hesitate to go. Why are you more afraid now? The other night, you said they mostly weren’t as bad as you thought they’d be.”

I didn’t have a good answer to that, and her question dogged me the rest of the evening. I worried it over as I brushed my teeth and moisturized, and I wrestled with it as I curled into my bed. It wasn’t until I was on the verge of sleep that the answer came to me. It had been staring me in the face since my last conversation with Ximo.

When I left for Buttonwillow a week ago, I thought they’d all rejected me, except Kelsey. That they hated me. I’d come to terms with that years before, and they were just figures from my past. Now, though . . . Kels, Innie, Ximo, Uncle Augi, even Abuela . . . they were making me care again.

No wonder I’m afraid.

~o~O~o~

I woke early — much earlier than I had planned. Bad dreams, though I couldn’t remember them at all. Still, there was no way I could go back to sleep, so I decided to make the best of it. Lourdes was still sleeping; Katie had apparently scored. Her bed was made and she hadn’t slept in it.

I wanted nothing more than to spend the day at home, relaxing, maybe hearing about Katie’s escapades when — as she inevitably would — she returned home with a tall tale and a sleepy, satisfied smile. I toyed with the idea of at least staying long enough to have a nice breakfast with Lourdes.

But I knew I was stalling. If I waited until Lourdes was up, I’d find excuses to delay the day away. I made myself some coffee, toasted an English Muffin, and left the house just after sunrise.

Traffic at 6:00 on a Saturday morning is practically a dream, so I made good time. I quickly passed by Disneyland and continued up the I-5. But close to Norwalk, my eye caught the sign for State Highway 42 and something clicked in my brain. I knew what had gotten me up so early.

I had another stop to make — one that I’d been putting off. I heard her voice, as clear as if she were sitting right beside me in the passenger seat. It’s time, child.

I took the exit.

Twenty minutes later, as I got close to my destination, my heart began to pound in my chest and I had to pull into the parking lot of a local KFC. The memory would not be denied.

“Carmen?” Dawn poked her head into the communal kitchen of the women’s shelter we both called home, where she found me furiously scrubbing non-existent dirt from the enameled cast iron sink. “Carmen?”

My shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

“Sister C wants to see you. She’s out back.”

I nodded without looking up. “’kay.”

Her footsteps receded and I leaned on the countertop, feeling unsteady, squeezing my eyes shut. Trying to find my courage. Trying to find a reason to even keep going. I knew what was coming.

But I couldn’t put it off. I gave the sink a last, futile wipe, carefully placed the sponge by the faucet, and headed for the enclosed open space at the rear of the building.

My feet slowed as I reached the small vegetable garden, a tiny bit of soil in an urban wasteland. I slowed some more, like I was trying to test Zeno’s Paradox. I could never actually arrive, because I’d have to get half way first, then half way from that point to where she knelt in the dirt. And half more, and half again, into infinity. My life would run its course, maybe, and I would never have to face her.

Just a plain, sturdy woman, sensibly dressed in well-worn jeans and a faded work shirt, holding a weeding tool in her calloused hand. The woman who had taken me in when I nearly collapsed at her door, exhausted, famished, wearing stolen clothes that hung limp on my wasted frame. She had saved me; now, I knew, she would have to be my judge.

She didn’t look up. After a moment, I knelt across from her, a row of young tomato plants between us.

She worked the tool into the hard earth beneath the low succulent weed, her other hand applying gentle upward pressure to the stem. Slowly, she managed to loosen the grip of the plant’s delicate root system, and she pulled it out of the ground in a smooth, practiced motion that left it almost intact. “They told me,” she said as she placed the uprooted weed onto the small pile she’d gathered.

My voice was barely audible. “Sí, Sister.”

Her tool found its way back into the ground, having targeted another weed for elimination. “You can’t stay. You know that.”

It was what I had expected. What I had been dreading, ever since Fatima had seen me in the bathroom that morning, her sad, tired eyes reflecting the shock and horror I remembered so well from the dark day Uncle Fernando had caught me. The day my world had ended.

The garden dissolved into the blur of my tears. “Please, Sister!” I choked out. “Please! You know how hard I work! I cook, I clean, I help with the books, and in the garden. I fix things. I . . . .” I ran out of words. I could think of no way to demonstrate that I was worthy of a place here. A place at her side.

“Child, I know that.” Her voice held heartbreak that might even have matched my own. “But by now all the women know they were deceived.”

I looked toward her with eyes that couldn’t see, but could still plead. “I wasn’t lying! Really! I know I look different, but I AM a woman! I’ve always been a woman!”

“I believe you. I don’t understand it, and I’m sure the Order wouldn’t understand it. But I’ve known you for a year now. I’ve seen you come back from horrible darkness. I have held you when you wept. I love you like you are my own child. . . . And I know that my child is a daughter.”

I could hear the tears in her voice, echoing my own. But she wasn’t finished, and I knew she wasn’t. I knew what she would say. What she would have to say.

“It doesn’t change anything, Carmen. I can deal with the Order; it’s not like they check in on my work here. Never mind about the rules. But what would you have me say to Alicia? Or Shawna? Or Sunhee? They have been traumatized. Raped. They come here, looking for a safe space. Safe from men. I can’t ask this of them, or of the ones who will come, when they have moved on.”

I bowed my head. “I can’t go back. I can’t.” My throat was raw, tight, and my voice barely rose above a whisper. “I almost died.”

“No, you can’t go back,” she agreed. “But you can’t stay, so . . . you have to go forward.”

“Forward.” I repeated the word without emotion, as if it had no meaning. I couldn’t imagine a “forward.”

Gently, even tenderly, she said, “It’s time, child. Your body is healed, and we have done for your spirit all that we can do. This house can never be more than a temporary refuge.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You have helped me long enough to know I don’t throw women back on the street,” she chided. “I have a friend, down in Irvine. A bed in a group home, for now. And work.”

“Work?”

“An opportunity, at least. My friend can get you an interview. Nothing you can’t handle.”

Just thinking about leaving the shelter caused me to shake, a hard tremor that started in my extremities and migrated quickly to my core. “Sister . . . I’m scared!”

She stood and stepped across the flower bed, looming over me. I had to blink back tears so I could see her clearly, her palms extended. I placed my hands in hers.

She raised me up, as she had so often before. “I know. I know. But you have to learn to trust yourself again. You’re stronger than you believe. Much stronger.”

Two hours later I was on a bus. I could still feel her dry kiss on my forehead, and hear her final benediction. “Ve con Dios . . . amada hija.”

Now, alone in my Kia in a fast food parking lot, I felt myself trembling again, like the aftershock that follows an earthquake. It took a few minutes of steady, deep breathing to regain my equilibrium enough to drive. Once I resumed my trip, though, it didn’t take long before I could smell the Pacific, invisible behind a slowly swirling bank of morning mist. Then, I was there.

I parked my car and walked across the manicured lawn, my footprints clear in the saturated grass. As always, I knew just where to find her, even if I had never been able to bring myself to come.

From the tall Holly Oak, a knight’s move. One row up, two over.

I hadn’t known about the inscription from 2 Timothy, so perfect that it caused my heart to lurch. The English translation was even more apt; every day she’d “poured herself out like a libation” for women who broke her heart, time and time and time again. Going back to the abusers. Going back to the drugs. She’d never stopped trying. Never stopped loving. Never — never once — been afraid to care.

I knelt by the stone, as I had so often knelt beside her, on late afternoons when she had taken time from the thousand things she had to do to keep the shelter running. Time she had spent weeding the garden. Finding stillness and quiet, even if only for a few minutes.

She had been one of the first, when COVID swept through Los Angeles. Not surprising, of course. Social distancing wasn’t so easy, when you’re running a shelter in the poorest part of a major city. And she would have been the last person on earth to give a thought to her own safety, when those in her care were suffering. It just wasn’t in her.

It had been months before I’d heard the news. Even after the worst had passed, even after the vaccines, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to come. I couldn’t imagine her this way.

“Estoy aquí, madre de mi corazon. I’m here.” The coastal fog muffled my voice; the words sounded dull and heavy, like moist soil hitting a casket. “I came. Even if I came too late.”

I recognized the weed by the base of the stone – the sort whose firm roots go down rather than out, burrowing deep into the soil. Down toward the place where she slept, and would always sleep. I reached out, curling my index finger around the stem, pressing my thumb, gently but firmly. With the ground softened by ocean mists, a slow, easy pull would do it.

My hand fell to my side. Not today.

I wasn’t much for saying prayers; my experience on the streets had burned all that out of me. But Sister Catalina had taught me a different way to pray. It’s time, child.

Indeed it was.

— To be continued

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