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 four 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”).

As she prepares to make her fifth trip to Buttonwillow, Carmen is dealing with multiple issues. Juan’s condition improves enough for him to be taken off of a ventilator, but he has limited ability to communicate and even more limited ability to move. The applications that Carmen has filed for worker’s comp and Social Security Disability are moving through the system, but the most important application – the one that would enable her father to be covered by the state’s indigent health care insurance – has been held up.

On the personal front, Kelsey is recovering from an overdose and is living with Innie’s parents, while Innie is staying at a friend’s apartment. Carmen suspects that Innie is also romantically involved with Diego Gutierrez, Carmen’s first crush, and the brother of Kelsey’s abusive former boyfriend, Dace. Carmen herself is trying to deal with her mixed feelings about being asked out by Andar Kasparian, a Bakersfield attorney who did the investigation on Carmen’s conservatorship petition.

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

Chapter 31: Fruto Bueno

“Good morning, padre!”

Jill Thomas, the duty nurse this morning, had prepared me, but it was still a shock to see him without the breathing tube. He was looking freshly groomed, and they’d even elevated the bed a few degrees so he was no longer lying completely flat. Still a far cry from the authority figure I remembered, but . . . I could at least recognize him.

Now that it was uncovered and unobstructed, I could see that the left corner of his mouth curved downward in a frozen frown, matching the downturn of his left eyelid and the clenched fingers of his left hand. The right side of his mouth was straight and slightly open, giving his expression an odd and unnatural look. His breathing was even, but raspy. Audible.

His eyes were already open, but he responded to my greeting by visibly lowering his eyeballs, trying to line them up with the sound of my voice.

I went to stand at the foot of his hospital bed, more clearly within his field of vision. “It’s good to see your whole face again, padre.”

No response. Wait . . . that wasn’t entirely correct. I’d been focused on his eyes, but his right lip and the fingers of his right hand twitched, ever so slightly.

I went to the right side of the bed and took his hand, staying within his limited range of vision. His eyes slid to the right, tracking my movement.

“They tell me you’ve been able to respond to yes/no questions with your eyelids.”

He closed his eyes and reopened them. The movement was faster and less mechanical than two weeks prior, though it still appeared labored. The left eyelid moved more slowly than the right, and it didn’t open quite as far. Still, this was enormous progress. I could actually communicate with him!

“Can you do the same thing with the fingers of your right hand?”

He stared at me for nearly a minute. I felt the muscles in his hand twitch briefly, then nothing. Slowly, he blinked again. Twice. No.

“It’s okay,” I soothed. “I can feel the muscles in your hand trying to respond – and that’s a lot more than I’ve felt since your stroke. Can you feel me, holding your hand?”

He blinked once, more slowly. So slowly I was afraid he might be building up the energy to blink again, but he didn’t. Yes.

I gave his hand a slow, gentle squeeze. After a moment, I felt some barely perceptible return pressure. Dr. Chatterji had told me they were looking for intentional, rather than reflexive, movement. However weak, this seemed intentional.

“Do you know where you are?”

The blink was even slower, and this time the left eyelid only made it back to half mast before grinding to a halt.

Jill had warned me that he tired quickly. Although he didn’t appear to be doing much, every little thing he did required a painstaking rewiring of the pathways within his injured brain, and between his brain and a body that had had minimal exercise for six weeks.

But she’d also told me that what we were doing was a form of PT – “massed practice” which would help the rewiring process through repetition. “It’s like cutting a new channel for a dammed-up river – the more water runs through it, the deeper and wider it gets and the easier it is to direct the waterflow.”

So I kept at it. “Do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

This time, neither eyelid budged.

“You know you’ve had a stroke?”

Still no movement.

I decided I would try one more. Just one. One that was closer to home.

“Do you know who I am?”

There was no movement for almost a full minute; he just stared at me through mismatched eyes. Then both eyelids settled lower and lower, until they were both shut.

They didn’t reopen.

No words, but my mind leapt to supply them anyway. I have no daughter! And YOU are not my son!

I do not know you.

My temper flared and I labored to suppress it, knowing I was being stupid and emotional. Sure, maybe he was rejecting me again. But it was far more likely that he was confused, and having an adult woman appear in place of the barely-out-of-adolescence son he last saw over a decade ago couldn’t help. Or, he might just be too tired to keep answering questions.

Sure, Carmen.

I stayed at his bedside for another half hour, just holding his hand and keeping him company. Watching his breathing, and listening to it. The rasp in his throat caused a rattle when he inhaled. I tried to focus on his recovery, and the progress he’d made since I’d seen him last. The important things, as I reminded myself.

Repeatedly.

Finally, with a sigh, I left to keep my appointment with Dr. Chatterji.

~o~O~o~

The building which housed the division of the Superior Court where serious crimes were tried was about two miles from padre’s hospital. Knowing that I would have to go through a metal detector, I made a point of locking my Ruger in the console case I’d had installed in the Kia. Fortunately, I found a patch of shade; I knew the car would be an oven even if I was only inside for five minutes.

Because it was a “dealing with courts and bureaucrats” day, I dressed professionally and demurely. Once inside, I located the customer service window for the criminal division and again presented my identification, this time to an older Latina with heavy-looking glasses and a stern expression.

“You’re Ms. Morales?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I responded. “I sent a request to view the files on People v. Morales a week ago.”

She nodded. “Yes, we retrieved the file. Do you want the whole thing?”

I probably only needed a couple documents, but since I didn’t know how they organized their records I would need to see the whole thing.

She said she’d have them brought out to me. “You aren’t permitted to remove the documents from this room,” she warned. “If you need photocopies of some of the records, I would recommend using your phone if you can. We’re understaffed.”

“I can do that,” I agreed. “But I may need to have certified copies of a couple pages. Will that be possible?”

“Of course, but understand there might be a bit of a wait.” She didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect.

“Okay. Thank you.” I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

A few minutes later a pleasant young man in a white shirt and chinos brought me three fat file folders, maybe four inches thick in total. His smile seemed to acknowledge and apologize for the frostiness of his boss. “Here you go,” he said, his voice cheerful.

I took the folders and moved down past the open window so I wasn’t blocking traffic. But there weren’t any chairs or tables – just a counter, barely wide enough for the file folders themselves. Since the documents had all been two-hole punched at the top and attached to the folders with metal clips, reviewing them in such a tight space would be awkward. Almost like they don’t want people doing it!

Suppressing a sigh, I opened the first folder and skimmed through the list of contents, then did the same with the other two. I quickly located the documents that I needed in the third folder.

Court personnel are generally meticulous, and it didn’t surprise me to find a copy of the check from padre’s mortgage company attached to the escrow records. I put a post-it note on that document. The rest of the money had come from two sources, both of which were banks. I flagged the summary page and took photos of the bank records. Finally, I flagged the records of the restitution payment and the closure of the escrow account.

Someone was at the window, arguing with the stern lady who had waited on me. I picked up all three files – I was responsible for them, after all! – and got back in line. After five minutes of working hard to piss off the clerk of the court, the man left, loudly proclaiming that “this is bullshit!”

Yeah, that’ll work, I thought.

“You have documents you want copied?” she asked when I approached. If anything, she sounded even less friendly.

I turned on the charm. “Yes, ma’am. Just a couple. The only certified copies I’ll need are the five pages I’ve tagged from this last file.”

“Alright,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll see if I’ve got someone available.”

“Thank you very much,” I said, positively oozing gratitude.

She disappeared, and I got out of the way again, carrying the first two folders with me. I figured I’d see whether there was anything else that might be useful while I was cooling my kitten heels.

I found the prosecutor’s formal information, several police reports, and all of the docket entries for the case. Uncle Fernando had been charged with Grand Theft under Section 487 of the penal code, and because he had carried a firearm when committing the robbery, there was an enhancement under section 12022.5. The base charge carried a possible sentence of 16 months to three years, and the firearms enhancement could add between three and ten years to that.

In exchange for a guilty plea to both the main charge and the enhancement, as well as an agreement to pay full restitution and a $10,000 fine, the prosecutor had recommended a five year sentence, but the judge had added 18 months to the recommendation.

I flipped through the files to find the transcript of the sentencing hearing. Most of it was routine stuff, but the Court had given Uncle Fernando an opportunity to offer mitigating evidence.

The Court: Mr. Morales, as you know, the crimes to which you have freely and voluntarily pled guilty are extremely serious. When you steal more than $950 dollars, it’s considered grand theft; you stole over three hundred THOUSAND dollars. And you carried out the robbery by showing a firearm in a threatening manner. But there may be facts I’m not aware of from the record. I’m going to start with a straightforward question: Why did you rob the bank?”

Mr. Morales: “I was desperate. Like the prosecutor said earlier, I’d been facilitating a major residential property development in Cayucos for three years with several major investors. We spent a lot of money on predevelopment costs. Just as construction was beginning, though, the project was halted because of claims made by a native American tribe. Our investors began to pull out, and we were scrambling. I was scrambling. I couldn’t get loans anywhere, and some of the investors were demanding their upfront money back.”

The Court: “Contractual disputes do not justify armed robbery, Mr. Morales.”

Mr. Morales: “I understand that.”

The Court: “If you had valid defenses to your investors’s claims, the courts would have supported you. And if you didn’t, our legal system provides ways to deal with the situation, up to and including bankruptcy protection. As a businessman, you had to know all that.”

Mr. Morales: “Yes, your honor.”

The Court: “Your tone is not winning you points with this jurist, Mr. Morales.”

Mr. Morales: “I’m sorry, your honor.”

The Court: “Alright . . . Is there anything else I should know, before imposing a sentence?” [Paulse]. “Anything at all? Now’s your chance, Mr. Morales.”

Mr. Morales: “No, your honor.”

The Court: “Very well. The Court imposes a sentence of 78 months, discounted to 73 months for time already served. . . .”

The problem with transcripts is that even a word-for-word written record of a conversation can’t be understood without some clues as to how the words were said. I wondered what the Judge had detected in Uncle Fernando’s “tone” that had so irritated him. Probably something like the attitude I’d detected from the man who’d been giving the clerk trouble just a few minutes before.

Based on the transcript, the judge sounded like a prick – someone who’d gotten a swollen head along with a black robe. “This jurist!” Who fricking TALKS like that? The world was full of those sorts of people. Uncle Fernando’s attitude might not have made a difference . . . but it was also possible he’d talked himself into an extra 18 months of prison time. He might have been out by now.

I shook my head. Most women learned early how to turn aside the anger of people with power. A soft word. Downcast eyes. A little deflection. Effusive thanks, I thought sourly, remembering my own behavior towards the clerk. It wasn’t pleasant, and maybe it wasn’t right. Maybe the world shouldn’t work that way.

I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

~o~O~o~

The State Human Services offices were only a mile and half from the Metro Building that housed the criminal court.

“Ms. Morales?” An Anglo woman, maybe a few years older than me, held out her hand. “I’m Tabitha Green; we spoke on the phone.”

I shook her hand warmly, responding to her friendly welcome. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“No problem. I’ve asked my colleague, Lyman Tucker, to join us. Won’t you come this way?”

I followed her into a small conference room, where I sat across from Ms. Green and an older man with a craggy face and ice blue eyes. He nodded in greeting but didn’t say anything.

Ms. Green got right to business. “I’m glad you came in. Lyman’s one of our investigators; we assigned your claim to him shortly after you filed it. So as you know, our concern is that your father’s assets might be too high for the indigent insurance program, based on the equity he took out of his house five years ago. You said you had some information about that, so perhaps you could share it with us.”

I nodded. “I understand. But the answer’s straightforward, and now I’ve got the documents. My Uncle Fernando was convicted of armed robbery five years ago, and as part of his plea deal, he agreed to pay full restitution to the bank. Apparently he didn’t have enough money to do that himself, so padre refinanced his house, and all of the money was sent directly to the Court’s escrow fund. Once the escrow was fully funded, the money was paid out and the account was closed.”

I showed them the documents I’d gotten from padre’s mortgage company, and then the certified copies of the records I’d just gotten from the criminal court.

Both Green and Tucker looked at the documents carefully. Green agreed they appeared to be in order. “Can we make copies of these?”

“Those are copies; I had them made for you.”

She nodded. “Thank you. That’s very helpful. Lyman, is there anything else we need?”

For the first time, he spoke. “What still bothers me is, what arrangement did he have with his brother? Maybe this Fernando agreed to pay him back as soon as he was out of jail.”

I shook my head. “Uncle Fernando doesn’t have any money. The rest of what was used to fund the escrow account came from two banks. I’m pretty sure one was his savings account, and the other came from the proceeds of having his own house sold.”

Green made a face. “‘Pretty sure’ isn’t something we can put in the files.”

“Well, I know for a fact he had to sell his house – and his daughter was living with him at the time.”

“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully.

“What do you need?” I asked, working hard to keep my voice pleasant and level, when I wanted to scream, what MORE do you need!

The two public servants shared a look, and Tucker shrugged.

“Maybe . . . an affidavit?” Green said, tentatively.

Tucker grimaced, then gave a reluctant nod.

“Really, Ms. Morales,” Green said apologetically, “we just need to paper the file on this. Obviously, if your father’s got an IOU for $150,000, it changes the numbers. He can’t provide an affidavit, but . . . would it be possible to get one from your uncle?”

“I imagine so,” I said. I tried to keep my voice confident.

It looked like I was going to have to deal with Uncle Fernando again, whether I wanted to or not.

~o~O~o~

I had plenty of time to go check into my motel, shower and change before heading over to Buttonwillow. Uncle Augui and tia Consola had invited me to come to dinner, and Innie would be there, too.

At least I didn’t have to dress professionally! Given the furnace-like heat, I’d have preferred to go with shorts, but I put on capris instead. It was better to be conservative where tia Consola was concerned.

After five minutes I took them off again. Too damned hot!

I went with a floaty midi skirt instead – a lightweight chiffon and poly blend with a gauzy tulle overlay. It was certainly possible that seeing me in something that was so overtly feminine might distress my tia, but while I was willing to make concessions to modesty, my gender was not negotiable. Somewhat defiantly, I paired it with a cream-colored sleeveless blouse with a surplice neck. A bit formal for dinner with my family, but it matched well with the skirt.

Strappy sandals with a low wedge heel. Light make-up. Discrete earrings stamped with the pattern of the Aztek calendar. No perfume – though I was tempted! I decided what I was already wearing would be enough of a statement. Look at me, tia. There is no “Carlos” here. I’m a woman, and you need to deal with it.

Of course, that was the exact moment I remembered that I’d left the Ruger locked in the car, where it would do me no good in an emergency. Until Dace was located, I had to keep it with me at all times, unless I was going into a restricted area. That’s me, I thought with an internal sigh. Pretty. Feminine. Armed and frickin’ dangerous.

Since I couldn’t do anything about that, I put it in the back of my mind, grabbed my purse and my sunglasses, and headed out. Half an hour later, I pulled up at the house. Uncle Augui’s red pickup was in the driveway; a pair of bluejean-clad legs were sticking out from underneath.

I walked over and tapped on the work boots with my right sandal. “Jesus?”

“No, it’s me,” Uncle Augui called out, his voice slightly muffled. “Momento, Carmen, I just need to – uhhhhng! – tighten this bolt.”

“I’d have thought having a mechanic living with you would spare you this kind of work,” I laughed. After the day I’d had, it felt good to laugh.

“There!” he said triumphantly. He began to scoot out from under the truck.

When his head was clear, I offered him my hand, but he shook his head and smiled up at me. “You look far too pretty to be taking my greasy paw.” He neatly rolled over and got to his feet with a grunt, one hand on the truck for stability.

“Stubborn,” I teased.

“A man should be able to fix his own truck,” he argued.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said diplomatically. Impulsively, I kissed his bristly cheek. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Augui.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Good to see you, too, sobrina. I hope you’re hungry – Consola’s been cooking all day!”

I slipped an arm around his waist, ignoring his protests about how dirty he was, and led him toward the house. “She must miss having Innie at home.”

“Oh, she does . . . we both do. But Kelsey’s been good company, and she seems to need some mothering.” Then he stopped and shot me a look. “Don’t you be thinking that all of Consola’s fuss today was for Innie. She’s happy to see you, too.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but there was no reason to argue the point. He stopped at the door to remove his boots, which looked like they’d seen a lot of miles and messes, then stepped inside and called out, “Carmen’s here, Viejita!”

Her response came from the direction of the kitchen. “I told you she’d be here on time! But no, you had to go play with your truck, like a chavalo!”

“It’s okay, tia,” I laughed. “He’s off to the shower right now!” I winked at my Uncle – who grinned back – then I walked back to the kitchen.

“There you are.” Her smile was maybe a bit nervous, but it was genuine. She dropped the towel she’d been using to dry a baking dish, and came over to take both of my hands. “You look nice. Why are you all dressed up?”

I tried not to gape. What’s gotten into her? “Isn’t dinner at your casa enough of an occasion?”

“You are family,” she reminded me.

“All the more reason,” I said. “Now . . . what can I do to help?”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me, Carmen. Now, sit.”

Carmen?

“I’m not sitting on my butt while you’re getting dinner ready,” I argued.

“It’s all ready,” she assured me. “I’m just getting two glasses of water, and I’m going to sit with you. We need to talk.”

“Okaaaay.” I sat warily. What was going on?

She came back with two glasses of ice water and set them both on the kitchen table before she sat and looked up at me expectantly. “I won’t bite,” she promised.

I sank into the chair opposite her. “Tia – I don’t know what I’ve done to get this warm welcome. Not that I mind! But I’m kind of confused.”

“I told you last time you were here, you would always be welcome,” she scolded.

“There’s ‘welcome’ and there’s ‘welcome.’”

“I suppose so,” she said, with a trace of sadness. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Since Kelsey’s been here, I’ve spent a lot of time with her. And . . . she’s really made me look at myself. How I’ve been acting.”

“It’s okay,” I said awkwardly.

A smile touched her lips for a second before vanishing. “I don’t mean how I’ve behaved toward you. I’m talking about Kelsey. She’s been on her own since Fernando was arrested, and she needed family. Where was I? Where were any of us?”

I was embarrassed to have misread her earlier statement, so I said nothing.

She didn’t seem to notice my silence. “Maria and I, the women at church . . . we would talk. Gossip. Judge. While we let one of our own be lost.”

I felt compelled to push back some – in part because I was sure Kelsey would; she didn’t like to be thought of as a victim. “Abuela gave her a place to stay. She chose to move out.”

“I know . . . but that’s what we judged so harshly. She’d gone off to live with some man, no talk of marriage. No thought of marriage. And when that didn’t work, when she needed us most, we weren’t there. I wasn’t there, and I call myself a Christian.” She shook her head. “I don’t have to ask what the Lord would have done; he told us. ‘De los que me diste, ninguno de ellos perdí.’”

She’d always been able to fire off the right verse, and ‘I have not lost any of those you gave me’ certainly fit. “You’re making up for it now,” I assured her. “That’s what matters.”

“But without you and your brother, and Innie, and even Diego Gutierrez, I wouldn’t have had the chance.”

“Mostly, that was Diego,” I said, truthfully.

“He thought quickly and acted quickly,” she agreed. “I . . . he’s seeing Innie. You know?”

“I know they went on a date; Innie’s kind of been ducking my calls since then.”

“Then I’ll let her tell you about it. Diego did well . . . but so did the rest of you. And when that . . . man – Diego’s brother – was beating Kelsey, you and Ximo were there. You stopped him?”

I nodded cautiously, unsure where she was going.

“You don’t see it, do you?” She shook her head, smiling. “All my Bible instruction, wasted on empty heads!”

I chuckled. “Sorry!”

“You should be!” But then she turned serious. “I told you before, I don’t understand this new thing . . . this ‘transgender.’” She said the word carefully, like it was from a language she didn’t know. “I don’t understand how a man can be a woman inside, or become a woman on the outside. And I worried. You know I worried. For you; for your soul. I prayed about it; I spoke with Deacon Raul. But . . . ‘un árbol malo no puede dar fruto bueno.’ ”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry; I’m not following you.”

“I thought about how you helped Kelsey, and how you’ve helped your padre. Even how you’ve helped my daughter, though I was angry with you about that, at first. And you were patient with all of us, even after everything. Good fruit can’t come from a bad tree.”

“I’m not good all the time,” I protested, thinking guiltily about the unfair anger I’d felt towards padre earlier in the day.

“No?” She faked a look of shock. “Then I take it all back!”

I couldn’t restrain a laugh.

“Never mind about that,” she said, chuckling in return. “You did some good, anyway, so maybe you get the benefit of the doubt. And since I had Kelsey here, I talked with her about you . . . I hope you don’t mind?”

I shook my head. “I’m done with keeping secrets.”

“Good.” She gave me a stern look. “Putting your secret on Kelsey’s shoulders when she was just a chavala – that was a lot, you know.”

I nodded slowly. “I’d never really thought about that.”

“She’s had to carry a lot, poor thing. But getting the story about how it was, when you were young . . . it helped. This was something you carried for a very long time, too.”

“I couldn’t have survived without Kels. No way.”

“I am glad she was there for you,” she said simply. “And that she could understand what I can’t, even now. But I don’t need to know how my sobrino became my sobrina. I just need to know it happened, and that good has come of it.”

I sat in silence for a moment, taking in what she’d said. Finally, I covered her hand with mine. “Thank you.”

“Eres muy bienvenido . . . Carmen,” she said softly. “Now . . . perhaps you can help me set the table, since my foolish daughter is running late!”

We had only just started that job when the door banged open and Kelsey entered. To my surprise, tia Consola dropped what she was doing and greeted her with a hug. “Welcome home, sobrina!”

To my even greater shock, Kels smiled, returned the hug, and kissed our tia on the cheek – they were close to the same height. She caught me with my mouth open and shot me a teasing grin. “What?”

“Nada.” I smiled until I beamed. “Don’t mind me.”

“Go get cleaned up for dinner,” tia Consola ordered. “And tell my lazy husband not to use up all the hot water!”

Kels rolled her eyes. “Yes, mamá!”

“Not before I get a hug, too,” I scolded.

“But you smell bad,” Kels whined.

“Don’t care.” I pulled her in and rested my chin on the top of her head. “Good to see you, Chica!”

Of course, Innie chose that moment to come in. She took one look at me and Kels and shook her head in mock disgust. “God, Carmen, you’re such a moosh. Kelsey used to be fun!”

Kels broke my embrace and gave Innie a swat. “Hey, loser!”

Uncle Augui emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms wearing a clean work shirt and jeans, his hair damp and slicked back. “There they are – my favorite Musketeers!”

Kelsey gave him a hug as well, causing Innie to groan.

Before she could make a comment, tia Consola touched her arm and said softly, “Welcome home, mi hija. I’ve missed you.”

Something in her mother’s tone, or maybe her expression, gave Innie pause. She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I haven’t been out of the house two weeks! But . . . I missed you too, mamá.”

Because Innie worked in an office, she only needed to wash her face and hands; Kelsey had time for a quick shower because Jesus was running late. And of course, he needed a shower too, having absconded with a fair bit of oil and grease in the process of rebuilding an engine. Dinner was a bit late.

Uncle Augui sat at the head of the table, and tia Consola sat at the foot – or perhaps it was the other way around! I sat next to Jesus on one of the long sides, facing Innie and Kels on the other. Tia Consola wasn’t a fancy cook by any means, but she always got fresh ingredients and plenty of them – the table was loaded.

Uncle Augui looked at his company and smiled. “We’re just missing someone from Angel’s crew!”

Kels made a face. “Well, I’m not!”

“Charity, Kelsey,” tia Consola chided. “Always, charity!”

“Besides,” I added, “I’ve spent a little time with Lupe lately. She’d say she’s changed a lot; I think I just read her wrong all along.”

“You say so,” Kelsey grumped, then looked at our aunt apologetically. “Sorry, tia.”

“Lupe’s cool,” Innie allowed.

“I told your Abuela that I’d take her out to the hospital tomorrow,” Uncle Augui said to me. “You saw him earlier today?”

I nodded. “He’s making progress. I mean, it doesn’t look like much on the surface. But he was able to track me with his eyes, and blink a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in response to questions. It was a big strain, but I think he was able to give me a bit of pressure with his right hand. And, he’s off the ventilator!”

“I am glad . . . . Honestly, when I saw him the first time, I didn’t think he would make it.”

“He’s not out of the woods,” I cautioned. “I spoke with Dr. Chatterji after I saw him. There are still plenty of risks, including a relapse. And there’s always a risk of infection and pneumonia. But she thinks she’ll be able to get him out of the ICU within the next three days if he doesn’t have any sort of set back.”

Talk sort of devolved after that, as it tends to do when more than four people are involved. I mostly spoke with Jesus, who was next to me, and with Uncle Augui, who was on his other side. But both of them were feeling the effects of long days of physical labor in sauna-like conditions; by the end of the meal they were starting to droop.

When tia Consola brought out a plate of churros for dessert, Uncle Augui shook his head and gave her a tired smile. “Sorry, Viejita, I’m dead on my feet.”

“Go,” she scolded. “Get some sleep! And you, too, Jesus! I’ll take care of clean up.”

“Oh, no you won’t!” I said. “You must have cooked all afternoon. Put your feet up. Innie and Kels can show me where everything goes.”

“Go on, mamá,” Innie said. “We’ll take care of it.”

With a show of reluctance, she agreed, and soon the party was down to Innie, Kels and me.

Innie took charge. “Kels, if you can clear the table, I’ll rinse and Carmen can load the dishwasher – that way she won’t mess up her nice clothes!”

“Frickin’ princess,” Kels grumbled.

I grinned, raised my skirt a couple of inches on both sides, and did a pirouette. But when the easy stuff was done, I fished out one of tia Consola’s aprons, then soaped up and started on the pots and pans. Kels dried and Innie put things away.

There’s no better time to discuss difficult subjects than when people don’t have to look at each other. So, as I scrubbed hard at bits of chicken skin that refused to part from tia Consola’s pyrex casserole, I said, “Okay, Innie. Time to ’fess up. You’ve been ghosting me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her shoot me a guilty look. “Yeah.”

I kept scrubbing. “Do we need to get another bottle of budget tequila to make you talk?”

“Couldn’t hurt?”

“Now, you’re talking!” Kelsey encouraged. “But I’m pretty sure your poppa doesn’t have any in the house.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t,” she sighed.

“I’m assuming it’s about Diego,” I prodded. “I told you before – it’s only a problem if you won’t talk to me about it.”

She pulled out a step-stool so she could reach a higher cabinet. “I know. It’s just . . . I mean . . . fuck! It feels wrong to be so happy, when I know this was a guy you crushed on.”

I gave the pyrex a last look, decided it passed, and handed it off to Kelsey without looking at her. “Would it help if I told you I’m going on a date tomorrow?”

“Wait, what?”

Kelsey was equally surprised. “Seriously?”

I finally turned and looked at them both. “Yeah, seriously. And I’m nervous about it, and scared, and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing. So, no . . . I don’t have any energy left to think about Diego Gutierrez – except to hope that he treated you right.”

Innie gave me a long look, then nodded decisively. “Right. There’s no tequila in the house, but there’s beer. Let’s finish clean-up and continue this outside.”

I smiled. “Deal.”

I could tell that Kels had been buying the beer. We didn’t want to raid Uncle Augui’s stock of Mondelo, so we were stuck with Bud. It wasn’t important, though. We sat outside on the patio under the stars and talked for hours.

Innie’s date with Diego “wasn’t good,” she said, shaking her head. “It was frickin’ amazing. I’d known him forever, but I’d just kind of stopped seeing him, know what I mean? I changed, he changed . . . but my mental picture of him just stayed the same. And suddenly, it was like, wow. How did I miss this?”

“Ooooh,” Kelsey crowed. “Come on! Spill!”

Innie shot me a look, as if asking permission, then shrugged. “You remember your first kiss?”

I couldn’t suppress an explosive giggle. “Yeah – technically, it was Kels!”

“That so didn’t count!” Kels wagged a finger at me, but smiled at the memory. “I was pretending to be your Quinceañera date!”

Innie smiled, too, but she pressed her point. “I mean, your first real kiss. The one that suddenly made you feel alive, like you’d never been before?”

Kelsey smiled knowingly. “Yeah.”

Not wanting to break the mood, I nodded encouragingly. Truth is, I’d gone on a few dates and I’d kissed a few guys, but I’d never felt a spark like that. I’d been more nervous than anything else.

Innie looked away, to all appearances gazing at nothing at all. “It was like that again, when he kissed me. I realized how much I’d shut down, these last few years. I’d just been getting up, going through the motions, getting the job done. Blah, blah, blah, and lather, rinse, repeat. And then it was like I’d stuck my finger in a wall socket or something.”

We had to pry the story out of her. It turned out that Diego had felt the same way. He’d made arrangements with his employer to stay an extra week, to give them both an opportunity to see whether that initial spark would catch.

It had.

He’d gone back to Oregon, but Innie had promised to follow him. Her job search was now focused on the Portland area, though she wouldn’t rule out Seattle. “Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I’m going to be careful. I’m not moving in with him – not right away. We need some time. I just want to make sure we get it.”

Her parents were supportive. It probably helped that Innie was 29 and considered a bit of an “old maid” in terms of Buttonwillow norms, and her insistence on finding her own place to live couldn’t have hurt either. But Diego had impressed them both – especially when they learned about how his quick thinking had saved Kelsey. Uncle Augui had even taken Diego aside for a “man-to-man” talk before he’d headed north.

I’d asked her how tia Consola had taken it, and Innie had given me a sly grin. “Are you kidding? She’s got Kelsey here to fuss over. I’m so yesterday!”

Kels sputtered.

There was no way I could keep them off of the subject of my own date, of course. They wanted to know all about Andar, and I told them what little I knew. But I said, “I’m really trying not to blow this up out of proportion. It’s just dinner. He may not be interested.”

“But you’re interested,” Kels insisted, not bothering to make it any sort of question. “You are, or you wouldn’t be all lathered up about it.”

I didn’t fight it. “Yeah, I am. But my life’s down in the OC, and that’s not changing.”

“You think too much,” Kels said.

“And you worry too much,” Innie added. “You haven’t even kissed him, and you’re already worried about where you’ll live.”

I smiled. “I know, I know. It’s just the way I’m wired, you know?”

“Well, if you’ve got to worry, why don’t you worry about something practical?”

“I worry about everything. Practical things, too.”

“Like what?”

“Well . . . like, what am I going to wear?”

“Fuck with him,” Innie urged with a wicked grin. “Wear overalls!”

“Jeez,” Kels said, eyeballs rolling. “I see how you got your nickname!”

Innie didn’t take offense, which wasn’t all that surprising under the circumstances. She hadn’t said so in so many words, but I doubted she’d been “immaculate” in any sense of the word during the week Diego stayed around to test the waters. That empty apartment far from her mother’s eyes must have come in handy!

So I just smiled and shook my head. “You two are hopeless! C’mon now, help a newbie out – skirt or dress?”

Innie made a face. “Ewwwww!”

— To be continued

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