I keep my shoulders squared back, the sum of my confidence.
“Like you have no manners, no protocol, like you have big cojones,” she says, pulling off her enormous shades and pinning me with a deadpan look that bears no sympathy. She adds, “Like a stupid girl.”
Self-defense rises in my throat, goads me to plead some kind of case, but there's no vindication for actions that have passed. There's no salvation from my brash reaction no matter how I dress my motive now. I can feel the tension rolling from the boys behind me, the anticipation so thick it nearly chokes me.
All I can say is, “Si.”
Her lips press together in a straight line – I’ve seen her disapproval before. I watch her shrewd gaze sweep past me and over my cohorts, over all those who constitute what's left of my underground family. Her eyes linger on Joshua for seconds longer than the others, and I can only hope he has the wits to look away, or to show some sign of submission. All too soon, her weighted regard falls back to me.
“Did they really kill him?” she asks in her pointed accent, and I'm certain I can see moisture gathering in the bottom rims of her eyes.
I've been permitted to see her emotion for just a flash, and I feel like my next breath is the first I've taken since Abuela arrived. I am not off the hook, I know I have incurred the debt that Charlie carried for our crew. But I believe she has obliged to pull that hook out slowly, and possibly throw me back into the midst of the sharks with a gaping wound. All I have to do is tell the truth.
“It was his last word,” I answer, somehow banishing the tears that make a claim for my eyes. I bite down on the inside of my lip. I know the expression that results is some mixture of grief and hatred.
“Then they had the balls to propose a ceasefire,” I add, my words edged with anger.
The brim of her hat divides her face into the last light of the day and the coming shadow of nighttime in a dramatic diagonal line. Her lips are prominent red, full even in her older age. The color accentuates her displeasure. Her eyes are shaded, flashing here and there with tiny bits of light that makes its way through the weave of her hat. Those eyes are brown and fierce, just like mine. Her face doesn't move, but a single tear slips down her right cheek.
She says, “You are responsible for the fire in Biloxi?”
Again my insides wrench just a little farther than before, and I want to let my own tears surface. Again I bite down on the agony, and say, “Si.”
She swiftly bridges the space between us. Every instinct in me says to flinch, but experience keeps me still. I defiantly stare forward and resolve to take whatever is coming to me. She gets so close that we're almost touching, so that I'm looking down a few inches to keep the eye contact. Despite the height difference, I am terrified again. My breath hangs in my chest, but then I realize that I can see the sadness creeping into her eyes.
“Now that you have acted outside of revenge, you must finish it.”
My response system lulls. I can't think to answer. Finish it? She could only mean…
“You must cut off the head.”
“Gram?” I gasp, finally losing my battle with my composure.
I hadn't meant to speak at all. I hear Josh suck in a sharp breath as well and hope that Abuela has found more interest in my reaction than his. Stupid boy. Visible aversion to that name skitters across her features, and she nods. At least I hope it was the name. How can I tell her that I had already resolved to rid the streets of that vile stain?
I find myself answering in her native tongue, “Yes, I understand.”
She raises a pointer finger between us, presses it to my lips. I am paralyzed by the intense gravity of her gaze.
She says, “No te voy a ayudar a hacer esto. Si fracasas, te repudiaré antes de que respires por última vez, y deshonrarás el nombre de tu hermano. No quiero perder a mi única nieta, pero no tengo otra opción.”
Then she draws away, back a step.
“If you succeed, I commend you, and then you may return to my ranks.”
She switches to English so fluently, but I hardly notice under the press of the judgment she has handed me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hardly able to force even that and completely unable to look her in the eye any longer.
I find solace in the dirt at my feet. I still feel like I've taken a shot to the chest. She would disown me? Yes, of course. She can't have my actions marking her reputation. Rather than cry, I let the misery drown me from the inside.
“One more thing,” she says. I can't help the tiny wince, but I'm not looking at her, so it makes it easier to deal with. “Do you know that your house was burned early this morning?”
My eyes fly to her. I didn't know and she knows it because I can feel the color draining from my face. I feel sick. I knew it was coming, but it still hits me hard enough to almost knock me to the ground. It's my fault that so many possessions – and most of Charlie's blood – are now lost.
Chapter 17 True Gods
Frederick
Abuela's last words are like a kick in the spine. I'm paralyzed, blood buzzing in my ears. In my periphery, I see Izzy's hands ball into fists. I glance at his face, see his brow deeply
