Page 137 of Outspoken

“Some kid left their bucket,” he states.

We all stare at it until I finally say, “You ever built a sandcastle?”

“No. You think my parents took me for a vacation on the beach? I was lucky if they left food in the pantry.”

Amber and I exchange worried looks. The quick glimpses Angel often shared with my mom about his past make me relieved he’s no longer in that situation. One of the last things he shared with her—which she passed on to me—was that he burned his arm when he was six trying to cook mac and cheese. He hadn’t eaten in over a day because his parents were high and passed out, so he found a box of mac and cheese in a bottom cupboard and tried to make it using a stool to access the stove. He stumbled and the boiling water splashed him. His parents never took him to the hospital for the burn, so he has a permanent patch of discolored pink skin on one forearm.

I touch his shoulder and, surprisingly, he doesn’t move away. “Well, we’re at the beach now,” I say. “Let’s try it.” I plop down into the sand, not caring I’m getting this rental suit dirty. “I haven’t made a sandcastle since I was a kid.”

“Me, either,” Amber says, joining me by kneeling so her dress doesn’t expose too much.

Angel doesn’t budge, but he sticks around to watch, not even messing with his phone. Amber and I manage to get two mounds shaped when a huge wave crashes, pushing water toward us. Amber notices in time, standing and fleeing, but I’m too slow. My ass gets soaked and I shake my head, giving in and letting it happen.

Amber cracks up at my soggy pants while Angel smirks. Our tiny sandcastle is ruined and mostly washed away.

Angel kicks the rest of it down. “That’s life,” he says. “Nothing good lasts.”

“Geez, stop being so dramatic,” Amber tells him, grabbing the plastic bucket and shovel. She moves further back from the water and then kneels. “Let’s try again.”

Once I join her, we get super serious about this castle, making large mounds with the bucket and then smaller ones with our hands. Soon, Angel drops to his knees to work on details, adding windows, stairs, and turrets. He finds a stick, getting insanely focused, and draws intricate bricks on each tower.

Amber and I smile at each other as he works. I step away a moment—my ass and legs uncomfortably soaked—to snap a pic. Amber poses and smiles sweetly at me while Angel glances up in irritation. He doesn’t look away though, staying still long enough for me to grab a couple different angles.

My chest swells from this small victory, then I kneel and take a selfie with the sandcastle in the background—Amber smiling to my left and Angel scowling on my right. He looks like this is the last place on earth he wants to be, but he lets me take our picture together. I grin. This feels momentous.

Once we’ve spent a solid hour and a half on our castle, we all stand to admire our work. I snap another pic of our masterpiece right before another huge wave crashes. Amber gasps and grabs my arm, anticipating water hitting and wrecking what we just built.

Angel shakes his head, already calling it a loss before seeing what happens. “What a waste,” he grumbles.

The water hits, flowing around the solid base we build. Then it flows away. The castle stands firm.

Amber grins and nudges Angel with her elbow. He also smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him happy, and it fills me with a lot of pride knowing I played a part in that joy.

“See?” Amber says. “It survived. We built it stronger this time.”

Shoving hands in his pockets but still smiling, Angel tells her, “Can’t believe you got me doing a dumb kid’s activity.” He starts walking up the beach toward the parking lot.

“Hello?” she says, following. “You are a kid.”

“No, I’m not,” he calls back to her. “I’m almost eighteen.”

“Five years is not ‘almost’ eighteen.”

She motions for me to come, so I catch up to her, intertwining our hands. I turn for one last look at the ocean, which now knows all of my most cherished memories and holds my deepest pains. Then I smile at our little sandcastle, which will stay here battling any waves that hit.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Miguel

A WEEK LATER, THE POSITIVE vibes from the beach have worn off, and I’m resting like a fallen tree on the couch. My work has been unbelievably understanding. The gym manager let me use all of my sick time and vacation days, and he offered to give me a short leave of absence. Brody said he’s got my clients covered for as long as I need. I’m grateful for my amazing employer and for Brody because I need all the support I can get. There’s too much to sort and I lack motivation.

Patty came to visit a few times to gather anything she had left here. She loved my mom and has worked with her for a few years, so I gave her Mom’s favorite teal blanket, one she crocheted. I could tell that meant a lot to Patty, and I know she’ll cherish it.

My siblings and Lupita have also come to take a few sentimental items, but I directed everyone else to Rico. He’s my middle man, fielding all the requests and inquiries and taking notes on a spreadsheet. He’s telling everyone that if they show up at my house without permission, they’re banned for life and get nada.

Some family members are pissed at how I’m handling Mom’s estate, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to participate in the chaos of everyone fighting over her stuff. Not everyone wants her valuable items for sentimental reasons. Some are just greedy.

Whatever small connection I may have had with Angel on the beach quickly crumbled. After changing my phone’s background to the picture of me, Amber, and Angel together—it gives me a lot of peace—I sent it to Angel thinking he might like it.

---