Her words hurt more than I'm ready to handle, more than any have in a very long time. The truth she speaks stings deep inside, more than Derrik's appearance, and maybe greater than losing our leader. I feel like the scars she mentioned are fresh and streaming blood down my body, and those in my psyche are even worse. My instinct points to introversion but, again, instinct has no place next to her magic.
I bear a mark on my head, she has said. She's reminding me that I also might have some business to finish. I can't run from the past and expect it to go away. So I answer, “Yes, I've known that for a long time.”
Abuela's hand rests on my arm for a long moment as she continues to wield the eye contact. I wish I could hide behind my dark, dark shades like I do with everyone else. I'm so out of my element.
She says, “Just don't leave your own back open for the sake of others.”
In the unfocused part of my vision field, I see Maria finally turn halfway toward us. I can't say for sure, but I think the expression on her face is one of surprise. With effort, I keep my attention from betraying me and I manage not to let the same surprise show too obviously in myself. In the tumultuous storm of my thoughts I can't seem to find a reply, so I nod. I feel like I've been granted wisdom from one of the true gods who walks the earth. At least, I hope it's wisdom, and not some eerie omen.
Then the hand on me is pulling away and Abuela is refocusing toward Josh. He was supposed to be the one to catch the heat today. I was definitely not expecting to be spotlighted like that.
As soon as I'm sure that Abuela's eyes have left me, my gaze snaps to Maria. Her face is dry and her expression is hard and flat. But she's looking at me, too. I can tell by the way she holds the connection that there's a storm inside of her, as well. She shouldn't blame herself for the trials of my life, but I'd bet my Desert Eagle and the silencer that she is.
I'm her yang, not at all to blame, yet just as powerless to stop the events that have been set into motion. The two of us have been set apart from our cohorts by Abuela in a crafty and seamless move that many would miss for the drama of the play. The two of us have always been different anyway, in that we're friends.
Isaiah is too painfully detached and too old for his age to be her friend. And Josh has only ever been a plaything to her. I hold her eyes so she knows I'm not shaken. She stubbornly denies me an answering expression, so we both look away, to Josh's drama.
Abuela runs her eyes over him like he's a piece of her new crop, with an assessing, snobby attitude and no pains to hide her actions. He looks like a lanky, pretty, pool boy next to the class with which she presents herself. He at least has enough grace not to speak first.
She slowly fans herself with the brim of her hat, and says, “You are Josue?”
He quickly, quietly answers, “Yes, ma'am.”
I wonder if that's the first time he's ever said it. I'm surprised he's not visibly shaking. We all know he's scared, yet he has apparently gained some control over himself, the likes of which the other three of us never believed he would have had. Abuela is staring him down and he isn't even fidgeting, though I can see the sweat creeping down the side of his throat from beneath his mess of hair.
I'd up my wager with both the nine-mills I brought with me here that Izzy is silently willing for Josh to choke on this one. My attitude toward him isn't quite as vehement, more of a general annoyance with his personality. Sometimes I almost wish he weren't such a douche so I could like him, since he is good at his job. Either way, I do hope he doesn't get himself killed at this moment. Losing another teammate now would be detrimental.
The pins and needles of anticipation ripple through my fingers, much the same as when Abuela arrived. What reaction will come? The tension in the yard is palpable, and as it mixes with the humidity it becomes suffocating.
Then Abuela says, “Hm,” as nonchalantly as if someone has just shown her a dollar bill and turns away without another word.
She looks at Maria and says, “Tomorrow we celebrate the Day of the Dead. Tonight you will tell me the details of the story I already know. Now we smoke and mourn as family. Welcome back.”
She turns and passes us by to enter the house.
The screen door behind me snaps closed and my vision crawls back to Maria, whose mouth is hinged open the slightest bit in, what has to be, shock. None of us expected that sort of reception for the newbie, but at least Josh wasn't immediately dismissed.
Beside me, Izzy is retrieving a cigarette. On my other side, Josh is frozen in his place, confused as hell without a doubt. I wouldn't be surprised to see piss running down his leg for the blindsided expression on his face. His eyes are as wide as a child who's staring into a darkened closet, looking for the boogie man. I don't think he's breathing. We may never know what Abuela thinks of him.
“Come on, guys,” Maria says.
She's the first to find her voice and it's slightly raspy from her stress. She avoids eye contact just as her grandmother had done as she leads the way into the huge house. I'm the first to follow. I catch Josh's glance when I turn
