No Second Chances (3 page)

“Santiago,” Fabi cried out and threw a dirty rag, the one she used to wipe spills and tables with. It hit him on the cheek.

“Fine.” He raised his arms in a surrendering gesture. “You can be the after and we'll Photoshop some rolls —” Fabi punched him on
the shoulder. Why were the women in his family so violent, he thought, rubbing his forearm. “I was just kidding. But seriously, Grandpa has tons of nutritious fruits and stuff. I was thinking we could run a juice bar? It's healthy, makes you slim, and tastes good. The best part is that customers don't have to do anything. No work-outs. No giving up your favorite foods. They don't even have to chew.” He pulled out a straw with the flourish of a magician. “They just suck.”

“Maybe,” Fabi said in a soft voice. By the look on her face, Santiago could tell she was letting the idea marinate in her head. Even though he had a couple of other ideas in the works, the juice bar was his five-star money-making plan.

The front door opened, triggering a bell chime. It was a couple of large professional women. He noticed that each of them held a brown paper bag, possibly from the “
Aquí Es
” store down the street. Santiago watched as Fabi handed them menus and took their orders.
His eyes lingered as they peered at the entire menu and turned it over as if they couldn't find what they were looking for. Fabi wrote down their orders and headed to the kitchen. On her way back, Santiago stopped her.

“Hey, what did they order?”

“They're sharing a chicken fajita order.”

“I knew it!”

Fabi gave him a curious glance.

“Obviously, they wanted something healthy but small. Imagine their reaction when we offer small healthy meals in a cup.” He shook his head in anticipation. “I'm telling you, Fabi, we could be rich.”

Fabi stared. She wasn't quite sure what had gotten into her cousin. For as long as she could remember, Santiago was always planning get-rich-quick schemes. But she had to admit she liked the idea of having a business at
la pulga.
The flea market held many fond childhood memories: delicious food, cool stuff to buy, and a festival-like atmosphere. And she could
definitely use the extra money. A small smile danced on her lips. She could have full control over the menu. Maybe if her dad saw that vegetarian dishes could be successful, he'd let her introduce new items to the restaurant. However, Santiago did have a knack for getting into trouble. But a small stand at the flea market sounded safe enough. What could go wrong?

S
omething shook Santiago's leg abruptly, jerking him out of a blissful dream filled with pretty girls, warm splashing water, and wet T-shirts. His eyes opened just a slit. It was dark outside. A rooster called out an early morning greeting. He rolled over, nestling back into the warm fluffy comforter, and tried to get back to his dream. His leg shook again.

“Let me sleep,” he groaned.

“Not in my house,” Abuelita Alpha said. Her gruff tone made his eyes spring wide open.

Suddenly, his blanket was yanked off his body. A burst of cold air struck him, making his arms and legs shiver with goose bumps. Santiago tried to retrieve the blanket, but it was gone, leaving him vulnerable to the elements. He curled his body into a ball and grabbed a couple of throw pillows to use for protection.

“Time to get up,” snapped Alpha. She'd rolled the thick blanket in her arms like a burrito. “
Viejo
,” Abuelita Alpha called out to her husband, Grandpa Frank. “See, now that's how you wake up the kid.”

“Come on, Abuelita,” Santiago begged, hoping for a little consideration. “Just five more minutes and I promise I'll be up.” When Abuelita didn't respond, he smiled, snuggling deeper into the cushions of the couch. No woman could resist him when he asked nicely. It was one of his gifts. Santiago was surprised by how soft and comfortable the plastic-covered sofa was after a couple of hours of body heat
pressed up against it. He wondered if he could find a way to bring custom-made plastic furniture covers back in style.

Suddenly, icy cold water splashed all over him. The shock made him leap up. Abuelita Alpha smiled. Her loose silver curls, pale wrinkly face, and oversized black clothes gave her an ominous appearance. The crazy lady had poured water all over her plastic-covered couch, converting his bed into a pool.

“Mira
, Frank,” Alpha said in a triumphant voice over her shoulder. “I told you I'd get that lazy boy up.” She grinned at Santiago like she'd beat him in an arm-wrestling competition.

He raised his arms in a surrendering gesture. “All right! You win. I'm up.”

“Don't make me do this again,” Alpha said, reaching up and pinching him on the cheek. Santiago winced. Her fingers were cold but strong. “Frank is heading out back to milk the goats.”

Santiago scooped up his red cotton T-shirt and denim jeans off the floor and hurried into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he was outside and ready to begin his brand-new business venture.

 

Grandpa Frank owned two houses. One was in town and the other, his ranch, consisted of several acres of land right outside the Dos Rios town limits. Only two acres were in production, the rest he left for the goats to run wild. When Santiago was small, he liked to come out to the ranch because Grandpa Frank would let him ride his donkey and hunt squirrels and quail out in the brush with his cousins. Other kids had their dads to take them camping and fishing. Santiago had Grandpa Frank.

The early morning air was warm and delightful. Santiago took a moment to scan the horizon. A shower of golden light from the morning sun illuminated everything in its
path: the orchards, the berry bushes, and the rows of vegetable crops. He noticed lots of weeds all over the place. Grandpa Frank used to give him a quarter for every cluster of the thorny buffalo-bur he uprooted. It was a good deal for Santiago, until his cousins (his subcontracted labor force) protested getting paid five cents a bush and went directly to Grandpa Frank to cut him out of the deal. Santiago smiled at the memory.

A whining goat called out to Santiago. He turned and saw Grandpa Frank struggling with two pails of goat milk. Santiago rushed over and took the heavy buckets from the old man.

Grandpa Frank smiled. “Did she get you?” he asked, trying to stifle a chuckle. Santiago shivered at the memory of the bucket shower and Grandpa Frank laughed. “She would do that to me, too, you know? At first I thought to myself,
híjole
what did I marry?” He smiled brightly for a beat and then shrugged. “But if you marry a country girl, you learn to get up
before her to avoid her temper.” Grandpa Frank gestured toward the house. “Go set these on the kitchen table. Maybe she'll make us some fresh cheese.” He winked.

When Santiago returned, Frank was feeding the chickens. The two then went on a tour of the ranch. Santiago followed Grandpa Frank down a row of leafy greens, carrots, cabbage, and celery. He listened to the list of chores for the day. There were weeds that needed to be cleared, the hen coop had to be refitted with new chicken wire, and there were tons of pests to trap, squish, and remove. Santiago's eyes glazed over as Grandpa Frank went on and on. He wondered if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

It was past ten o'clock when Santiago started on weed patrol. With a garden fork and a rusty wheelbarrow he dug out the prickly burs and bindweeds that threatened to overtake the garden beds. Grandpa Frank complained about the sun and found a shady
tree to rest under. Santiago looked down his first row. It seemed a lot longer than it did a moment ago. He wondered if it was getting close to lunchtime.

Suddenly, his cell phone started to ring in his back pocket. Santiago wondered if it was his mom. He couldn't keep dodging her, but he also needed some time to show her he could be responsible. The caller ID said it was his cousin Chubs.
Cool
, he thought, pressing ANSWER.

“Yo man,
¿qué pasa?
Where you at, man?” his cousin yelled above the bumping hip-hop music and laughter in the background.

“I'm over here at Grandpa Frank's ranch,” Santiago replied. “He's helping me out with this business I'm starting.”

“Well, tell him you got
chorro
or something. I'm over here at Travis's place.”

Santiago's muscles tensed at the mention of Travis Salinas. He and his brother, Brandon, used to be Santiago's buddies until a year ago. In the past, Santiago helped them sell stuff like
jewelry, car radios, and other knickknacks. He never asked where they got the merchandise — he didn't want to know.

But then came the trailer park incident. The brothers asked him for a ride to see a friend. The Salinas brothers told him to wait around the corner of this trailer park that was popular with the winter Texans. Then he heard a woman cry out. There was a gunshot and all kinds of scared voices filled the air. When the brothers appeared with all kinds of computer equipment, Santiago wanted out. He refused to sell the merchandise or have anything else to do with them. He'd heard that they had stopped stealing and were now transporting goods from Mexico.

“Dude! Are you listening to me?” his cousin yelled, drawing Santiago back to the present. “I said I've got these two fine-looking ladies here that want to go for a ride. They've never been to La Villa so I offered to take them. We're just up the street from you. I could swing by —”

Santiago thought about all the work he had to do before Sunday's
pulga
. Through the phone he could hear female voices. Someone asked if he was coming. Santiago looked over his shoulder. Frank was passed out cold and snoring loudly. Maybe he could go and come back quickly?

“These girls are getting very impatient,” Chubs pressed.

“Pick me up at the end of the street,” he said, lowering his voice. Santiago placed his gardening tool into the wheelbarrow. “Whatever you do, don't honk.” He hung up and pushed the cart over to a mound of brush at the far end of the field. The blackberry bushes hid him from view so he ducked down and hurried over to hop the fence.

He got to the end of the block just as a midnight-blue Mustang appeared over the horizon. Chubs's head nodded to the beats banging from his car stereo. Next to him sat a pretty redhead in a cheerleading uniform. A blonde, in a
similar uniform, smiled shyly from the backseat. Santiago loved blondes — even the fake ones.

“I want you to meet my cousin Santiago,” Chubs said as Santiago jumped in the backseat. The girls giggled in approval. As Santiago relaxed into the backseat a sharp pointy object poked him in the back. He shifted his weight to find a jackrabbit with antlers behind him. Chubs was an amateur taxidermist — emphasis on amateur. Every Christmas, he gave the family a stuffed animal. Sometimes it was a dog or cat he found splattered on the road. Sometimes he created his own Frankensteinlike creatures. Santiago tossed the animal on the car floor. Once Santiago was settled, Chubs slammed down on the accelerator and took off down the rocky dirt road.

Santiago put his arm around the blonde. He caught whiffs of cinnamon and honey in her hair. “And what's your name? Or can I just call you gorgeous?”

The girl squirmed with delight. “My name's
Aracely, but you can call me Shelly. All my friends do.”

“Hey, bro,” Chubs held out a beer. “You thirsty?”

Santiago reached for the can. He leaned back and smiled at the girl in his arm. That's when the reality of the situation hit him like Alpha's cold shower. What was he doing? Santiago looked at the can in his hand and again at the pretty girl, who was now playing with his hair. He'd been cruising with his cousin and cute girls for as far back as he could remember. Then an image of Grandpa Frank waking from his nap nagged at him. It made him wince with shame. What would Frank think when he found Santiago gone? He definitely wouldn't be surprised, Santiago thought. How many times had Santiago started projects and then dropped them when they got boring or too hard? Ouch! Too many to count. At this rate, he'd never be able to take care of his mom. But now things were different. If he failed now,
his father might try and walk back into his life. He might even try to get back with his mom and do the family thing.

“Stop the car,” Santiago said urgently.

“What?” his cousin asked. He shot him a confused glance in the rearview mirror.

“I said stop the car,” Santiago repeated louder.

“Dude, what's your problem? All that farm work making you crazy?” Chubs glanced over his shoulder. He didn't like the determined look on Santiago's face. He pulled the car over.

Santiago turned to the girl next to him. “I'm sorry. It was nice to meet you, but I got to go.” Then he climbed out of the car. “Sorry, cuz, but I got to get back.”

Chubs flung open his door to chase after him. He raised his arms, confused. “What's wrong? You don't like the girls? We can find other ones.”

“Hey!” the cheerleader in the front seat protested.

The sun was high overhead. It was so bright Santiago had to squint to see his cousin's face. Santiago put his hand on his cousin's shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Man, it has nothing to do with you or the girls. I just …” He glanced over his shoulder toward Grandpa Frank's ranch. “I just need to go back to the ranch. I got to finish this thing I started. You understand?”

“No,” his cousin said. “I don't understand. We got two hot girls in the car that are ready to have some fun. And they come as a duo — you get me? If you leave, then they'll want to leave, too. You can't do this to me, bro.”

Santiago hesitated, feeling some of his resolve weaken. “I can't. My pop is out of jail and I need to take care of my moms.”

Chubs's face lit up at the mention of his uncle. “No way? Uncle Eddy is out? How come I'm always the last one to find out anything in this family?”

“Dude, he hurt my mom. He used to beat her bad.”

“Naw.” His cousin laughed in disbelief. “Your dad never meant to hurt your mom. He just gets a little crazy when he drinks.”

“You weren't there,” Santiago said between clenched teeth. The seriousness in Santiago's voice made his cousin stop. Santiago remembered the paralyzing fear he had as a kid. How he would cry himself to sleep under his bed, worrying if this time his dad would actually kill his mom. He remembered begging her not to take him back, to press charges, and run away. But she never did. His dad always promised to change and his mother always took him back.
Not this time
, Santiago thought. This time it would be different.

Chubs stared down the road and said in a low voice: “If it's money you need, I can help you out. Travis and Brandon have a sweet operation going now, none of that trailer park thievery anymore. I'm sure if I —”

“I want nothing to do with the Salinas brothers. They got lucky at the drag race.”
Santiago had secretly hoped the Salinas brothers would get caught at the drag race drug bust a couple months back. But someone was looking out for them and all they got was a slap on the wrist. “Besides, those fools are still pissed about their Escalade getting all busted up at the races. You think they're going to forget about that and let me work with them again?”

Chubs shrugged. “Maybe we could explain things.”

Santiago gestured for Chubs to give it up.

“Well, you've got options, man,” Chubs reminded him. “You don't have to shovel crap if you don't want to.” He laughed at his joke.

Santiago sighed. “I'd rather haul a mountain of crap than work for those fools.”

“Fine,” Chubs said, letting the argument go. He glanced back at his car. “You sure you can't ride around for a little bit?”

Santiago shook his head.

His cousin let out a deep sigh. “All right, bro.” He gave Santiago a handshake. “Smell you later.”

 

It took Santiago an hour to walk back to the ranch. The overpowering rays from the sun sucked up all of his energy. Grandpa Frank was no longer in his chair. Santiago glanced at the dark house. Had he left? Santiago turned on the hose by the side of the ranch-style house and drank greedily from it. Then he raised the nozzle over his head to spray cool water over his body. Nothing had ever felt so good, he thought. Then Santiago knocked at the door. There was no answer. Was Grandpa Frank mad? He knocked again.