Avra's God (24 page)

“That’s it? Hit my life with a wrecking ball,
and all you have to say is, ‘there was no water in the tank?’ What?
You couldn’t have fought for the marriage for my sake, for the
girls’?”

“I fought for ten years. I fought till I
didn’t have any fight left.” His jaw clenched as he stared across
the gap between them. “I don’t have to justify anything to you.” He
turned toward the companionway to go below.

Cisco’s words stopped him. “Maybe if you
had—no, I’m blaming you, been blaming you for two years. Your
leaving knifed me, but I trashed my own life.”

Pops turned back around. “I’m sorry the
divorce strung you out. I had no idea. You’ve got your mother’s
Latin blood.”

Cisco stared at his father’s sun-leathered
skin, a day’s worth of growth on his jaw coming in gray, his thick
biceps, the tattoo he knew by heart:
Siempre Lourdes.
Well,
it hadn’t been for always, had it?

Let it go,
the voice in his head said.
Was it God?

Pops motioned with his head toward the boat.
“Have some grouper.”

Cisco’s stomach growled in response. He
sucked in a breath and stepped across the green water to their
future.

Cisco’s Geo plowed to a neat stop at the
Martins’ curb.

Drew stepped out the front door, followed by
Kurt, into the Sunday morning chill.

Cisco climbed out of the car. He stopped at
the cement walk that led to the house. “I was thinking about
catching a ride to church.”

Silence.

Cisco dug his hands into his pockets. “I can
take the Geo.” He glanced back at his car.

Kurt skewered Cisco with his eyes. “I wish
you’d take a hike—back out of Avra’s life.”

Kurt might as well have thrown a punch. These
guys had been brothers to him longer than he’d gone out with
Avra.

Kurt cracked a knuckle, the sound loud in the
quiet that cloaked them. “But I’ve been praying. God says I have to
forgive you.”

Drew fake-coughed.

Kurt’s hostility zinged back and forth the
length of the walk between them. He blew out a breath and crossed
the distance between them. He stopped toe-to-toe with Cisco and
searched his eyes.

Cisco’s fists clenched in his pockets,
bracing himself for Kurt’s punch.
Bring it on.

Jaw hard, Kurt reached a hand toward him. “I
forgive you, man.”

Cisco unclenched his hand and slapped it into
Kurt’s.

“Don’t hurt Avra again.”

Cisco gripped Kurt’s hand, then threw his
free arm around him and slapped his back. “I won’t.” Forgiveness on
any terms tasted sweet.

Drew went straight for the hug. “Same
here.”

“Thanks, man.”

Avra and Kallie walked out the door talking
to Avra’s parents.

Cisco swiped at his eyes. Avra caught the
motion. She scanned the group as if she were looking for an
explanation.

Cisco’s gaze settled on her, taking in the
soft blue blouse, the long-legged jeans, dainty earrings dangling
from her lobes, the blonde in her hair catching the intermittent
shafts of sunlight. Looking at her was a rare treat he savored
these days. He tore his gaze away and piled into the backseat of
the Martin’s minivan wedged between Kurt and Drew.

Avra sat in the sound booth sneaking peeks at
Cisco. The song ended. His eyes had slipped shut; a slight smile
tugged at his lips. She could almost feel worship radiating from
him. For all his faults, he wasn’t a poser. He really had changed
since the Fourth of July.

After church Kurt and Drew maneuvered Kallie
into riding in the backseat with them. Cisco climbed in next to
Avra and slid his arm across the back of the seat behind her, the
way he used to. She waited for the tug on her hair that always came
next, but he jerked his arm back as though he’d slipped into habit
without thinking.

So had she. She let out a breath she hadn’t
realized she held and scooted closer to the window. Dad’s hand
reached across the empty space between the front seats to grip
Mom’s as the minivan bumped along. She wanted that kind of forever
trust—not what Cisco had to offer. Still, she’d have to be in a
coma not to feel the current running between them.

She twisted around to look at Kallie. “What
did you think about church?”

Kallie’s forehead wrinkled. “Do you think God
really has an opinion about my career—that he’d show me what to
do?”

“Absolutely.” Out of the corner of her eye
she saw Cisco’s brows arch. What was he thinking? Curiosity about
the spiritual man who had moved into Cisco’s body gnawed at her
solar plexus.

Avra rocked the swing back and forth. A
blanket of white fog shrouded the street. She heard Cisco’s
rhythmic footfalls before she saw him come up the walk with a
fistful of gardenias. Relief shot through her. “You came.” She took
the stubby stems of white petals framed in deep green leaves from
him and breathed them in. “Thanks.” She laid them on the windowsill
behind the swing, and their pungency hung in the fog.

“Of course I came. I wanted to spend more
time with you than these garbage dates, but right now maybe this is
all we can handle.” He yawned and stretched.

Her eyes darted to the patch of stomach Cisco
unconsciously exposed. Her breath caught. She looked away. “Sit
here. I want to show you something.” She slid to one end of the
swing and handed him a blanket.

Cisco draped it over his shoulders and sat,
his weight jostling her. “When do I get to pick what we do on
Saturday mornings?”

“This was your choice.”

He shot her a skeptical look. “O—kay ...”

“You asked for it last week.”

He leaned toward her and looked closely.
“Sleep?”

“Yeah.”

He relaxed against the swing. “Good.”

She opened the oversized scrapbook onto their
laps. The first page displayed an empty package of chocolate chips.
“Remember the first time we made cookies together?”

“Yeah, you were crabby.”

His breath was warm on her cheek and she
shifted away. “I get crabby when I’m nervous.”

“So I’ve learned. Hey, that’s a picture from
the car wash—not my best side.”

“It’s a picture of the shoulder you made me
kiss after I rat-tailed you.”

His finger touched the Hershey Kiss
streamer.

He lifted each page and read every item.

Were the memories happy for him too?

He traced the small shell with a ribbon
threaded through it.

In the hazy whiteness of the morning, her
hand crept over his, seemingly of its own volition. “Our first
kiss.”

He smiled. She could almost feel the seconds
tick by. His skin was warm under her fingers. The swing creaked.
His smile melted until it was only lit in his eyes. He shifted
closer to her, his expression changing to a question.

Cisco hung on the fence at the end of the
soccer field. “Thanks for coming, Jess. I owe you. No way would
Avra go out with me, but she’ll be cool with us driving her
home.”

The final whistle blew and the girls jogged
across the grass under the glare of the field lights. He and Jesse
walked around to where Avra crouched, stowing a water bottle in her
duffle.

“Hey.”

Avra’s head popped up. Her eyes widened and
she sucked in a breath. He couldn’t tell if she was glad to see him
or just surprised. He hoped he hadn’t screwed things up on
Saturday, almost kissing her.

“How much of the game did you catch?” she
said.

“Last quarter.” He put his hand up. “Nice
goal in the lower right corner.”

She slapped his hand, grinning.

Maybe we’re okay.

He motioned with his head. “Me and Jess wanna
drive you home.”
Please say yes.

Avra glanced down at her sweaty soccer
uniform, smoothed a hand over her ponytail, and shrugged. “Why
not?”

Yes!

Kallie walked up.

“We’re riding home with Cisco and Jesse,”
Avra said.

Kallie startled when she heard Jesse’s name
and she looked around till she saw him standing by the fence. Her
color went splotchy. What was that all about?

Avra and Cisco turned away, talking about the
first three quarters of the game, and headed for the car.

Kallie eyed Jesse warily and fell into step
with him. Tía told her she’d broken up with Jesse weeks ago, but
this was the first time she’d had to face him since
Neon
Green.

Jesse caught her gaze. “How’s the train
wreck?”

Her heart raced as if she’d just drunk six
shots of espresso. “Mangled beyond recognition.”

“What? No blood oozing from the
wreckage?”

Kallie’s eyes darted back to his. “That’s not
black dirt around the tracks. It’s old blood soaked into the
ground. They carried the corpses away months ago.”

Jesse grinned. “Same old Kallie.”

At Jesse’s grin, their friendship that was
supposed to be dead in a box in the shed sat up and looked
around.

Cisco looked over his shoulder at them.
“What’s today’s date?”

“October second,” Jesse said.

A sigh rushed out of Kallie. “My dad’s
birthday.”

Cisco and Avra wandered up the bleachers in
the football stadium as if they were in no hurry to get home. Cisco
sprawled across the top bench; Avra leaned against the press box
opposite him.

The reminder of her father’s birthday pressed
Kallie down onto the bench across from Jesse. “It’s my fault Aly
and I aren’t having cake and ice cream with Dad. I wish Cisco
hadn’t brought it up.”

“How is it your fault your dad had a child
with a woman at his office and cut you, Aly, and your mom out of
his life?”

Jesse thought he knew the whole story, but he
didn’t. He
so
didn’t. “You don’t know.” Her voice
cracked.

“Spill then,” Jesse said.

Avra leaned toward her from seats above.
“Jesse’s right. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

She looked at Avra, Cisco, then Jesse. The
urge to tell the truth as penance for what she’d done filled her.
Maybe if she confessed, God would absolve her—like telling a priest
your sins. She’d never told the whole story, not even to Jesse. She
took a deep breath.

The decade-old videotape played in her mind
as she talked.

She was twelve, on the cusp of puberty, no
doubt—awash in bitterness and boredom on a visit to Dad’s. She
pulled out the snow globe she’d carried in her backpack since Dad
gave it to her two years earlier. He’d given it to her after she
sang a solo of
Silent Night
at Midnight Mass. She’d thrown
up from nerves beforehand, but made it through her performance. Dad
said he was proud of her.

She shook it. Silvery pieces of rain swirled
around a Christmas tree framed by two palm trees. A blonde girl
sang from a book in front of the tree. One hundred percent of her
Christmases had been snowless, and she hated fake-looking Christmas
snow scenes. The globe was the only one she’d ever seen filled with
rain.

For a long time, just feeling the round,
solid shape through her backpack made her feel warm, loved. In the
last year, the globe became her hope that Dad would wake up and
remember that he loved them. Her.

Dad’s new house smelled like plastic and
carpet glue. She and Aly spectated Dad, Erika, and baby Michael’s
life. Only, Dad didn’t belong in this picture. He belonged at home
with them. But strangers lived in that house now. She mindlessly
tossed the globe in the air with one hand, the repetition soothing
her. She wanted to be with Mom at the apartment. No, she wanted the
impossible—Dad and Mom and Aly happy in their yellow Cape Cod
tucked between shady oaks in South Miami.

“Kallie,” Erika said, “Put the globe down.
You’ll break it.”

Anger flash-fired through Kallie. “You’re not
my mother. I don’t have to do what you say.”

“Clark!” Erika yelled toward the kitchen. The
angry hysteria in her voice bounced around the room.

Kallie stopped tossing the globe. “So what if
I break it?” Kallie said with quiet venom. “You already broke my
family.”

Aly shut the coloring book and sat up. She
scooted her back against the couch and wrapped her arms around her
knees.

“Mom is at that stupid
condo—
alone
—recovering from a hysterectomy. My dad could be
taking care of her right now. Aly has nightmares every night and
has to sleep in my bed with the light on.”

Aly’s eyes got huge.

“This represents what you’ve done to us ...”
A vortex of rage swirled around her and sucked her in. She hurled
the globe with the strength of her fury.

The missile missed Erika’s head and shattered
against the wall behind her. Terror pulsed through Erika’s eyes.
She hunched protectively over the baby.

Good. She deserved to be terrified. Kallie
was the ace pitcher on her softball team, but she doubted Erika
remembered that. Kallie would have hit her if she wanted to.

“Kallie!” Dad’s face reddened with the effort
to control his anger. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. “Get
your things; I’m taking you home.”

Dad detested emotional outbursts.

She didn’t care. “Home?” Kallie spat at him.
“Home was the house on Eucalyptus Lane where we lived all our
lives.” She motioned toward Aly who hadn’t moved. “You kicked us
out, remember? Just because so many people get divorced, you think
it doesn’t hurt us kids. You took our Mom too. Now she has to go to
work—so you can have this slut.” Out of the corner of her eye she
saw Erika wince. Good. She’d meant revenge.

“Shut up!” Dad said. She’d never heard him
use that expression. He yanked her by the arm and marched her into
the guest room, where he threw things into her suitcase. Aly
scampered behind him, tossing items into her Little Mermaid
bag.