Page 129 of Carrie Soto Is Back

My dad laughs. And then he begins walking to my house with Bowe and me. Bowe walks up ahead of us, ever so briefly. And my father puts his arm around me.

“Siempre supe que no hay montaña que no puedas escalar, paso a paso.”

I have always known there is no mountain you cannot climb, one step at a time.

Bowe makes dinner, and we eat outside. They play a game of chess while I look up at the stars. My dad hugs me good night. And nobody pretends Bowe is going home tonight.

Bowe and I go inside. I start doing the dishes, and Bowe comes up behind me. He kisses me and I laugh. He says he loves my laugh, and then he says, “Can I say that? Can I say I love your laugh?”

And I say, “I don’t know. I mean, I guess yes. Sure.”

I can see my father’s living room window from my kitchen. I watch as his light goes off.

Bowe grabs my waist and spins me toward him.

And I wonder for a moment why I have spent all my time worried about losing things, when there is so much here.

—

When Bowe and I wake up in the morning, instead of sneaking out, he goes downstairs in his underwear and makes me a blueberry smoothie. I drink it while he makes himself a black coffee. When we’re done, he picks up the paper and goes into the den. I go out onto the court.

I stretch my legs. As I start on my shoulders, I look at my watch. It’s three past eight.

Where is my dad?

My heart drops through my belly.

I run toward my father’s front door. I put my hand on the doorknob and I turn it.

There he is. Lying on one of his sofas, with the TV on ESPN.

Here but gone.

And all that escapes from my mouth is a hushed yelp. “Papá.”

From then on, everything feelslike those moments just before you wake in the morning. I am not asleep but somehow still dreaming, the world an ambiguous combination of reality and hallucination.

At some point, I am standing on my father’s front stoop, staring at my sneakers when somebody—I can’t tell if he’s an EMT or someone from the coroner’s office—comes to find me. I look over and realize Bowe is at my side, holding my hand.

“Your father had another heart attack last night and passed away, most likely sometime between eleven and onea.m.,” the man says.

“Yeah, no shit, genius!” I hear myself shout.

Bowe pulls me into his arms.

I think someone gives me a sedative.

—

Gwen comes over with dinner. Bowe tries to make me eat something. When I look at him, I can’t figure out why Bowe Huntley is in my house, why he is the one beside me.

Gwen tells me this is going to make the news soon. “I’ll do my best to hold it all off until you’re ready.”

I tell her I don’t care who knows. Hiding it won’t fix it.

—

Bowe feeds me lunch and dinner and breakfast the next morning. I know that because I can see the dishes piled up around me in my bed.

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