Page 57 of Saint of the Shadows

“Mom, why aren’t you at work?”

Mom ran her fingers through the tangled ends of her dark, graying hair pulled into a tight ponytail. “Your dad said I didn’t have to work two jobs anymore. Since my back’s killing me, I’m finished with the nursing home.” She flipped her hair back almost with a proud air about her.

Great, within the week of emptying her savings account to pull Dad from Izzy’s clutches, he had already concocted a hairbrained scheme. “He’s said that before.”

“I haven’t quit yet. I’m using up my vacation days. Mainly to worry about you and what happened to your friend, Maria Soledad.” Thistime, her full name reminded her of who the parent was.

Marisol stacked a freshly clean plate on the drying rack, wiping with the efficiency she had learned from Abuelita. While recalling a childhood where work robbed Marisol of Mom’s time and affection, a tinge of jealousy emerged. Abuelita’s love made do but had never been the same. “Okay, but why are you making them breakfast? You never made me fresh tortillas.”

“Unlike you, I find being a wife relaxing.”

Marisol had to be strategic about her eye rolling. If she was too obvious, she’d get the shoe, even as an adult. Besides, it wasn’t an interaction with Mom without some comment on her love life. “And why are you giving a police detective chores to do around the house?”

Mom shrugged. “He asked how he could help us, and I told him.”

“It’s odd.”

“I guess, but it felt right.”

Must’ve felt right because before life had broken their family into fragments. To feel right was to feel whole, as if their zip code didn’t influence her brother’s decisions or push her sister away to safety. “Like if Caz was around?” Marisol asked.

Mom sighed and nodded. She scratched a red spot on her hand where her skin had reacted tocleaning chemicals. Marisol needed to get her new gloves. Mom’s tired eyes welled with tears.

Marisol sprang from the sink and hugged her. Mom released a sob. “We were so worried about you. We didn’t want to lose another.”

“You’re never gonna lose me, Mom. Mami.” But she couldn’t keep such a promise. If anything, the last year taught her that everything was fragile. Yet, could she really tell the truth? Death is inevitable and could happen at any moment. She hugged her mother a little tighter. A lie was better. God, why couldn’t Vincent have lied to her one more time? Just say, “No, in fact, I didn’t nonchalantly leave my DNA around to send your best friend to her oblivion.”

Mom sniffled, her sobbing subsided. “That detective’s cute. If I wasn’t a married woman—”

“Mom!” Marisol stomped out of the kitchen, playing the role of petulant child. As the door closed behind her, she laughed. Mom had never joked with her.

Outside and away from Mom’s jumped conclusions and intrusive questions, she asked for the mousetrap. She could hear Mom already. What’s with the mousetrap? Doesn’t your landlord take care of that? Pete, her apartment is infested. She should live with us. Thankfully, Dad retrieved it from the basement without Mom noticing.

He presented it to her with the same reverent air of a knight who found the Holy Grail. “What you came for.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She checked the metal box for weak spots.

“Use a pungent cheese, not that bland crap Protestants always insist on.”

“I’m pretty sure Protestants don’t eat bland cheese.”

“Fooled me.”

Marisol tucked the trap under her arm. “Things okay?” Her raised eyebrow showed the full meaning behind her question. Have you seen Izzy? Are you in any more trouble?

“Things are okay. Had someone from that Varian corporation stop by the gym. They helped me fill out a grant to teach boxing as an after-school program. Got the grant. Kids will be comin’ in after the weekend, then their parents, and then some money. Finally.”

Vincent. He took care of it and not by writing them a check like that. He pulled invisible strings to show that he cared.

She should return to the estate and apologize for leaving. She’d play the role of homebound companion to show her gratitude and be his caged bird. Isn’t that what these heroes had in their stories—caretaking sidekicks? Life could be beautiful, like at the lake house. All she had to do was tra-la-la away Annie’s life. It could be that easy.

No way. She had a bus to catch and a mouse to trap.

A gruff voice called after her. “Wait!” Tobias pulled on his trench coat. “C’mon kid, you can walk me to my car.”

She opened her mouth to protest. She had a plan. It didn’t include refrigerator-sized police detectives who had cozied up to her parents.

“What? I’m a vulnerable individual. I need the protection.”

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