took the joint back from Grace. “You tell him,” she said, gesturing to Joaquin. “I bet you’ll tell the story so much better.”
“What the hell happened yesterday?” he said. “And why aren’t any of your parents here?” Joaquin had always imagined Maya’s and Grace’s parents following them around like ducklings, caring for them, cleaning up after them, holding out an eternal net so that they would never fall, never get hurt. “Did you overthrow them or something?”
Maya started to giggle, then laugh, but Grace just looked somber, and Joaquin suspected that he had either said the most perfect thing or the most terrible thing.
When Maya started to cry, he realized it was the latter.
“Oh, shit,” he said, just as Grace moved to put her arm around her. Maya was still holding the joint, its smoke rising up in a long, smooth line before curling up at the top, and when Grace moved, her arm cut through the smoke, sending it scattering. “Oh, shit, Maya,” Joaquin said. “I’m sorry. I was only kidding.”
“Stop, it’s fine,” she said, but she was still sniffling. Joaquin was new to having siblings, but he was pretty sure that making your little sister cry was at the top of the Do Not Do This Ever list.
“Just tell him,” Grace said, her voice quiet even as she pressed her cheek against Maya’s hair.
Maya took a deep breath, then took another hit off the joint. “So,” she said, her voice ragged with both tears and smoke. “Maybe you already knew this, but my mom’s a pretty big alcoholic?”
Joaquin felt his spine straighten up like the line of smoke in front of him. He had spent time with an alcoholic foster parent once. It hadn’t been great. If anyone had hurt Maya like that, Joaquin was pretty sure that he would have to do something about it.
Judging from Grace’s face, she felt the same way.
“Anyway, she’s not really dealing with the divorce that well?” Maya continued. Her voice kept going up on the end of her sentences, like she was asking if the things she was saying were really true. Joaquin could understand that. “And she’s been drinking a lot this week, even for her? And then last night, Lauren and I”—Maya gestured in the general direction of where Lauren had left—“went out to dinner and when we got back, my mom was . . . she was on the floor. She fell and hit her head. There was a lot of blood. There’s probably a lot of blood still. We might need to hire someone to clean that up. It looks like a crime scene in there. Do you ever watch those shows on TV, the ones about murderers where they re-create the crime scene?”
“My.” Grace reached over and put her hand on Maya’s knee. “We got it.”
Maya nodded. “Anyway, yeah. She had to stay in the hospital overnight because she had a concussion.”
“Where’s your dad?” Joaquin asked. “Is he with her?”
“Nope. He’s in New Orleans. Well, actually, he’s probably flying home right now from New Orleans. Grace’s parents called him last night.”
“And does he know about . . . you know . . . ?”
“The drinking?” Maya said, and Joaquin nodded. “Well, he does now, I guess. I don’t think he knew how bad it was. But he knows now.”
“Maya called me last night,” Grace said “And we—my parents and I, I mean—met everyone at the hospital.”
“Lauren and I rode in the ambulance,” Maya said. “Lots of sirens, lots of lights. You’d think it’d be loud inside the ambulance, but it wasn’t. The movies lied.”
Joaquin watched Maya raise the joint to her mouth again, then set it down without taking another hit. He felt like he was watching a little kid drive a car, her legs too short to reach the pedals, her eyes too low to see over the steering wheel. “So when does she get to come home?” he asked.
“She’s not,” Maya said, her voice clipped. “At least, not yet. She’s going to rehab. My dad found a place in Palm Springs and he’s going to take her out there tonight, once she gets released. Oh, and yeah, my girlfriend and I broke up yesterday. So I’ve got that going for me. I should probably wrap Lauren in Bubble Wrap or something, because people are dropping like flies all around me.” She gestured to both Grace and Joaquin with the hand that was holding the joint. “Definitely look both ways before crossing the street, you