Chapter 13 #2
While pride still lingers in his voice, his almost-smile hints at something else.
A missing piece he won’t talk about. From years of intel, I know Rafael Senior passed away shortly after things fell apart between Rafael and me.
It was a short, aggressive fight with pancreatic cancer.
Rafael was out of the office for twelve days after it happened.
I remember The Dimple didn’t make an appearance for another three months.
Mostly, though, I remember missing Rafael’s stupid jokes and relentless humming (I’ll die before I tell him).
I find I’m curious to know more … and willing to spend a few more moments hearing what he’ll share. For research, of course.
“We don’t have to talk to my abuela if you don’t want to,” he says, digging his hands into his back pockets. The change in topics has me trying to remember why we’re here to begin with. “I can do that on my own. I should have thought—”
“?Con quién estás hablando?” We both jump as another Vela woman steps into the hallway. No taller than five feet, she commands attention. A gray braid over one shoulder, skin that’s age loved and tan, and a kind smile kind beneath brown eyes.
“Abuela,” Rafael starts, turning to speak to her. He switches from English to Spanish. She listens and nods before tucking her hands into her colorful apron and walking away.
The floor creaks.
I stare after her.
“She’s waiting for me in her prayer room, but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Rafael says. His sincere tone startles me. I hold his gaze, trying to see the trick.
I know Rafael isn’t so great at following through on plans, so I can see why he’d give me the option to back out …
or maybe he doesn’t want me to go with him because he’s got some reverse psychology at play.
Like the one time he went on and on about Vinay Patel being an asshole who didn’t turn in projects on time and bullied others, only for me to discover Rafael wanted Vinay on his team and thought I wouldn’t take the time to actually do my research.
As if I were some amateur. (Vinay works for me.)
I’m not falling for it.
We’re sticking to the plan.
“Lead the way,” I say, gesturing for him to go first—because never turn your back on a Vela.
Rafael stalls briefly before he follows after his grandmother to a room at the back of the house. His grandmother sits in the tiny room, which is just large enough for two wooden chairs and a shrine crowded with religious artifacts. Figurines. Crosses. More photos.
I halt in the doorway, the room already feeling too snug. Rafael looks at me as if to say I gave you an option. And I answer with a look that says I got this, thank you very much.
Rafael’s grandmother gestures to the seat beside hers. “Come, sit with me.”
Rafael obeys, the wood chair groaning beneath his weight. Even if his size seems to take up the entirety of the room, seems to dwarf her, she takes his hand in hers like you would a child’s.
“I missed you, mi amor.” She squeezes his hand. “Now tell me—how is your friend?”
Friend?
“She’s …” His brow furrows when he sees me rolling my eyes. I expect him to say lost or crazy or scared (but then I’d have to hurt him). “The same.”
“Between one place and another,” she says. Her thumb rubs his hand in a comforting way.
Rafael nods. “Like Tía Sofia. It’s why I’m here. I should have thought to ask before. How did she wake up? What helped her?”
His grandmother’s gaze turns distant. “Those first days of Sofia’s coma, I cried beside her bed night and day, not caring about anything else but bringing her back to me.
She was so little, and there is nothing like the pain of losing a child.
” She shakes her head. “I hope you never have to experience that, mi amor, because you will give me great-grandchildren.” Her tone is stern, but her smile belies her seriousness.
“Of course, Abuela,” Rafael agrees. Exactly what the world needs. Mini-Rafaels.
Nodding, she continues, “It was the most difficult ten days of my life, and while the doctors did their jobs and their machines kept her alive, I believe it was something else—something much greater at work—that helped her.”
My ears perk in anticipation.
“What was it?” he asks.
“Dios,” she says. God. “Prayer, Rafael. Like I taught you since you were little. That is who I turned to then, and every time since. But you see, I was so sad and lost, I had forgotten for a while.” She pats his hand.
“Prayer is the easiest thing to do but the one we dismiss the most often. It is universal.”
That’s a lie.
I glance up to the ceiling, where Rafael so often seems to go for advice.
God, huh?
Anyone up there now?
Too bad I know the answer to that. Nope. Not for Annie and most certainly not for me. My heart squeezes in disappointment.
I feel Rafael’s gaze on me, and I keep my features reaction-free.
“And it worked?” Rafael asks.
“The doctors believe it was their medicine, but in my heart, I know it was prayer,” she says, her eyes on Rafael.
“And if you wish, Padre Victor can meet with you—pray with you. He has better connections with the Big Guy.” His grandmother smiles, pointing up at the ceiling, a hint of Rafael’s ruefulness in the curve of her lips.
“But prayer has to come from here.” She moves her hand and taps over the place where Rafael’s heart should be. “So don’t lose faith.”
“I won’t,” he answers.
Abuela smiles. “Now, I have a celebration to get to,” she says. “We both do.”
She stands with surprising agility, touches his cheek, and shuffles to the door. I move to the side, squeezing into the room before she marches through me.
She stops in the doorway and says, “Ella tiene suerte de tener a alguien como tú en su vida.”
I can only pick up some of the words, luck and life, and I have neither. In fact, I’m feeling more frustrated than when we came here.
Rafael’s eyes shift to me as his grandmother leaves.
“Celebration?” I ask, not yet prepared to talk about what she said.
He toes the carpet. “Elena’s tenth birthday.”
“Something you forgot to mention?”
“We can go. If you don’t want to stay,” he says, his gaze sincere in a way that takes wind from my proverbial sails. “We can call Padre Victor or—”
“No. Stay.” I cut him off. I have some things to work out, and he may as well have a distraction instead of being mine.
Rafael disagrees with a shake of his head. “Evie—”
“I need a moment, so if you’d be a good partner and go be with your family, it would mean a lot,” I say, leaving no room for argument. His mouth opens, but I cut him off. “Please.”
Rafael’s lips close around words—a rebuttal, most likely. But he’s wise enough to swallow whatever he was about to say and—too slowly—vacates the room.
Finally, I’m alone. Just me, my thoughts, and his grandmother’s words. I can actually think now that he’s gone and not looking at me in that way that makes me question if he’s a descendant of Count Dracula.
Refocusing, I think about prayer, something I once believed in.
Mostly because of Annie and Great-Aunt Julia, who took us to church.
Annie loved the choir’s singing, and I loved Annie and Julia, so I went.
When Annie was gone, when there was no one who could bring her back—not even Great-Aunt Julia’s God—I stopped praying.
Maybe it’s time to start? Because what other option do I have? Not many. There isn’t a road map for fixing me. For getting my second chance. For checking things off my bucket list. For doing all the things I’ve put off.
So, when there isn’t a clear answer, you try all the possible answers.
A grandmother’s prayers or sacrificial offerings—I need to do whatever it takes.
I haven’t quit a single thing in my life.
I won’t start now.