Page 40 of Forbidden

“When two people are meant to be together, nothing will keep them apart. Not even themselves.”

* * *

The sun castedan orangey glow over the gray skyline. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I soon realized my feet were taking me to the old neighborhood I once lived in with my grandmother.

The neighborhood looked worse than I remembered. The old houses were falling apart, many of them were shuttered up, and a lot of the sidewalks had been reduced to rubble. The narrow alleyways that separated the homes looked darker, almost menacing. They were a long ways away from when I used to hide in them as a child.

Even though Abuela’s street looked deserted, I started to hear some life as people began their day. A dog sitting in front of a window barked as I walked past, and its owner quickly closed the blinds. A mother yelled for her kid to hurry up so they wouldn’t be late.

The old house was still the same red, painted-over brick. The paint was peeling, and the windows were dirty from years of neglect. I walked up the grey concrete steps and thought about ringing the bell, but stopped myself. What if someone is living there? I racked my brain trying to remember if I heard anything about the house being sold after Abuela died.

As I leaned over the handrail to look into a window, a young woman came out from the house next door.

“Ain’t no one home,” she said as she shook her door to get it to lock. “Hasn’t been anyone in years. At least not that I remember.”

She had long bright red hair and beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. She looked to be in her late teens but was wearing slacks and a blouse that belonged to a middle-aged woman.

“My grandmother used to live here,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if they sold it or not.”

“Oh, I remember an old lady. Heard a lot of stories about the goings-on in that house, but I was a little girl and she was always very nice to me. I don’t think anyone’s been here since she died.” The slow dawn of realization covered her face. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked at her watch, and then turned towards an old silver Honda. “I’d stick around and chat, but I can’t be late for work.” She tilted her head and squinted her eyes at me. “Have we met before?”

I remembered a girl who lived next door, about five years younger than me. We weren’t friends, it was hard to have friends when you were doing the things I needed to do for my family. But I remembered her playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, or jumping rope.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, not wanting to talk about the past.

“Alright well, my mamma is home all day and she loves talkin’ if you have any questions about your grandma’s place. There’s been a few people by recently, and my mamma always knows everything that’s goin’ on.”

“Thanks,” I said as I forced a smile.

She smiled back and gave a quick wave as she got into her car and sped away.

While I was curious who had been by, I still didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself after everything that happened with my heart being ripped out and thrown against the wall by Rosalie, and then the long ride to Philadelphia. I sat down on the stoop and leaned against the cool brick handrail as tiredness rushed over me. No one would mind if I rested there for a couple minutes. No one would even notice.

* * *

“Wake up.”

The tip of a shoe kicked the rubber sole of my sneaker. I slowly opened my eyes, confused about where I was for a moment. A man was standing over me in a dark gray suit, a leather briefcase in his hand. What was left of his hair was slicked back, as if he had just gotten out of the shower.

“What time is it?” I asked as I yawned and stood up.

The man lifted his left arm to check the time on his fancy silver watch. Behind him, idling at the curb, was a sleek white BMW. He’s definitely not from around here.

“It's 8:30,” he said. His brow furrowed before he looked around. “This is private property, please move on.”

He must think I’m a bum, but at least he’s not a dick about it.I snorted and shook my head before letting out a long sigh.

“I’m just having a bad day,” I said. “I’m not causing any trouble. I used to live here with my grandmother. I guess you could say I stopped by to visit.”

"Your grandmother?" the man asked as he put his briefcase down on the top step and pulled a folder out. He rifled through some pages. “Angela Ventana?”

I nodded, taken aback. How did he know?

He flipped through some more pages, then eyed me up and down with a slow nod of acceptance before asking his next question. “What's your name?”

My mind spun as I tried to piece together what was going on. This man knew my grandmother, and it wasn’t a stretch for me to assume my name was in those papers he kept looking through.

My instinct was to run. Nothing good ever came from someone knowing my name. I shook my head to try to clear it so I could think straight, then decided to just answer him.

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