fingernails pulled out. Body intact, head a mile away.
For a moment there is only silence as she stares at me. Then tears gather in the folds of her gigantic black eyes, and her lips form a word I’ve never heard before. “Paloma?” she asks, and then, as if she’s just seen me, she draws back, her face solid as petrified wood. “No,” she says quietly to herself.
I shake my head, wishing I were whoever she thought I was. She’s gonna leave now. I’m gonna die at the jaws of rabid beasts. But she doesn’t leave. Her face cracks in pain, and I see the wrong girl reflected in her eyes. She takes Honey, and then pulls me up and wraps me tenderly in her arms. I break into loud, gasping tears, thankful she didn’t leave me to get torn to shreds by wild dogs. The woman cradles my face against her shoulder.
“ Ay dios ,” she sighs.
I’m numb all over. She puts her arm around me and leads me up the rocky hillside.
Chapter Fourteen
T HE SUN IS ALMOST SETTING over the mountain when we reach the woman’s house. The smell of ammonia smothers me and chickens shriek, loud enough to make my skin crawl.
“ No tengas miedo ,” the woman says, leading me away from the chickens to a small concrete house. She points to a rusted folding chair just outside the door, and I sit down gratefully as she places Honey back in my arms. He baas at me, and I kiss the top of his head, then rub my lips against the back of my hand, wondering what diseases I just contracted from his dirty fur.
“ ¿Hablas inglés? ” the woman asks me.
I nod, and then I hear the angels sing. They sound like this:
“I speak English,” she says, and although her Mexican accent is thick, and the last word sounds like Engl ee sh, I can understand her just fine.
A smile breaks over my face. “Where did you learn English?”
“My sister taught me.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s dead.” She disappears into the house, returning quickly with a bowl of leaves and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “We need to clean those wounds before they get infected,” she says. “Just hold your breath.” Before I can ask why, she rubs alcohol on my skinned knees poking out of my jeans, and they burn like they’re on fire. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Just when I think the pain’s never going to end, she coats my knees with the wet leaves, and the pain disappears immediately. “Aloe,” she says. “Helps with the healing.”
“Thank you,” I say, releasing the grip on my bottom lip and hoping she doesn’t douse that in alcohol too.
“What’s your name?”
“Ines.” As the lie rolls off my tongue, I remember when Nick first asked my name on the bus, and how he stopped calling me princess, without me even noticing. But where is he now? Is he even alive?
“I’m Isabel,” she says. “You’re lucky I heard you screaming. What were you doing out there anyway? Those feral dogs would’ve killed you.”
I squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I’m on my way to Rosales,” I say, “to meet my uncle.”
“For the Day of the Dead?”
That thing again. I nod.
“Well, you sure got lost. That’s several hours away,” Isabel says. “But let’s get you inside, and then we can talk some more.”
Isabel’s house is just a square block of concrete, divided into four equal sections by four fading black sheets. It looks like it’s been staged for a commercial, the ones promising a dollar a day will save a child.
In the middle of the tiny front room is a wood fire. A tin bucket boils in the blue part of the flame, pale chicken legs flopping out the sides, and a covered ceramic bowl is nestled in the fire beside it. Around the fire, there’s a small folding table, two plastic chairs, and a basket of chopped wood.
It takes all my energy not to look shocked. People really live like this?
At my house, the kitchen has its own wing, with a walk-in freezer and a temperature-controlled wine cellar. It’s so far away from
For a moment there is only silence as she stares at me. Then tears gather in the folds of her gigantic black eyes, and her lips form a word I’ve never heard before. “Paloma?” she asks, and then, as if she’s just seen me, she draws back, her face solid as petrified wood. “No,” she says quietly to herself.
I shake my head, wishing I were whoever she thought I was. She’s gonna leave now. I’m gonna die at the jaws of rabid beasts. But she doesn’t leave. Her face cracks in pain, and I see the wrong girl reflected in her eyes. She takes Honey, and then pulls me up and wraps me tenderly in her arms. I break into loud, gasping tears, thankful she didn’t leave me to get torn to shreds by wild dogs. The woman cradles my face against her shoulder.
“ Ay dios ,” she sighs.
I’m numb all over. She puts her arm around me and leads me up the rocky hillside.
Chapter Fourteen
T HE SUN IS ALMOST SETTING over the mountain when we reach the woman’s house. The smell of ammonia smothers me and chickens shriek, loud enough to make my skin crawl.
“ No tengas miedo ,” the woman says, leading me away from the chickens to a small concrete house. She points to a rusted folding chair just outside the door, and I sit down gratefully as she places Honey back in my arms. He baas at me, and I kiss the top of his head, then rub my lips against the back of my hand, wondering what diseases I just contracted from his dirty fur.
“ ¿Hablas inglés? ” the woman asks me.
I nod, and then I hear the angels sing. They sound like this:
“I speak English,” she says, and although her Mexican accent is thick, and the last word sounds like Engl ee sh, I can understand her just fine.
A smile breaks over my face. “Where did you learn English?”
“My sister taught me.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s dead.” She disappears into the house, returning quickly with a bowl of leaves and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “We need to clean those wounds before they get infected,” she says. “Just hold your breath.” Before I can ask why, she rubs alcohol on my skinned knees poking out of my jeans, and they burn like they’re on fire. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Just when I think the pain’s never going to end, she coats my knees with the wet leaves, and the pain disappears immediately. “Aloe,” she says. “Helps with the healing.”
“Thank you,” I say, releasing the grip on my bottom lip and hoping she doesn’t douse that in alcohol too.
“What’s your name?”
“Ines.” As the lie rolls off my tongue, I remember when Nick first asked my name on the bus, and how he stopped calling me princess, without me even noticing. But where is he now? Is he even alive?
“I’m Isabel,” she says. “You’re lucky I heard you screaming. What were you doing out there anyway? Those feral dogs would’ve killed you.”
I squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I’m on my way to Rosales,” I say, “to meet my uncle.”
“For the Day of the Dead?”
That thing again. I nod.
“Well, you sure got lost. That’s several hours away,” Isabel says. “But let’s get you inside, and then we can talk some more.”
Isabel’s house is just a square block of concrete, divided into four equal sections by four fading black sheets. It looks like it’s been staged for a commercial, the ones promising a dollar a day will save a child.
In the middle of the tiny front room is a wood fire. A tin bucket boils in the blue part of the flame, pale chicken legs flopping out the sides, and a covered ceramic bowl is nestled in the fire beside it. Around the fire, there’s a small folding table, two plastic chairs, and a basket of chopped wood.
It takes all my energy not to look shocked. People really live like this?
At my house, the kitchen has its own wing, with a walk-in freezer and a temperature-controlled wine cellar. It’s so far away from
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