Brighter Than the Sun, page 14
“Maybe you and Abuela can play more board games instead,” I say. As much as I wish Papi wouldn’t take it out on Diego and my grandmother, I can’t help but feel the same kind of pressure he must be feeling—pressure to keep the bills reasonable, to save money wherever we can.
“Yeah,” Diego replies. “Except they’re not as fun with only two players.”
It comes unexpectedly—a pang of guilt that hits me right in the chest. Guilt because I haven’t been thinking about home as much over the past week, because this weekend was the most fun I’ve had in years, while Diego and Abuela have had to sit next to each other in the living room, staring down at a board of Chinese checkers because they can’t turn the TV on anymore.
Tears come, but I wipe them away quickly. I don’t want Diego to realize I’m crying.
“Diego?” I ask softly. “Are you still there?”
I know he is. I can hear him breathing through the phone, but I just want him to say something—anything.
When he finally speaks up, his words send a cold, sharp chill running down my back.
“I’m sad, Sol.”
“Why?” I ask, standing up from the bed quickly. “Because I didn’t come home last weekend? I can come back this Saturday. I’ll—”
“It’s not just that,” he says. “I just… am.”
I think of myself at his age, and the way life was back then. I remember long summer days at the beach and warm winter nights at home. I remember the sparkle in Papi’s eyes every time he looked at Mami, and the sound of her laughter, and the colors, and smells, and tastes of her cooking. I also remember the lengths Papi and Mami went to in order to keep us protected from the news, from the violence that erupted throughout the city right around that time. I just wish I had a way to protect Diego from everything that’s happening now in the same way that my parents did for me back then.
“I also feel sad sometimes,” I tell him. “But this won’t last forever. Sadness is like… like waves in the ocean, Diego. It comes and goes. And I will, too—I’ll come back, even if I’m not there now.”
“Will you be home this weekend, then?” Diego asks after a moment of silence.
“I will,” I say, wanting desperately to be there for my brother. It’ll make sense for me to come to Tijuana anyway—after being away last weekend, I need to see Papi so I can hand him my latest paycheck. “You should go to bed soon.”
“I know. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Try again,” I tell him. “It’s getting late.”
“Will you stay on the line with me? Until I fall asleep?”
“Yeah,” I reply. Throwing a quick glance at the desk, where my trig textbook is still lying open, I realize I probably should be turning off the lights soon and getting some sleep myself. “I can do that. Are you in bed now?”
“Yeah.”
“Try to relax, then. Close your eyes and breathe slowly. I’ll be here.”
“And you won’t hang up?”
“Not until I hear snoring,” I say.
He lets out a small laugh, which brings lightness to my chest.
“Buenas noches, Diego.”
“Buenas noches, Sol.”
I reach for the switch and turn off the lights in Ceci’s bedroom. At first, I can’t hear anything coming through the phone, but after a while I’m pretty sure I can hear slow inhales and exhales coming from Diego’s end. Even though I’m pretty sure he’s asleep by now, and even though my eyes are threatening to shut any second, I stay on the line, trying my best to be there for him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ON FRIDAY, EVERYTHING CHANGES, BUT NOT ALL AT once.
It starts with a whisper. “Did you hear about Bruno’s hearing?”
As much as I wish I could stop and hear more, I can’t just barge into a stranger’s conversation. For the rest of the morning, though, I keep my ears alert, trying to pick up on any more news about Bruno, but none comes until later, when I’m sitting in the cafeteria.
“The hearing’s happening the third week of November,” Ana María announces to the table.
“It sounds so serious,” Olivia says.
“Well, it sort of is.”
“But, like, is it gonna be a trial-style thing where they decide if he’s guilty or innocent, or…?”
Simon narrows his eyes. “I don’t think so?”
“What’s the whole point, then?”
“The board’s just gonna decide if they should kick him out or not.”
“But he already got suspended,” Ari says.
Ana María turns toward her. “So?”
“So shouldn’t that be enough punishment?”
“I heard some kids are putting together a petition,” Tony says. “They’re trying to get a bunch of people to sign it so we can help Bruno not get kicked out.”
Before I can ask about this petition—who’s putting it together, and how I can sign it—my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s a text from Diego: Hey.
I hold my phone firmly, waiting for something else to come, but it doesn’t. Still, that single word is enough to make my heart start racing. Diego never texts me when he’s at school. If he’s reaching out to me now, it must mean something’s going on—especially after the conversation we had last night.
Are you okay? I text him back, my fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. Is something wrong?
He doesn’t write back. I stare at my phone screen for several minutes, but no new notifications come.
“What’s wrong?” Ari asks me. She must’ve noticed how I’ve stopped eating.
“I have to make a call,” I say, pushing my chair back.
She says something else, but I don’t hear what it is. I rush toward the cafeteria doors, among my recent calls.
Someone answers as soon as I step out into the hallway, but it isn’t Papi.
“¿Bueno?”
“Abuela?”
“Sol?”
“Why do you have Papi’s phone?”
“He left it on the kitchen table. He’s—”
“Is that Sol?” I hear Papi’s voice coming from the background.
“Why is he home?” I ask. “Why isn’t he at the restaurant?”
She goes quiet, and that’s when I know it—she’s keeping something from me.
“Abuela, why is he home?” I ask, my voice rising.
“He—he’s actually on his way out now,” she answers.
“Can I talk to him?”
“He says he has to run.”
“He should,” I say, suddenly aware that there are people walking down the hallway all around me. I turn toward the lockers, trying to keep my voice low and steady so no one will be able to hear what I’m saying. “Lunchtime on Fridays is always busy. He should’ve opened the restaurant at least an hour ago.”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Abuela says. “You should go back to class.”
“It’s lunch period.”
“Then go back to eating lunch.”
I remain silent for a moment, letting my anger out through my breath. “Well, ha-have you heard from Diego? He texted me, but now he’s not replying.”
“He’s at school,” Abuela replies. “I’m sure he’s fine. Now go. Carry on with your day, and we’ll see you here tomorrow, okay, mija?”
She doesn’t stay on the line long enough for me to say anything else, which, again, makes me worry that something is deeply wrong, and she’s just not telling me what it is.
“Sol?”
“Huh?”
“Are you okay? You seem… distracted.”
I look up from my plate. Ari and Nancy are both staring at me with deep frowns on their faces. It must’ve been at least ten minutes since I tuned out their voices, but up until now, they’d just carried on with their conversation without me.
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’m just tired.”
Nancy nods, smiling sympathetically. “Of course you are.”
“Just one more shift, and then it’ll be the weekend,” Ari says.
I try my best to smile back at them, and then I put a bite of food in my mouth to have an excuse not to say anything. I wish I had a bit more energy in me, that I could tell them about what’s really bothering me, because I know Ari and Nancy would be able to comfort me. They’d make me feel a little bit better, and lift my spirits at least long enough for me to get through my late-night shift at the store, but I can’t bring myself to speak up.
I haven’t been able to reach my brother all day. He’s still not answering his phone, and my texts have stopped going through, which tells me that he’s either run out of battery or has turned off his phone.
I dialed my house number once before I remembered that it no longer exists—not since Papi canceled the landline. That gave me no option but to call my dad’s cell again as soon as Ari and I got back home, which was as good as nothing.
“I’m busy, Sol,” he said to me when he picked up.
“I—I know, but I’m trying to get in touch with Diego and Abuela, and I—”
“Why don’t you call Diego, then?”
“His phone is not working for some reason.”
Papi let out a loud groan into the phone. “I’ll tell him to call you when I get home.”
“But I’m working until midnight tonight.”
He offered no words of reassurance. I wanted to tell him I’m worried about Diego, that I have a feeling something is wrong with him, and that we should be finding out if he’s even made it home from school, but Papi didn’t give me time to say any of that.
“I have to get back to work,” he said.
I hoped that at least he was telling the truth—that he was in the middle of cooking, or serving tables at the restaurant, so I chose not to argue, but now I wish I had.
I wish I knew exactly what is going on at home. I can’t wait to be back in Tijuana tomorrow morning, because no matter how much Abuela may insist that I don’t need to worry, I have a feeling that I’m needed there, now more than ever.
All through my shift, there seems to be a dark gray cloud hanging over me.
“Is everything okay?” Nick asks when he sees me.
“Yeah,” I answer, reaching for a hanger.
Lina tilts her head to one side, staring at me. “You need some rest, honey.”
“I’m fine,” I answer, forcing a smile. “Just, uh… just trying to get through the week, right?”
Kelly, who’s standing at the far end of the table, yells out: “Amen!”
That’s all it takes for everyone to drop the subject, and I try to do my work as best as I can, even though I can’t resist the urge to check my phone every once in a while. In the end, though, no news comes from Papi or Diego, no matter how many times I check.
When morning comes, I leave a note on the kitchen table, as I’ve done every other Saturday before heading out.
Thank you again for everything. Have a good weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday! I write, and then I sneak out of the house as quietly as possible.
The ride across the border is different from other weekends. The eagerness I always feel to get to Tijuana, to see my family, to be in my own home, is completely gone. I can’t even feel the same relief from a few weeks ago, when I brought Papi my first paycheck. I’ve received another one—for even more money than the last—but I just can’t bring myself to be excited, or happy, or triumphant. There is a deep sense of dread in my stomach, because I have no idea what will be waiting for me when I get to the other side of the border.
I find Papi parked in the same old spot, right behind the taxis. For once, he’s not sleeping, but he is staring blankly ahead, his seat belt buckled and his lips pressed tightly together, so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice me until I knock hard on the car window.
“So?” I ask him once I’ve hopped into the car and slammed the passenger door shut.
“Buenos días,” he replies. He doesn’t look directly at me, doesn’t show any signs that he heard my question. He starts the engine and backs out of his parking space.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he replies, reaching for the dashboard. Soft music starts playing from the speakers.
“Diego. I haven’t been able to talk to him. Is he—”
Papi lets out a long breath through his nose. “He got in trouble at school again.”
“What happened? Did he get into another fight? Is there—?”
“He had his phone taken away,” Papi replies bitterly. “He was texting in class.”
“Oh.” I lean back against the headrest. That must be why he wasn’t able to reply even after all the times I tried messaging and calling. But my brother knows better than to be careless with his phone. He’s all too aware that he’s not supposed to use it at school, so if he was trying to reach me, he must’ve had something important to say.
When we get home, Papi parks in front of the house, turns off the engine, and removes the key from the ignition, but he doesn’t reach for the door handle, and neither do I. We sit quietly in silence, while I try to make sense of all the questions that are spinning around in my head.
But then, instead of asking a question, I choose to say the one thing I’m certain of—the one thing Papi won’t be able to deny.
“Something’s changed,” I say. “Something happened this week, didn’t it? Something you haven’t told me.”
Papi turns toward me. For the first time today, he stares right into my eyes, and in his face, I see a million things that scare me. I see deep wrinkles, which seem harsher than they used to be. I see exhaustion in the dark circles under his eyes and in the length of his beard, which he hasn’t trimmed in several days. There’s also indecision on his lips, which quiver with words he’s unable to say.
“Is it Abuela?” I ask.
Papi shakes his head quickly.
“Or Luis—has he found a job yet? Is he—”
Again, he shakes his head.
He shifts his gaze away from me, looking ahead through the windshield. “The restaurant,” he answers in a hoarse whisper.
My first instinct is to turn toward him, but the seat belt jolts me back into place. I don’t even reach for the button to unbuckle it. I take in a deep breath, my heart racing as I ask: “What about it?”
Papi turns his head slowly to look at me again, and in his eyes, I find the answer.
“No,” I say. “No, Papi, we can’t give up on it.”
“We need to, mija. We don’t have a choice.”
“But—but I have another paycheck,” I say, fishing it out of my pocket. “Here. We—we can head straight to the bank and—”
“It’s not enough,” he says. “Our debts have gotten too big. It’s one thing to pay the monthly bills and put food on the table, mija, but the debt collectors are gonna come knocking on our door sooner rather than later, and when they do, they’re not gonna care about anything except getting their money back.”
“Then I’ll get more money. I’ll find another job, or figure out a way to take even more hours at the store. If you just give me a bit more time, I—I’ll figure something out.”
I wish I could reach for him. I want to shake him up, yell at him, so he will come to his senses. We can’t give up—not now. There are many more paychecks to come, many more ways to save the restaurant that we just haven’t thought of yet. But if we close it down now, then it’ll all be for nothing.
“We can’t keep throwing money at a lost cause, Sol. Not when there’s so many other things we could do with the paychecks you’re bringing in. We could stock our own fridge, and cover the bills, and start paying back the debt.”
“But once we’ve rescued the restaurant, it’ll help us pay for all those things,” I say. “We just need to hold on a bit longer. We—”
Papi shakes his head. “It’s too late, mija.”
I swallow hard. “You can’t make this decision without me. This is my restaurant, too. It belongs to all of us. I mean, we need to ask Luis what he thinks, and—and Diego, also. We need to—”
“The decision has been made for a long time,” Papi replies. “Don’t you see, Sol?”
There are tears forming in the corners of his eyes. I know he’s trying his best. I know he doesn’t want to give up on the restaurant any more than I do, but I can’t help but feel betrayed by him. I feel so stupid all of a sudden—stupid for thinking that the money I was bringing home would help us save the business, when Papi must’ve suspected the truth all along: That the restaurant was beyond saving. That he had more important plans for the money.
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what to do with all the emptiness in my heart, in my stomach, in my hands.
After a while, Papi mumbles something about how Abuela is waiting for us to have breakfast and slowly steps out of the car. I watch as he walks through the front door, and he leaves it open for me before disappearing into the cool dimness of the house.
I know I need to get out. I need to unbuckle my seat belt and go join Papi, Diego, Luis, and Abuela for breakfast, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t go sit at the kitchen table as if it were just another Saturday. I need to run, or scream, or do something—anything—that will help us keep Mami’s restaurant alive.
In the end, I don’t do any of those things. I just remain here for the longest time, taking small breaths through my mouth and staring blankly at the half-open door of the house.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN LIFE YOU JUST GROW UP knowing—like your name, or your birthday, or where you’re from. Things you never question, because they’re so obvious, so… set in stone.
My name is María de la Soledad Martínez. I was born on December 18 in Chula Vista, California. I grew up in Tijuana, and my family owns a restaurant in the heart of the city.
Now that one of those things is no longer true, I feel as though a part of me is missing—as though I’m no longer the girl I’ve always been, and there’s no way to bring her back. I don’t think I’ll ever be complete again.
