Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) (18 page)

“Mama, it’s time.”

Carmen hesitated.

“Please Mama,” Carly said. The older woman sighed. She walked over to a shady spot and sat under the tree. Her daughters followed, and when Carly glanced over her shoulder and indicated he should come, Evan joined them with Jack at his side.

“Your father was a good man,” Carmen insisted. “He helped everyone he came in contact with, whether it was carrying a heavy bag for an old woman, or helping to harvest the fields. Everyone loved him.” She took a breath. “The civil war was difficult. Salvadorans were fighting Salvadorans and each side believed they were right. Your father supported the rebels against the government whenever he could.” Tears welled in her eyes. “The government was corrupt, and your father always supported the weak. When the war officially ended, I thanked God he hadn’t been found, that he hadn’t been killed. But then rumors began to circulate that supporters of the government were still searching for people who had helped the rebels, and the tension in our village was awful. We had all secretly supported the rebels. We decided to leave, to go to the United States.” Her hands scrunched up in her skirt. “Your father was such a good man, he kept helping the people rebuild. He stopped at one of the rebel leaders’ houses after work one day. There was an incident, no one could tell me exactly what happened, but shots were fired and your father was killed.”

Evan sucked in a breath. How horrific for the whole family. It was no wonder Carmen hadn’t told the truth to her young girls.

“Did they ever catch who did it?” Bridget asked.

“Again, there are rumors, but no one was punished.”

Evan glanced around the circle. Carly was calm, but she’d already known the story.

Zita gaped at her mother. “Papa was murdered?” she asked as tears ran down her face.

Carmen nodded and stroked her daughter’s back. Zita shook her off and stood.

“How could you lie to us like that? How could you leave without finding the culprit?” She whirled around and strode into the garden.

“Zita, wait,” Carmen called after her.

“Let her go, Mama,” Carly said. “It’s a shock. I’ll follow her.”

Carmen turned to Carly. “This is why I never said anything.” She sighed, getting to her feet. “I must see to the others.” She walked out of the clearing.

Bridget groaned. “I shouldn’t have brought it up today.”

Jack hugged her. “You had a right to know.”

Carly nodded. “It’s best everyone knows. Why don’t you go and talk with her and I’ll find Zita?”

“All right.” Both Bridget and Jack got to their feet and left.

Carly stood. “I’d better go talk with Zita. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Sure.” Evan could take care of himself. “Good luck.”

C
arly followed the path her younger sister had taken. There was one spot Zita always ran to when she was upset.

Sure enough, Zita was sitting, her knees pulled up to her chest, on the lower branches of the big oak tree on the boundary of the property.

“How are you feeling, ZZ?” Carly called.

“Go away.”

Carly sighed. She recognized the tone. Zita was angry and upset. Bracing herself for the abuse that was bound to follow, she said, “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“Of course I’m feckin’ upset. It’s bad enough I don’t remember my father, now it turns out I don’t even know how he died!” Her eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Carly took a step back. Zita didn’t remember him? But she always had a story to tell on the Day of the Dead. “What do you mean you don’t remember him?”

“I was
three
, Carolina. How much do you remember from that age?” The anger was clear, and she wrapped her arms around herself again.

Carly had never considered it from Zita’s point of view before, she’d assumed because Zita had always said something, that she could remember him. Sadness swept through her. “I’m so sorry,
niñita
. I never realized.”

Tears poured down Zita’s face.

Carly took off her shoes. She was hopeless at physical activity and climbing a tree had to be one of the worst things she could do, but her sister needed her and wasn’t coming down on her own. Carly grabbed the trunk and then stretched out for the first branch. It was nowhere near her reach. She jumped at it and missed, stumbling a few steps past.

“What are you doing?” Zita asked, wiping her tears.

“Trying to climb up to you.” Carly grunted as she jumped toward the branch again. It was times like this her lack of height was a real problem.

Zita hiccupped, half-cough, half-laugh.

If it made her sister laugh, Carly was happy to continue making a fool of herself. She took a couple of steps back and tried a run up, smacking hard against the trunk.

“Ow.”

“Feck, Carly. Don’t hurt yourself, I’ll come down.”

Relieved, Carly held her scratched arm as her sister nimbly climb down. When she reached the bottom, Carly hugged her. Zita was much taller than she was, but she felt like a child in Carly’s arms as she started crying again.

“Hush,
niñita
. It’s all right. We can get out the old photos and go through them, tell you all the stories we remember of Papa.”

“No. Mama can’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s
always
talking about him. She expects me to know everything, and half the time what I say are things I’ve heard her repeat over the years. It would break her heart.”

She didn’t think Zita was right, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “Then we’ll have a girls’ night, just you, me and Bridget. We’ll look at photos and tell tales of Papa.”

“All right.” She sniffed.

Carly didn’t know why Zita had kept it a secret all these years. Why she hadn’t admitted she didn’t remember their father? No one would have been upset. She’d been little more than a baby when it had happened. She hugged her sister. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be OK.” She wiped her face with her hands.

“Why don’t you sneak upstairs and wash your face?”

Zita nodded and together they walked back to the house. At one of the forks in the path, Zita went left to avoid the party. The voices were loud and the music was happy.

Carly scanned the crowd of people who had arrived, and finally found Evan with Jack. She was pleased he had someone to talk to, because most of the people there were speaking Spanish.

Bridget moved toward her. “How is she?”

“She’s OK. I’ll talk to you about it later.” Now wasn’t the time.

Bridget nodded. “Thanks for bringing Evan. Jack doesn’t feel quite like the odd one out.”

Carly smiled. Jack was always sure of himself, so she didn’t think he would have had a problem if Evan hadn’t been there.

“So how are things with the two of you?” Bridget asked.

Carly didn’t want to talk about her love life with her sister. “He’s nice.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

She didn’t want to tell her he was the first man to ever get her, to ever want to know who the real Carolina was. It would be admitting she already felt too much for him. “We’re having fun.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I appreciated your advice about Jack.”

Carly nodded. She’d helped Bridget talk through some issues she’d had with Jack, but she didn’t want to talk about her relationship with Evan. She just wanted to enjoy it. “I’ll go pass around some food,” she said and walked off.

She’d learned from an early age if she had a plate of food in her hand, she was able to go up to people she didn’t know. Her mother had always insisted she mingle and be a good hostess, and passing around food appeased her. Carly had hated it at first, but had adapted. Making her way through the crowd, she caught up on the latest news, fielded requests for school and university fees, which she was happy to pay, and chatted with some of her foster sisters who had moved out and were making their way in the world.

Noticing Jack was chatting with Bridget, she glanced around for Evan and found him sitting on one of the garden walls, sketching. As she walked over to him, she saw Teresa watching him.

“Pasteles?” she asked, offering him the plate.

He glanced up. “Thanks.” He took one and she sat next to him.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s incredible. There’s such a community here, so much support and love. No one’s related are they?”

“There are a couple of families, but mostly we’re all migrants or refugees. We’ve become each other’s family, because it’s so difficult starting over in a new place without a support network.”

“That’s what your social media site does, doesn’t it? Brings together communities into a support network.”

“Yes.”

“Can many refugees afford a computer?”

“No. Comunidad recycles and reformats our old computers. We also take donations from the community, and then we wipe the hard drives, load the basic software, including a link to Comunidad, and teach families how to use them. It was one of the first things I set up.”

“You mentioned a while ago that some of your foster sisters hadn’t had their application approved yet, didn’t you? Have they been accepted now?”

She shook her head. “No. Teresa, Elena and Beatriz are still waiting.”

“Teresa?” He sounded surprised. “She came around with Carmen to do my garden.”

Carly smiled. “She’s part of the trial I spoke about. She’s allowed to live with us instead of in a detention center. I’m giving a talk at the refugee symposium next month, which will hopefully convince the powers that be that it’s the best option.”

“There’s nothing you can’t do.”

She shrugged and glanced down at his sketchbook. It was already a lovely snapshot of the people there. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Evan nodded. “Thanks for suggesting I bring my pencils. I would have been itching for them otherwise.”

Carly felt a bump against her leg and saw McClane at her feet. He lay down against the garden wall.

Evan laughed. “It’s too much excitement for him.”

She smiled, and then noticed Teresa was still watching them. She waved the girl over. “Teresa, you know Evan, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Hey, Teresa. Have you had your sketchbook out?”

She nodded again.

“I’d love to have a look if you want to share,” Evan said.

Teresa took a small breath in. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you get it now?” Carly suggested.

She hurried off.

“She’s got talent,” Evan said. “With a little bit of guidance, she’ll be excellent.”

“I’ll tell Mama. Drawing might be a way to bring her out of her shell.”

“What will happen if her application is denied?”

“She’ll be sent back to El Salvador.”

Evan frowned and opened his mouth to say something when Teresa returned, clutching her sketch pad to her chest.

“May I?” Evan asked.

She handed it to him. Carly examined the pictures as he flicked. They were excellent. The drawings depicted scenes of family, of houses and streets in what looked like El Salvador.

“Is this your home?” Carly asked in Spanish. Teresa still hadn’t completely opened up about her past.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

Carly stood up, wrapping an arm around the girl. “It’s hard, isn’t it? To leave everyone behind?”

“I had to go,” she whispered in Spanish. “I had to escape.”

“Escape what?”

Teresa shook her head. “No. It is too awful. I cannot say.”

Carly felt for her. Many of the girls who came to them had been sexually abused and felt like they would be hated or blamed if they admitted the truth. “You’re safe now.”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll be allowed to stay. And even if I can, my sister might be in danger. She’s younger than me, but they might force her –” She pressed her lips together.

“Force her to what?” Carly asked gently.

“Force her into prostitution.”

Carly’s heart grew heavy. She placed a hand on Teresa’s arm. “Is that what happened to you?”

She nodded.

Mierda
. What could she say to that? She wasn’t any good at counselling the girls, but she had to help. “I want you to tell Mama about what happened to you. Tell her everything you can, and there may be some way we can help your sister. How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

Still a child, but that wouldn’t necessarily protect her. “We’ll do what we can.”

“Thank you.” Teresa sniffed, her eyes full of tears.

Evan looked up from the drawings and hesitated when he saw her tears. He glanced at Carly and she nodded for him to speak. “These are really good, Teresa,” he said gently. “Do you want to sit here with me and do some more?”

She gave a cautious smile, brushing away the tears. “Yes, please.”

Carly gestured for her to sit. “I’d better keep serving food.”

She walked away, her heart full of concern for Teresa and her sister.

***

E
van offered his pencils to Teresa and began on a new sheet of paper. The Day of the Dead celebration was nothing like he’d expected. The earlier ceremony around the altars was a beautiful tribute, and then the revelation about Carly’s father’s death had been something else. He was worried about Zita. He hadn’t seen her return and she’d been so upset. At least Carly wasn’t worried. He’d wait a little longer and if Zita hadn’t appeared, he’d go looking for her. She was a big softie and her heart was fragile. He hated to see her hurting.

Keeping one eye out for her, he continued drawing.

Evan loved crowds. He loved watching people interacting, observing their body language, making up their conversations. He’d put his own interpretation on the scene when he painted it, using lots of riotous color to match the clothing of those gathered, all wearing traditional clothing of their mother country.

His eyes followed Carly as she served the food. She didn’t understand the meaning of the word relaxation, he was sure of it. Or perhaps she felt obligated to play hostess. He’d have to ask her about it later. She moved from group to group, stopping for a few minutes and then gracefully moving to the next group.