The Butterfly’s Daughter (36 page)

Mariposa took the box and could no longer contain the myriad,
turbulent emotions that she'd managed to hold in check. Tears flowed freely down her face, and though she bent her head, she couldn't stop the wrenching sobs that broke from her heart. Mariposa reached out in a rush to wrap her arms around Luz. Luz stiffened in resistance, but with Abuela's ashes between them, she was swept up in the tide of emotion and at last gave in to her own tears as well.

“I'm sorry,” Mariposa said, moving her lips against her daughter's head. “I'm so sorry.”

As the sun lowered in the autumn sky, Luz sat with her mother's arms around her and her grandmother's ashes in her lap. In the cragged branches of the oaks overhead, birds sang evening songs in their nests. Luz's heart answered as she listened to the soothing, infant love songs of a mother to her child.

The final stage of metamorphosis is called the imago. Before the butterfly emerges, the chrysalis appears black. But in fact it is transparent. On close inspection, one can see the black monarch's wing with a glimmer of orange.

T
he peaceful, dove gray light of dawn colored the austere hotel room walls when Luz opened her eyes. She felt drowsy, filled with the restorative calm of a good night's sleep. Waking, she felt Sully's arms heavy around her body, blanketing her with his warmth. She breathed deep and smelled the heady scent of skin and sex.

She smiled a slow, sultry smile, thinking of Ofelia's tale of the goddess Xochiquetzal and how she'd made love to the Aztec warriors with a butterfly held between her lips. For their sacrifice in battle, she promised them eternal life far off in her mountain garden. Sully had come to do battle for her, she realized, reaching to stroke the soft hairs on his arm. What could she promise him in return?

Her mind was spinning with all that had happened. In the quiet peace of this fresh day, she could give her mind free reign to piece together the events of the tumultuous day before. It was still hard to accept that her mother was alive. Even now, she wondered if she'd dreamed it.

When she and Mariposa had returned to the house after their walk, there had been an awkward silence. Once everyone in the room sensed that the two women had made at least a start at reconciliation, the relief was palpable. At last the identity of the man who had stood in stoic silence beside Mariposa was revealed. His name was Sam Morningstar and he was introduced as her friend. Though from the way he looked at Mariposa, Luz thought Sam's feelings went far beyond the bounds of friendship. Throughout the rest of the evening Sam's gaze returned again and again to Mariposa, gauging her fatigue or her reactions to a comment. It was the same with Sully for Luz.

It was a relief when Tía Maria came in from the kitchen, drying her hands, to call out with what Luz now understood was her aunt's typical bossy cheerfulness, “Let's eat!”

In the end, it was the sharing of Abuela's recipes that had brought the women together. Luz figured out that Tía Maria had inherited Abuela's talent for cooking. It was her passion, as it had been Abuela's, and her glorious kitchen, fully half the small house, was so much like Abuela's in color and function that Luz had to stand and gape, blinking back tears, when she stepped into it. Fresh herbs grew in terra-cotta pots at the window, a pestle and mortar sat beside a bowl filled with avocados, a pork butt was braising in the Dutch oven, three different sauces were simmering on the stove, and from the oven Luz recognized the unmistakable scent of tamales.

Luz had breathed in the scents of the foods of her culture and felt the tension in her shoulders dissipate. She felt at home here.

Tía Maria turned out to be a diva of chilies and spice. She gave Luz an apron and orders to stir the sauces. Luz warmed to the task
and took pride when she saw her aunt's raised brows of surprise when Luz tasted the verde sauce and added a few more spices.

“What are you doing?” Tía Maria asked.

“It's too bland.”

“Too
what
?”

“Abuela always said a weak sauce is like a weak man—no good for a strong woman.”

Tía Maria threw back her head and laughed till tears came into her eyes. “
Ay
! I had forgotten that one!”

Once it was clear that Luz knew the family recipes, they'd staged a mock battle over the correct seasonings to put in Abuela's secret mole sauce. Mariposa, on the other hand, had two left hands in the kitchen. She couldn't chop a pepper or pit an avocado. She even dropped an egg on the floor. But she did remember how her mother's recipes tasted and she acted as judge and jury, tasting each sauce. Maria made jokes about Mariposa's inability to cook, but Mariposa gave back as good as she got, teasing Tía Maria about the sorry shape of her lawn.

Luz chopped and stirred, chuckling as she listened to the sisters' banter. She quietly observed how Abuela's different talents—her DNA—were handed down to her daughters—cooking to Maria, gardening to Mariposa. As they cooked, the sisters shared with Luz their stories of how, at fifteen, each had journeyed with Abuela to the Sacred Circle high up in the mountains of Michoacán to pay witness to the monarchs that gathered there. Luz listened and watched the myriad emotions flicker across their expressive faces as they described, with their eyes shining, their feelings at seeing millions of butterflies dancing before them. Luz could not even imagine the experience, but it was clear that it had been a pivotal
experience for each of them. It was, literally and emotionally, their coming-of-age.

It had been an amazing night, Luz thought with a sigh. Lying in bed with Sully as a new day dawned, Luz replayed in her mind each word, each gesture, and each glance of that important evening. By the time Sully awoke, a bright shaft of light had sliced through the narrow opening of the curtains.

Sully yawned noisily and stretched his arms over his head. Then he rubbed his eyes and stared out, frozen. Luz held back a smile, knowing that he was figuring out where he was. He glanced at her and his face softened with recognition. He brought his arm back around Luz and squeezed her.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“Good morning.”

“It's nice waking up with you in my arms.”

“Mmm,” she replied.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she replied honestly. “But confused. Reeling. I'm still trying to believe it all really happened. The only place I feel safe right now is in your arms.”

“It's where you belong.”

“I'm so glad you came. Thank you.”

He moved to kiss her nose. “My pleasure,” he replied with a glint in his eye.

“I was thinking. Maybe I should go home with you today. I can give the ashes to Maria and Mariposa now. She was their mother. They can decide what they want to do next. It's their place.”

“What about going to Mexico?”

“All Abuela really wanted was for me to meet my mother. The rest was just a ruse. I understand that now.”

“I don't know about that.”

“I've gone through so much in the past few weeks. You don't know.”

“Bad?” he asked, alarm ringing in his voice.

“No. But I'm not the same person I was when I left. I don't know who I am anymore. And I'm tired, Sully. I miss my own house in Milwaukee, my own kitchen, my own bed. I want to go home.”

He squeezed her and held tight. He was so strong that he didn't realize he'd squeezed the breath from her, but to Luz it still felt reassuring.

“Luz, you can't quit now. You've got to keep going.”

“But you're the one who said the trip was too dangerous. That I shouldn't go on and I should come home.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I understood how important this is. You need some time with your mother. To go home now would be quitting before your journey is complete.”

She sighed, unconvinced. “I can come back.”

“What was the reason you went on this trip in the first place?” he asked her.

“To bring Abuela's ashes home. But I did that.”

“No, you didn't.”

She lifted her head to look questioningly at him.

“She said she wanted to go back to Angangueo,” he reminded her.

“But—”

“Think about it, Luz. Abuela was one smart old lady. If she knew your mother was alive, she knew you'd meet up with her here in San Antonio. She wanted you to take the journey up the
mountain with your mother. Not her. It was never about Abuela going with you.”

“She said she wanted to . . .”

“You're supposed to go with Mariposa.”

Luz laid her head against his shoulder, feeling her heart beating faster as she wondered about what Sully said.

“What if she doesn't want to go?”

“Ask her. She'll go. I'd bet money on it.”

She turned on her side and raised her head to her palm to look at him. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You're telling me that I should ask Mariposa to go to the Sacred Circle with me. In Mexico.”

“Right.”

She stared at him, agog. “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?” she teased. Her loving eye swept over his morning face. She loved the way his tawny hair lay disheveled and spiky against the pillow, and the thick stubble that framed his cheek. This early in the morning she could see the vulnerability of the boy in the man. He gazed back at her in his usual taciturn manner, chuckling softly at her joke.

Luz reached up to trace her fingers gently from his forehead to his chin. “I'm sorry I didn't call again. I lost my phone charger, but that really was just an excuse. The truth is I didn't want to talk with you. I thought you were going to try to talk me out of going, like you did before. I didn't want to fight with you again. Especially since there were times when I didn't think I could go on. I just—”

Sully put his finger to her lips. “Shh . . . I know. I can't lie, it hurt. But only because I was afraid of losing you. I was a bullheaded ass. I should've encouraged you. You needed to go. I see
that now. So no apologies. From either of us.” He kissed her softly. “But you should go to Mexico.”

“Come with me!”

“I can't. Even if I wanted to, I don't have a passport.”

Luz exhaled a plume of air, defeated.

“But there is one thing you can do for me,” he said.

She smirked and cast him a sloe-eyed glance. “I thought I already did.”

“Well, yeah,” he said smugly. “But I was thinking of something else. Since I spent all that time fixing up El Toro, maybe you wouldn't mind giving me a lift to the airport?”

Luz laughed and slipped her arms around his neck. “Of course. But first, let me tell you the story of Xochiquetzal and the warriors.”

Mariposa stood staring at the door a half hour before Luz was scheduled to arrive. Her mind went through the long list of chores she'd hurriedly created last night after Luz had agreed to stop by her apartment. She slept very little, imagining all the conversations they might have. In her drowsy, half-conscious state she imagined quite a lot. Mostly she drifted back to the one pure memory that had sustained her through so many years of depraved conditions. She could see Luz's small, chubby hand in hers when she was a toddler, still unstable on her feet. She'd depended on her mother to guide her and not let her fall.

Mariposa was wide awake now and fully aware that sharing tender mother-daughter memories was not likely to happen. She had to guard against being such a fool and remember that she had let go of Luz's hand when she was a child. More likely today would be
a self-righteous grilling, a lot of questions that began with
Why did you
and
How could you.

She wrung her hands while her gaze swept around the room for the tenth time in as many minutes. The old green Formica kitchen counter was dated but it gleamed, the linoleum was curling in a corner but the floor was spotless, and the aquarium glass sparkled. She filled a vivid green Fiesta jug with cheery fall-colored mums. Beside it on the table was a spice cake with cream cheese frosting and two Fiesta mugs. Sniffing, she caught the scent of the freshly brewed coffee with cinnamon, the way her mother made it.

Mariposa slid into a chair and folded her hands on the table. All was ready, she thought as her gaze turned again to the door. She leaped to her feet at the sound of knocking. Putting her hand to her heart, she took three deep breaths to calm herself, then walked to the door and swung it wide.

She didn't think she'd ever get over the rush of love that swept through her every time she saw her daughter's face. Her little girl was a woman now! She searched her face for traces of the little girl she'd last seen so many years before. Her eyes were the same shining blue color and looked at her with that same beguiling combination of curiosity and stubbornness. But her cheeks were thinner, her lips full, her legs long . . . Luz had her mother's hair, shining, thick and black as midnight. Seeing her wear it in the same traditional long braid moved her. Part of her mother still lived in her daughter.

“Luz,” she said in welcome, and held out her arms.

“Mariposa,” Luz replied succinctly, and stepped forward to stiffly accept her mother's embrace before quickly stepping away.

Mariposa told herself not to be hurt that Luz did not call her
mother
. It was too soon and, she reminded herself, she'd have
to accept that Luz might never choose to use that endearment. “Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I'm so glad you came.”

She held herself tight as Luz walked in and examined her small apartment. It wasn't the posh apartments of the rest of the building, she knew. But neither was it the dreary, dark basement apartment it could have been. It was small and spare, to be sure. But the walls were painted the lovely warm tangerine color that Abuela had loved, and she'd hand-painted the yellow and green stencils along the ceiling. She was glad Luz had come just as the late afternoon sunlight poured in from the angled windows.