17. The Saint Medal
The Saint Medal
Rafael
Harmony and I cross into Juárez to visit my eighty-four-year-old grandmother.
The trip has been planned down to the minute. Dimitry and Nikolai arrive separately, taking up positions near a small neighborhood café across from her house while HAVEN quietly watches the surrounding streets.
Dimitry checks the block before we leave the vehicle.
Nikolai takes a table at the café across from Abuela’s house while Dimitry remains near the corner.
They stand out, but neither of them seems concerned. In this case, being noticed is part of the protection.
Abuela notices them through the kitchen window before we reach the front door.
"You brought bodyguards," she says as I kiss her cheek.
"I brought friends."
She glances past me toward the street.
"You brought very large friends."
Harmony laughs beside me. Abuela turns her attention to her and opens her arms.
"So, this is Harmony."
Harmony steps into the embrace, and Abuela holds her tightly enough to make her eyes widen.
"It’s lovely to meet you," Harmony says.
Abuela leans back to study her face.
"So you’re the woman who's finally convinced my grandson to smile again."
"Abuela."
"What? You think I haven't seen the photographs?"
I look at Harmony.
"You sent photographs?"
She gives me an innocent smile.
"Your grandmother asked."
"Someone has to tell me what's happening," Abuela says. "You only call to say you're fine."
"I am fine."
She snorts.
"Sit. Both of you. You're too thin."
Within minutes, the kitchen table disappears beneath bowls of homemade soup, warm tortillas, sliced avocado, and enough food to feed everyone stationed outside.
Harmony tries to protest when Abuela fills her bowl again. The look she receives ends the argument.
I hide my smile behind my glass.
She pushes more food into my hands. “Here, take these bowls to your friends outside.”
I do as I’m told. As usual.
Conversation drifts through family stories, Harmony’s work, and Abuela’s detailed account of every embarrassing thing I did as a child.
She launches into the story of the summer I decided I could leap from the shed roof with a bedsheet tied around my neck.
“I was seven,” I remind her.
“You were old enough to know bedsheets don’t make you fly.”
Harmony presses her lips together, already losing the battle.
“I nearly made it.”
“You landed in the chicken pen.”
“That part wasn’t planned.”
“The rooster chased you halfway across the yard while you screamed for your mother.”
Harmony laughs so hard she nearly spills her soup.
“I was attacked,” I say.
“You were stupid,” Abuela replies.
For a while, the afternoon feels almost ordinary.
Then Abuela grows quiet.
She studies me across the table, the humor fading from her eyes.
"Mijo."
I meet her gaze.
"You have the same look your uncle carried before they killed him."
Harmony's hand finds mine beneath the table. There's no point pretending Abuela imagined it.
She’s spent too many years recognizing danger before anyone else admits it's there.
"I'm fighting bad people, Abuela."
Her gaze shifts briefly to Harmony, then back to me.
"Are they the reason she was arrested?"
Harmony stills beside me.
"Yes."
"And are they the reason those two men are outside?"
"Yes."
Abuela nods once, absorbing the answer without asking for names or details.
"You always were fighting someone."
"Usually because you told me to."
"I told you to defend people who couldn't defend themselves. I didn't tell you to get yourself killed."
"I'll remember the distinction."
"No, you won't."
She reaches across the table and pats my hand.
"Eat your soup before it gets cold."
Harmony smiles into her bowl as Abuela changes the subject and asks whether I still burn everything I cook.
I inform her that I'm an excellent cook.
Harmony betrays me immediately.
"He makes excellent coffee."
Abuela gives me a disappointed look.
"Coffee isn't food."
"No," Harmony says, unable to resist. "But he made your caramel flan for me."
Abuela's eyebrows lift.
"And?"
"It was sublime. To die for."
I try very hard not to smile.
Harmony does.
"It also made Rafael a little... frisky."
Abuela nods as though Harmony has just commented on the weather.
"Oh, that's well known."
I close my eyes.
"Abuela..."
She pats my hand.
"What? Your grandfather was exactly the same after my flan."
Harmony dissolves into laughter.
"I'm never going to recover from this, am I?"
"No," Abuela says. "Now eat. You're still too thin."
When it's time to leave, she disappears into her bedroom and returns with a small silver saint medal resting in her palm.
The metal has been worn smooth around the edges.
She presses it into Harmony's hand.
"Saint Michael," she says. "For protection."
Harmony studies it in her palm.
"I can't take this."
"You can, and you will."
Abuela closes Harmony's hand over the medal.
"For both of you. Someone has to keep this stubborn grandson alive."
Harmony looks at me, her expression softening.
"I'll do my best."
Abuela kisses her cheek.
"That's all any woman can do with a man like him."
Outside, Dimitry catches my eye from across the street while Nikolai casually finishes his coffee.
Dimitry gives the slightest nod and returns the plates.
All clear.
Harmony slips the medal around her neck before we reach the vehicle.
Abuela watches from the kitchen window until we're safely inside.
For today, that's enough.
On the road to El Paso, Texas. 1430 hours
Harmony settles beside me in the back seat as Dimitry eases the SUV away from Abuela's house. She absently traces the silver medal resting against her throat, smiling to herself.
"You've been adopted," I tell her.
She laughs softly. "I think I have."
"My abuela only gives those to people she believes belong in the family."
Her fingers still against the medal. "Then I'll treasure it."
Harmony leans her head against my shoulder as the streets of Juárez begin to give way to the highway leading back toward the border. For a few precious minutes, everything feels almost ordinary.
Nikolai's voice breaks the silence.
"Black Tahoe."
I look up.
"Six o'clock."
I don't turn immediately. Neither does Dimitry.
"How long?" Dimitry asks.
"Since we left his grandmother's street."
Dimitry takes the next intersection instead of continuing toward the bridge.
The Tahoe follows.
He turns again two blocks later.
So do they.
Harmony straightens beside me.
"What's happening?"
I keep my voice level.
"We're confirming."
The third turn settles it.
Nikolai lowers the passenger-side mirror a fraction, studying the reflection.
"They're ours."
Dimitry nods once and accelerates, not recklessly, just enough to create space.
The Tahoe closes the gap.
Harmony's fingers tighten around mine.
"They're coming alongside."
I finally glance across. Dark windows. No plates on the front.
“Get down.”
I shove Harmony below the window line and cover her with my body.
The passenger window begins to lower.
"Nik."
Nikolai is already moving.
He braces his forearm against the open window.
One shot cracks across the desert road.
Nothing else.
The Tahoe jerks violently as its front tire explodes. It veers across the shoulder, digs into the loose dirt, and rolls, once... twice... three times before disappearing into a cloud of dust.
Dimitry lets out a fierce whoop but never touches the brakes.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
Nikolai keeps his attention on the mirrors.
"No secondary vehicle. Keep going.”
His speed never changes. Neither does his breathing.
Harmony stares through the rear window until the dust disappears behind us.
"Is it over?"
"For today," Dimitry replies.
I slide my arm around her shoulders.
"They knew we'd visit Abuela."
The realization settles between us. Someone had been watching. Someone had waited.
Harmony rests her hand over the St. Michael medal hanging against her chest.
Fifteen minutes ago, Abuela had fastened it around her neck with a prayer for protection.
It hadn't stopped the danger from finding us.
But as I look at Dimitry's steady hands on the wheel and Nikolai calmly scanning the mirrors for the next threat, I realize protection had never meant the absence of danger.
It meant making sure the people you loved made it safely home.
El Paso, Texas. 1530 hours.
Harmony’s mother opens the front door before we reach it.
"Harmony!"
She gathers her daughter into a fierce embrace, holding on for several long seconds before finally stepping back to cup her face.
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you too, Mamá."
Maria immediately starts checking for bruises, cuts, and signs she isn't eating enough.
"Mamá..."
"I'm your mother. Be quiet."
Harmony laughs and lets herself be fussed over. Her father appears behind them, smiling as he opens the screen door wider.
"It's good to have you home."
He shakes my hand firmly before pulling me into a brief hug.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do. My name is Hector, and this is Maria."
Before either of us can say another word, Harmony's three younger siblings spill into the hallway.
"Harmony!"
Within seconds she's surrounded.
Questions fly from every direction.
"When did you get back?"
"Are you staying?"
"Is that really Rafael?"
"I told you he was taller."
Harmony laughs until she's wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
"I leave for a few weeks and you all forget how to breathe one at a time."
They don't. The questions keep coming.
The afternoon settles into easy conversation around Maria's kitchen table.
Fresh tortillas appear without anyone seeing who made them. Then rice. Beans. Chicken. A pitcher of iced tea follows.
Nobody leaves hungry in this house either.
Harmony slips back into the rhythm of her family so naturally it seems as though she never left.
I mostly listen.
Stories from school. Neighborhood gossip. Arguments over whose turn it is to wash dishes.
The ordinary conversations that become extraordinary when you almost lose the chance to have them.
Outside, Dimitry strolls past the front window while Nikolai chats with a neighbor over the fence.
Anyone watching would see two men passing the time. I know better.