Page 92 of Taming Liberty

He growls and shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge. “That’s not my son’s blood! His mother is a whore, he could be anyone’s!”

Sam comes around me, his nostrils flared. “My mamá is not awhore. Don’t talk about her like that.”

Luis tries to step in between. “Okay, everyone, why don’t we—”

My head snaps his way. “Back the fuck off.” Luis holds up his hands and backs up a step.

Every bitter line in my father’s face, created from years of wearing the same scowl, is on display as he stares down Sam whose chest is puffed out at my side. I know what my father is seeing, the sight probably even more jarring in his drunken state. He’s seeing his son.

His face sobers as his eyes scan Sam.

I glance between Sam and my father. “Still convinced he isn’t Dario’s?”

My father stands up straight and backs up a step. He shakes his head, but it isn’t a response to my question. “I…” He puts a wrinkled hand to his mouth as a look of horror crosses his expression. It’s the look of a man who’s missed out on watching his nieto grow.

Sam turns to me, his face stone-like. He gestures up the stairs. “Can we go now?”

I nod, and he rushes up the steps. I meet Luis’s shocked eyes, hoping he can see the silent apology in my expression for snapping earlier, before following.

Sam’s posture is strong as he ambles down the hall, making him look more like a man than a boy, but as he comes to the first door, he loses some steam.

“This is your abuela’s room… Do you still want to go in?”

He stares at the door while he thinks for a minute, then finally, he nods. I open the door and lead the way. Mamá’s eyes are half closed, but when we walk to the bed, she opens them. Her sleepy eyes move from me to Sam, and the skin of her face stretches with surprise. “Dario?”

I shake my head. “No, Mamá.” I put my arm around Sam and move us closer to the bed.

Her face softens, and her eyes fill with tears. “Samuel.”

Sam looks away from her, obviously uncomfortable, but he moves his eyes back to her when she reaches for him. He comes closer, and she takes his hand. A tear slips from her eye. “Mi nieto.” She closes her eyes with a pained cry while Sam stares like he’s looking at a ghost. I can’t imagine how overwhelming this must be for him.

“Sam came to visit you and Dario, Mamá.”

“Have you seen him yet?” she asks.

Sam shakes his head, still looking shaken.

Mamá gives a sad smile like she understands exactly what’s going on in his head. “Your father will be eager to see you,” she says, patting his hand before releasing it. “Go.”

Sam pauses several seconds, then without a word, he turns and trudges toward the door. I go to follow him, but Mamá stops me.

“Mi via.”

I look at her and try not to frown at the weakness in her voice.

“I love you, hijo. Please know that.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I nod to buy myself a moment to swallow it down. “I love you too, Mamá.”

Sam has already left the room, so I slowly turn and go after him. He’s waiting for me in the hall, and after I gingerly shut my mother’s door, we walk to Dario’s room in silence.

I have to take three deep breaths with my hand on the knob before I can open the door to my brother’s childhood bedroom.

I’d always planned to do this. Every year, everydaythat passed made it seem more and more impossible, and if it wasn’t for Sam standing beside me, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it now.

I open the door and step into the room. A nurse glances up from a bag she’s securing onto a machine next to Dario, a bladder bag, I assume. When we lock eyes, she stands. She must sense the tension Sam and I are putting off because she excuses herself and shuts the door behind her.

Dario is sitting in a tall wheelchair facing the window. The chair has a back high enough to support his neck, and his arms rest on pads at the sides. Sam is the first to move, walking around to face his father. I admire how strong he looks. No tears burst to his eyes.

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