You Should Have Been Nicer to My Mom, page 19
“What did she say?”
“A bank account . . . ?”
Then came the shock. They rushed toward Yaritza, trying to squeeze between the wall and a nightstand to look over her shoulder. Marisa shoved Aury, who knocked into Manuel, who reacted just about as strong as a brick wall. Yaritza bounded to her feet, unprepared for the sudden attention.
“Someone’s bank statement was leaked online—wait, hold on! I’ll just send it to the group chat!” Yaritza shouted. Xiomara’s phone buzzed.
“Whose account is this?” Manuel stared at his screen. It was hard for Xiomara to tell if his eyes were narrowed in anger or if he was just having a hard time reading small text.
“It’s not mine,” Aury said, trying to mask her sigh of relief.
Rafael shook his head. “It’s not mine either.”
With a quick look, Xiomara knew it wasn’t hers—she didn’t even share the same bank as the rest of the family. Still, she zoomed in on the charges. She could probably tell who it belonged to by the expenses alone.
Luckily, there was only one.
International Wire Transfer . . . $50,000? Xiomara’s jaw met the floor. To who?
The statement said it was sent to an overseas LLC she had never heard of. Xiomara quickly ruled out Henry—everything he bought had to be a recognizable brand. The same could be said of Aury, so she was ruled out as well.
“I don’t see a name on this. How do we even know it’s one of ours?” Aury wondered aloud.
Xiomara searched the document herself. Most of the identifiable information was redacted, save for the last name.
“They’re tagging it with our name.” Yaritza shrugged.
“We’re not the only Abreus in the entire world,” Xiomara said, a bit of relief sinking into her bones. Then she looked to Marisa.
She was staring at—no, through her phone, color leeching out of her skin like she had been splashed with bleach.
“Marisa . . . ?” Aury tentatively tapped Marisa’s shoulder. She did not react and the tension in the room became very brittle glass. No one wanted to say a word or else risk shattering it. Just watching her aunt sweat, Xiomara was sure this was yet another scandal unfolding.
“Tía Marisa?” Xiomara hesitated. “Is this . . . yours?”
Marisa’s answer was to break into a sprint. She nearly stomped on Yaritza’s foot on her way out, grabbing the door frame for stability as she whirled around it. Within seconds, the bathroom was locked and Aury was begging Marisa to let her in.
Fifth one today, Xiomara thought. How many scandals could possibly exist within one family? Maybe Papi Ramon’s death was a mercy, buried before the stories went out.
“What was she spending so much money on?” Manuel sneered, taking another look at the account statement. He muttered disapproval under his voice while Rafael took to pacing up and down the room. He cut a glance to Yaritza every time he crossed in front of her, wringing his hands like they would go flying if he didn’t keep them busy. Xiomara’s core tightened with every look, until finally he stopped.
“You need to stop doing this shit,” Rafael said, crouching as he pointed a finger at Yaritza. “You got a problem with me? Fine, but stop putting everyone’s business out there.”
Yaritza made a face. “I didn’t even do anything.”
“You’re the one who keeps bringing up everything that goes on online.” He fixed her with a look. “I bet you’ve already been talking to people about us too.”
Yaritza put down her cell phone and looked her father in the eyes. She jutted out her chin, a false bravado if Xiomara had ever seen one because her cousin’s shoulders were curling around her in shame.
Rafael gave a slow nod, as if to say, is that so?
“Xiomara,” he called to her. “Has Yaritza been talking to anyone outside this family about this family?”
Xiomara felt turned to stone. She didn’t move in either direction, or so much as blink, but Rafael took that as an answer itself and gave another slow nod before he stood up and left the room. The feeling of brittle glass was present again, only extending between her and Yaritza.
Her cousin slowly exhaled. “Wow,” she said. “Thanks for fucking snitching.”
“Wha—” Xiomara watched Yaritza pull herself to her feet and disappear out the door.
And then there were three. She looked between Manuel and Henry. Slim pickings for conversation. The elder sat back in his seat, arms crossed and a grim expression as he watched his son.
“Xiomara.” Aury came to the door. “I need to speak to you.”
She followed her aunt out. A few steps away from Rafael’s room, Aury hit her with an absurd question.
“Did you have something to do with that?”
Xiomara blinked. “With . . . what?” What was she asking?
“Okay, don’t tell anyone else, but Marisa just got pulled into a group chat with other women that are victims of a scam, all right, they’re saying that the guy isn’t real. It was all AI-generated.”
Xiomara hated everything about that sentence.
“She’s really upset about it and asked them to keep that part quiet, but I know her. She’s going to snap sooner or later, and I’d rather know everything before I try helping. So if you did that—”
“I didn’t!” She shook her head vigorously. A computer science degree did not make her an AI genius.
Aury rubbed her face. Exhaustion ate at her, aging the aunt by years. Xiomara could almost see her grandmother in Aury’s downturned lips.
“All right, but just for tonight, give Marisa space, okay?”
“She doesn’t blame me, does she?” Xiomara’s face paled.
“No . . . I wouldn’t say that.”
11:13 p.m.
Marisa was glaring from down the hall. Xiomara could make out those aggrieved eyes, shooting daggers and accusations without ever saying a word. Marisa didn’t even look away when Aury came back to her, placing two hands on her shoulders like she was trying to divert her attention.
Whatever she said to Marisa worked, because Marisa’s face seemed to soften for a split second before crumpling all at once. She threw herself into Aury’s arms, face buried into the crook of her neck, and sobbed quietly. Xiomara watched Aury rub her back and slowly turn toward the bathroom. The light of the bathroom briefly exposed Marisa’s ugly crying, the sharpness of her expression, and the snot that ran down to her chin. Before Aury went in, she gave Xiomara another look that said, remember that we’re in here. Or maybe it was, remember not to come over here. She had to give her aunt space, after all.
Xiomara’s stomach clenched. She had managed to go so long without being blamed for one thing or another in the family, but it seemed like her mother’s curse followed her.
Xiomara returned to Rafael’s room and came face-to-face with Manuel.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Watch Chico for me,” he said, not waiting for an answer. He ducked out immediately, and Xiomara’s eyes fell on Henry.
And then there were two. She walked over to his sleeping frame. He slept so peacefully for someone who hadn’t even endured half of the night awake with the family. Injury or no injury, Xiomara was envious of that. She looked him over and saw that his breathing even seemed a little deeper. She wondered if his body had already replaced some of the blood he’d lost.
At Henry’s feet were two tapes left behind by the family: Aury’s and Manuel’s. Marisa’s tape was the only one missing. Her suspicions seemed to be proven more and more right. Of all the siblings, Marisa was the only one keeping her tape close to the chest.
Still, Xiomara reached over and plucked Manuel’s tape from the bed. Papi Ramon had made six tapes for a reason. While she still had time, she should make a point to listen to each of them. Xiomara watched the door as she connected her earbuds and slid in the tape.
Papi Ramon’s voice was a lot calmer and more collected than in his earlier tape.
“Manuel is my first child,” he began. “The only child of mine who decided to follow in my footsteps . . . To this day, I don’t know why he decided to become a pastor. Sometimes I think it’s because he wants to be like me. He used to follow me around all the time, when he was little. No matter where I went, he wanted to be there. I could be in the bathroom, and he’d cry against the door. He never wanted to be alone. It used to bother me. I think that’s the reason why we decided to have more kids. Just so he would have someone else to follow.”
Xiomara frowned. Papi Ramon talked about Manuel like he was discussing a colleague. Or perhaps he was half-asleep. It was hard to tell. She glanced to the door again, making sure no one came back through as the tape went on.
“Out of all the kids . . . I don’t think he liked Josefina.”
Xiomara’s guts twisted at the sound of her mother’s name. Papi Ramon barely sounded affected, and she wondered how long after the funeral this tape had been made.
“I don’t think he liked any of them, actually. He’s okay with Rafael and goes a long time without talking to Marisa or Aury. But Josefina always upset him one way or another. I think maybe . . . he knew that she was better than him.”
The tape ended there. Baffled, Xiomara rewound the tape and played it again. Nothing in the words changed. Papi Ramon’s voice didn’t suddenly fill with energy. But the second time she listened, there was one thing Xiomara caught that didn’t make sense to her.
Apathy.
Papi Ramon was completely apathetic to Manuel, his firstborn son. Xiomara unplugged her headphones and sat in quiet concern. The grandfather she had grown up with had been full of love for all of his children.
Had he? Xiomara’s mind creeped with doubt. Had she ever actually seen him interact with Manuel outside of funerals?
Henry shifted in his sleep with a low groan that nearly sent Xiomara through the roof. She fumbled when ejecting the tape, hiding the Walkman back in the pocket of her cardigan and throwing the tape onto the bed beside Henry.
The slits of his eyes opened on Xiomara’s face.
“Henry?” she breathed. She looked back to the door, still open. If anyone walking by peeked in, they might not even notice he was awake, but she didn’t want to chance it. Xiomara mimicked Manuel in the way she leaned over, hoping that Henry was more awake now than he had been earlier.
“Xio . . . mara?” He grimaced, trying to sit up. She stopped him quick.
“Don’t. Don’t move,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. She was frantic now. Any moment now, Manuel was going to walk through the door, and if he saw that his son was awake, Xiomara would not get any answers at all. “The thing that attacked you. What was it?”
“S’hot . . .” Henry complained again, crinkling his nose like he smelled something foul.
“I’ll open the window wider, but you have to tell me what it looked like.” She pleaded, “Please. What was it?”
“. . . was hot . . .”
That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t saying it’s hot, he was saying the thing that attacked him was hot.
“It was hot?” she asked.
“Burning . . . claws . . .” Henry’s body settled down. “Watch . . .”
“Watch what?” Xiomara repeated. “Henry, watch what?”
His only reply came from his injured arm. He raised it slightly, letting out a pained yell that summoned Manuel immediately.
“What’s going on?” His father practically flew into the room. “Is he awake? Henry? Henry!”
No matter how much Manuel shouted and shook Henry, he didn’t stir with more than a faint moan. Cursing his luck, Manuel stomped right back out, as if he couldn’t bear to see his son in a horrible state. Xiomara stared at Henry’s arm intently. Was he trying to point at something?
Watch.
It wasn’t a verb. It was a noun.
Henry wore a watch on his injured arm. Xiomara took a closer look. It was golden, expensive, and more importantly—all in one piece. She carefully undid the clasp and slipped it off. Underneath the case, right next to the crown, was an engraving—RA.
This was Papi Ramon’s watch.
“This isn’t his.” She didn’t see him come in with it, and wondered if he’d taken it.
El bacà protects its owner’s properties. Yaritza’s brief Google search surprisingly had come in handy. Henry had taken Papi Ramon’s watch, and Aury had taken his pills. What were better shows of ownership than a prescription and an engraving?
Before Manuel could return, Xiomara made her way back to Papi Ramon’s room. The pile of watches had been left exactly as it was, half-covered by the broken drawer ripped out of the dresser. As she sifted through them, a careful finger nudging each metal band away from crystal pieces, one stood out to her. It was a Cartier—one of Papi Ramon’s favorites. Absentmindedly, she picked it up, her thumb and index finger feeling guided to the crown like a puppet being pulled by strings.
You have to be careful, though, Papi Ramon had said. The memory resurfaced through the murky waters of her mind. Because sometimes when you think you found something that could help you, it’s just another trick he left behind for you.
“But why would he do that?” Xiomara’s lips moved on their own. Muscle memory sparking without warning.
Papi Ramon’s voice answered, Because he likes to play.
Sulfur tickled Xiomara’s nose just as an earsplitting scream threw her on her back. She felt the floor beneath her shake, the sound of a tornado tearing through the house. Then more screaming mixed with a thunderous roar. Xiomara’s heart nearly popped with fear. She scrambled to her feet, every cell in her body desperate to go go go, throwing the door open and slamming into Manuel just as she escaped the room. He pushed her off just as fast and sped to the stairs.
The cacophony below had dulled but not ended. Booming thuds replaced the screams, and Xiomara stood petrified in place. Marisa’s room opened, and Yaritza tentatively peeked out.
“What the hell was that?” All color had drained from her cousin’s face. Betrayal instantly forgotten, she looked to Xiomara for answers. All Xiomara could do was shake her head, to say, I don’t know.
“AURY!”
Confusion cut into the core of Xiomara’s being. Isn’t Aury up here? She looked back toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. Marisa stood frozen in place as though she was waiting for reality to come back to her.
“Naomi! We need more help!” Rafael shouted. That jolted Marisa to action, and she sprinted past them on her way downstairs. Yaritza soon ran after. Once her legs felt solid, Xiomara ambled downstairs.
Yaritza pressed her back against the wall across from the storage room. She plastered her hands over her mouth, barely moving when Xiomara approached. Panicked voices shouted at one another, clawing the walls like an animal trying to escape containment.
“Why isn’t she waking up?”
“Step back and shut up! I can’t hear anything with you shouting in my ear!”
“What happened to her?”
“Yes, there’s been another attack—”
Xiomara stepped through the door and immediately felt her blood pool at her feet. The scene was worse than Papi Ramon’s room. So many boxes were overturned and emptied, a hoard of clothes, decorations, and knickknacks littering the floor. Two of the walls had punctures the size of a bowling ball, drywall giving way to wood, and wood splintering from sheer force.
There was heat in the air. Not quite smoke, just the feeling of warmth, thick but fading. Xiomara tried to pick apart the mass of bodies with her eyes. There was Naomi again, being hounded by Marisa and Manuel to do more, hurry up, answer their questions, help Aury, why isn’t she moving faster? The three were like a wall, huddled over what Xiomara assumed was her aunt. She stared at the floor beneath their feet.
No blood. She tried to take heart until she got a good look at her aunt. Just because she didn’t see any blood, didn’t mean her aunt wasn’t gravely injured. Xiomara wondered what she’d tried to take this time to warrant a more serious attack.
“What do you mean you can’t send anyone?” Rafael growled into the phone. Among the mess, he had cleared a path for himself to pace, like it was the only thing he could do to keep from exploding. The stress and fear inside him turned his more leisurely walk into something brisk and forceful. “We have someone stalking us and so far there have been two attacks and—yes, I’m aware of the storm, I’m fucking stuck in this house because of the storm—”
“Xiomara, move out of the way,” Naomi said. She had turned aside, allowing Manuel to hook his arms under Aury’s shoulders and legs and pick her up, though not without his knees half buckling under the weight.
Aury wasn’t bleeding half as much as Henry had, but rows of red lines carved through her skin all over her body, and she was unconscious just the same. Claw marks dug into the floor right around her like she’d been circled.
“You’re going to drop her!” Marisa panicked.
“No, I’m not!” Manuel gritted his teeth as he shifted Aury more comfortably in his arms. Xiomara stepped out of the doorway and let him carry Aury out while Marisa demanded he bring her to their room.
“No, put her in the same room as Henry,” Naomi argued, voice fading as she followed them upstairs. “It’ll be easier for me to look over both of them . . .”
Xiomara stepped into the room. Like Rafael, she had to clear a path for her to walk, nudging blankets and bent hangers aside to find solid ground cleaved in rows of four over and over again. If she were to trace over them with her hands, her fingers would need to be splayed to follow the path of each groove. Xiomara hadn’t thought about it before—the fact that whatever made these markings would have to be big.
Big but stealthy. How was it that the creature had struck so many times but no one outside of the victims had come across it? The house had only two floors and a single staircase connecting the two. Ignoring the damage done to the front door, there had now been three attacks—the first being Aury, then Henry, and back to Aury again. Was the first attack supposed to have been a warning for her?
The first time, she was going through Papi Ramon’s medicine drawer. She remembered that there was an open pill bottle in that last drawer. Then Henry was attacked while going through Papi Ramon’s watches.
