Page 79 of The Challenger

My fingers twitch and curl, but I find another smile. “You have a nice day, Earl. Go buy your wife some flowers on the way home.”

The walk back to my car seems like a dream, something I can barely recall. It only hits me after I put enough distance on the place. I pull over in the nick of time. A lifetime of anger from deep inside me rots in a pile on the dusty shoulder of Highway 99, and good riddance to it. I can use the space for something worthwhile.

I drive back to LA with the top down and wind rippling through my hair. As far as Fresno goes, North or South means nothing to me anymore. God willing, I will never set foot in that place again. The memories are vivid enough. The feel of death bearing down on my chest will take a lifetime to forget, like the sound of the gun chamber cocking while the depths of my ass clenches in response. Or the eyes of another man, blind and unseeing, as he looks straight into mine. Big, flat Fresno is perfect for the Earls of this world who see all that flatness and convince themselves the earth can’t be round. Our minds can limit us in ways we never imagine. But mine is finally free, and one woman is responsible for that miracle.

* * *

The second legof my trip feels like a vacation after visiting with Earl, but I am not busting out the umbrella drinks yet. No one ever said Mama Delgado was a walk in the park. I didn’t rehearse any lines for Earl but have a script ready for Mama, just in case. As even Flynn realized, Mama can turn the most eloquent speaker into a tongue-tied mess.

A crescent moon hangs in the night sky when I walk through the front door. I hang up my jacket and notice Papa’s is missing from his hanger. He should be home soon with groceries. I’ve offered to cook a late dinner, and Mama sees right through this obvious ploy to warm her up.

After a quick peck on my cheek, the first thing out of her mouth is, “Why didn’t Flynn come with you?”

My short-term goal is for her to say Flynn’s name without looking like she sucked on a lemon. I told my parents the whole story, even the awful bits, and Flynn being the cause of my suspension did not sit well with Mama, despite me explaining it was through no fault of her own. I mean, it’s not like she dialed up 1-800-Rent-A-Stalker for fun.

“Her father had a stroke, and she’s visiting him in Santa Cruz. What about dinner next Saturday?”

Her lips purse. I can tell she’d prefer not to bend too soon, but not even Mama can rain fire and brimstone down on a medical emergency. “Dinner here?” she asks, hoping for home-court advantage.

“Yo, Hermano.”

Carmen strolls out of the kitchen licking a Popsicle, a punk cowpoke in baggy ripped overalls and shitkicker boots. Every other month her hair changes color or style, and I can never keep up, but something else is different about her today. I can’t put my finger on it.

I duck her blue-lipped kiss. “What are you doing here? Mama said you had a party to get to.”

She smiles and acts all coy. “Maybe there is a universe where I wanted to see you.”

Apropos of nothing, Mama swats my arm. Hard. “Ow!” I say, rubbing at the sting. “What’s that for?”

“For not saying anything.”

Carmen adds cryptically, “Turns out, you are not the only one shitting the bed these days.”

She stands tall with her chin up, her whole being lighter. Unburdened. I pick up on the energy between them. Holy shit. She’s told them. I am genuinely stunned Mama isn’t doing time at church praying in a pew right this second.

“Apparently, Flynn encouraged her,” Mama adds, daring me to find some salvation in an abominable action such as this.

“Really?” I glance at Carmen, who confirms it with a shrug of her shoulders—a,Yeah, she did,gesture. Am I surprised? Not really. Why wouldn’t Flynn help my baby sister? She helps everyone except herself.

“She’s been a great sounding board,” Carmen says. And because Mama’s expression is still dour, she chastises her. “Don’t pray for my soul in church. Throw more money into the collection plate and sing hallelujah because your son has somehow attracted the perfect woman. And,” she adds, throwing a look my way, “if she has any hot, single friends, let me know.”

Mama grumbles something under her breath, and I’m still trying to understand why this is not a Defcon 1 situation. Papa might be able to shed some light on it when he gets back. Mama being okay with this might involve him slipping her a mild narcotic.

“We’re going outside to talk for a few, Mama.” Carmen pulls on my shirt and pauses, fingering the sateen. “Nice disco duds, Chavelito. Still hoping for your boy band?”

I shove her toward the door. “Shut up.”

We park our asses on the top step of the porch. The house needs a new coat of paint, and the neighbor’s cat keeps shitting in Mama’s flowerbeds, but tonight the place feels steeped in a certain kind of brightness. A black cloud has hung over this house ever since I forced my parents to move here, and Carmen’s decision to live with them and not on campus or in the condo I offered to buy helped smooth and lighten the transition. Hard to believe my pigheaded sister is a beacon of selfless luminosity.

Or maybe, not so hard to believe.

“What’s the deal?” I ask. “Did I miss the heart attack?”

Carmen laughs and stretches out her legs. “It’s not as if Mama has called up all her friends. Papa said he figured it out already. His modern-day acceptance floored me.”

I glance over. “How do you feel?”

She picks at her frayed denim. “Scared, which is like, totally dumb, because now they know. But now it’s … I don’t know.” Her heavy sigh fits perfectly with how this entire day is going. Everything is changing. “It’s a different kind of scary. Can’t go back in the closet.”

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