When I Knew You (12 page)

The road was wide, the arcs it cut through the mountain seemed natural, as if the mountains had stepped aside politely to allow people to take a short cut through the other side of El Paso. From a distance the grade looked gradual, but the runaway truck ramp on the side of the road was a reminder to avoid riding your brakes.

"This is a beautiful road, isn't it?" Antonia stretched her hand out the window, her fingers wiggling in the wind. I used to do that. When I was twelve. "It feels like we're flying."

I took a deep breath of the desert air. "It's my favorite road here," I said. "There's great hiking in McKelligon Canyon. That's where I'd started hiking and then moved on to climbing." I sighed. "I was in college, about three years ago."

"Really?" She seemed surprised. "That long ago?"

I nodded. The silences stretched as we made our way around a curve. Sometimes without memories to talk about, silence was the most comfortable place in our house.

"You know," she said, peering around carefully, "I really don't remember being here before," she arched an eyebrow at me, the corner of her mouth rising in a teasing smile.
 

"You don't remember," I repeated, unsure of what to say. Abuela always avoided talking about Antonia's memory lapses and I had learned to do the same.

Antonia burst out laughing. "Nope!" she shouted. "I have no idea."
 

I gave a cautious sideways glance. "Well, I'll bet you were here last week!" I said cautiously.

She raised her hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Wouldn't matter!"

I started laughing, and in a flash we were laughing together. It was the first time we'd laughed like this. For a minute, I felt like we were a regular mother and daughter, laughing all the way through the mountains flowing on a wide ribbon of asphalt.
 

We ended up on the other side of the mountain and parked under a tree next to a convenience store. I reached for the tape recorder.
 

"Mom, the thing is –"

"I know, Kati." She placed her hand on mine. "The other Antonia is not ... a nice person. She's probably angry and says things you think will hurt my feelings. But she probably wishes she was here instead of me." She bit her lip. "Sometimes I wish she was here because she could take better care of you. But she's not." She tapped the recorder. "She's only in there. And she knows why all this is happening. She knows who is behind all of this. And the only way we are going to know is if we listen."

I was uneasy, but opened the tape recorder and flipped the cassette over, then pressed play.

Chapter 15

Sorry about that. I didn't realize the tape had ended. So where was I? Right, the murder. Sure, it was fifty years ago, but there's no statute of limitations on murder. I know this all sounds far fetched. But trust me, the evidence is here. And now, with the technology, the DNA, they can prove it now. And he'll finally pay for this, for putting me in this prison.

Her voice choked off for a second. She cleared her throat, and her tone was more even, calmer. I closed my eyes, holding my head in my hands, fighting my own swirling emotions of loss, pain, and fear. Who did this to our family?

I'm sorry, Katarina. It's difficult to think of at times.
 

So, as I said, you will need all four envelopes. After you talk to Gustav, visit the credit union with the account number I gave you. Remember it's the second account, not the main one. The last envelope is at the university. The professor, remember, it's Richard Gray, is gone on some trip, but his graduate student, Theresa, has it when I checked this afternoon.

Your grandmother would rather all of this stay buried in the past. But this is not about me. She always thinks that it's me. There's a reason they tried to kill me then, and a reason they are trying to kill me now—and I'll bet they are trying to kill you too. With the Governor's race, he has too much at stake, he's desperate. I think he's trying to build a dynasty while dancing on a grave.
 

I know I haven't quite worked it through, but you will. Because you will have it all, Katarina. All the information. It has to be tied up with the leases and it's connected to Davis, Javier, and Trent. But also to Lupe and the case Roberto was working on. I know you, Katarina. You have always been smart. Between all this, with the Internet and maybe the DNA, you'll find what I missed. Then you'll be able to take them all down.
 

Her voice dropped, I could hear the edge to it, sharp enough to cut glass.

They thought they were safe. The hell with them, Katarina. The hell with them.

There was a sharp click and a hiss of empty tape.

"Did that make any sense to you?" Antonia stared at the recorder with a look of disappointment.

"Not really. I guess the minutes that were erased from the other side would have helped," I said, clicking the stop button.
 

I rubbed my eyes. I felt like I'd been up for days. When did I start driving? Was it yesterday?
 

"You've got to get some rest, Kati." Antonia reached over and rubbed my arm tenderly. "After we talk to the woman we should go somewhere so you can sleep." She held up her bag. "I brought money. Maybe we can find a hotel."

"Money?"

Antonia looked at me out of the corner of her eyes, a little smile on her lips. "I've been setting a little aside. That's in my notes too, because your grandmother would blow it all on bingo."

"Really?" I couldn't imagine Abuela in a bingo hall, surrounded by smokers and lucky troll dolls.

"No," Antonia shoved my arm playfully. "I was kidding. I may not remember much, but I can tell a joke." She looked thoughtful for a second. "Then again maybe she does blow it all at bingo. How would I know?" She shrugged, then continued. "Anyway, I guess there was a day when I wanted to buy something and didn't have any money and she wouldn't give me any. It's on my tape. So now I set aside money."
 

I knew exactly the day she was talking about. It was the first big fight I'd ever seen Antonia and Abuela have, post Antonia's accident. Antonia wanted to buy me a fancy camera I'd seen in a magazine, and my grandmother wouldn't let her. She told Antonia that I was too young for such an expensive camera and it would be broken in a week. She may have been right, but I remember Antonia stomping off into her room and the icy silence that descended over the house for days. Then Antonia woke up one morning and the memory was gone. Still, for a month she stayed angry at Abuela, although she couldn't pinpoint why.
 

That was the first time I saw, that with Antonia, emotion could outlast memory.

"Ok, then. We'll go someplace after we call Connie." I checked the time on the cell phone. "We need to get off this road for a better signal." We headed deeper into the west side where the city's tendrils sprawled into the desert and up the foot of the mountain range.

The west side of El Paso always felt different to me. This was the other side of "El Paseo del Norte," or the pass to the North, the route between the mountain ranges, and the reason El Paso became a stopping point on the way to the West Coast. I thought of it as calmer than the east side of the mountain. It was as if all the ants had piled up in front of a small opening, many getting trampled in the crowd, and only a trickle of survivors managed to get through to the other side. These survivors were calmer, more deliberate in picking their place to forage. The streets were wider, the neighborhoods more consistent, areas along the river maintained an agrarian feel.
 

I pulled into a parking lot of a grocery store down from IH-10. Part of me wanted to get out of the truck and walk around to stretch my legs, but I felt very safe sitting in the truck with Antonia. We had our own little metal and glass bubble. After seeing what had happened at the law office I was fighting the urge to drive—maybe to Houston, San Diego, or even Chicago. We had distant relatives in those cities. Maybe we could call them, hide out until whatever this was blew over.

I felt Antonia's hand on mine. "You okay, Kati?" Her face was etched with concern. Someone had done this to her. They had taken her, and hurt her in a way that changed all our lives.
You can do this
, she had said to me on the tape.
 

I squeezed her hand and picked dialed Connie.

Connie didn't say much, just gave me an address in Anthony. "Give Gustav my best," she said before hanging up.

 
I decided to take Highway 20 instead of the interstate, figuring it would be easier to see if we were followed. This stretch of highway was one of my favorite places to drive. The road followed the river fed agricultural area. When you drove far enough you'd come across pecan orchards, their dark green leaves creating a canopy on either side of the road, more trees than I'd ever seen on the east side. If you came during harvest you'd see huge machines clamp gigantic arms around the trunks of trees while wide swaths of fabric spread out around it like a folklorico dancer's skirt. They'd shake the trees firmly, dropping a storm of pecans from the trees. I had always wondered if the trees found this startling, like waking from a deep dream with the help of a band of mariachis.

Anthony was about the same size as San Elizario, but since it was home to La Tuna Correctional Penitentiary, it had a decidedly different feel. Fewer cotton fields, more official vehicles. The address took us down a barely paved road—more caliche than asphalt. Houses were built like patchwork; some looked like they had two rooms, others sprawled out, sections added on as every generation took their turn at home improvement.

We pulled up to a small adobe house with a dirt front yard and a weary looking yucca. Two of the front windows had silver reflective film and the screen door was almost imperceptively askew. There was a shiny silver sedan in the driveway, as out of place as a samurai in a flea market.
 

I checked the review mirror, looked down the street for a plume of dust that would rise if anyone followed us. Nothing.
 

"If it's a trap, they're already inside," Antonia said. She squeezed my hand. "I'll go in and let you know if it's okay."

"Not a chance." I opened my door. "Besides, you probably don't even remember what he looks like."

"I remember. At least so far," she said with a smile.
 

"We are sticking together. Period." I closed the door behind me and we headed up the walk.

There was no doorbell so I rapped on the wooden frame of the door. I heard a faint rustling from inside and I fought the urge to run. Calderon was one of the people Antonia trusted; she had said that on the tape. The door cracked open.

"Katarina? Is that you?" Calderon squinted against the bright sunlight.
 

"It's me and Antonia," I said.

"Yes, Connie mentioned she was with you. Come in, come in." He showed us inside. The living room was dimly lit by the sunlight streaming through a side window while heavy drapes along the front window were drawn closed. Calderon was dressed as he had been when I first met him, although his shirt was no longer pressed and starched and had a small reddish stain near his belly. Salsa, I imagined, with no club soda available to fight the stain and no dry cleaner to drop it off with.

He took Antonia by the arm, gently leading her to a worn green couch as if she were visiting royalty. "How are you, Antonia, my dear?"

She sat down and patted his hand. "Back to normal, sir. Back to normal."

His face broke subtly, but he quickly righted himself. "Of course. Of course. Lovely and direct. That has never changed."

I looked around the house, trying to get my bearings. "Is this your home?"

Calderon turned to me with a start and chuckled. "Oh no. No, no, this is a home of a former client—well, of her grandparents. It is about to go on the rental market." He looked around. "It's a good home. Thick adobe walls. The mud bricks were likely made by her great grandfather." He paused, then gestured to an oversized chair for me and sat down on the couch next to Antonia.
 

"I apologize we couldn't meet in the office," he said.

"What happened there, Mr. Calderon?" Antonia asked.

"Call me Gustav, Antonia. Please." He sighed and studied her face. "You, my dear. You happened." He rubbed his face with his hand, his fingers were long and elegant as if he could play piano with ease. "You woke up. And that woke up many others."

"My mother... Antonia, when she was lucid, left me a tape," I said. "But some of it was damaged and I couldn't quite understand what she was talking about."

He tapped his finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I only know bits of it really. Nothing actionable, I told this to Antonia two weeks ago, but you know how she can be..." He trailed off awkwardly a look of horror flashing on his face as he glanced at Antonia.
 

Antonia dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "It's all right Gustav. I know how I was. Go on."

"Thank you. I just find it so, so..." he was searching for a word I had heard often.

"Disconcerting. We know," I said. "Please don't worry about it."

He continued. "Antonia had a way of making connections no one saw. She was working on research around an oil lease when she someone reached out to her about an old missing person case. Your mother, she had established a standing among the legal community, even in her short tenure at the records office, of being able to unravel all kinds of old cases. Land deals, business contracts, native land cases, that kind of thing. I told her she'd make a great lawyer, but she loved economics." His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "She said she was too smart to be a lawyer."

Antonia laughed. "Did I really say that to you?"

Calderon smiled at her. "Of course you did. But I knew what you meant." He cleared his throat, then went on. "The woman's name was Lupe. Lupe Bonita. She was trying to track down her grandfather, Javier Bonita. Lupe had promised her grandmother Estella, on her death bed no less, that she would find what happened to him. Apparently, he had left Chicago to come to Texas. He was supposed to sign some papers on a land deal and never returned."