When Fernando Morales finds his 17-year-old nephew Carlos in a dress, he decides his brother Juan, the boy’s father, must be told. Juan immediately disowns Carlos and kicks him out of the house, just weeks before high school graduation. Carlos hitchhikes to LA where he lives on the street for a year before getting into a women’s shelter as “Carmen.” Eleven years later, Carmen is summoned back to Buttonwillow by Juan and Fernando’s mother (“Abuela”), because Juan has had a stroke and is in a coma.

Over the course of several weeks, Carmen makes five trips to Buttonwillow, and is appointed as a temporary conservator for Juan. Meanwhile, she reconnects with family and other people she grew up with, including her brother Joaquim (“Ximo”) and her cousins Kelsey and Inés (“Innie”).

Carmen’s efforts to get her father covered by the state’s indigent health care insurance program are delayed because he refinanced his mortgage five years earlier and took out $150,000 in cash. While Carmen is able to show that Juan paid the money to an escrow fund so that his older brother Fernando could pay restitution to a bank that he robbed, she has been unable to establish that Fernando did not give him some form of IOU.

On a personal level, Carmen has been invited to dinner by Andar Kasparian, a Bakersfield attorney who did the investigation on Carmen’s conservatorship petition. Although she is attracted to him, she remains uncertain that the feeling is reciprocal, and she is adamant that she does not want to remain in Kern County any longer than necessary.

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

Chapter 32: Songs of Regret

I woke to the sound of birds and – better still – the smell of coffee. It took a minute to get oriented, since I was neither at home, nor in the motel that had cost me $65 dollars for the night. But I hadn’t felt like driving all the way back to south Bakersfield by the time we’d ended our talk.

Right. Uncle Augui’s house.

I opened my eyes, blinked away the cobwebs, then rolled so that I was sitting on the couch rather than sprawled along it. The sleep shirt I’d borrowed from Kels was a perfectly acceptable length on her 5’2” frame — maybe a little daring — but on me it was practically indecent.

Judging by the light, it was probably around 6:00 am. I followed my nose into the kitchen. Kels was there by herself, and it looked like she was already half a mug towards coherence.

“Morning,” I mumbled. They had an old Mr. Coffee thing dating from the last millennium, but it worked. Unlike a Keurig, that meant there was more coffee immediately available.

“Cups are in the cabinet above the microwave,” she said by way of greeting. Kels gets me.

I found a big earthenware mug and poured myself a solid fifteen ounces, doctored it with a little milk, then sat across from her. “Innie still sleeping?”

She grunted an affirmative. Innie hadn’t felt like heading off to her apartment either; she’d shared the queen bed in her (old) room with Kelsey.

Once our caffeine levels were adequate to support conversation, I topped up both our mugs, and at Kels’ suggestion we went back out to the patio. At this time of day, the temperature was perfect. Even a little cool. We sat side-by-side on the retaining wall.

“So . . . .” She paused and took another sip. “What do you really think about Innie and Diego?”

I smiled. “I’m thrilled for them both. Really.”

“Hmmmm.” She looked thoughtful, but stayed silent.

“I’m serious!”

“Oh, I believe you,” she said. “Just made me think – you must really be interested in this Kasparian guy. He finally got you to stop thinking about your old crush.”

“I don’t know about that,” I protested.

“That’s right, you probably don’t.” She smirked. “But I do.”

“Well . . . maybe,” I allowed. “On the other hand, you might have it backwards.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve dated guys before. Not a lot, but some. Nothing ever clicked.” I shrugged. “There were reasons — good ones like, you know, not feeling whole. But I think part of it was, I was still thinking about Diego. Maybe I needed to let him go, just stop with all that old pinche drama, before I could really see anyone else.”

“God,” she said, giving me the side eye. “Are you always this twisted?”

“Pretty much. . . . Anyhow, whether I’m right or you are, it was way past time I moved on. Diego’s not the same person he was back when we were young. Neither am I.”

She looked gloomy. “Sometimes I wish I was.”

I reached over and rubbed her back. “Why?”

“I was a better person, back in high school. Remember?”

“Different, for sure,” I said carefully. “But better? In what way?”

“Attitude, mostly. These last few years, I’ve kind of felt like the world was out to get me, know what I mean? You disappeared, then Innie and I stopped talking. The fam got distant. Then Papí was arrested, and we lost the house . . . I felt uprooted, rolling from one place to another like a pinche tumbleweed. I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Again I felt a pang. She’d needed me, too, and I’d held back. “I really am sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sayin’ this is all your fault or anything.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

“Thanks.” She drank a bit more coffee. When she spoke again, her voice was low. “You told us about how it was, when you were in LA. What you went through. You didn’t come out bitter, though. Not like me.” She gave me a look. “Was that the woman you told me about?”

“Sister Catalina? Yeah, mostly. For sure, I was a complete wreck when she took me in.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s what I’ve needed. What I’ve felt – a bit, anyway – being here.”

I thought about her interactions with Innie’s parents at dinner. “I can see that. I wasn’t surprised by how close you seemed with tia and Uncle Augui.” I smiled, and added, “But I bet you are.”

That got a snort. “Yeah. I just always thought of tia Consola as this . . . .” She paused, searching for the right words.

“Pious scold?” I offered.

“Yeah. That.” Oddly, she blushed, and sounded almost defensive when she added, “You know – Bible verses, like, all the time. And for sure, I’m no ‘Immaculate Kelsey!’ But . . . she’s actually been great.”

“I bet she did make you go to Church.”

“Nah.” She shrugged. “I volunteered. Felt like the least I could do for her.”

Whoa! “So . . . will you stay?”

“I think so. For a while, anyway. They’d really like me to – they’re already missing Innie, and she hasn’t even left the county!”

“But what do you want,” I pressed.

“I want . . . .” She paused, shook her head, and went back to sipping coffee, staring across the patio.

I squeezed her shoulder, waiting her out.

Eventually, she finished the thought. “I want to maybe find a bit of the person I was, before the frickin’ universe went and took a dump on me.”

I gave her a one-armed hug. “Good. I’m so glad.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You must be tired of ‘crunchy Kelsey’ at this point!”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“But you thought it.”

“Did not!”

She stuck her tongue out at me, but then sighed and leaned into my hug. “Maybe you didn’t. But I did.”

We sat like that for a while, just listening to the sounds of the world waking up. I thought about when we were kids. She had been funny, and fun, and adventurous.

“He won’t be back for hours. You know he won’t.”

I stared at the beautiful dress on the hanger, torn between fear and longing. “I dunno, Kels! S’pose he’s early?”

“I’ll think of something,” she said with the kind of self-assurance I could never muster. “Now come on – you know you’re dying to!”

It felt wrong, saying a prayer that I wouldn’t get caught doing something that was supposed to be evil and unnatural. But I couldn’t help it, even though Kels rolled her eyes when I crossed myself.

She held up the dress enticingly. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t just ‘pretty,’ it was gorgeous – ruby red satin, poofy capped sleeves, a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. A billowing skirt. Uncle Fernando would make sure that Kels would be just as pretty as Lupe, at her Quinceañera!

But there would be no party to celebrate my fifteenth birthday. It would just be another day for Carlos . . . and deep inside, I knew, Carmen would weep.

Somehow, Kels knew it, too.

I groaned, and stripped off my shirt.

“Better,” she grinned.

Once I was naked, she hung the dress back on the closet door and went to her bureau. “Gotta have the right undies,” she teased. Then she pulled out a pair of silky white stockings, a delicious pale pink bra- and panty set, and best of all, a snow-white full slip with delicate lace trim. I’d never in my life worn anything so feminine.

My hands trembled as I reached out to take them all.

She had read my heart, and helped me push through my fears. Was she so different, now?

I thought back to when I’d showed up at her house – the Gutierrez house! – six weeks before. She’d been wary. Defensive. Even distrustful, thinking I’d try to steal Dace away from her. “Crunchy Kelsey” wasn’t a bad description.

“Even badass ninja bitches have to take their armor off sometime,” I murmured into her hair.

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard, though.”

I wished I could extend the moment of quiet and healing, but I knew she had to get ready for work soon. And there was one more thing that I needed to talk to her about, though I knew it would disturb our peaceful moment. “Kels . . . I’ve got to try to see your Papí today. Do you think he’ll talk to me?”

I was a bit surprised that she didn’t bristle. She did sit up straight again, though, breaking contact. “Probably. But why do you need to?”

“You were right about padre helping to pay off the bank your Papí robbed. But now I need something from him in writing that says he didn’t give padre some sort of an IOU.”

“Yeah, like Papí’s got two pinche pesos to rub together.”

“I told them that. But they need some proof.”

“Fuckers.”

“Tell me about it,” I agreed. “But you think he’ll help me?”

“Probably. I went out to see him two days ago. No, make that three. Anyway . . . I told him all about what happened with Dace. The whole story – and fuck me, was that fun.” She shook her head in disgust. “But I also told him how you and Ximo stopped Dace from beating me up that time. And then, about the whole fentanyl thing. He knows he owes you one.”

“Next time, I’d really like it if the price for his cooperation didn’t involve you getting beat up or worse!”

“Yeah, well. Me, too. But get whatever mileage out of it you can.”

The sliding glass door opened and Jesus came out with his own cup of joe, wearing nothing but boxers and a tank top. He took one look at us and grinned.

“What?” I said.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to see your panties.”

Kelsey, damn her, busted a gut.

~o~O~o~

This time, we didn’t get a private room.

A long table stretched the length of the space. Inmates sat on one side, visitors on the other, separated by a barrier that ran down the table. Windows in the barrier allowed people to talk.

Uncle Fernando looked better than he had two weeks before. Stronger. More in control. He sat down across from me and folded his handcuffed hands on the table before him. “I’ve been expecting you.”

His greeting surprised me. “You have?”

“There were things we didn’t discuss last time. I assumed you’d be back.”

“I didn’t intend to.” I shook my head. “Maybe I’ve already looked under too many rocks; I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn any more family secrets.”

“But somehow, you couldn’t help yourself,” he said, with a little world-weary cynicism.

“No,” I said defensively. “It’s not that. I’ve been trying to get padre on the state’s default health insurance program. They found out about how he refinanced his mortgage to help pay your restitution order, and they need to make sure there’s no IOU out there.”

“That’s it?” He grinned like a wolf. “Then it’s easy: There’s no IOU. I told Juan not to do it.”

“So you won’t pay the money back?”

“I didn’t say that. I hope to, someday.” He raised his hands to stop me when I started to interrupt. “Relax; I know how pinche bureaucrats think. There’s no agreement. No contract. No legal obligation. I’ll pay Juan back if I can, when I can. But it’s entirely voluntary, so you don’t need to say anything about it.”

“Why did you tell him not to do it? Wouldn’t that have blown up your plea deal?”

His grin was back, more lupine than before. “Sounds like you’re looking for family secrets.”

I shrugged. “I suppose I was.”

He leaned back and looked at me carefully. “I owe you, for what you did for Kelsey.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” I retorted, surprised at my own harshness. Uncle Fernando didn’t seem to bring out my best.

“Of course you didn’t.” He looked amused. “You think I didn’t see the hate, when you were here last time? It doesn’t matter; I still owe you.”

I wanted to deny his accusation. I wanted to say I was just angry when we spoke. But I remembered too well how close those deep emotions had come to overwhelming me. In that moment, yeah . . . hate might not have been too strong a word.

Still, I didn’t want to collect any debts from him – or owe any, either. “I just need an affidavit.”

He waggled the fingers in his right hand dismissively. “That, I do for Juan. For you, though . . . I’ll let you decide. If you want, I’ll answer your questions. I know you have them. But if you’d rather not ‘look under any rocks,’ I’ll give you that instead. Easier for me. Probably easier for you. Your choice.”

Aren’t you the smooth-talking snake in the garden? Have an apple, Carmen!

Padre’s story, and momma’s – and mine, and Ximo’s, and Domingo’s – were all intertwined with the man sitting across the table. Did I want to know his side of it? Could I trust anything he said?

He simply watched me, saying nothing. To all appearances indifferent to my choice.

But I wasn’t indifferent. Much as I wanted to say, “fuck you, AND your secrets,” I did want to know. Deep inside, I needed to know.

“You told me to tell padre you were sorry for everything,” I said, my voice low. “What did you mean?”

His eyes seemed to mock me, wordlessly send the message, I knew you couldn’t resist. But then he nodded. “That’s . . . a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“So do I.” His tone was arid as a Mojave drought. He looked up, like he was gathering his thoughts. “I got along with Juan, when he was little. Not like the other boys. He was mamá’s favorite, but that didn’t bother me so much. I was itching to get out anyway. Soon as I graduated from high school, I was gone.”

“Fresno,” I said.

He nodded. “I went up there to do construction, but I had a lazy boss who was more than happy to let me do work that should have been his. By the time I was twenty, I was starting to put deals together. Getting work for the company. I moved up. Life was pretty good. Making money, meeting new people. Dating. Then . . . I met Brittany.”

Just the way he said her name sent a shiver through me. Those three syllables were so freighted with emotion for him that I could almost feel their weight.

“I met her at a pool hall in town, talking smack and taking all comers. I knew from the moment I saw her that I wanted nothing more in life than to be her man. Do you understand?”

I wanted to say “of course,” but his question wasn’t remotely casual or offhand. I thought carefully and said, “I haven’t ever felt that way about another person.”

He caught the nuance in my answer. “But you know what it is, to want something so much that your life is meaningless without it?”

I met his intense look with level eyes. “Yes.”

“Alright, then. That will help. So . . . we started seeing each other, and it wasn’t like anything else I’d ever experienced. She wanted me just as much as I wanted her . . . it was intoxicating. Overwhelming.”

“I’m guessing this is the point in the story where momma shows up.”

“So you have talked to her.”

I nodded.

“Then, yes. You are right. Brittany introduced me to her friends from school, including Kathy. It became very clear after a little while that Kathy was infatuated with me. We thought – Brittany and I – that it would pass. We talked about it. Laughed about it, even, though Brittany was worried for her. And that’s when I made my first mistake.”

“Padre.”

He nodded. “I thought I was so clever. Juan was off at college, becoming the good little egghead mamá always wanted. I figured a summer of real work, spending time with men who actually made things, would be the best thing in the world for him.”

“And you figured you could use him to solve your personal problem.” I kept my voice neutral. It didn’t actually feel like a crazy idea to me; I could see where it would have appealed to him.

But he said, “Not at first. I’d barely seen Juan since he was in his early teens, you know. I didn’t have any sense of who he’d become. But by the end of the summer . . . .” He shrugged. “He impressed me. Honestly, I was surprised.”

“Surprised?”

He nodded. “Yes. Given how mamá doted on him, I fully expected that he would have become a pinche little prick. I figured I’d have to knock him down a few pegs – get him to understand that the world doesn’t run by books. But he wasn’t like that at all. Had no trouble fitting in with the construction crews. Never pretended to know more than anyone. But . . . when I’d get him talking, sometimes? Yeah. He had his head screwed on straight.”

I shook my head. “You know, my old history teacher said the same sorts of things about padre. I just can’t connect the man you’re describing to the father I remember.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But take my word for it – he was something. He was going places; I could feel it. And I was sure Kathy would see what I’d seen. That the two of them would hit it off just like Brittany and I had, even though he was a couple years younger.”

“Why do that to padre, when you didn’t like Kathy?” I objected.

“I didn’t dislike Kathy! Not at all. She was beautiful, and smart in the way Juan was smart. Wild, of course, but I thought Juan could benefit from some of that. I might have loved her myself, but I couldn’t look at anyone but Brittany.”

It made sense. In theory, the two looked like a good match. “So, I know what happened next,” I said. “My parents meet at a party, and next thing you know, there’s an ‘oopsie.’”

My tone was maybe a bit sarcastic. He gave me a look and said, “You are bitter? Probably half the people on earth began life as mistakes.”

I blushed. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Do you know that Kathy’s parents wanted her to get an abortion, and she refused?” His tone was almost accusatory.

“Yes.” I shrugged. “There’ve been times when I wondered why she didn’t.”

“Well . . . Brittany probably had something to do with that. She had this romantic notion that we’d all live together, raise the kids as one, big, happy family. That somehow, we’d make it all work.” He shook his head. “It was crazy, and I told her it was crazy. But when she had an idea, there was never any talking her out of it. Besides . . . by then, she was already ill.”

“I heard about her pregnancy.” Awkwardly, I added, “I’m sorry. From what momma told me, it must have been awful.”

“It was . . . bad. Very bad. . . . I knew Juan quit school and they’d moved in with mamá, but I didn’t spare a lot of thought for that. I was too busy looking after Brittany, and then after Brittany and Kelsey. Of course I heard about it when you were born, but I didn’t think about it.” He closed his eyes in pain; the memories were clearly overwhelming him.

I found that I couldn’t help but feel his anguish, still searing after all these years. So I said nothing, and waited until he composed himself.

His eyes were red with unshed tears when he opened them again. “She made me promise, before she died. She trusted me to look after Kelsey, but she worried about your momma. She knew she was dying, and she was heartsick that we’d never all be together like she’d told Kathy we would be, the two of them and me and Juan, raising our one, big family. She made me promise I’d look after Kathy.”

“So that’s why you moved back to Buttonwillow?”

He nodded. “Yes. Kathy’d run off, but I had a good guess where she’d be. Augui came up because Juan was home watching you, and according to mamá, he’d have been less than useless anyway.”

“Drink?”

“I didn’t get the details. Just that it was bad. Anyhow . . . Kathy told me she absolutely wouldn’t go back. And that’s when I made my second mistake – I talked her out of it. I thought, if I went back too, and brought Kelsey, I might be able to make a difference. Playing God again, I guess. But all my business contacts were up north; I had to work my ass off to get reestablished in the lower valley. I didn’t have a whole lot of time for Kathy, or Juan, or their problems. They got married, and then Ximo was born . . . I thought things must be getting better. I was wrong.”

“I remember coming home from school with Kels, once,” I said slowly. “You were there, with momma . . . .”

He nodded. “Yes. She had a hard time, after Ximo was born. I’d come over sometimes. Let her vent a bit. That’s when I found out things were worse than I thought.”

“Padre wasn’t jealous?”

He looked surprised. “You heard about that, too? Juan was so besotted with Kathy, his blood would boil when men talked to her. It was the worst with Angel and Javier – there were times I thought he might be dangerous. But . . . Juan knew that I’d loved Brittany as much as he loved Kathy. He trusted me.”

It was an old memory, but remarkably clear. I could see the old living room furniture. Remember every detail of what Momma was wearing, and how relaxed she’d looked on the couch, her feet up and her hair down. Loose and sunny. I recalled the easy sound of their conversation – so different from the tone when my parents were talking.

I have to know.

“You said you would answer my questions. That you’d give me the truth.” I looked into his eyes. “Are you Domingo’s father?”

I expected a harsh and angry denial. I even thought he might call the guards and demand to be taken back to his cell. But his eyes, instead, were full of understanding . . . and sadness. “No. But I don’t blame you for asking. Your father asked me the same thing.”

A lightbulb went off. “Is that why he wrote Domingo out of his will? Because he thought you were his father?”

“I didn’t hear about that.” He looked concerned. “When did he write this will?”

“It was about a year after I left. Ten years ago.”

“Ah.” He looked relieved. “No, then. After Kathy left with Domingo, Juan convinced himself that he wasn’t the father, but . . . he thought it was either Angel or Javier. When he was really far gone, he’d even suspect Augui! I was usually able to talk him out of his foolishness, but he had a habit of coming back to it, especially when he’d drink too much.”

I was confused. “So, when did he ask you if you were Domingo’s father?”

“That was later. Much later. When I made my other big mistake.”

I shot him an inquisitive look, but didn’t say anything.

He shrugged. “I have always felt bad about what happened to Juan. If I hadn’t introduced him to Kathy, God knows what he might have done with his life. He was no farmer! I tried to help him, but . . . he wasn’t a businessman either. Still, now and then I would cut him in on a deal, for a small investment. Almost always, he ended up squandering the extra money.”

I nodded. “Vodka, to dull the pain.”

“Yes. Well . . . the last deal, I got him a bigger cut on a bigger deal involving a housing project out on the coast. Big development, in five phases – over a hundred million total revenue. I was the one who saw the opportunity, and put together the plan. I was the one who beat the bushes and got the investors on board. I hired the architects, then the contractors.” He shook his head. “This was the big one. When it was done, we’d have been rich. Even Juan, with his small investment, would have been able to pay off his house and have a decent amount put away for retirement.”

“I saw the court record,” I said, nodding. “It fell apart because of an Indian lands claim?”

“It was a stupid thing – just another bump in the road. They’d have cleared their objection if we’d come to an agreement with them. But one of the big investors got spooked and pulled out, and that started an avalanche.”

“Okay, but . . . I mean, investment contracts have to cover things like pre-construction expenses, right? Didn’t they bear the risk that the project might be stopped?”

“You sound like that pinche judge,” he said. “Yes, we had contracts. Of course there were contracts. But when one of the investors sells his rights to another investor, there’s nothing you can do about it. Not when the assignee is clean – on paper.”

“Sorry, you’ve lost me,” I confessed.

“The new investor was a front. Just a shell company that laundered gang money. The kind of people who don’t waste time filing lawsuits when they lose their shirts. Are you getting the picture now?”

I ignored his dig. “Did you think about telling the police? The FBI? Aren’t they always trying to roll up gang networks?”

“Listen to me, niece,” he hissed. “Life isn’t like what you learn in schools. Especially ‘law’ schools! Maybe I could trust the police, maybe I couldn’t. But could they protect Kelsey? And my mother? And your padre, and Ximo? No!” He shook his head, disgusted. “I lost it, when that judge started on me about legal mumbo jumbo. Put a cochino in a black robe, and you just end up with a stupid-looking cochino.”

I couldn’t argue with him. He had the experience, and I, clearly, didn’t. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’d have done anything to protect my family, too.”

He nodded, mollified.

“But I’m still confused . . . what does any of that have to do with padre thinking you might be Domingo’s father?”

“I’d made him a silent partner in the development, just as a courtesy. Always before, he’d just stayed out of the way and taken his money. But this time, when things went south, he decided he needed to find out what was going on. And he insisted on answers.” He stopped, clearly hesitating.

“Yeeees?”

“The contracts were clear about the pre-construction costs,” he said, sounding resigned. “That wasn’t what the investors were upset about – not even the dirty investors. I’d taken a portion of my fee when some of the prospective phase one buyers made their deposits, and the gang-linked investor insisted I pay it back to them. I didn’t have it.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars.” He shrugged. “Small potatoes, in the scale of the development. When it was done, my total fee would have been ten times that amount. But I didn’t have it anymore, and I couldn’t pay. I was getting pressure from the gang. Threats. It was going to start getting ugly fast.”

“That’s when you robbed the bank?”

He nodded. “Stupid, I know. Turns out I’m no better at robbing banks than I am at farming. The alternative looked worse, and even prison and bankruptcy beat having my family hurt.”

“So, you used the bank money to pay off the mob?”

“Yes. But then I got arrested. There was no way to fight the charges – I’d left all the evidence any prosecutor could want! But the PD thought he could get a lower sentence if I was able to offer full restitution. I had some money and the equity in my home, but not enough. I even broke down and asked mamá if she would take out a reverse mortgage. And that’s when Juan showed up, looking for answers.”

“You were still free at this point?”

“No, he saw me in jail. He’d gone through the financials – for the first time ever! – and wanted to know what had happened to my $300,000 fee. He wouldn’t drop it. He accused me of lining my own pockets while the development fizzled. Me! He pissed me off so bad that I told him the truth.”

He raised his hands, as if in apology. “My last mistake. I told him I’d paid for Domingo’s college.”

My eyes must have bugged out. “What!”

“Well, you know I’d kept in touch with Kathy. Of course, I’d never told him that. She’d written a few times about how Domingo desperately wanted to go to some fancy music school. Apparently he had the talent, but she didn’t have the money.”

“She asked you to pay for Domingo’s college? I mean, conservatory?”

“No! She would never have asked, and she would have said no if I’d offered. But there are ways to do these things. I set up an educational fund with a corporate sounding name. It provided a scholarship; neither of them know where the ‘charity’s’ money came from.”

“That’s . . . a lot of money.”

“Not so much, after I paid the taxes. Anyhow, I figured I’d have plenty.”

“But why?”

“It does sound crazy, doesn’t it?” He shook his head, almost as if puzzled by his own choices. “In hindsight, I can’t really blame Juan for thinking I must have been Domingo’s father, even though — at the time — I was even more furious when he threw that at me.”

“You were furious!”

He glowered at me. “What? You think your padre is the only one in the family with a temper? But he was usually smart enough not to blow up at me!”

I took a breath to cool my own jets. No, padre wasn’t the only one with a temper! “All right. I see that. But why drop six figures so a child you barely knew could go to some fancy school? Don’t tell me it's your love of the arts!”

“Of course not.” He flicked his fingers, dismissing the idea. “I owed him nothing. Less than nothing, since he would never have been born if I hadn’t convinced Kathy to go back to Juan, the first time she ran away.”

“You did it for Kathy.” I didn’t make it a question.

He nodded. “Think of all the ways I ruined her life. Fixing her up with Juan. Not saying anything when she stayed over after that party — even when I knew both of them had too much to drink. Talking her into going back to Juan, promising to help, then being too busy.”

I thought about his litany of errors, trying to be objective. Or at least, as objective as I could ever be on a subject that touched my very existence. “You make it sound like she didn’t make her own choices.”

“No. She made them, and she’s paid for them. She’s still paying. The guy she married is no prince. He could have put Domingo through that school, but he wouldn’t. Maybe he didn’t think music was worth it . . . But maybe he just didn’t think of Domingo as his son.”

I thought about what she’d said in her letter. He wanted a son of his own, to carry on his family name, but I was done having children. Yeah, it fit. Cochino.

Uncle Fernando continued in a quiet voice, his thoughts turned inward. “He couldn’t even see how much it meant to her. The idea that Domingo could become a musician, just like her father? I think she saw it as the one thing that would redeem the mess she’d made of her life.” Suddenly his eyes became sharp, focused entirely on me. “How could I do nothing, when I had a share of the fault? When I had promised Brittany, on her deathbed, that I would help her?”

I nodded, slowly. Yes, it sounded crazy, but I could hear the conviction in his voice, and see the raw emotion on his face. Still . . . Momma hadn’t been the only person affected by his mistakes. “You told padre all that?”

“No! I was angry — but I wasn’t that angry! I wouldn’t tell him where she was or what she was doing. I said nothing about her second husband. But I told him where the money had gone.”

“I can see why he asked if you were the father,” I said, trying to piece it all together. “Without the whole story, he couldn’t possibly have believed you when you denied it.”

“He did, though. Why, I don’t know. But he said he would never forgive me for hiding Kathy from him. Never.” He rested his hands back on the counter, palms down, like he was closing a book. “That’s the last time I ever spoke to him.”

“But he still paid?”

“Oh, yes. I told him not to. Said it was my choice to pay for Domingo’s school and it had nothing to do with him. The little bastard told me to shove it. ‘If he’s my son, he’s my responsibility. Mine! Not Yours!’”

Sure as heatstroke in summer, that sounded like padre.

~o~O~o~

I stood in the shade of the hotel’s car port, feeling overdressed and just a little overexposed. I’d gone with a deep red, feather-light skirt that hit just at the knee, over a black, tight-fitting body suit with a halter top. The ’fit was modest enough – very modest, by OC standards! – but I was still showing a lot more of my shoulders and back than I was used to doing. Enough that I was carrying a very light-weight cardigan with me. Temperatures tended to drop fast after sundown.

I was nervous and unsettled. My long discussion with Uncle Fernando had given me a lot of food for thought, but I’d been fretting about this dinner since Andar had asked me two weeks earlier.

It was no good telling myself that I hadn’t made a big deal about lunch, and this probably wouldn’t be a big deal either. Katie and Lourdes – and Innie and Kels – were right, and even I knew it, deep down. When he asked me if I was free for dinner, that meant it was a date. And I’d said yes, even though I had no interest in getting involved with someone in Kern County. Andar wasn’t just “someone.”

I pulled the compact out of my clutch and checked my makeup – something I almost never did anymore. More dramatic than I usually wore; understated by the standards of The Copper Door in Santa Ana. So . . . maybe? . . . about right?

Hair? Still looked okay. Full, dark, wavy. At least my hair was relatively low-maintenance.

Unlike the rest of me.

A slight breeze tugged at my skirt, causing it to swirl around my bare legs. Oddly, the sensation helped me to relax. I swear, if I live to be a hundred, I will never stop loving the way that feels.

A dark sedan turned into the driveway and silently rolled to where I was standing, its electric motor producing nothing more than a low hum. Andar got out and looked at me, his eyes warm in the evening sunlight. “You look . . . perfect.”

Perfect? Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I do?” Smooth, Carmen!

His smile caused matching dimples to appear on both cheeks. “You do. Especially since I was hoping . . . ?”

He let the sentence hang in the air, a teasing, tantalizing promise.

I drew him out. “You were hoping?”

“I thought maybe, after dinner – if you were up for it – we might go dancing?”

— To be continued

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.