Misplaced (68 page)

P
atiently,
she
positioned
V
ictoria’s
fingers
around
the
knife
and tucked the knuckles of her opposite hand into the slippery
onio
n.
“There’
s
nothin
g
mor
e
pitifu
l
tha
n
being
useless
in
the
kitchen.
Holding
the
knife
correctly
makes
all
the difference.
See?”

Sh
e
w
a
s
right
.
Th
e
efficienc
y
wit
h
whic
h
V
ictori
a
sliced
he
r
thir
d
onio
n
amaze
d
her
,
a
s
di
d
th
e
onse
t
o
f
tear
s
that
accompanie
d
th
e
growin
g
pil
e
o
f
nea
t
slice
s
o
n
th
e
cutting
board.

Celest
e
remarked
,
“
Y
o
u
kno
w
th
e
ol
d
Mexica
n
saying
,
don’t
you? ‘Only jealous women cry when chopping onions.
’
”

“Wh
o
belie
v
e
s
thos
e
things?
”
V
ictori
a
retorted
.
“Fin
d
m
e
one person who wouldn’t cry doing this.”

“They don’t bother me at all.”

By
now,
V
ictoria
w
as
truly
miserable.
As
she
wiped
her
face
with
her
slee
v
e,
the
front
door
opened
and
a
jolly
voice
called
out, “Where is e
v
eryone?”

Th
e
woma
n
wh
o
entere
d
wit
h
a
n
armfu
l
o
f
clothin
g
w
as
Lila
,
th
e
caretake
r
’
s
wife
.
Righ
t
a
w
ay
,
V
ictori
a
admire
d
the
playfu
l
w
a
y
sh
e
droppe
d
he
r
pil
e
ont
o
Genera
l
Lee
,
who
’
d
again
laid
claim
to
the
large
chair
in
front
of
the
fireplace.
She
strolled
into
the
kitchen
to
kiss
Celeste
on
the
cheek
while
the
General
gro
w
led,
jumped
down
from
his
bed
trailing
a
white
t-shirt, and strutted
a
w
ay.

“It’s
my
turn
for
a
good
look
at
Bea’s
friend
from
college.”
Lila
came
closer
and
took
V
ictoria
by
the
shoulders.
“Why
are
you crying?”

“Onions,”
V
ictoria blubbered.

“Lea
v
e
them
for
a
minute
and
let’s
see
if
anything
here
fits
you.”
From the
center of the
pile,
Lila pulled out a cotton
dress
wit
h
gian
t
pin
k
an
d
purpl
e
f
lo
w
ers—th
e
sor
t
o
f
dres
s
June
Clea
v
er
might
ha
v
e
worn
to
a
picnic.
The
bateau
neckline
and
brigh
t
color
s
mad
e
V
ictori
a
wince
.
A
s
i
f
tha
t
w
asn’
t
ba
d
enough,
a matching bright-violet s
w
eater follo
w
ed.

“Now
stop
that,”
Celeste
commanded,
despite
the
fact
that
V
ictoria had made no visible reaction. “Gi
v
e it a try.”

In
the
dining
room,
V
ictoria
slipped
the
dress
o
v
er
her
head
and
found
unexpected
pleasure
in
the
softness
of
the
w
ashed
cot
t
on
.
A
s
ligh
t
a
s
ai
r
an
d
clea
n
smelling
,
i
t
slippe
d
w
eightlessly
o
v
er
her
body,
except
where
it
hugged
her
w
aist.
She
twirled
around
se
v
eral
times
in
her
bare
feet,
which
loosened
her
bun,
so she pulled out the tortoise-shell clip and shook out her hair.
Before
those
two
had
a
chance
to
laugh
at
her
she
needed
a
look for herself, so she stepped silently into the
w
ashroom.

“
Mamá
?
”
V
ictori
a
whispere
d
a
t
th
e
mirror
;
i
t
w
a
s
Estima
Barró
n
smilin
g
back
,
jus
t
a
s
he
r
daughte
r
remembere
d
her—
winding
her
hair
around
her
fingers
in
a
dress
V
ictoria
could
practicall
y
recal
l
he
r
w
earing
.
Ofte
n
an
d
usuall
y
i
n
tende
r
tones,
people
commented
on
the
resemblance
bet
w
een
them,
how
she
ha
d
he
r
mothe
r
’
s
shinin
g
e
y
e
s
an
d
thic
k
w
av
y
hair
.
V
ictoria
had
ne
v
er
really
seen
it
before,
but
she
did
now.
Lingering
in
fron
t
o
f
th
e
mirror
,
sh
e
wipe
d
a
w
a
y
tear
s
tha
t
w
er
e
no
t
fro
m
chopping
onions
and
wrapped
her
arms
tightly
around
herself,
studying
herself
from
e
v
ery
possible
angle,
hypnotized
by
the
visio
n
o
f
he
r
mothe
r
i
n
th
e
mirror
.
Onl
y
the
n
di
d
sh
e
w
al
k
sh
y
ly
into the front room.