Carmen Morales is a twenty-nine-year-old transwoman who works for an insurance broker in Orange County while attending law school at night. She and her two roommates are celebrating the successful conclusion of her spring semester when she is summoned back to the Kern County home she was kicked out of twelve years before, by the Grandmother – “Abuela” – who refused to intervene. Her father has had a stroke and is in a coma. She spends several days there and reconnects with some members of her extended family – Abuela, her brother Joachim (“Ximo”), her uncle Augustin, her senior aunt Maria, and some of her cousins – Kelsey, Inés, Guadalupe, and Gabriella. None of the interactions are free of strain, but she succeeds in coming to terms with Ximo, Kels and Innie. And even, to a certain degree, with Abuela herself. Abuela convinces a very reluctant Carmen to apply to be temporary conservator for her father.

Kelsey’s boyfriend Dace sends Carmen a “dick pic” and suggests they have sex. Carmen tells Kelsey, who gets into a fight with Dace, with Carmen and Ximo break up. Dace is arrested and Kelsey moves out of his house and into the house of one of her girlfriends.

Returning to Buttonwillow after three days back in Orange County for work, Carmen first stops at the hospital to check in on her padre. She is surprised to find her old history teacher by his bedside. They go to lunch, and she learns that Señor Cortez had known both of her parents, and had been her padre’s teacher. From him, she learns that her father had been insanely jealous of any attention paid to her mother. She also learns that Cortez and his wife did not believe her mother had been in love with Padre.

Chapter 14: Necessary Repairs

“It was kind of funny,” I told my father. “I mean, I’d survived being homeless in South Central LA, and going crazy, and all of that, and I was freaking out about a job interview? But I was, you know?”

At the soft slap of flats on linoleum, I paused my tale. Padre, being comatose, made no objection. I doubted he could hear anything I was telling him anyway. I turned just as Dr. Chatterji stuck her head in the door.

“Good afternoon, Carmen. Sally told me you were here. Would you be more comfortable speaking in my office?”

I shook my head, smiling slightly. “I know you’re busy, Doctor; we can talk here. Besides – maybe he’ll learn something.”

She grabbed a desk chair from the monitor station, wheeled next to me, and sat. Even in a lab coat the petite Indian woman looked elegant. She fixed me with a serious look, her striking eyes seeming even darker. “That’s not very likely,” she said gently.

“I know.”

“There have been no changes in his condition since you were here last. He still has a score of three on the Glasgow Coma Scale – no eye opening, no verbal responses to commands, and no voluntary movements in response to commands.”

“Is that why he still needs the breathing machine?”

“It’s related. Mostly, I want to see better functioning across his autonomic nervous system before we try to take him off of it.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. Have you seen any progress on that front?”

“Some, but it’s been inconsistent. For example, sometimes his pupils respond to light from a flashlight; other times, they don’t.”

“And you have to hold his eyelid open to run the test.”

“Yes.” Her shoulder rose in the slightest of shrugs. “Understand, none of this means that he can’t recover. People have, and a coma of this length, after a severe stroke that went untreated for some period, is not too surprising.”

“But, the odds remain poor,” I responded, feeling compelled to include the coda she had left off of her summary.

She nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid that’s true. Obviously, we’ll continue to do all that we can, and we’ll notify you right away if there are any changes. Have you heard anything about your Court petition?”

“I talked to the investigator on Friday. He’ll be here Monday morning to see Padre, and I’ve arranged to stay over an extra day so he can interview me as well. He said that the Court’s aware that there is some urgency.”

“What time will he be here? I’d like to make a note on the schedule.”

“Would nine-thirty work?” I asked.

“Of course. I’d just like to make sure he’s properly cleaned and checked beforehand so that there aren’t any interruptions.”

“I don’t know whether he will want to interview you as well,” I said, annoyed at myself for not thinking of that when I’d spoken with him. “Will you be here Monday?”

“In the morning only. I should have a few minutes, if he needs to ask about my declaration.”

We talked for a couple minutes more before she was called away.

I pulled my chair back out of the way and looked down at the man in the bed. “I’ll have to tell you my interview story later. Oh, and about shopping for something to wear for the interview at the ‘Second Chances’ store.” I smiled. “That was the most nerve-wracking part.”

I had arranged to see Kelsey in the afternoon, and wanted to check in at the Motel Six first, now that it was almost 3:00. I headed out on Route 58 and was out of the city in ten minutes. In no time, I had a cotton field on my right and an impoundment across the road.

That’s when the Kia began to lose power.

“Oh, baby,” I crooned. “Not now!” I pushed the gas pedal a little harder, but the car continued to slow. Then it started to buck.

I managed to pull over just before the engine convulsed a final time and cut out. “Qué chingados???”

Being careful of the cars zipping by, I got out, opened the hatch and grabbed an emergency flare, which I set ten feet behind where I was stopped. Growing up in farm country, I wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to engines, so I popped the hood and checked all of the obvious things. I couldn’t see anything wrong.

“Dios Mia!” I slammed the hood down. “Does frickin’ everything have to go wrong?”

I was not blind to the fact that I was a single woman, alone on a rural highway, and that my Ruger was somewhere in the custody of the Kern County Sheriff’s Department. Not to mention, I’d told Kelsey I wouldn’t carry it. Just to make myself feel better, I got my tire iron out of the back before returning to the driver’s seat. I would rather stay outside — the passenger compartment heated up fast without the AC — but I felt less exposed.

I didn’t have AAA, or the kind of insurance that would cover emergency road service. I would need a tow, and repairs. God damn it!

I decided to call Kels first and let her know I would at least be delayed.

When she heard, though, she said, “you been in the city too long, girl. Jesus works at Alonzo’s Auto, like, five minutes from where you’re at. He’s cool.”

Jesus was another cousin – one of Tio Javier’s four kids — and he’d been in Ximo’s class. By “he’s cool,” I knew Kels wasn’t referring to his personality or how he’d feel about his freakish transgender cousin. She meant, “he’s not going to charge family.”

If I had to put up with all of the downsides of my large, crazy clan, I might as well get a few of the perks, and I wasn’t raised to be proud about such things – even though, in all honesty, I’d mostly avoided Jesus. “Do you have his number?”

“Let me check.” She was silent for a minute, then said, “I’m not seeing it. But he’s been living with Uncle Augi and Tia Consola. I bet Innie’s got his number.”

“I’ll call her; thanks.”

“Hey! I’m not just leavin’ you on the side of the road, Chica. I’ll head over right now; I should be there in fifteen minutes or so.”

“I’d say you don’t have to – and you don’t – but . . . honestly, I’m not gonna say ‘no.’”

“My turn to play Power Ranger. But I get the blue suit; you can keep the pinche pink one!”

I laughed and let her go, then sent Innie a text, knowing she’d be at work.

— Hey its me. Back in town – car died. Kels says call Jesus. Do U have #

She responded almost immediately. Jesus take the wheel, with a laugh emoji.

— Ha ha. Cringe

— IKR Poppa rubbin off. Then she added a phone number.

— Tx. I thought for a moment, then added, U have plans tomorrow night?

— Me? Fuck no

— Call U later, K?

— K

I shook my head, bemused by the exchange. The angry Innie I first spoke to a week earlier wouldn’t have been texting dad jokes. I wondered whether restoring friendships with me and Kels had made a difference. Or, maybe she’d just needed the release of getting seriously drunk with some girlfriends. Something was up, anyway, and it sounded like it was positive.

C’mon, Carmen, I growled at myself. You’re stalling. You have his number.

Jesus had always been on the outskirts at family events. He hadn’t been close to Ximo, or to Lupe and Gaby’s brother Francisco, though they’d all been around the same age. He hadn’t had the best hygiene, and he had odd habits, like talking to himself. Had a thing for Ironman. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him swim at Uncle Angel’s place. Mostly, he played with their dog – a sort of spastic mutt that barked a lot and had a three-foot vertical jump.

My eyes kept getting drawn to the shorty, pudgy figure out back, away from the crowd at the pool. It was the almost metronome-like motion, really. He must have thrown that stick thirty times. Fifty times. Inca would play fetch from dawn to dusk if he could, so he was happy to go along with it.

I wandered over. The noise behind me faded some; I could hear the drone of a lawn mower somewhere in the distance, and smell the cut grass.

“Yo, Jesus.”

He gave the stick a heave, and the dog streaked after it, eager as always to try to catch it in mid-air. Keeping his eyes on the mutt, he said, “What’r you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d see what you’re up to. I like dogs, too, you know.”

In the distance, Inca made the catch, and Jesus turned his flat gaze up at me, unblinking. “No. You like girls.”

“Huh?”

“You’re always with Kelsey and Innie. You like girls.”

The dog bounded back and dropped the stick at Jesus’ feet, grinning up at him and panting in the summer heat.

“Well, Kels and Innie are my age,” I reasoned.

“Maybe you’re a girl,” he said, picking up the stick and patting the dog’s head. “Good boy!”

“You’re weird,” I said reflexively, trying not to let any sign of my suddenly raging panic, doubt, and weakness show. “I oughta pound you for that.”

“Yeah.” He cocked his arm and made another throw, and once again the dog bounded away. “But you won’t.”

I’m ashamed to admit that I’d mostly avoided him after that, afraid of what he might guess. What he might say.

I shook my head ruefully. “Girl,” I said to myself, not worried that anyone might hear, “he’s not ten anymore. You’re not 13. Let it fucking go.”

I tried calling the number and got dropped into voice mail. I left a message, then sent a text, figuring that he probably didn’t answer the phone unless he recognized the number. Hi Jesus. It’s your cousin Carmen (used to be Carlos). I’m stranded on Route 58 just past the 43. Can I get a tow?

Instead of texting, he called back right away.

I swiped to take it. “Hi Jesus.”

“Yo, Car-men.” he responded, a bit loudly. I didn’t recognize his voice, but I wouldn’t have; he’d been fourteen the last time I’d seen him. “Innie said you were back.”

“Just visiting, dealing with Padre’s stuff. I was headed to the Motel 6, and my car died on me. No idea what’s wrong, either – it drove fine all morning, and the engine looks okay.”

“Huh. Gimme a sec.” He must have muffled the phone, because I could hear him hollering something, but couldn’t make out the words. Then he was back. “Yeah, I can come. You’re out by the impoundments, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. I’ll be seven minutes.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, ’mano.”

“Da nada.”

The car was getting stifling, so I decided to risk going outside. When I saw a semi make the slow turn at the roundabout and head my way, I shivered.

“Gets lonely, truckin’.”

Though I pushed the memory down and firmly told myself that truckers are mostly really good people, I still walked to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. The tire iron was within easy reach.

The truck lumbered past, picking up speed on its way to the interstate.

Will I ever be free of those memories?

A dusty Impala lowrider made the turn, then slowed and stopped as it reached me. The driver, probably around my age, was a skinny wey with slicked-back hair, a pencil mustache and an unimpressive goatee. “Hey, chavala! You want to go places?”

Calling me a “little girl” made my skin crawl and my blood boil, all at the same time, but this was no place for an argument. “I’m good,” I called out, and waved him off.

“C’mon,” he wheedled. Patting the passenger’s seat, he said suggestively, “This baby’s a great ride — just like you!”

This time, I just glared at him. You get outta that car, I will Fuck. You. Up!

“Women be bitches,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “Don’t know what you’re missing!” Gunning the engine, he made a great show of burning rubber as he took off.

I relaxed. Mostly.

Fortunately, Jesus arrived just a couple minutes later. He pulled in front of the Kia and parked, then stepped down from the cab and walked around to where I was standing.

He wasn’t much taller than me. Solidly built, with his father’s barrel chest, but a fair bit of flab as well. His grooming habits didn’t appear to have improved much, but he had just come from working on cars.

His expression showed undisguised curiosity. “Innie said you had tits now.”

I’m a pinche zebra in a freak show. I shook my head. “Nice to see you, too, ’mano.”

“Yeah. Uh huh. You like being a chava?” He might as well have been asking if I liked tacos.

“Some days more than others,” I said, thinking of the oily lowrider pendejo I had just dispatched.

“Yeah. Okay.” And with that, he dismissed the subject. “Let’s see what’s up with the wheels.”

He tried starting the engine. Initially I was a bit annoyed; after all, it’s not like I hadn’t tried that! But he was listening intently. Then he popped the hood, and asked me to try starting it while he checked what was going on with the engine.

He dropped the hood. “You fill up your tank recently?”

“Yeah – I was just about out when I got to Bakersfield.”

“Ah, okay.” He wiped his hands on his coveralls. “Sounds like you got some bad gas. I’ll take you back to the shop and flush out the system.”

That sounded promising, but I had to ask, “will that have caused any damage?”

“Nope. Just stops you cold. Let me get you hitched up.” He went back to his truck and fussed with the towing mechanism.

He was just starting to hoist it up when I heard the buzz of an oncoming motorcycle, and Kelsey came screaming up on her Yamaha, hair wild behind her.

As she killed the engine and put down the kick stand, I said, “C’mon, Kels! No helmet?”

“I was in a hurry to see you, bitch.” She grinned. “Besides, it’s just a short little ride. Qué onda, Jesus? How’s it hangin’?”

“Hey, Kelsey,” he responded, with a grin that seemed a bit stiff.

“You gonna be able to fix this piece of shit?” she asked him.

“Hey!” I interjected. “Don’t you be dissin’ my car!”

She snorted. “A Kia? Bitch, please!”

Jesus ignored our byplay. “I can fix it.”

Kels walked over. She gave the car a passing look, then a sharper one when she saw the tire iron sitting on the passenger seat. “Thought you had engine trouble.”

“And I wanted to make sure that was all the trouble I was gonna have.” My tone was flat. Final. I wasn’t about to make any apologies for being careful.

Kels shook her head, but decided not to say anything more.

Smart Chica.

I got up in the cab of the towtruck with Jesus, and Kels took off in front of us, heading for the shop. Before he could make any other awkward observations, I asked, “How’r your parents?”

He hit the right turn signal, double-checked that there was no traffic, and pulled into the roundabout. “Pop doesn’t say much. Mamá wants to retire, but they can’t afford it. And I don’t think she wants to spend all day with him.”

“Kels said they’re living in Taft now?”

“They found a cheap condo. And the restaurant’s there, where Mamá works. Kelsey shouldn’t drive without a helmet.”

I was thrown for a bit of a loop by the non-sequitur, but I said, “Yeah, well. You try telling her.”

“Okay.” His odd smile was back.

We pulled into the shop and he backed the Kia into a bay. Without another word, he went right to work, so I went and joined Kels. With no better options on offer, we sat in the shade on the concrete, resting our backs against one of the building’s cinderblock walls.

“Still kind of an odd duck,” I offered.

“Near as I can tell, he likes engines and animals. Understands them. But people?” She shrugged. “Not so much.”

“Seems like he’s found his place, though.”

“Better’n most of us,” she agreed.

“How’re you doing? You looked a little stiff, getting yourself down here.”

“Yeah, well. Wait ’til you see me try to get back up again.” Before I could ask more, she added, “I’m better. Should be able to go back to work Monday, I just need to avoid some of the harder physical stuff for a bit.”

“What’s the story with Dace? I assume he’s out.”

“Yeah. Pled not guilty to whatever they charged him with – I don’t know the details. But he’s supposed to stay away from me.”

I thought about my conversation with Lourdes and Katie back at my apartment. “I don’t suppose he’s under orders to stay away from me and Ximo, too?”

She gave me a side eye. “Sorry. Apparently it’s all tied in with some do-goodie laws about ‘domestic violence,’ so it’s kind of automatic. Gotta protect the ‘victim.’” She spat out the last word, looking straight ahead. “Fuck. Yeah, I lost the fight. But I am not some pinche ‘victim!’”

“Maybe you aren’t,” I said sharply, “but those ‘do-goodie’ laws save lives, Kels!”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa! Ease up, there! What’s got your panties in a wad?”

But I was no longer listening.

“Carmen — Quickly! Get my first aid kit!” Her arm cradled Sunhee, half in comfort, and half to take her weight. Not that the tiny Korean girl weighed more than a sheep dog.

“On it!” I rushed back to her office, grabbed the solid plastic case from the shelf, and ran back to the front of the building.

Sister Catalina had eased the crying girl onto the small couch in the common room, off from the front hallway. I had no sooner handed her the kit, when we were startled by heavy pounding on the front door, and the sound of a deep voice, shouting.

She thrust the kit back into my hands. “Help her.” Then she strode to the hall, pausing just long enough to tell one of the other girls to call 911.

I sat with Sunhee and gently began to clean the nasty cut that ran from nearly the corner of her eye down across her cheekbone. “I’ve got you, honey,” I murmured. “You’ll be alright.”

From out in the front hall, we heard the sound of the door, and the rattle of the chain that prevented it from opening more than a couple of inches.

A whimper escaped from the young girl’s cracked and bleeding lips.

“It’s okay,” I soothed, trying to believe it. “It’s okay.”

“You will leave this instant,” Sister’s voice was calm, but she was obviously not in a negotiating mood. He must have said something— I couldn’t make out the words — but her response carried force and conviction. “I don’t care. There’s a court order, and the police are on their way.”

A tear slid down Sunhee’s ruined face, leaving a glistening trail across bruised flesh that had once been as flawless and delicate as porcelain. At the edge of the jagged cut, the tear quivered, as if it were considering options, then dropped in and mingled with her oozing blood.

Blinking back my own tears, I raised a hand and softly brushed her cheek. “You’re safe, now. We’ve got you.”

Sitting in the shade outside the auto shop, I found myself blinking back tears once more, wondering what had become of Sunhee. That terrible night left her with a garish scar, and memories that caused her to fear her own shadow.

Kels ran a finger down my damp cheek. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault I’m a frickin’ hazmat site.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“No,” I said, my instinct for self-preservation kicking in automatically. But much as it hurt to go back to the dark places in my past, I owed a debt to the girls at the shelter, and to Sister Catalina — the kind of debt I could only pay forward. It’s time, child. So I said, “I need to, though. You need to know.”

Their stories poured out. Sunhee and the dealer boyfriend she just couldn’t quit. Shawna, raped by her own uncle. Alicia, with her enormous dark eyes that always made me think of a fawn, cornered by hounds. Fatima and Trudi. Kryshawn.

Kels let me talk. Let me weep. It helped that we were both staring out at the street. Watching traffic and seeing nothing, rather than looking at each other. When I finally stopped speaking, she snaked her tattooed arm across my shoulders and squeezed. “Okay, girl. Okay. I get it.”

“You know what the worst part was?” I shook my head, lost in the memories. “They didn’t even blame the guys who did it to them. Somehow, they convinced themselves it was all their own fault. . . . That they deserved it.”

“That’s not me, Carmen. You know I’m not that kinda stupid!”

“Do I? When you date one cochino after another, and say things like, ‘I’m the chick who can’t keep a man happy?’”

“I was just . . . .” She searched for a word.

I turned my head to give her a warning look. “You say you were kidding, and I’ll break you another rib.”

“Fuck. You didn’t fight this dirty when you were a dude.”

I turned my attention back to the street. “I was never a dude.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Just then Jesus emerged from the big bay, wiping his hands on a towel. When he spotted us, he came over. “All set, Carmen.”

“So it was just the gas?” I asked him as I rose.

“Oh, yeah. It happens, sometimes. But you’re all good now. I put a couple gallons in, but you’ll need to stop at a station and top up.”

Kels was still on the ground, so I offered her a hand.

“Nope. That’ll feel worse.” She winced, but used the wall to get back to her feet while minimizing the movement of her torso.

Jesus gave her a critical look and grinned. “You need some body work done.”

She just groaned.

I said, “Thanks a million, ’mano. I was seriously worried that this was going to set me back big bucks. You gotta let me pay something.”

He shook his head. “My boss, he understands about family.”

“Buy you a drink sometime, at least?”

“No.” He smiled his strange smile again. “You like to hang out with girls.”

I realized, with a smile I couldn’t suppress, that I didn’t need to deny it anymore. Didn’t need to run. “Wey . . . who doesn’t?”

He laughed a little longer and a little louder than the joke warranted before saying he had to get back to work. Then he gave me an awkward clap on the shoulder and said, “Innie was right. You look good.” With that, he disappeared back into the garage.

Kels and I headed out.

I had planned to meet up with her at Gomer’s place after I’d checked in to the motel, but since she had come to where I was, we just grabbed some forgettable take-out and I got a six pack at the place where I refilled my gas tank. I talked Kels into upgrading from the self-proclaimed “King of Beers,” but Corona was as far as I could push her.

An hour or so later, we were hanging out by the motel pool, drinking beer and watching a half dozen chavos splashing each other in the shallow end.

“You gonna get in?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I took a sip, and pointed the bottle at the laughing kids. “Those were some nice memories.”

“Remember Uncle Angel’s burgers?”

“With the salsa verde? Hell, yeah!”

“Or how ’bout when Lupe tried to get away with that bikini?”

I laughed. “Swear to God, I thought Aunt Maria’s head was gonna split open.”

“Go on, dive in. You know you want to.”

“Not if you can’t join me.”

“Fuck, are you stubborn about everything? I’ll stick my feet in. Just ’cuz I gotta stay bandaged up doesn’t mean you shouldn’t cool off.” She saw me dithering and smiled evilly. “Besides . . . I want to see your suit.”

“You already saw it!”

“Yeah, on the bed. Not on you.” She shook her head. “Doofus.”

I was pretty shy about showing Kels what I looked like, now. It was stupid, since she had seen me as both an awkward adolescent and a scrawny teenager, and even I knew I’d improved over that. But she wasn’t going to drop it, and the heat was still pretty intense, even at 5:30. The water would feel great.

With a sigh, I got up, removed my broad-brimmed hat and big sunglasses, then unbuttoned the sheer, light, rose-colored top I’d worn over my suit. Finally, I shimmied out of my cut-offs, feeling more than a little embarrassed.

“Well, damn,” Kels said, though she made it sound like “die-amm.” “Look at you!”

I felt my checks flush. Unlike Lupe, I never had any urge to wear a bikini. But I had loved the warm, deep red tones of the one piece I’d brought with me so much that I hadn’t focused on the raw sexiness of the high-cut bottom, the deep v-neck, and the lingerie-style straps that went half-way down my back.

“I can still push you in the pool,” I warned.

“Prob’ly.” She smiled slowly, baring her teeth. “But I could make you regret it.”

I shook my head, laughing, then walked toward the end of the pool furthest from all the activity. When I saw that I’d caught the attention of a couple of the guys who were ostensibly watching the kids, I had to fight a self-conscious desire to cover myself somehow.

I heard Katie’s voice in my head. You gotta own it, girl! Taking a deeper breath, I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, and forced myself to walk at a normal, unhurried pace. I wasn’t going to showboat, though, so when I got to the far end of the pool I put my knees and ankles together, bent my knees, and dove straight in.

If anything, the water could have been cooler, but it was still a pleasant relief. I plowed through the crawl for a couple unimpressive laps and ended by the side of the deep end, where Kels was now trailing her feet in the water.

She sucked on her beer and drawled. “Even I swim better’n you.”

“Never learned to swim,” I countered, vigorously shaking my head so as to liberally splash her. “I just figured out how not to drown.”

“Maybe it’s time you learned.” She looked serious.

“You thinking of becoming a ‘life coach’ or something?” I smiled to take any sting out of my words.

“Open wide, doofus.” She waggled the Corona.

I grinned, complied, and mostly got a face full of beer.

Her “Oops” wasn’t super convincing, but I hadn’t really expected anything else. I sputtered, laughed, and dropped down until the water covered my head completely, then sprang all the way back up and hoisted myself next to her.

“Surprise!”

It was her turn to laugh, even though I’d managed to get her pretty wet without ever doing anything as childish as splashing her. She scooted a bit further away, to avoid the puddle of water that was rapidly expanding outward as my suit shed the excess. “Bitch!”

I pressed a hand to my chest in a theatrical gesture. “Well, ah nevvah!”

She drained the last of her Corona, then cocked her head, giving me a considering look and a half smile. “I wished I’d been able to keep that Quinceañera dress. You would so rock it, now.”

“You said I rocked it then!”

“Did I? Well, ummm . . . I lied.” She grinned.

“What!”

“Hey — I kinda thought you’d broken your ankle. Had to play nice, you know?” She moved her foot through the water in a lazy circle. “Seriously, though. You look great, but it’s more than that. You look right.”

I looked down, seeing the wet bathing suit molding to every curve. Hugging my breasts, cinching my waist, flaring out — maybe not dramatically, but enough — to emphasize my round hips. More than anything, the long “v” that somehow both hid, and showcased, my feminine mound. Seeing the things I could only dream about, back when she had let me dress up in her clothes. “Thanks, Kels,” I husked. “That means a lot to me.”

“I used to feel guilty, you know? Like maybe the fam was right, and if I’d never helped you, none of the bad things would have happened.” She saw that I was about to protest and held up a hand. “I know. It was stupid. But hell, everyone thought so, and they couldn’t all be wrong . . . . Anyhow. I see you sitting there, looking like that, and I think, Jesus. This is who you were meant to be, all along. If I did anything to help, I’m fucking proud of it.”

I felt myself choking up. “Don’t start me crying again!”

“Can’t have that.” She smiled slightly, then got herself stiffly to her feet. “Two left; I’ll drink both if you’re too slow.”

I followed her back to the nylon chaise lounges where we’d left our stuff, dripping as I went, acutely conscious of just how much of my ass I was displaying for the viewing pleasure of the guys at the shallow end of the pool. “This is me,” I muttered, “owning it.”

“Huh?” Kels popped a top and handed me the bottle, cool and wet with condensation.

“Nothing.” I smiled. “Don’t mind me.”

She grabbed the last beer, opened it, and frowned down at the low chaise lounge. “If I get into it, I’m gonna have to get back out of it again.” She took a contemplative swig before shaking her head. “Nah. Hurts too much, just thinking about it.”

“Looks like one of the high tops is free.”

“Grab it.”

I had her claim the table while I retrieved our stuff, then joined her. My suit was still too wet to cover it, but I did don my hat and sunglasses. I perched on one of the tall chairs, which — at least poolside — seemed designed to show off women’s legs to best effect. Own it, Carmen. Own it.

Kels was looking back at the pool, but she didn’t seem to be focused on anything. “I visited Papi yesterday.”

My mind would always supply the same image of my Uncle Fernando; it had been seared into my hippocampus with a white-hot branding iron. The shocked expression, the wounded eyes. “Juan must be told.” I had to force myself to stay in the present. “How’s he doing?”

She gave me a look that suggested she hadn’t been fooled by my tone, but she didn’t call me on it. “He’s in prison. It sucks.” She looked away. “I told him about your Padre, and I thought I’d killed him. He didn’t look that bad when the judge read his sentence.”

I nodded, understanding. “Always seemed like it was those two against the other three, somehow.”

“I guess.” She continued to stare at nothing.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

She didn’t answer.

Juan must be told. “You told him about me, didn’t you?”

More silence. She took a drink.

“Kels?”

“We had a fight about it.” She shook her head. Savagely, she added, “Right now, far as I’m concerned, he can fucking stay right where he is.”

“Tell me.”

“You seriously don’t want to know.”

I reached over and held her hand. “Probably not. But you should tell me anyway. We’ll get through it.”

She hesitated, took another swig, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, fine. But it hurts to even say it. Yeah, I told him about you — told him you were back, and you’d transitioned. I thought he’d be happy for you. I mean, they all thought you might have died or something, right? But instead . . . .”

“Instead, I came back female.”

“Yeah. And my Papi – the guy I’ve loved and admired, even after frickin’ everything he’s done to screw up his life and mine — that fucker said it would be better if your padre never woke up.”

The deep pain flared like shrapnel from an old battle, hard and sharp and deadly. The hot words straight from Padre’s mouth — “I have no daughter!” And the cold ones, a year later, by his hand. “It is my specific desire and intent to disinherit . . . .”

I sighed, then squeezed her hand, feeling my pain braid together with hers. “Your Papi’s probably right, Kels.”

“The fuck he is!”

“I mean, Padre’d probably rather not know. And you know what? I don’t care.”

“Yeah?”

”I’ll tell him anyway, if I can.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Fuck him if he can’t take a joke.”

— To be continued

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