Chapter 2
EMMA
We are both quiet for a while. Leo is what you would consider the quiet and mysterious one of the family.
His aura screams leave me alone unless absolutely necessary.
He’s not one for small talk or asking too many questions about anything in particular.
So silence, in general, is no surprise. This silence is different though.
It’s him knowing when to let me stew in my own head, instead of forcing conversation.
A strange cocktail of nostalgia and dread simmers inside of me as we drive through the nearly-empty streets of town on our way to the ranch.
The park where I’d scraped my knees chasing Frankie around as a kid.
The ice cream shop where my brothers and I had practically staged protests for extra sprinkles on our pink and blue cotton candy ice cream.
The bookstore where I had my first kiss.
Don’t you dare fucking think about that right now, Emiliana.
Am I having heart palpitations?
“How’s the house holding up?” I ask, deciding to break the silence myself and try to push away the memories coming to the surface to suffocate me.
“It’s… holding up,” Leo replies with a small smile. “I’ve been trying to fix or upgrade things as they break. Trying to keep it in good condition, you know. Mom would want me to.”
I nod, swallowing down the pang of guilt suddenly lodged in my throat.
Mom loved that house. She poured her heart and soul into it—every decoration was curated, the garden was always tended, every corner always spotless, like no one lived there.
When Dad died, she started working two jobs, sometimes even three, to make sure we kept the roof over our heads and food in our bellies.
She never complained, never let anyone see when she was overwhelmed or tired or sad.
It was important to her that her kids never struggled the way she did growing up.
She did what she had to do, without adornment, to make sure we always had a home. A happy one.
Leo, as the oldest, stepped up at a very young age to help take care of us kids whilst Mom worked.
He made sure we were all bathed, fed and did our homework every night.
Even when we were old enough to take care of ourselves, he couldn’t shake the desire—maybe even the need—to be that constant for us.
Leo was, and still is, the glue of our family.
When Mom died, we couldn’t bear to be in the house anymore. Our grief was etched into the walls, into the bones.
She was etched into the bones.
We all eventually moved out, except for Leo. After years and several attempts to convince him to sell and let that piece of our story go, he continues to refuse.
“I can’t wait to see Mia,” I blurt out, now desperate to change the subject.
“She’s gotten so big,” Leo smirks as a proud-dad look takes over his face. “She’s a menace now. Runs everywhere, climbs on everything. She reminds me of you at her age.”
I let out a small laugh. “Yikes. Poor you.”
The tires crunch on the dirt road as we turn onto the property, a familiar cloud of dust kicking up behind us like a memory I’m definitely not ready to face.
A big, wooden sign hangs at the entrance, carved with the words “Luz De La Luna Ranch” in blocky, western-style letters.
The name translates to “Light of the Moon”, which my parents chose for obvious reasons.
One of the most special parts of the ranch is that it is just far enough away from town that the glow of the streetlights and neon signs fade to nothing. Only the silver hush of moonlight over the fields remains, along with stars that seem close enough to touch.
The main road to the house is long and winding, past open fields and fence posts weathered by too many Vermont winters. Trees all around are painted in the colors of autumn, which is arguably the most beautiful time of year in Windhaven. Landscape like something out of a movie or postcard.
The house comes into view and I feel my breath catch as I take it all in.
It’s an old, colonial-style house, white paint slightly peeling in several spots, black shutters all still hanging straight except one, and a wraparound porch that has always been my favorite part.
I used to drag the easel out of my room and through the entire house, just to bring it outside to paint.
My usual spot on the porch was at the back right corner of the house, overlooking the small pond on the property where the animals would gather during the heat of summer.
Mom’s garden is to the left of the house, wild and overgrown now.
Hydrangeas spill over the edge of the beds, along with some questionable vegetables begging for attention.
On the right stands Dad’s old workshed with the door hanging open wide enough to see the mess inside—tools, lumber, and parts of projects nobody ever finished.
Beyond the house, there is nothing but land.
Miles of it. The ranch stretches out in every direction, dotted with cows, several grazing horses off near the tree line, and chickens, pecking near their coop.
The animals have always been more of a hobby than a business for our family.
The horses are ridden recreationally on the land and any milk or eggs collected, beyond what the family uses, has always been sold at a heavily discounted price, or often donated, to small businesses in town.
Somewhere across the property is “the yellow house”, where I will be living.
We call it that because it is in fact, just an old, yellow house.
Technically, it’s a whopping 1000 square feet guest house that no one’s ever used.
I can count on one hand the amount of times anyone has actually stayed in it since I was born.
The ranch is a testament to our parents and their “American Dream.” In their early twenties, while Mom was pregnant with Leo, they immigrated to the United States from Cuba to escape a communist regime.
They uprooted their entire lives and left all they had ever known behind, to move to a country where they didn’t even speak the same language.
All the hardships they faced were worth the slightest hope of giving their child, and future children, a better life.
Dad’s construction business was very successful from the start and Mom made good money as a seamstress in town.
They both also cleaned houses and local businesses on the side to make extra money.
Eventually, they had saved up enough to buy the ranch.
They did what they set out to do, achieving their dream: a beautiful life for their family, on their own land.
They achieved something they never would’ve been able to do if they’d stayed in their native country.
I always thought I would’ve been the one to stay, get married and raise my kids on this land, in this house. But instead, I ended up running as far away from it as I could.
But now, parked in front of the house that means so much to my family, while also being the source of all our grief for decades, I can barely breathe.
I’m glad Leo hasn’t sold it yet. For my parents’ sake, at least.
Leo shuts off the engine of the truck. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Em. We are here for you every step of the way,” he says, barely above a whisper.
I swallow hard, nodding as I unbuckle the seatbelt. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now, Bear. Please.”
“Yeah. Got it.” He reaches over and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and gets out of the truck before either of us can say anything else.
I open my door and take a deep breath as my shoes crunch against the fallen leaves and gravel below. Looking up at the house looming over me, for a split second, I expect to see Mom in the window waving at us as we arrive home.
Leo leads the way up the porch steps and through the front door.
The familiar creak of the floorboards underneath my feet greets me like an old friend.
The smell hits me before I even cross the door frame—a mix of faint spices and something distinctly Mom’s.
Taking another deep breath, I recognize her signature smell of cherry blossom and vanilla.
She has been gone for so long, how does it still smell like her?
My heart aches and the pain feels all-consuming. I let myself bask in it until I hear a small, excited squeal, followed by the patter of tiny feet on the hardwood. It is reason enough for me to snap back to the present as a smile tugs at corners of my mouth.
Leo barely has time to set his keys down before Mia comes toddling into the room. Her dark brown curls are bouncing in all directions. With two chubby arms outstretched in front of her, she yells, “Papi!”
Leo crouches just in time to catch her, scooping her up effortlessly.
“Hola, mi cielito lindo,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She giggles before turning those big, brown eyes on me.
At first, she just stares, her tiny face scrunching in concentration.
Then, as if finally recognizing who I am, she gives me a wide, toothy grin.
“Mimi!” Mia yells, tiny fingers grabbing at the air between us.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I say, stepping forward as Leo carefully passes her into my arms. “I’m surprised she remembers me.
” The sentence comes out softer than I intend it to as I wrap her in my arms and shove my face against her neck, breathing in her scent of baby shampoo and something sweet. Maybe chocolate chip cookies?
Leo smirks. “You talk to her every day, Em. Of course she knows who you are.”
The guilt of being the long-distance tia has eaten me up inside since not being there the day she was born. I was, and still am, determined to be present in my niece’s life. She’s going to know how much she is loved, regardless of where I am on the planet.
She’s warm and impossibly soft in my arms. She looks up at me with pure curiosity, then pats my cheek with a sticky hand, causing me to let out a watery laugh.