“You walked away first.”
“Pilar dragged me away.”
“Then, tell me why we haven’t been here before tonight? We’ve been invited, but you’ve always found an excuse not to come.”
He knows I came tonight because of the possibility of a new movie role, but he wants to hear me say it. I don’t feel like placating him. Instead, I stand up and take his hand, tugging gently. “Let’s not fight. Dance with me.”
A string band plays beside a wooden dance floor laid over the grass. Couples glide under strung yellow blubs shaped like sunlit tears. I want to join them, but Alfonso doesn’t budge. He likes this power play, his childish, pouting act. Usually, I give in, pacify, apologize, giggle and smile and lure him into the bedroom reminding him of all the things I love about him.
Tonight, I have no desire to expend the energy he needs to feel good about himself.
I pick up my drink, finish it off and say, “Fine, I’ll find someone else to dance with.”
I do. There are plenty of dance partners, the blue-eyed bartender, for one, and I have no idea Alfonso has left without me until I stumble up to the driveway hours later and see that his Cadillac is gone. I shiver, suddenly aware of how cool it’s gotten and how drunk I am.
Pilar, who has walked up the stone steps with me, puts an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, honey. You can stay here.”
For the first time all night, I think of you, daughter. “No, thank you.” I shake my head. “I’ll call a taxi. I need to get home to Nina.”
Only, I am too late.
Chapter Five
* * *
Hide and Crawl Away
Mother,
I am watching Gunsmoke when Alfonso stumbles into the living room, knocking into the side table and making such a racket that I miss the final question. I glare at him as he pours a drink from the bar cart. Grandmother Maria went to bed hours ago, her door closed against the sound of our television drifting down the hall.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, glancing toward the front door, which he forgot to close all the way.
He shrugs and sits sullenly in the orange chair. For a moment, I consider telling him that your last husband killed himself in that chair but decide against it. “I’m going to bed,” I say, standing up. “Do you want the television on?”
He nods, and I leave him staring at a Campbell’s Soup can dancing across the screen with little arms and legs waving out from it.
I put on my nightgown, a kitten print that I still love, and crawl into bed without brushing my teeth. I am tired, and I ate too much pie. My stomach has a distended, bloated feeling, and I roll onto my side and drift into an uncomfortable sleep. I don’t know what time it is when I feel the weight of a body climbing into my bed, Alfonso’s acrid mix of cologne and sweat and alcohol pulling me out of a dark dreamlessness. His hand is in my hair, his fingers tugging through the strands, and I can’t understand why he’s doing that, or why, when I open my eyes, I see him lying under my blanket. He moves his hand from my hair to my shoulder, and I go cold as his fingers trace my collarbone, stopping to rest in the divot below my neck. He presses slightly, and I wonder if he means to choke me. I want to scream, but I am paralyzed, my mouth frozen shut. Then I feel his penis through his pants, hard against my thigh. I don’t know how I even know what it is, but I do. I want to throw up. I want to cry out for you, for my grandmother. Only, I can’t. My twelve-year-old mind has nowhere to put this dreadful, unknowable thing. I squeeze my eyes shut, little pops of light bursting behind my lids, all of my neatly constructed boxes, my precise angles, flying apart.
Alfonso’s breath is warm and wet against my neck, his fingers working their way to the bottom of my nightgown that he begins to edge up my leg. I should shove him away, tell him to stop, but I can barely gulp air into my lungs. My heart races, and my stomach seizes as he presses his hand between my legs.
And then, “Nina?”
My eyes shoot open as the light clicks on, the ceiling a blinding white above me. There is a throaty scream, your scream, and I struggle to sit up as Alfonso scrambles from the bed. You are standing in the doorway, your eyes startled wide. Your expression makes me think I have done something terrible and you will hate me for it.
Everything moves very quickly, the room nauseatingly bright. Alfonso is barely on his feet when Grandmother Maria’s bulk shoves past you so quickly I can’t imagine how she got out of bed that fast. She pulls me to my feet with a look I’ve never seen before. I feel skeletal and laid bare.
“Dios mio,” she cries. “What have you done?” I think she is angry with me, but she shakes her fist at Alfonso, who pulls back, confused.
“What?” he says. “She cried out, and I was comforting her.”
“You a sick, sick man!” Grandmother Maria spits at his feet. “Fuera de aca, fuera!”
She begins wailing, and Alfonso moves to the doorway where you stand with your hand clamped over your mouth. He reaches out as if to touch you, but your hand flies from your face and smacks his away. I want you to spit in his eye like Grandmother spat at his feet, but you just turn your head, and he slinks past into the hallway.
Grandmother Maria sits me on the edge of the bed, her cries trailing off to small groans, and you hurry over, sitting next to me and smoothing my hair out of my face.
“Did he hurt you?” you say, your voice weak as a thread.
I look into my hands, not knowing which kind of hurt you mean.
Reaching behind me, Grandmother Maria yanks back the covers and says, “There is no blood. Is your underwear still on?”
My face flames with embarrassment, and I don’t answer, wishing Grandmother Maria would go away and let you handle this.
A silent exchange passes between the two of you, something fierce and personal. I don’t know what it means, or who is angry with whom.
Your fingers are cool as ice as you take my hand and ease me back into bed. You don’t make a joke or smile or try to sing the sadness away. That is how I know what has happened is catastrophic.
“Can you sleep?” you say. Such simple words.
I whisper “I think so,” and you wince as though I’ve pinched you.
Grandmother Maria watches from the doorway, her shoulders pulled back as if trying to hold us all up with them.
You kiss my forehead, and Grandmother Maria clicks off the light. The room fills with shadows and shapes and a ringing silence. I want to hold on to you, but you slide your arm away and slip out the door into the dark hallway. I wonder if you are going to comfort Alfonso, and I think about shutting my door and pushing my chair under it in case he tries to come back. I wish you’d stayed and lain next to me singing songs into the darkness like you used to.