Chapter 3 #4
The warm wind picked up, taking with it a flock of bubbles.
The bubbles were soapy and yellowing, like parchment left too long in the sun.
The result of spiking alcohol with a bubbly Ni Una Preocupación potion.
Mayté stopped. The bubbles wafted out from the windows of Cantina Esperanza, along with yells, laughter, and lively wails of the accordion.
The trashiest cantina in Milagro was also one of the most popular.
The small shack, its adobe walls stained with urine, vomit, and possibly blood, was always packed full.
Even if she were old enough to consume alcohol, Mayté wouldn’t want to set foot in there.
After Carlos once had come back from the place with a black eye and all his coins gone, she knew it was nothing but trouble.
Carlos winced as if the sight of the building brought on those unpleasant memories.
The swinging doors flew open, and a rough-looking group of men threw another man out. Bubbles flew from the man’s mouth as he landed in the mud. “Come back once you can pay your tab.” The group of men blocked the door, jeering. Smoke from their cigars mingled into a thick smog.
“He comes in here acting like he’s still part of Las Cinco. Pathetic.”
“Don’t let your coins fly away this time, hmm?” The men burst out laughing as they bustled back into the cantina.
José Robles sat up and wiped the mud off his face.
His tattered poncho and patched-up pants were absolutely filthy.
He seemed worn-down as usual, with his furrowed brow, the premature wrinkles on his brown face, and his graying hair—a shell of his former aristocratic self.
But now, he looked absolutely trashed, bloodshot eyes wide as he slurred something.
More bubbles flew from his mouth, even dirtier than before.
Those damn bubbles. Her father began guzzling drinks laced with euphoria potions around the time he lost the family’s fortune.
It got to the point where he became known in Milagro as El Desgraciado, always with a bubbling drink in hand.
He must have enjoyed the hallucinating effect the potion gave him, helping him forget about all his horrendous mistakes.
Whenever their mother saw the bubbles, she sent one of the kids—usually Mayté—to see if they were from her father, and if so, what trouble he had gotten himself into.
At least this time Carlos was here to help. “Well, here he is.” Mayté pointed to her father, who still lay in the mud like a pig.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Let’s get him back home.”
“Right.” Mayté nodded. Prickly shame danced across her back as she followed Carlos.
Good thing Lo had left, otherwise Mayté would have been mortified.
The two siblings went over to either side of their father and hoisted him up by the arms. Mud soiled Mayté’s blouse and neck, but it couldn’t be helped.
She made sure his arm was on her shoulder before wrapping her arm around his waist. Carlos did the same.
Sadly, this was second nature. Their father dragged his boots, leaving Mayté and Carlos to do all the work.
As they walked, it grew darker. The large buildings and cathedrals—pristine and light with their grand towers, arched doorways, and spired roofs—gave way to smaller shacks, all built too close together.
Endless lines of laundry hung on flimsy wire and children darted about, avoiding the glowering men who smoked on street corners.
Trash and debris littered the ground, and the smell of stale filth filled the air.
Soon, they came to their street. No matter how much Mayté wished it wasn’t.
“They didn’t hurt you back there, did they?” Carlos asked their father with a frown.
Their father hiccupped, unleashing a big bubble. “Just bruises,” he slurred.
Mayté clicked her tongue. “They shouldn’t be so rough with you.” As much as she resented her father, she could never bring herself to wish him ill. “Those people are scum,” she grumbled.
Mayté was grateful that by now the burping and bubbles had calmed down, and it seemed their father was half asleep, heavier than ever.
She could just make out the tattered curtains in the house’s windows as they billowed in the breeze. The wood splintered off the roof—still not fixed after the big storm last year—looking as if it could fly off at any moment, impaling someone unfortunate enough to be in the way.
“?Qué demonios?” Carlos stopped walking.
A group of men blocked the door. One wore a sombrero, and another had on a vaquero hat while the others wore serapes and bandanna scarves, covering the lower half of their faces. Thugs. Mayté’s mother stood at the doorway, dark face pinched and red. Manuel hid behind her skirts. They both trembled.
“Ma!” Carlos darted ahead, leaving Mayté to keep herself and her father upright. She struggled against his weight.
“Oh, there he is,” one of the men gruffed and the group turned around. Their eyes burned like hot coals.
“Robles, we’re here for the money.”
“It’s time to pay up.”
They had no respect for her father even though he was quite a bit older than them. Mayté tensed. Her father had to borrow money, but he didn’t have a way to pay it back. Now only shady people lent to him. The sort who didn’t take too kindly to getting stiffed.
“Mmm? Oh!” Her father jolted and squirmed free from Mayté’s grip. “Ay, I’ll have it … later,” he slurred and crumpled to the ground.
“Pathetic.” One of the thugs spat on him.
“We gave you plenty of time, Robles. Plenty of warnings too. But did you listen? NO!” The man kicked him. Hard. He rolled over with a groan. Another bubble floated from his mouth, only to instantly pop. The group surrounded him, laughing as they kicked and cursed at him.
Carlos stood in front of their mother. He would always protect her over their father no matter what. One of the reasons why he was her favorite.
Which left Mayté to do the dirty work like always. “Hey, stop!” She rushed over to the man wearing a vaquero hat. He whirled around and grabbed her, holding her tight against him.
“Oh, look what we have here. This is your daughter, Robles? She’s a pretty little thing.
” He played with her braid, twirling it in his grimy fingers.
Clearly younger than the rest, he could have been considered handsome if he wasn’t so vile.
A scar sloped down his white cheek, through his scruffy shadow of facial hair, to his lips.
His breath reeked of tobacco and booze. He took a whiff of her braid.
“Stop!” Mayté screamed. Her skin crawled. “Let me g—”
Another thug roughly grabbed her face, pinching her cheeks together. “If you can’t pay us in coins, maybe this one will do instead. We can put her to work.”
The other men leered at her, eyes gleaming with greed, cruelty, and—Dios—Mayté didn’t want to think about it. No matter how much she struggled, the man held her still. Tears stung her eyes.
Her mother softly wept and held Manuel close. Carlos stood frozen as if San Desgraciado cursed him. Neither of them made a move to save her.
And then her father …
He stared straight at her, still and quiet. The look in his eyes made her stomach churn. Empty and lifeless. If it came down to it, he would let them take her, wouldn’t he?
She had always known the truth, but she had pushed it away. Now she couldn’t ignore it. She was on her own. No one would save her.
Dios, please …
A knee slammed against her back and her knees and palms hit the ground. A cloud of dust and dirt bloomed around her. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the burning pain.
“Think about it, Robles,” the vaquero spat. “We’ll be back soon and next time, we won’t leave empty-handed.” Snickering, the thugs left, tossing their cigarettes and empty glass bottles aside.
Then there was silence. No talking. No breathing. And certainly, no bubbles.
Until her mother whimpered, “Hija, are you okay?” She dabbed her eyes with her frayed shawl and turned to Carlos. “You too, mijo?” As if he was the one who almost got taken by disgusting men.
It wasn’t always like this. A lifetime ago, back when her mother wore beautiful silk gowns, she prided herself on every one of her children.
But clearly that was only a luxury. Once they lost everything, she put her all into Carlos.
If Carlos found a wife with a decent status, that could change everything for her.
He was her savior, and if he failed, there was always Mateo.
Or Manuel. Or even one of the twins once they grew up.
Never Mayté.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll boil some café.” Her mother ambled back inside and Carlos helped their father up. Mayté stormed into the house behind them.
“Can I have some too?” Manuel bounced around his mother, clearly unbothered by the altercation.
“Please, please, please?” He cupped his hands together, but almost tripped over a chair.
The tiny main room was a mishmash between a kitchen, dining area, and sitting room.
There was barely space for a few people, let alone all eight of them.
A turquoise cross hanging on the stained concrete walls was the only splash of color in the dingy house.
Mayté’s room was even tinier with only a moth-eaten curtain dividing it from the area her brothers shared, but at least it was her own.
The one perk of being the only girl. All it could fit was her bed along with some canvas and other painting supplies.
Two heads full of black hair bounced in front of her half-painted canvas.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked at the sight of fingerprints and graphite scribbles on her commission. No, no, no, no!
The twin toddlers, Pablito and Benito, turned around with no remorse on their chubby brown faces. They pushed through the curtain, giggling.
“I can’t believe this!”
The older Robles kids had learned their manners, but after they moved here, it was like her mother forgot how to parent.
The twins and Manuel did what they wanted without even the tiniest smack on the wrist. Meanwhile, Mayté had vivid memories of her mother whapping her with shoes, wooden spoons, and even a cross once when she’d stepped out of line.
It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. She swiped at her eyes, failing to catch the falling tears.
“Mayté?” Carlos peeked in from behind the curtain.
“What do you want?” She turned away, wiping her face even harder. No matter how hard she rubbed, her eyes wouldn’t stop burning.
“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said but didn’t offer anything else. Didn’t tell her everything was going to be all right. Because it wasn’t. Didn’t tell her they were going to think of a way to protect her from those men. Because they wouldn’t.
He was useless.
All she had left was Fortune’s Kiss. The hot tears on her cheeks cooled. Fortune’s Kiss was her only choice. Her only option.
Her only chance.
And if she couldn’t get in—
No. She could. She would. She had to.
“Carlos.”
“Hmm?”
“Take care of everyone,” she croaked, her voice broken.
He wrinkled his eyebrows and gripped the curtain. “What do you—?”
“Marry someone with money. Ma’s counting on you.” Even if her family didn’t value her, she wanted the best for them. If anyone could pull them out of their financial troubles, it was Carlos.
“But what about you?” He frowned. The look in his eyes pricked her heart. In many ways, they had only each other. The eldest children, old enough to understand the consequences of their ruined name. Forced to bear the burden of their younger siblings.
Carlos had the advantage. Yet he never could admit it.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Mayté let out a strangled laugh that burned her throat.
“Does it really matter? None of you care.” She went over to her painting supplies.
Thankfully the twins hadn’t torn into her stack of old drawings and paintings.
This was where her heart was and surely among these was her most prized possession.
Quite possibly her only way into Fortune’s Kiss.
“That’s not true,” Carlos said, but his voice sounded weak. “There has to be something I can do.”
It was far too late for that. “It’s okay, Carlos, it really is.” Her voice cracked. He was her older brother. He should have been there to help and protect her. He wasn’t a drunkard like their father or near empty like their mother. What excuse did he have?
And yet, despite it all, she could never truly hate him. There was too much between them.
She set down the different pages. Some colored, others simple graphite sketches. “Just make sure they don’t miss me too much. Tell them I’ll be okay.”
“What are you saying, Mayté?” Panic laced Carlos’s words, yet they both knew he wouldn’t do anything to stop her. “You’re not going to do something crazy, are you?”
Going to Fortune’s Kiss would be the craziest thing she had ever done, but now there was no going back. She couldn’t stay here. Not anymore.
“I’ll be okay,” she told him. She had fended for herself most of her life, after all. “I’ll make sure of it.”