Carmen Morales is a twenty-nine-year-old transwoman who works for an insurance broker in Orange County while attending law school at night. Her grandmother – “Abuela” – summons her back to the Kern County community of Buttonwillow when her padre, who’d kicked her out eleven years before, has a stroke that leaves him in a coma.

Over the course of several weeks, Carmen shuttles back and forth between Orange County and Buttonwillow. She is appointed conservator for her padre and attempts to get his finances in order, as well as enroll him in insurance and benefit plans. Meanwhile, she reconnects with family and other people she grew up with. Some accept her, others don’t, but in every case the shadows of the past are always present.

The closest relationships Carmen re-establishes are with her brother Joaquim (“Ximo”) and her cousins Kelsey and Inés (“Innie”). Kelsey had been living with Dace Gutierrez, the older brother of Carmen’s first crush, Diego. The relationship is both physically and emotionally abusive, but despite Dace putting her in the hospital, Kelsey goes back to him. When Diego returns to Buttonwillow to get his belongings, he finds Kelsey unconscious and overdosed, and calls an ambulance.

In Chapter 26, Diego comes to terms with Carmen, Innie and Ximo after they are assured that Kelsey is out of danger and in stable condition. When they go back to Buttonwillow, however, they discover that Dace has slashed the tires of Carmen’s car and that he tried to find her at the motel where she had been staying. They call the sheriff’s office, then Carmen and Ximo go off to spend the night at a different motel.

For a refresher on Carmen’s family tree, see this post.

Chapter 27: Black Sheep

I slid into the passenger seat and handed Innie a to-go cup of industry-standard motel coffee. “Merry Christmas.”

“Awww. She likes me.” She took a sip, then dropped it into the console cup-holder. “Ready to roll?”

“I guess. I just know Kels is going to be difficult.”

“Nothing new there.” She pulled away from the curb and eased into the morning traffic. “Did Ximo get off all right?”

“Yeah, he did. A little sleepy, but with some coffee in him he was good to drive. He’s going to park right by the office when he gets in, so no-one will be able to mess with his truck while he’s working.”

“No word from the police, I assume?”

“Donaldson called last night just after we got to the motel. Monica confirmed that Dace was the guy who stopped by with the flowers, so they put out the APB. But I haven’t heard anything since.”

She grunted in response and reached for the coffee.

“So . . . how was your evening?”

She snorted coffee painfully, coughed, and shot me a glare. “Restful. What do you think?”

I chuckled at her reaction. “Serves you right, for suggesting that I was going to lure Diego back to my motel room!”

“Jesus, Carmen! I live with my parents, for fuck’s sake! You don’t think your dear Aunt Consolación would tolerate any hanky-panky in her house, do you?”

“Yeah, no. Not seeing that.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “What’s his plan, now? Is he going to go back to the house anyway?”

She nodded. “We swung by first thing. Dace wasn’t there, and there wasn’t any sign that he’d been home at any point last night. That doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t, but still. Diego decided he’d go ahead and start packing up his shit.”

“Risky.”

“I know. But I talked Jesus into giving him a hand, so he’s got someone who can keep an eye out while he takes care of business.”

I smiled. “Someone who happens to be real handy with a tire iron.”

“You’ve got the picture,” she agreed. “Oh, by the way – when Jesus heard about last night, he picked up your car and brought it to the place where he works. He said they’ve got some decent retreads his boss’ll let you have for cheap, but you’ll need to call him.”

“God, what a sweetheart!” I shook my head. “To think I avoided him, when we were kids.”

She shot me a startled glance. “You did? Why?”

“Tell you the truth, I was afraid he saw right through me.”

She snorted.

We sipped our coffees in silence for a while as she navigated city streets. Bakersfield isn’t large as cities go, but like most of SoCal it’s spread out, so going from the south end to the western edge takes a little time.

“Carmen . . . ?” The hospital was in sight, and Innie was stopped at a light, staring straight ahead.

I couldn’t see what had drawn her attention. “Yeah?”

“Diego asked me out tonight.”

Despite myself, my heart gave a little lurch. I’d been honest when I told Innie that I didn’t feel a spark for Diego any more; I was sure of it. Why does this sting? I told my heart to behave. Forcefully.

“So . . . what did you say?”

She took a deep breath. “I said yes, but . . . fuck! I don’t want to hurt you. Are you sure you’re not interested anymore?”

I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Innie. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she turned to face me, her expression uncharacteristically uncertain. Vulnerable.

Sell it, Carmen. “I’m sure. If you’re interested, go for it.”

Her smile was tentative. “I take back all the bad things I ever said about you.”

“Gee, thanks!”

“Even though every one of them was true.”

The car behind us honked, and she turned her attention back to driving.

The hospital was a lot busier than it had been the prior evening, but it felt more normal, too. The bureaucracy was normal as well, so it took a little time before we went through all the hoops and got shown into Kelsey’s room.

The last of the hurdles was at the nurse’s station, where a woman with sharp features and blue- gray hair stared at us from over her glasses. “You’re her cousins? Can I see some ID, please?”

I pulled mine out, but Innie frowned. “We already showed them at the front desk.”

The woman just held out her hand. “And?”

I stomped on Innie’s foot as I handed my ID over for a thorough examination.

Innie grudgingly did likewise.

When the woman was satisfied, she made a notation on her computer, then handed our ID’s back with a glare. “All right. She’s down the hall there in Room 112. That’s an individual room and it’s being monitored on CCTV. Understand?”

“Monitored?” I asked, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“Suicide watch protocols. You need to be very gentle with her, and if you aren’t we’ll yank you out so fast your heads will spin. Got it?”

I shared a shocked look with Innie. Suicide? Returning my attention to the woman at the desk, I said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The room was what I was coming to expect. Sterile and white. Clean, but harsh. Kels looked tiny in the bed, the stupid green hospital gown covering her tattooed shoulders and biceps, robbing her of the tough exterior she showed to the world. When she saw us, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if she was in pain, and she groaned. “Oh, fuck.”

I moved to the far side of the bed. Here we are, I thought, as Innie took the side closest to the door. Your very own Guardian Angels. And we can’t even kick your ass, much as we’d both like to.

Innie gave me a look that I took to mean, “you first.” So I just took Kelsey’s hand and said, “we’re here for you, girl. Nothing else.”

Innie rolled her eyes at me, but she took Kels’ other hand in both of hers.

Kelsey said nothing. The muscles her eyelids shut might have eased just a bit, but that was it. After a minute or two, tears began to leak through the barricade and trickle down her lower temples before slipping silently into her matted hair.

It was just a week earlier that I had stood by another hospital bed, watching padre weep as Abuela and I discussed the collapse of his marriage, twenty years earlier. Deep in a coma, it seemed that the only words that could reach him concerned his mistakes. His failures. God, Kels! Don’t become like that!!!

I felt my own vision blur and my fingers involuntarily clenched around my friend’s.

“What?” Kelsey had opened her eyes and was looking at me.

I blinked back tears and tried to understand what she was asking. I hadn’t said anything.

She tried again. “You’re, like, breaking my fingers here.”

I tried to ease my grip and found it surprisingly hard. “Sorry.”

“Go on. Say it.” Her voice sounded tired. Raw. “You know you’re going to.”

I just shook my head.

“Carmen’s a pussy,” Innie interjected. “I’ll say it. What the fuck, Kels?”

I shot her a warning look, but she ignored me. And, to be fair, she hadn’t raised her voice or used any sort of threatening tone; she sounded practically conversational.

“I fucked up,” Kelsey replied. “Happy?”

“It’s a good start.” Innie cocked her head. “Want to tell us what happened?”

“No.” Kelsey glared at her. “Want to tell me what I’m doing here?”

“You mean, apart from recovering from an overdose?”

“I know that,” Kels snapped. “I mean, how did I get here? Did the Pink Power Ranger over there” – she inclined her head to indicate she was talking about me – “just happen to dance in again, right in the nick of time?”

The bitterness in her voice made me wince. I opened my mouth to say something, but Innie gave me a warning look and a tiny shake of her head.

“It wasn’t either of us,” she said flatly.

“Then . . . .” Kelsey looked like she was trying to think through a hangover, which she probably was. “Then, who?”

“Who do you think?” Innie asked, stressing the pronoun.

“How should I know?” Kels said, annoyed.

“You live there,” Innie responded. “You should know better than we do.”

Kels shook her head.

I suddenly understood exactly what Innie was getting at; she was two steps ahead of me. But it was time to bring the point home. “Kelsey . . . why don’t you think it was Dace?”

Her head whipped around and she gave me a glare. “Because he –” She stopped herself, her mouth closing like a trap. Then she looked surly. “Because.”

“Did he make you take the drugs?” Innie asked bluntly.

“No!” Kelsey’s eyes blazed.

“Did he give them to you?” I asked more gently.

“No. No, I . . . I just took them. He wasn’t there.”

Innie pounced. “Do you know where he went?”

She shook her head. “He’s gone.”

“Gone, gone?” Innie pressed. “Or just ‘out on an errand’ gone?”

“Gone! You got what you wanted. Both of you! He’s gone, and . . . and . . . .” Kels’ anger collapsed, and she whimpered. “And I’ll never see him again!”

I knelt down so I would stop looming over her, then bent to kiss her hand. “Kelsey. Honey. I know you’re hurting right now, and we want to help. Please tell us what happened.”

She bit her lip, hesitating, looking at me through her tears. “I . . . he told me he would be deported if he got convicted.” Her voice was low. “You know, about the thing a couple weeks ago.” She stopped.

I squeezed her hand in encouragement.

“He said, my charges were the ones that mattered. And . . . and . . . .”

“He asked you to drop them?” How I kept myself from screaming out the question is beyond me, but I managed to keep my voice soft and encouraging.

Again she bit her lip, then nodded.

Innie asked, “Is that why he left? Because you said ‘no’?”

I could see it in Kelsey’s face. Innie’s guess was logical . . . but wrong.

I squeezed my own eyes shut for just long enough to send a prayer for patience and understanding to my personal saint. Then I spoke into the void of Kelsey’s silence. “You said ‘yes,’ didn’t you?”

She was crying again, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have. But . . . he said he wanted to get married. And we couldn’t – not if he was going to be deported! I couldn’t go off to someplace in Mexico, when papí is stuck here!”

My eyes flashed to Innie, and I could see the molten anger that was burning in my heart echoed in her eyes. That pinche cochino!

It took me a moment to get control of my rage. At least, enough control that I could ask the obvious question without sounding like I was about to start throwing things. “So, what happened? Why didn’t it work?”

“Because that dinky-dick DA had a nightstick up his ass. He said he wouldn’t drop the charges, and that the evidence was plenty good even if I wouldn’t testify against Dace. I frickin’ begged him!”

“I’m guessing Dace wasn’t happy,” Innie added, unnecessarily.

Kelsey closed her eyes again, but the tears kept coming. “He said . . . he said it was my fault. If I hadn't made such a big deal when he sent that pic to Carmen, or blown up at him when I got home, none of it would have happened.”

Innie was unable to hold it in a moment longer. “Bullshit!”

Kels shook her head. “No, he’s right. He’s right! It is my fault. I’m a complete fuck-up, just like . . . just like he . . . .” She stopped, swallowed, and shook her head again.

But I could finish the sentence, same as Innie clearly could. Just like he said.

“Me and papí,” Kels added. “Like father, like daughter. Complete fuck-ups.”

“Kelsey, listen to me,” I pleaded. “You are not a fuck-up. You aren’t. You’re our friend, and we love you. When did all this happen?”

She blinked. “I . . . what day is it?”

“Saturday morning.”

“Yesterday, then. Just yesterday.”

I tried to piece together the series of events. “What time did you see the prosecutor?”

“Right after lunch,” she replied. “One. One thirty?”

“And after that? What did you do?”

“That’s when I went home and talked to Dace. When we . . . when he left.”

“Do you remember when he left?”

She thought a moment, then shook her head. “I dunno. We talked for a while, then he packed up some shit in his truck and took off, and I . . . . That’s when I started drinking.”

“What happened then, Kels?”

Her eyes closed again, like she couldn’t watch my face when she answered my question. “I . . . I don’t remember real well. I’d been strong all this time, know what I mean? And I just couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep going. And there was the bottle, with pills, and I suddenly thought, I want to go to sleep and never wake up. So I took them.”

My heart broke. “Oh, Kelsey!”

“I know. Stupid, right?” she said through her tears. Through her eyes that would not open. Would not see her friends.

Innie said, “How many sleeping pills did you take, girl?”

I looked at her, puzzled, but before I could say anything, Kels said, “I don’t know. I just grabbed the bottle and took a bunch.”

“Did you buy them?”

Something about the question, or the sharpness in Innie’s tone, sounded warning bells in Kelsey’s head. She glared up at her and said, “Sure I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

Innie tried again. “Where did you get them?”

“Who cares? What difference does it make?”

“Kels,” I said through my tears, “they weren’t sleeping pills. You OD’d on fentanyl. No way you bought that shit.”

Kelsey turned pale, but then a look of pure stubbornness set on her face. “Shows what you know. I got them from a guy in Bakersfield, a long time ago. I heard he’s gone now.”

There was a knock on the door – which was open – and a woman in scrubs walked in. “Good morning, Kelsey. How are you feeling? Ready for some breakfast?”

Kelsey looked, if anything, relieved. Like a kid who’s been saved by the bell. “I’m okay. Still got a killer head, though. And some body aches.”

“Well, let me check your vitals and we’ll see about getting you something for the aches, okay?” Looking at Innie and I, she added, “Might be best for you two to scoot for a while.”

“Okay,” Innie said for both of us. “We’ll be back in a bit, Kels.”

She waved us out.

As soon as we were far enough away from the door that her voice wouldn’t carry, Innie swore. “¡Joder!”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

We turned a corner and walked toward the nurse’s station. The woman wasn’t there, but two other people were. One, I was pretty sure I’d seen before. The other one, I was positive.

“Officer Braddock!” I turned to the woman in the Sheriff’s uniform who was with him. “And . . . you interviewed Kelsey that night about the domestic violence incident, didn’t you?”

She nodded and extended a hand. “Ang Cooper.”

“Tell me you caught that son of a bitch,” Innie rapped out.

I saw Officer Cooper’s eyebrow go up and I quickly interjected, “This is another one of Kels’ cousins – Inés Morales.”

Officer Braddock nodded a greeting to Innie and said, “Not yet. But that’s one of the reasons we wanted to talk to Kelsey. She may have some idea of where he’s gone.”

“Good luck with that,” Innie replied sourly. “She’s covering for the cochino.”

Cooper shook her head. “Still?”

“Okay, wait.” My head was starting to spin. “It feels like we’re talking about different things. Didn’t you get a solid statement from Kelsey last time?”

“We did, and she signed it,” Cooper confirmed. “But yesterday she went to see the prosecutor and tried to get him to drop all the charges against Gutierrez. Is there some other way she’s covering for him?”

“Yeah.” Innie looked at me. “You agree?”

We hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, but I was sure she wasn’t just asking whether I agreed that Kelsey was covering for Dace. She also wanted to know whether I agreed that we should tell the law about it. While I didn’t want Kelsey to feel we had somehow betrayed her confidences, it was more important by far to take down the pendejo who had actually betrayed her. The sooner, the better.

I nodded. “When we talked to her just now, it seemed like she thought she was taking a bunch of sleeping pills last night. When I mentioned fentanyl, she suddenly changed her story and pretended she knew that’s what they were.”

Braddock cocked his head. “So she wasn’t trying to get high?”

“Not a chance,” I said emphatically. “Kelsey lost a friend to opioid addiction. She wouldn’t take that . . . ah . . . stuff. For sure, she wouldn’t take it to get high.”

“You think she was trying to kill herself.” Cooper made it a statement.

“She said so.” Innie looked like she wanted to heave. “On that, I believe her. And the hospital has her on suicide watch.”

“I think so, too,” I said heavily. “But I think she thought she was doing it with Nodoze or something. If those frickin’ pills were fentanyl, how’d she even make it to the hospital?”

Braddock shrugged. “We’re talking illegal pills here. They’re mostly inert fillers like baby powder; the actual amount of fentanyl in each pill can be anything from just a trace to a killer dose.”

“It would be helpful if we could analyze them,” Cooper added. “Maybe she left some.”

“There’s someone at the house now who could check,” Innie said.

“No!” Cooper was emphatic. “If they find something, they shouldn’t touch it! We’d want forensics to have a look.”

“I should have thought of that,” Innie confessed. “Do you want me to call him?”

Cooper shot her colleague a look and when he nodded his agreement, she said, “Yes, that would be helpful.”

Innie stepped aside and made a call to the house.

Braddock said, “I have at least some good news for you, Carmen. “Gutierrez’ lawyer dropped the evidence hold on your Ruger. I’d have brought it with me if I knew you were here, but you can pick it up any time.”

“He dropped it? Why?”

“Mostly because the lawyer had the chance to review the video more closely with the PD’s in-house experts. He had to back off from the claim that you had the gun in your hands before Gutierrez knocked you down. And even Gutierrez never claimed you fired more than the one shot that went into the ceiling. The actual gun doesn’t have evidentiary value to the case, given the charges.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’ll be glad to have it back,” I said gratefully. “Especially after last night.”

“So you’ll go retrieve it when you’re done here?” Braddock was stern; his views on the subject could not have been clearer if he’d painted them in neon.

“Yes, Officer,” I said meekly.

“Good!”

Cooper registered her agreement, then added, “Brian told me he’d offered to give you some time in the active scenarios sim?”

I nodded guiltily. “Yeah, he did mention that. I’ve just been so busy . . . .”

“I get it,” she said. “But I guarantee it’s worth your time, especially if you’re nervous about your ability to use your weapon safely in real-life situations.”

“Though honestly,” Braddock groused, “I worry more about the yahoos who have all the confidence in the world. They’re usually the ones who end up inadvertently shooting everyone but the criminal.”

Innie rejoined us. “I spoke with Diego at the house. He said he didn’t see anything, but he hadn’t been back in the bedroom or bathroom that Dace and Kels used. He’ll stay away from the area; says he doesn’t have anything back there anyway.”

Braddock thanked her and promised they’d send a forensics team to the house within a couple of hours.

The woman Innie and I had seen behind the desk when we’d first arrived finally made an appearance – I’d been surprised by how long she’d been absent. The look she gave our group was anything but friendly.

She addressed the officers first. “Can I help you?”

Braddock answered for both of them. “We’d like to see Kelsey Morales for a few moments concerning an ongoing criminal case.”

“No. The woman’s on suicide watch and these two –” She glared at Innie and I – “already got her riled up.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that the nurse who ended our conversation with Kelsey had come because our conversation was being monitored.

“Please,” Cooper tried. “We’ll only be a few minutes. It really is urgent.”

The nurse crossed her arms. “No.”

“There’s a man out there, right now,” Braddock said softly, pointing generally in the direction of outside. “A man who’s responsible for her being in your hospital today. Out there, on the run. We need her help to find him, before he hurts someone else.”

She glared at him for a full minute before relenting . . . a tiny bit. “I’ll ask her whether she’s willing to speak with you. But if she says ‘no,’ it’s ‘no.’”

Braddock nodded. “Understood.”

She strode away.

Innie looked at me. “Busted.”

“I guess so,” I agreed. “But I’m not sure there was anything we could have said that wouldn’t have made her cry.”

The nurse returned after a very short absence. “I’m sorry. She does not want to speak with anyone from law enforcement.” She gifted Innie and me with an icy stare. “You two should give her some time as well. She needs to rest right now.”

We were dismissed.

As we walked out to the parking lot, I wracked my brain for some way to get Kelsey to open up. She needed to stop protecting Dace, and start protecting herself. If she stuck to her story of buying fentanyl from “some guy” in Bakersfield, she might be the one facing charges. But her sense of her own self-worth had been so damaged, it was hard to see how that could be accomplished.

Wait. What if . . . .

As we hit the sidewalk I said, “Officer Braddock?”

“Hmm?”

I took a deep breath, struggling to overcome the reluctance that hit me like a rogue wave. “I know someone who might be able to talk Kelsey into helping. But he may need some convincing, and it might require pulling some official strings.”

~o~O~o~

He stopped dead and glared at me when they brought him into the room. “You!”

I rose. It felt like the right thing to do. Mostly, I tried to hide my shock. He was thin, all over. His face, his body, his silver hair. Even his skin. The veins stood out on the backs of his hands, deep purple.

“Uncle Fernando.”

“I haven’t been your uncle since the day Juan disowned you.”

My anger bloomed like a solar flare, just as it had when Aunt Maria tried the same logic on me. I desperately tried to beat it back, since I needed his help to reach Kels

But that didn’t mean I had to fight fair. “Kathy didn’t.”

“She didn’t know,” he snarled.

I returned his glare with a calm facade. “She does now.”

His eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie? You provided the email address yourself.”

“She hasn’t used . . . .” He stopped himself. “Nevermind. You’re lying.”

“Really?” I tried to see him with my mother’s eyes. She’d fallen in love with him the first time they met. But try as I might, my mental image of Uncle Fernando, seared into my brain eleven years before, would not be dislodged. “Would it help if I told you all the things she said about you?”

He looked furious, and when he spoke his voice was harsh. “You listen to me. I paid my debt to her, and I don’t owe you anything.”

I wanted to throw it back at him. What about my lost childhood? Hmmm? And, what was this about a debt to Kathy? But I needed to keep focused, so I shook my head. “I’m not here about that. Kelsey’s in trouble.”

His eyes narrowed, and flicked to the sheriffs who flanked me. “What kind of trouble?”

I looked at Officer Braddock. “Can I meet with him alone for a few minutes?”

Braddock said, “Not my call. Sorry.”

The Corrections Officer who was escorting Uncle Fernando said, “If we secure him to the seat, and if we keep him in visual from the other side of the glass, then yes. So long as it’s official business?” The question was aimed at Braddock.

“It is.”

I nodded. However unnecessary – I could not imagine this thin old man being a threat to me – I knew the rules would be the rules. “I’m sorry, Uncle Fernando.”

He made an impatient gesture. “Whatever. Tell me what happened!”

I remained quiet while the CO had him sit across the bare formica table from me and secured his leg to the chair somehow. Then the officer stepped outside the room, and the two sheriffs followed him.

I sat as well. “You know Kels has been living with Dace Gutierrez?”

He nodded, tense. “Yes. But she said they broke up.”

I decided not to beat around the bush. Besides, I wasn’t feeling particularly merciful, and a little shock might do the cause some good. “Did you know he’s been beating her up?”

Despite everything – despite the jump-suit and the silver hair and the age spots – he suddenly looked dangerous. His face went rigid and his hands gripped the arms of his chair like he wanted to rip them out. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly. “What did you say?”

“He’s been beating her. It was bad enough that she had to go to the ER twice. Maybe three times. She–”

“I will tear him apart with my own hands!!!” The cords of his neck stood out, tight as violin strings. He made a sudden motion and was brought up short by whatever was holding him to the chair. “I . . . need . . . to . . . .” He stopped, his teeth bared, caught between anger and frustration.

“You can’t,” I said bluntly.

His eyes squeezed shut – an expression that echoed Kelsey’s from earlier in the day. “God, haven’t I paid enough? What more do you want from me?”

I had spent enough time wrestling the ghosts of my own past to recognize that he was being pulled under by his own memories. But I told myself I had no more time for his demons than I had for my own. Sorry, wey. “Uncle Fernando . . . You can’t take revenge on Dace. But you can still help Kelsey. She needs you.”

He didn’t look up, and his response was bitter. “What can I do for her, stuck in this pinche cage?”

“You can talk to her.” There was no give in my voice. “Get her to cooperate with the police.”

His head came up with a snap, and he practically sneered, “Just why do you think I would do that?”

I doubted there were many people in prison who had a favorable view of the police, but I didn’t care. “Because your daughter tried to kill herself.”

All color drained from his face. “No!”

“Yes,” I snarled. “See, after her last visit with you, she went back to him. Convinced herself that it was her fault that cochino was beating her. Her fault he assaulted her. Her fault he was facing charges. And last night, she took a bunch of pills that he left there, hoping she wouldn’t wake up.”

“No! She wouldn’t!”

“Well, she did!” I leaned forward and let slip some of the deep anger I’d been harboring, unable to hold it in any longer. “Tell me, Uncle . . . why did my cousin value herself so cheaply?”

“What are you saying?”

“I talked to Kelsey last week, just after she came to see you. Do you have any idea how crushed she was? What did you say to her, that sent her running back to the pendejo who beat her?” My tone matched my glare.

He looked like I’d punched him in the solar plexus, hard. Good!

So I punched him again. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“I . . . I said . . . .” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “But, she knew . . . . Kelsey always knew I loved her!!!”

However angry I was at him for what he’d done to Kelsey — not just the prior week, but over a lifetime, to drive her insecurities so high — I knew it was time to dial it back. Not for his sake, but for hers. I needed his help, and this was the time to push for it.

But I discovered that my rage, once uncorked, was not so easily put back in a bottle. “Did she?” I accused. “Did she really? Because it sure didn’t sound that way to me, when I talked to her!”

“I was angry, that’s all! She said . . . she said she wouldn’t visit, not ever, unless I helped you. She loved you more!”

“You told her that?” It was all I could do not to come across the table at him.

“¡Dios! I knew no good would come of opening that can of worms! I should have told that pinche investigator what to do with his threats. You couldn’t let it go, could you? Either of you!”

A light dawned. “You gave Kasparian an email you knew Kathy wouldn’t check, didn’t you?”

He just glared at me silently, his eyes smoking.

“He told you why he needed it, right? Didn’t it occur to you that I’d keep trying to locate her if she didn’t sign off on the conservator petition?”

“How was I supposed to know you’d drag Kelsey into it?”

“You pinche pendejo, Kelsey’s my friend! That doesn’t mean she ‘loves me best,’ or that she doesn’t love you. Why would you say something like that? She lost everything when you were arrested. Did she blame you? Ignore you? Let you rot in this place?”

His anger – a false, defensive anger, born of a desperate need to deflect – began to crumble under my assault. I could see it in his face. In his eyes.

It only made me want to hit him harder. “No, she didn’t! She stood by you. Stayed close, so she could visit you. Made sure you didn’t feel like you’d been abandoned or forgotten. What more did you want from her?”

He buried his face in his hands, unable to take any more. “What have I done?”

It didn’t matter. His contrition couldn’t reach me. Something inside – something deep and dark and ugly – wanted to keep beating him. With words, with fists. With the table itself, if I only could. Far from pulling back, I was ramping up to a thunderous, murderous inferno. My vision narrowed and my hands clenched, shaking.

I realized with a shock that this was no longer just about Kelsey, nor was it about my mother or my padre or whatever weirdness lay between them and Uncle Fernando. I was a street person again, hungry, filthy, teetering on the precipice of insanity, screaming, Kill him! Destroy him! Make him fucking BEG!!!

Oh yes! That wounded, rejected, feral creature — no longer Carlos, not yet Carmen — would always see Fernando Morales as he had been that day, eleven years before. The day he stumbled on my secret. Juan must be told, he’d said. I had begged him not to. It was all his fault!

I tugged in desperation at the leash that had held my fury in check. Somehow, I had managed to move past padre’s actions, Abuela’s complicity, and Aunt Maria’s hostility. Now, I had even forgiven Diego’s betrayal and rejection. In comparison, I knew, Uncle Fernando had been a bit-player in my personal drama.

It didn’t matter.

My very soul shrieked its defiance at every effort to control my deadly, all-consuming wrath. No more! No more! He would not spare me then. Why should I spare him now?

But a beloved voice rose up in answer, calm, warm, and filled with understanding and tender love. Let it go, Carmen, the voice said. Let it go.

No! I can’t! Don’t ask that of me!

Through the red fog that had overtaken my vision, I became aware of a distant sound. An animal sound. I was panting like a frightened dog. Through a supreme effort of will, I took a shuddering, unsteady breath. Then another.

Let it go.

Sister Catalina was with me, even in death. She had rescued me from darkness and insanity. I would not — could not — deny her claim on my heart.

It’s time, child.

I bowed my head.

I don’t know how long it took to get my emotions back under some sort of control, but when I looked up Uncle Fernando was watching me with knowing, haunted eyes. “Are you back?”

I nodded shakily. After a moment, when I was sure I had command of my voice, I rasped, “Whatever you said to her, it’s not too late to fix it. She just needs to know that you love her. Nothing matters more than that.”

“But there is more,” he said, his voice raw and low. “Isn’t there?”

“Not today,” I said, thinking of the battle I’d just barely survived.

He nodded as if he understood where I had been, and knew the things I wasn’t discussing. But he said, “You want her to help the police.”

Oh. Right. “Yes. She’s trying to pretend she bought the pills, to shield Dace. But it was fentanyl. Buying’s a serious crime.”

“Fentanyl!” He made the word a curse, which . . . fucking fair enough.

“Yeah.”

His jaw clenched, then he nodded sharply. “Alright, niece. I’ll help. What do I need to do?”

— To be continued

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