Page 3 of Shadows of the Past
"Julia, forget about that conversation. I'll figure something out." His tone leaves no room for argument.
Pressure builds in my chest because that amount is impossible to gather or “figure out.” Puerto Vallarta might be peaceful and touristy, but people willing to collect debts by force exist everywhere.
My throat tightens at the thought of someone hurting him, and my expression must betray me, because he sighs.
"It'll be fine, mi amor," he says, and I wish I could believe him.
Mom's voice breaks the moment, calling me upstairs to help with Lupe, who's apparently testing if ballerinas can dance underwater.
I find Mom nearly soaked while Lupe giggles uncontrollably. Amalia massages shampoo into her curls, ignoring her twin's performance. They may be identical twins, but telling them apart comes naturally to me when their personalities are so different.
Both sport chocolate curls, hazel eyes, and Dad's warm smile, but Amalia is the studious one, while Lupe will sing her lungs out to make you smile.
"Julia, help Amalia wash up. I've got a dancer here driving me crazy." Mom tries to sound stern, but amusement colors her words. My sisters are literal sunshine; staying mad at them for more than ten seconds is impossible.
One wet shirt, a puddle on the bathroom floor, and two pajama-clad munchkins later, I collapse on my bed.
Tomorrow's history exam looms over me, but who can think of studying with everything that’s going on. The thought of waking early to study pulls a frustrated groan from my throat. I should change clothes, but exhaustion wins.
?
I'm not sure if I've been sleeping or just dozing when the sound of breaking glass jolts me awake.
My eyes struggle to focus as I peer out the window, the world outside still cloaked in darkness.
I strain to listen, heart pounding against my ribs. Just as I'm about to dismiss it, Mom's scream tears through the night, my hand flying to my mouth to trap my own cry.
The girls.
All I can think about is getting to the twins and making sure they’re safe. My parents’ bedroom is downstairs, but the twins’ room is right next to mine, tucked away at the top of the stairs.
Muévete, Julia.
Every step I take sends my pulse pounding in my ears, my breath caught high in my throat. I silently beg every saint I can remember that the old floorboards won’t betray me now.
At my door, I press my palm against the wood and ease it open, barely daring to breathe. Strange voices float up from below, low and unfamiliar, punctuated by the heavy thud of footsteps moving through the house, people rifling through drawers and cabinets.
I slip out into the hallway, careful to leave my own door ajar so it won’t squeak, the darkness pressing in as I inch closer to the twins, praying I’m not too late.
When I push their bedroom door open, two terrified pairs of eyes lock onto mine.
Of course they heard Mom's scream.
"Hey, we need to get out of here," I whisper as Amalia moves toward me in her yellow koala pajamas.
"Lupe, come on," I murmur, carefully sliding their window open.
Please let these guys be the only ones who came. Please don't let anyone be waiting outside.
Amalia's small fingers wrap around mine, but when I glance back, Lupe remains curled up in bed.
I guide Amalia to her sister's side and kneel beside the bed.
"Lupe, bad men are downstairs. We need to leave. Now, conejita," I whisper, the nickname fitting how she's burrowed under her blanket.
"What if Mom needs us?" Tears glisten in her eyes.
Between the twins, Amalia always thinks with her head, while Lupe leads with her heart.
