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. She stays overnight with her cousin Kelsey and Kelsey’s boyfriend Dace. In the morning, she goes to the hospital, where she meets her Grandmother, her Aunt Maria, and her cousin Lupe. Abuela insists that she look after her father, because no-one in the family can deal with his insurance issues and Abuela herself is now blind. Carmen’s attempts to find out if her father has insurance are unsuccessful. She calls her uncle Augustin, who works with her father, but is unable to reach him, then visits her younger brother Joaquim and starts going through her father’s papers. She finds nothing, but has to stop her search before finishing it. At dinner, Kelsey accuses Carmen of going after Dace, and Carmen drives off into the foothills where she spends an uncomfortable night. In the morning, Kelsey apologizes, and Carmen continues searching through her father’s papers. While she does not find proof of insurance, she does find a copy of her father’s will, which includes a provision expressly disinheriting her.

Chapter 6: A Good Man and His Daughter

The knock on the door repeated and I hurried over, worried that it might be the police. If a neighbor had seen me slip in through the back window, I definitely didn’t want the police kicking down the door to apprehend a “burglar.”

But prudence made me throw the chain latch on before I opened the door, so it was through a four-inch gap that I found myself staring at my uncle Augustin and, to my even greater surprise, his daughter Inés. Both had changed far less than the other family members I’d bumped into. They’d both filled out a bit, which in my cousin’s case was a good thing.

Uncle Augustin looked good with salt-and-pepper hair, though his moustache was almost white. “Hello . . . niece.” He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Does it make sense to say it’s nice to meet you?”

I was at a loss for words. “What . . . I mean, how did you know . . . ?”

“‘Cuz we’re like a bunch of crows on a power line,” Innie said sourly. “Squawking at each other all freaking day. One of us hears something, the rest know within, like minutes.”

“Here, give me a second,” I said. I closed the door to unlatch the chain, then opened it back up. “Umm . . . c’mon in, I guess. I mean, it’s not like I live here, but . . . .” My voice tapered off. I felt stupid acting like I owned the place. Especially since I just discovered my dear Padre’s “specific desire and intent” that I never would.

“I am sure Juan would let us in,” my uncle said gravely. I wasn’t certain he was kidding.

“Of course.”

They trooped in and I closed the door behind them.

“Keeping it a bit warm in here,” he said conversationally.

“Yeah, dark too,” I answered as I led them toward the kitchen. “I’m not sure what Padre’s financial situation is, or how he’s paying for stuff. I’m trying not to run up the electric bill.”

He grunted an acknowledgement. When we got to the kitchen, where the sunlight streamed through the big front-facing window, he stopped me. “Here. Let me get a look at you.” Putting heavily calloused hands on my bare shoulders, he gave my face a searching examination. For a nice change, he didn’t look lower. “Ah, child,” he said softly. “I am so sorry.”

I quirked a smile. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look like a street person,” Innie snarked. “They don’t believe in showers, down in LA?”

She meant to be funny, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth to say something rude, but my Uncle stopped me.

“You look worn,” my uncle told me. “And there’s more pain in those eyes than I’d wish on any relation.” Looking at Innie, he added, “Enough, daughter.”

“I’m . . . .” My throat was suddenly dry, and my voice a bit husky. Kindness? I hadn’t expected kindness! I tried again. “I’m fine. Really, Uncle Augi.”

He gave my shoulders a squeeze and released them, looking sad. “Well . . . it’s good to see you again. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance.”

I cleared my throat and asked if I could get them anything. Before long we were out on the back patio – a grandiose name for a slab of concrete behind the garage, where Padre had some cheap outdoor furniture. I was eager to get out of the miasma of the indoors. Mercifully the patio was still in the shadow of the house, and we each had a tall glass of water. Padre can spring for that, at least!

“I assume Kelsey told you where to find me?” I asked once we were seated.

“Yeah.” Innie made a face. “I got a bit of your story out of her, too. Shit, she could have told me you were okay. That she’d stayed in touch. After you disappeared, we all assumed the worst.”

“Not her fault, really. I made her swear not to tell anyone.”

“But why?” Uncle Augustin asked. “You must have known we would worry.”

I shook my head, trying to come up with a response that didn’t sound like an accusation. “I just assumed all of you were ashamed of me. It took me almost a year before I could even bring myself to contact Kelsey.”

“Kelsey . . . but not me?” Innie challenged. “I frickin’ went to the mat for you!”

Uncle Augustin tried to intervene, but my fiery cousin waved him down. “No, Poppa! I need to say this! In school, after school, around town . . . I always defended you. God, remember when that asswipe and his friends were pounding on you? Who charged in to stop them?”

“Innie —“

“Say it! Say it, ‘Carmen!’”

“You did.”

“That’s right. Me. And I never once bitched at you for all the shit I got about it, either. Because I was your cousin. Because I was your friend. And that’s what friends do, isn’t it?” She slammed her plastic cup on the side table, and the water jumped and spilled on her hand, dripping slowly down to evaporate on the warm cement.

Uncle Augustin was shocked by her vehemence, and for a moment there was silence between us. But Innie’s glare was loud and eloquent.

I had to say something, but I knew she wasn’t going to like it. “Do you remember how you found out . . . you know. That I’d been kicked out? And why?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You weren’t at graduation and I didn’t see you around. So I asked Kels if she’d seen you. She, like, pulled me into her room and started cryin’ and goin’ on about how you always thought you were a girl, and Uncle Fernando found out and called your dad. And how he’d kicked you out of the house and you’d disappeared. She was completely freaked.”

I nodded. “Do you remember what your reaction was, when she told you?”

“I . . . .” She snapped her mouth closed, suddenly realizing what she’d been about to say. “Shit. Fine. I was pissed, okay? I get mad, you know that. It doesn’t mean . . . .” She stopped again, then said, “Oh, fuck. She told you everything, didn’t she? Everything I said?”

“I don’t know about everything. She told me enough.”

“God damn that bitch!”

“Inés!” Easygoing as Uncle Augustin usually was, she had pushed him too far. “For once, stick your anger in a bottle! You blow up at people and act wounded when there are consequences.” Pointedly turning back to me, he said, “I would like to know what happened to you, Carmen. How you ended up down south. How you . . . how you survived. You didn’t know anyone. No family.”

I opened my mouth to say something bland, to turn aside the inquiry. However well-intentioned, there were doors I didn’t want to . . . .

The man had gotten a call while he was eating, sitting at the picnic table at the edge of the pool of lights surrounding the rest stop. He stayed there for a bit, talking, then pulled his beefy legs out from under the table and wandered back toward his truck, talking the whole while. From the deep shadows I watched him open the tall door and heave himself into the cab, still jabbering away.

I don’t know how much time passed. Was it five minutes? Ten? Surely he’d decided he wasn’t going to eat the rest of the burger. I waited another minute. Maybe it was two? Then I slid forward through the shadows, moving closer to my target.

I could afford a burger. I just couldn’t afford very many. I’d had a couple bucks in my wallet when Padre kicked me out, and the one time Kels had spotted me at school she’d put a twenty in my palm and closed my fingers over it. “Hang on,” she’d said. “It’ll blow over. You know it will.”

But it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t. School was now officially over, and I was down to that $20 bill. Come daylight, I’d have to decide where to go. Bakersfield was the obvious choice, but it might be too close. It WAS too close. I didn’t want to see any of these people again. So, north, toward the Bay Area? Lots of queer people in San Francisco, if the news was anything to go by.

I snatched the remains of the burger and slipped back towards the shadows.

He moved fast for his bulk, and just my luck he’d been carrying a flashlight on his belt. “What the fuck’r you doing, kid?”

I tried to run, but exhaustion, hunger and worry did a number on my reflexes. I tripped on the curb and went sprawling, and he planted a heavy knee on my back. “You owe me a burger, ya little shit!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t know it was yours,” I lied. Or, sort of lied. I mean, I DID think he’d abandoned it. Hadn’t I waited, like, forever?

“Don’t care none. Five ninety-nine, right now, or I’ll take it outta yer scrawny, thievin’ hide.”

“Yessir!” I choked, desperate to have him off my back. “I’ve got it.”

“Where?”

I gasped out, “Wallet.”

“Don’t see no wallet, girl.”

I was too frightened at the time to pick up on the fact that this complete stranger thought I was female. I just managed to maneuver a hand into my front pocket and extract the fabric wallet I kept there. “In the zipper pocket.”

His weight shifted as he retrieved it, and through the pounding of my overworked heart I heard him unzip it. “Looky here — a twenty. Shoulda bought your own, dumbass.”

Face in the dirt, I couldn’t even nod.

“I ain’t a change machine,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” I said. The desperation of my situation hit me with full force. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Conversely, I wanted to walk away with pride, telling him to keep the change and choke on it. But all of those options were luxuries and I was now, officially, broke. “Maybe I could catch a ride?”

“Carmen?” Uncle Augustin’s soft voice called me back from the brink.

Innie was more direct. “You still with us, Chica?”

I shook my head, feeling dazed. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t go there. Not now. Maybe not ever. It started bad, it got worse. I was on the street, okay? You don’t come back from that. You just don’t. Not without help. But I finally got some, and . . . I scratched and clawed my way back.” I sounded hysterical, even to my own ears, and I couldn’t stop myself from babbling. “And now, see, now things are good. I’ve got a good job.” Looking down at the breasts I thanked God for every day, I said, “Health care, you know? Like I always needed. A place to live. It’s tight, but my roommates are the best. I got a bachelor’s degree and I’m going to law school. Law school!” Hot tears burned my eyes, but I refused to release them. “I was finally getting it all together! Finally! And then . . . And now . . . .”

“And now, we’ve pulled you back.” Uncle Augustin’s eyes were filled with understanding, and it killed me. I had no defense to kindness.

My shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

“College? Law school? Jeez, Kels didn’t say anything about that . . . .” Shadows seemed to gather around Innie’s so-very-readable face. “What are you even doing, slumming around this dump?”

Uncle Augustin rose suddenly, pulled a heavy key ring from his pocket, and tossed it to his surprised daughter. “Go somewhere and get us all some food.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go. I need to talk to your cousin . . . and you’re just making it harder.”

I tried to intervene. “Uncle Augi, it’s okay. I get it.”

“Just chill, Poppa. Jeez!”

“It’s not okay,” he responded, unwilling to be deterred. “Inés . . . just, take some time. Please.”

She snatched up the keys and rocketed to her feet. “Fine. Will Mickey D’s do? It’s not much, but their arches are gold.”

“It’s fine,” he said, refusing to take the bait.

As she pulled the slider open, I managed to get up and put a hand on her arm. “Innie?”

She paused, but didn't look back. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“Fuckin’ A, you should have.” Her voice was low and intense, her volcanic temper barely leashed.

I let her go. The slider closed with a whack.

That could have gone better.

I felt my uncle’s arm around my shoulder, and to my surprise found myself leaning into it. “I missed you, child.”

“You did?” I managed to keep sniffles from my voice, but I couldn’t keep the tired from leaching out.

“Of course I did.” He sounded wistful. “Emilina grew up so fast, and before I knew it, she’d gone away with her pilot. But I had Innie, and you, and that crazy Kelsey, like the three musketeers. All born within a few months of each other. Well, Lupe, too, but she wasn’t part of your crew. I thought you three would be friends forever.”

“I guess I did, too. But I screwed that up good, didn’t I?”

“Innie’s not close to Kelsey anymore, either. And she’s angry all the time, so it’s not you.” He gave my shoulder a pat and released me. “Come on. Let’s sit.”

So we sat back down and I cradled my water in both hands, trying to think of what to say. Uncle Augi seemed willing to let me lead the conversation. Best get back to work, then. “What can you tell me about Padre?”

“Probably no more than you know. He collapsed. I was working in another section altogether; by the time someone found me, they’d already taken him off in an ambulance.” He shrugged, uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

I took a sip of my water while I thought of something safe to say. “He’s awfully young to just collapse.”

He looked at his hands, like they might have answers. Finally, he said, “I’ve been expecting it.”

“What?”

“When I look around this place, I see too many people just like your padre.” He looked up, his eyes troubled. “Beaten down. Disappointed. Before you know it, they’re gone in drink, or drugs. It’s the worst for the smart ones. The talented ones. If they stay here, they rot. Life passes them by, and they look back with nothing but regret.”

“You’re worried about Innie,” I said, immediately understanding the undercurrent of his words.

“Mostly,” he agreed, nodding sadly. “But she’s not alone. It’s true of a lot of your cousins. The town’s shrinking. Young people are going off to where the jobs are – wherever that is – and it seems like there’s always less and less here, for the ones who stay.”

“That’s why you think she’s angry all the time?”

“Who knows? Probably. Half the men around are cousins, and she knows the other half too well to like them much. Plus, she’s over at Terex Farms, doing shipping. We’d have called her a secretary, back when. If they start getting serious about water usage, pistachio farming’s done. She’s smart enough to know it.”

“But she won’t leave.”

“It’s hard, Carmen. To leave everything you know. All of your family, when family’s all you’ve ever known.” He stopped, a look of pain crossing his face. “I’m sorry – you don’t need anyone to tell you that.”

I shrugged, acknowledging the point.

Cocking his head slightly and giving me a speculative look, he asked, “Would you have gone, if your padre hadn’t kicked you out?”

“I wanted to. And we used to talk about it. All of us did. Usually when the elders weren’t around! But . . . if I’m honest about it, I hadn’t made any plans. Done any research. I guess I thought I’d figure it all out after I graduated from high school.”

He nodded, as if I’d confirmed something he’d suspected. “Yeah, that’s how it starts. Then one day you wake up, and you’re in your thirties. Maybe you're married. Maybe you have kids. And then it’s not so easy, getting out.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“No.” He smiled, lighting up his whole face. “I’m not smart, like Juan, or talented, like Fernando. Dios, Fernando could sell locusts to a farmer! I love this place, and I love working the land. Marrying, settling down, having a family of my own . . . it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He chuckled at a memory. “As you might imagine, I was a huge disappointment to your Abuela.”

“Somehow, I think we’re all in that boat,” I said, remembering the previous day’s interaction with my irascible grandmother.

“One way or another,” he agreed. “She will go to her grave thinking we all should have been doctors, or nuclear physicists, or something.” The smile left his face. “I talked to her about you, after . . . well, you know. After you left.”

I actually didn’t know how much of the story had spread, or how far. I didn’t say anything, but my eyes asked the question.

“I got it out of Innie, as you probably guessed. Of course I missed you at graduation, and Juan hadn’t been there, either. I asked him about it when I saw him at work, and the little pendejo – sorry, but he was! – just turned his back on me and walked away.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve called him worse, in my own mind.”

“Yeah, well. Me, too, but Consola has taught me to keep my ruder comments to myself. She’s having a harder time with our daughter!”

“I’ve noticed. Anyhow . . . what did Innie tell you?”

“All I could get out of her was that you’d gotten into some kind of trouble with Kelsey, and Juan had disowned you. She wouldn’t tell me what the trouble was, and when I called Fernando he said it was Juan’s business, not his – or mine. So, I talked to Mamá. She said you’d been to see her, to ask her to help with Juan.”

She opened the door, fixing me with her usual bird-of-prey stare. “No deberías estar estudiando?”

“Abuela . . . necesito tu ayuda!”

In the fading light of the late June evening, she took in my tear-filled face, my disheveled hair. Probably, being Abuela, she even noticed that my hurried efforts to remove all touches of makeup had been less than perfect. Her expression didn’t change. “Bien. Podrías entrar.” Almost grudgingly, she stood aside, allowing me to pass her.

Uncle Augi was still talking, shaking his head in disbelief. “How you thought you could get her on your side, without telling the whole story . . . .”

“Yeah, well . . . I was kind of desperate.”

“I guess so. Anyhow, she said she got you to admit that Uncle Fernando had caught you wearing Kelsey’s clothes, and that you’d told her you thought you were a girl. She didn’t have anything to say about that.”

“Really? She didn’t have anything to say to me about it either, but I thought she was just too surprised by it to have a come-back ready.”

“Your Abuela is harder to surprise than you might think,” Uncle Augustin replied. “But she told me she decided not to interfere with whatever Juan decided to do.”

I willed him to say more, but he was just looking down, apparently lost in his own memories. So I asked the question that had burned in me, ever since that night. “Did she say why? Was it just because Padre was her favorite? The smart one who could do no wrong?”

That caused him to look up, surprised. “You know your Abuela better than that,” he chided. “When you’re smart, like you and your padre, she just expects more. And if you think she was satisfied with Juan’s decisions in life . . . .” He didn’t complete the sentence, but he didn’t have to, either.

“Yeah, I guess I knew that,” I admitted. “I suppose I just liked that explanation better than thinking she agreed with Padre.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was hard. “That she was as disgusted as he was.”

He leaned forward, as if to emphasize his words. “I don’t really know what goes on inside her head, Carmen. She thinks circles around me and always has. All she told me was, ‘Carlos will have to make his own way.’ But . . . .” He paused, as if trying to come up with the right words.

When the silence stretched, I prodded. I need to know! “But?”

He raised his hands, palms up, as if acknowledging both my need and his own uncertainty. “I think she knew there was nothing for you here. Not as a man, but even less as a woman, if that’s how you decided to live.” When I didn’t meet his eyes or say anything, he asked, softly, “Was she wrong?”

I looked down at my rumpled skirt and considered his question. I thought of the family, and the reactions I’d had since I’d made my reappearance. As the minutes ticked silently by, I thought of the cotton fields and the fast food and the handful of bars, the boredom and the dust. I thought of the life I’d managed to build in Orange County once I got out of LA. Of my boss, my classmates, my roommates . . . people who accepted me as I was. Who rejoiced in my successes, rather than seeing them only through the lens of their own disappointments. I’d paid one hell of a price, but . . . .

“No.”

He sighed. “I didn’t think so. Maybe I should have found a way to push Innie out, too. Nothing quite so harsh, or final. But something.”

I looked up again to see the lines of regret written on a face too honest for secrets. “Why didn’t you?”

“It was so hard, letting Emelina go. We almost never get to see our grandchildren. And, well, Consola . . . .” He stopped, unable to go on.

But I knew my aunt, and could fill in the rest. I’m sure she had been adamant that her remaining daughter stay home. “I understand.”

He nodded, then decided it was past time to change the subject. Suddenly brisk, he said, “Anyhow . . . Innie told me you called yesterday, and I’m sure you weren’t looking to hear an old man’s worries. What can I do, that will allow you to get back to that life you’ve made?”

“Please, Uncle Augi! You’re not old, and I do care!”

I would have gone on, but he stopped me from saying comforting things I might not mean. “Better if you don’t. I’m glad I got to see you, but I’m sorry Mamá dragged you back here. You need to let us go. All of us, understand?”

“If the rest of the family was like you, I wouldn’t have needed to leave!”

He nodded. “Maybe. But think what a tragedy that would have been. So again: what can I do?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, here’s the thing. Abuela needs me to sort out Padre’s insurance situation. He didn’t have a card in his wallet, and no-one seems to know what coverage he’s got. I tried calling Kern Cotton, but the office is closed for the weekend. So now I’ve been going through Padre’s papers, trying to find something. I thought you might actually know?”

“I’ve still got Kaiser; I assume Juan does, too.” He thought for a minute. “A few years ago, though, I remember the company offered everyone an incentive payment. Give up Kaiser, and go on the exchange. You know, Obamacare, or whatever we call it in California. Anyway, everyone thought it was a joke.”

I shook my head. “They paid people more money to give up their healthcare? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Didn’t sound right to us, either. I don’t know anyone who took the deal. But you were supposed to give the company something about the health plan you bought with the extra money, so I guess maybe it was legit. We just didn’t trust it.”

I smiled internally. Few people on God’s green earth are less inclined to trust The Powers That Be than farmers. “Did you talk to Padre about it?”

“We don’t talk all that much. He’s . . . .” He paused, gathering his thoughts, then shook his head sadly. “He’s not the man he was. It’s like every year, he just gets angrier. More bitter. We used to be pretty close. Not like him and Fernando; they were always up to one thing or another. But, God, he wanted out, even as a teenager. And then . . . .” he stopped, as if suddenly aware of what he was about to say.

I finished it for him. “And then I came along.”

“Please! I am not suggesting it was your fault! He was twenty – plenty old enough to know better. And Fernando would have been twenty-five; he could have looked out for your padre when he lured him up to Fresno with a promise of good work for the summer. But all his ambition, all his book smarts . . . none of it prepared Juan for your momma.”

“I don’t remember her very well.” My voice was tight, and I didn’t express the thought that immediately followed my words: Except when I do.

“She was beautiful, your Momma,” he sighed. “And about as out of place in Buttonwillow as . . . I don’t know. An opera singer, or a Grand Duchess, or something. Delicate features, pale skin, platinum blonde hair. Eyes like ice. She wanted to be a fashion designer, of all things. She could speak French! Did you know that?”

“Not much call for that, here.”

“No. And of course, by the time she came, she was ready to pop you out, and your Padre was desperate. He dropped out of college and grabbed the first job he could get. Had to live with Mamá for a while; she wouldn’t co-sign a mortgage until they were married.”

I didn’t remember much about the arguments. Not the words, anyway. It had been the backdrop of my childhood, no more remarkable than the heavy cough of tractors or the smell of araricides. After a while, you learn when you need to pay attention, and ignore the rest. Still, I’d had a lot of years to think it over, and a lot of weepy, sleepless nights while I did. “They hated it. Both of them.”

“And, eventually, each other,” he agreed sadly.

She knelt down, bringing her face to my eye level, her spun gold hair held back in a severe headscarf. “You be good today, Carlos, you hear?”

I couldn’t understand why she was making a big deal of what was, for me, just another school day. “Yes, Momma.”

“And make sure Joaquim gets on the bus.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know, Momma!”

“I need you to look after him . . . after school.”

Her eyes and voice were so intense, it scared me. “What’s wrong, Momma?”

She rose. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Just be good to your brother, okay? Take care of him.”

Joaquim came dashing out from the bathroom, pulling up his shorts. “Ready, Mummy!” He loved kindergarten.

Joaquim got a hug and a kiss, then she shoo’d us out. “Alright, you two – there’s the bus. Don’t be late.”

I felt her eyes follow us as we rushed down the sidewalk, and that sixth sense left me worried, like I’d missed something important. I hadn’t, not really.

But I would.

“She didn’t even say goodbye.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but somehow the whisper escaped, the sour truth as hard to suppress as a beery belch after a bender.

“She didn’t tell anyone.” Uncle Augustin’s voice was gentle. “I think she was afraid we would stop her.”

“We?”

He shrugged. “We, yes. The family. Your father, my brothers. Me. Your Abuela, most of all. We would have tried, too. I know, because we did it before.”

“What? I never heard that!”

“You were little. One, maybe two. She left town, abandoned you and your Padre. Someone must have given her a ride, since Juan had the only car.” Again he looked down at his hands. “She’d gone back up to the Bay Area, so Fernando didn’t have any trouble tracking her down. He and I went north to bring her back.”

“You abducted her?!” Gentle Uncle Augustin?

“Nothing so dramatic. We just laid out the consequences of abandoning you. Fernando persuaded her that things would be better. That Juan would be better.”

“And he could ‘sell locusts to farmers.’” I got the picture. “I don’t suppose Padre actually promised to be better?”

“Oh, I’m sure he did. I’m even sure he meant it. But good intentions couldn’t make a bad situation better. They got back together, and they finally had a wedding, and they even managed to give you a pair of brothers. But they still had no business being together, or being here.”

“And you still would have tried to stop her from leaving?”

“Yes. I know I would have; I expect the rest would have, too. For your sake, and your brothers’. Even for Juan’s, though we could all see how they were grinding each other down.” He shrugged apologetically. “Today, I think it would have been a mistake. Maybe I’m wiser now, but who knows? There weren’t any good answers.”

Just at that moment, the slider opened and Innie looked at each of us, a bag and a drink caddie precariously held together in her left hand. “Jesus! I got Big Macs, but you two look like you need fucking happy meals!”

— To be continued

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