Fables & Other Lies - Claire Contreras Page 0,14
did, why would they let my father die like that? And my mother . . . ” I shook my head, standing from the table, heart pounding. “I don’t believe in witchcraft and you know it.”
“What I do with this tea is not witchcraft, Penelope. You know that as well as I do. I’m a Catholic, after all.”
“I don’t know what you people believe anymore.” I began picking up the plates and taking them over to the area of the sink.
“Leave the plates.”
“I’m going to set them here.”
I just needed something to do. Someone would wash them. Not me or Wela, but one of the staff. Picking up my own plate and washing it was something I didn’t start doing until after I left the island. I’d been so spoiled when I lived here, with my nannies and maids. It wasn’t a big to-do, either. Even my maids had maids and my nannies had nannies. Normally, I’d take a moment to get to know them, but I’d decided that this trip I wasn’t going to tie myself to anyone. I was here to say my goodbyes, my final goodbyes.
“Let me read your tea,” she said.
“No.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. “You know that makes me uneasy.”
“Uneasiness is a reflection of the state of your spirit.”
“My spirit is fine, thank you very much.” I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Your spirit is tied to this island, and the island has been uneasy for some time now. Maybe that was why you had to come back. Maybe you’re here to get those leaves and cure your mother. To right a wrong.”
Goosebumps spread over my arms. “What if I die trying, like Esteban?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I succeed and someone else dies?” I licked my lips. “You said it gives a life and takes one away.”
“That’s a price you have to be willing to pay to save your mother.”
I swallowed and looked away. When I looked at my grandmother again, she was turning a tea saucer slowly in her hand. I didn’t want to know what she saw in it, so I stood up straight and started walking out of the kitchen.
“I’m going to see my mother.” I walked to her room on the second floor, anticipation curling inside me with each step. I took a deep breath and opened her door, the low hum of the in-room air-conditioning unit greeting me. There was a young nurse dressed in pink scrubs who stood when she saw me.
“Ms. Guzman.” She smiled. “I’ll let you visit with her. I’ll be right back.” She walked out of the room.
My parents’ room had two sitting areas and two walk-in closets. I took my time walking past those before nearing my mother’s bed. I didn’t know what I expected to see, but what I found wasn’t it. She looked peaceful lying in the center of the king-size bed. Her dark golden skin a contrast against the white comforter. Her dark curly hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. I wondered how Wela was allowing that. My mother always wore her hair down, usually blow-dried straight, prim and proper to go with her makeup and designer dresses. My heart squeezed as I thought about her life before this and how it would be when she finally recovered. I pulled up one of the chairs to sit beside her hand and sighed, wondering if the heaviness I felt inside would ever lift.
Last time I’d seen her I was so angry that she didn’t defend me. So angry that she’d let my father ridicule me and even more angry when I finally had spoken to her and she acted like all of it was my fault. That night was such a blur, but I remembered that much about it. I remembered crying as I packed my bags, crying harder when I realized my father wasn’t joking, I had to leave his house, and I did, though a part of me hoped he’d call and apologize, asking me to come back. He never did. I could only assume he wasn’t sorry. My mother, on the other hand, did call. She never asked me to come home, but she hinted that I should visit. I wish I had, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. Mami stirred in bed. I leaned forward as her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the room, to my face.
“Penelope?”
“Mami.” I reached for her hand, the grief of everything, the loss of my dad, of