Sisters, Strangers, and Starting Over

Book 2: Quinceañera Club

by Belinda Acosta

Genres: Women's Fiction; Siblings; Hispanic & Latino

Synopsis

Sometimes the family you've lost can lead you to the family you need... When Beatriz Sánchez-Milligan turned her back on her troubled sister, she ushered in a lifetime of regret. So when the niece Beatriz never knew she had appears on her doorstep--announcing that her mother has died--she can't help but see fourteen-year-old Celeste as a chance to redo the past . . . despite her own family's objections. But Celeste is skittish around her new family. She can feel the tension radiating from her uncle and cousins and, despite her aunt's enthusiasm, is hesitant to share her dreams of the traditional quinceañera she and her mother had been planning. Overwhelmed, Celeste does what her mom did years ago: she vanishes. Terrified the past is repeating itself, Beatriz scrambles to uncover the mystery surrounding her sister's life and death?and build a future in which the niece she dearly loves is truly part of her family.

Release date: July 1, 2010

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 315

Sample

Beatriz was floating at the edge of sleep, where memory, dreams, and secrets flirt with the visible world. She was still tired
from the day before and wasn’t ready to wake up, drifting in the haze of a dream: the sun on her naked back, bare feet in
cool water, the smell of a newborn, a first kiss, and laughter. It was the laughter that stirred her—frothy and wild, the
way children laugh. At first, she thought she was dreaming of her boys when they were little, wrestling like puppies let loose
in the yard. But the laughter wasn’t from her boys; it was from one child—a girl. The laughter made Beatriz smile until she
realized who it was. When it came to her, she tried to push it away. It was an old memory, a sad memory, and this was supposed
to be a happy day. But there it was, like that box stuffed deep in the back of the closet. You can put it out of sight, but
it never goes away. Beatriz closed her eyes tight when she felt a slump, as if someone had sat on the bed near her feet. The
sensation kicked her from her dream, and she snapped her head up to see who was there, but there was no one.


Beatriz’s heart skittered in her chest as she looked around. The only other person she could see was Larry, sleeping like
a stone on his side of the bed. Taking in the familiar jut of her husband’s jaw and the arc of his cheekbones calmed her,
brought her back to the visible world. It wasn’t light enough to see, but she knew a moss of reddish-brown hair was sprouting
around his mouth, over his jaw, and down his long neck. Longer locks of the same-colored hair fell over his forehead and into
the corner of one eye. Beatriz leaned over and swept the hair away with her fingertip, then laid her head on top of her hands
to watch him sleep. One deep breath cleared the unease she felt earlier and set her heart back to its regular rhythm. It was just a weird dream, she thought. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t even make sense.


She steered her thoughts toward the anniversary party later in the day and the long list of things to do. But what she really
wanted was to enjoy the stillness, when it was just her and Larry, alone. She wanted to sway in the waves of his breath, sink
into the luscious comfort of their bed, and enjoy the tantalizing closeness of him. When Beatriz saw Larry sleeping, she saw
the boy she fell in love with twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years! It amazed her. She’d seen what her comadre Ana went
through when her marriage ended—a painfully grinding breakup that almost crushed her. Since watching that, Beatriz began to
wonder if long-term marriages were a thing of the past. But here she was, in bed with her husband, the man she loved more
than she thought possible.


Larry Milligan was the father of her children, two boys growing up faster than she wanted to admit. At nineteen, Carlos was
more than ready to start his life. Especially since he met Marisol. The wide-eyed girl turned his head so quickly it made
him dizzy. She was to blame (Larry thought) for Carlos delaying college after he graduated high school. Beatriz didn’t mind.
She was happy to have their oldest knocking around the house a little longer, working the kitchen at one of the high-end restaurants
on the Riverwalk. This didn’t thrill Larry. He was counting the days till it was time to proudly ship his firstborn off to
his alma mater, where he would study to be an engineer, just like him, or an educator, like his mother, or maybe a lawyer.
Although Beatriz and Larry both came from people who worked with their hands and backs, he wanted better for his children.
He didn’t want them to work hard and die young like his and Beatriz’s parents did. Isn’t that the way it should be? Larry had always thought. And for that, it meant going to college. A good college. Carlos didn’t want to disappoint his father,
but he had other plans.


As for Raúl, Beatriz wasn’t always so sure about him. He was thirteen going on ten, easily lost in his old horror movies and
happily goofing off with his younger cousins. The thing Beatriz loved the most about Raúl was that his boyish imagination
kept his heart open and his curiosity alive. He wasn’t surly like his older cousin Seamus, and she hoped some of Raúl’s ability
to find the fun in anything would rub off on her moody nephew. And maybe Seamus could show her son how to let his feet touch
the ground once in a while. He was the one who finally got Raúl to stop wearing a cape to school. Yes, their boys had given Beatriz and Larry many days of joy
and aggravation, sometimes at once, and Beatriz couldn’t think of a better companion to have shared those days with. Larry
was there for all of it, from the simple moments flooded with joy, to the let-me-crawl-under-the-bed blues. Beatriz felt a
sudden twinge of affection for her husband and wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t want to wake him. It was going to be a long
day, and they needed all the rest they could get. But when she rolled away from him and closed her eyes, it was too late.
The long list of things to do began running through her mind, one thing after the next, until she was staring wide-eyed at
the ceiling. Beatriz sighed. She decided to get up and make sure everything they set up the night before was as they left
it.


She wrapped herself in the silky emerald robe Larry had given her last Christmas. He loved how the hue gleamed against her
caramel-colored skin, how her crazy curls danced on the quiet sheen of the cloth. He could barely contain himself when she
opened the ankle-length robe to reveal the matching slip of a gown, exposing the voluptuous thighs he adored. When she crawled
into bed last night, Larry pulled Beatriz toward him ravenously. Unfortunately, they had been working on the house all day
and into the evening, getting ready for their big pachanga. Both of them were hungry for some intimacy, but the comfort of
their bed was more seductive, and they began to doze off.


“I’m sorry, love,” Larry barely uttered before falling asleep. A moment later, Beatriz was also asleep, her head nestled under
his chin, Larry’s hand cupping the fullest part of her rump, another favorite part of his wife’s curvy body.


Beatriz cinched the robe around her waist and padded out of their room. As she made her way through the hall, she touched
the closed doors of her boys’ rooms, as if she could impart some kind of mother’s blessing or intuit their safety. All is well in Casa Sánchez-Milligan, Beatriz thought as she continued down to the kitchen.


She surveyed the backyard as she waited for the teakettle to whistle. Yes, the extra tables and chairs they’d rented for the
party were there, glowing bright white against the adobe fence that separated their yard from the neighbors’. She and the
boys had painted it a bright pumpkin last summer, and the color was even richer in the early May light. The small canopy set
up next to the house for the bar area was as they had left it, as was the one near the grill in the far corner of the yard.
The long tables that would be covered with yards of fresh Mexican oilcloth in bright reds and yellows and cobalt blue were
still there, too, standing, end to end, ready for food prepared the day before, and more to come with friends and loved ones.
Beatriz and Larry could have catered their anniversary party, or reserved a party room in a nice restaurant, but Beatriz was
tired of formal events. She had enough of that at the university. She wanted a party where parents would feel comfortable
bringing their kids, where guests could kick off their shoes, and los viejitos could sit in peace but not be ignored.


Beatriz stirred a drop of milk into her tea and then walked out onto the patio. The sun was just grazing the horizon as the
wrens cheerfully welcomed the new day. Everything was in place from the night before. So why did she feel like something was
not quite right? She walked off the patio into the yard and was startled when she kicked a loquat with her bare toes. Heavy
with juice, the fruit fell deep into the grass, invisible until you felt that sick squish underfoot or kicked it, like she’d
just done. The tree was especially fruitful this year, littering her yard with bright orange droppings. Those that weren’t
collected by Beatriz or the squirrels were mashed underfoot or became a feast for the grackles, the big black birds that binged
on them. Beatriz picked up as many as she could hold, reminding herself to ask one of the boys to finish what she had started.
As she worked, she thought how the aroma was strangely familiar. She’d never smelled the fruit—never even heard of them—before
she and Larry moved into their house ten years ago, but something about the loquats had always been as intimately familiar
to her as the fragrance of her newborn babies, the scent of her husband at the end of the day, or her own skin.


As she walked through the yard, this time more careful of where she stepped, she admired the thick, shiny leaves of the loquat
tree, following its trunk down toward the greenery Ana and her daughter, Carmen, had helped Beatriz plant last weekend. Her
gaze hopscotched across the small openings in the adobe fence—she was happy to see bright new foliage curled around the trellises—and
then over to where the boys had neatly piled firewood next to the brick grill. The grill racks and utensils sat nearby, freshly
scrubbed and ready. She turned back toward the house and looked at the new jade awning Larry and the boys had installed, ready
to unfurl from the edge of the roof to cover the patio if it began to rain or the sun got too mean. May in San Antonio could
bring one or the other. She turned back to the yard and walked to the far end onto a low riser especially built for the party.
The riser was a gift from Beatriz’s brother Tony, who assembled it with a few men from his contracting business. Smaller tables
would be set on it for eating, cleared for dancing, then set back up when people were hungry again. Eating, talking, dancing,
resting. Eating, talking, dancing, resting. Mexican parties seemed to follow the same rhythm, no matter where you found them.
Beatriz saw that the jacaranda tree from the yard directly behind hers had showered the riser with mauve florets, and she
made another note to herself to sweep them away. Other than that, every corner of the yard was ready to go.


She placed the loquats she’d been carrying on a table, then took one of the wooden chairs stacked against the fence and carried
it to the riser, where she opened it with a snap and sat. What else? she thought, resting her cup on one knee. Ana was running last-minute errands. Her brother Erasmo and his wife, Norma, were
bringing brisket. Carlos was in charge of keeping the bar stocked and manning the grill. Her nephew Seamus demanded that he
and his little brother Wally be in charge of hanging the papel picado that would swing from the trees. Beatriz agreed, even
though she knew someone else would end up doing it. Wally was only seven, and Beatriz was sure Seamus’s fourteen-year-old
tough-boy act would not trump his fear of heights. But he was insistent, and she was happy they wanted to be involved. Her
nephews were spending as much time at her house as their own, since their mother, Lucy, had started community college. If
Larry had his way, he would have had his sister do nothing else but go to work, school, then home with her boys. But Lucy
wanted more.


“Looking for love in all the wrong places,” Larry said about his sister.

“Ya, let her have her fun,” Beatriz said, but she worried about Lucy, too. She was always unmoored, always on the lookout
for something better, for something big to change in her life. Maybe returning to school would finally put her on the right
path. Beatriz had decided she would do all she could to help Lucy, caring for Seamus and Wally like they were her own, and
letting them stay over whenever Lucy asked. But even Beatriz didn’t know just how desperate Lucy was to change her life.


After everyone had eaten, Beatriz would make sure her nephews helped Raúl keep the smallest children entertained with a piñata
and other games on the side of the house. All the bases are covered, she thought. So what’s the problem? Where did that nagging sense that something was just not right come from? It was a party, a big party, with friends and family
coming from every corner of the city and beyond. If something were missing, all she would have to do is ask. Calma, mujer, Beatriz told herself. She closed her eyes. The cool morning breeze ruffled her hair and tickled the tree branches high above
her. The sound reminded her of the ocean and she began to doze. So, when she felt a hand on her shoulder she lurched forward,
tipping her cup and sloshing tea over her knee and down her leg.


“Dios!”

She turned to see who had snuck up on her, but there was no one.

The sun was now high above the horizon, winking through the branches of the trees, and the birds were chirping like crazy.
The grackles, kept from their breakfast by the strange creature in the emerald green robe, were perched in the branches high
above her, hacking in their strange, asthmatic way, their wings arched and shuddering angrily.


“Quién es?” Beatriz called out. “Who’s there?” She turned, wiping the tea from her knee and flicking the liquid from her hand.
She could see she was alone, but she still couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Hello?”


This was not the first time this had happened to her. In bed, she could say it was just a dream, but the weirdness began a
month ago when she was awake. One time she felt as if someone were standing next to her when she was alone in her office.
Another time, she was reading e-mail at a coffee shop and was convinced the woman next to her was playing tricks on her. When
the woman moved to another table to get away from her mal ojos, Beatriz decided she was probably innocent. The sensation unnerved
Beatriz and reminded her of when she was a girl. Her baby sister, Perla, loved to sneak up on Beatriz when she was reading,
studying, watching TV, or just lost in her thoughts, and scare the living molé out of her. Beatriz didn’t know how she did
it, but every time, no matter how on guard she thought she was, somehow her little sister always got her, making Beatriz so
mad, she chased the girl with balled fists and blazing eyes.


“Mocosa! You gave me un susto!” Beatriz would scream. “Déjame sola!” Beatriz was furious at the devilish little girl whose
only value seemed to be to make Beatriz’s teenage years miserable. Perla was the baby of the family—a surprise addition and
the only other girl after Beatriz and their four brothers. Perla took delight in tormenting Beatriz, getting under her skin,
needling her, annoying her, being the sand in her wet bathing suit, the broken nail, the lone pimple before an important day.
But for as much as Perla liked making her big sister miserable, she adored her even more. Beatriz’s last memories of Perla
were not of her as a young woman but as that devious little girl with the gummy smile, the long, knobby-kneed legs, and skin
dark as molasses from playing in the sun.


Ay, Perla, Beatriz lamented. You should be here.

When Beatriz returned to the house, the boys were in the kitchen. Carlos was waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, speaking
into his cell phone. Wally and Seamus, who had stayed overnight, were rooting through the refrigerator. Seamus found a batch
of tamales and unwrapped them.


“Which ones are those?” Raúl asked, peeling a banana. Seamus shrugged.

“I made some beans last night,” Carlos said to Seamus, holding the phone away from his mouth. “Pull them out for me, will
you?”


“Buenas, muchachos,” Beatriz said, walking over to the sink to deposit her cup. She tried not to be too nosy about who Carlos
was talking to on his phone.


“Aunt B, do you know where the Tres Leches cake is?” Seamus asked, ignoring Carlos’s earlier request.

“No, and even if I did, you’re not eating cake for breakfast,” Beatriz said. “How about some eggs?”

“No, no, no!” Carlos said, as he ended his call. “We thought we should make you and Dad breakfast.”

“We did?” Wally and Raúl said in unison. They looked at each other with surprise, then repeated in unison again. “We did?”
The boys broke into laughter, very amused with themselves.


“Ugh! You’re like those creepy girls in that old Godzilla movie you made us watch last night,” Seamus said to Raúl.

“I like those movies,” Wally chirped, always happy to be included with whatever the big boys were doing. He bobbled over to
Raúl, who offered the little boy a piece of the banana he’d just peeled. Seamus threw a tamal at his brother, but Beatriz
intercepted it before it hit its intended target.


“Ay, no! This better not be a sign of things to come,” Beatriz said, remembering the weird sensation she had experienced in
bed, in the backyard, and all the other times before. “Don’t even start. And don’t think I’ll think twice about throwing any
of you over my knee if you start acting up. I don’t care who’s here, entiendes?” Carlos rustling through the pots and pans
made Beatriz turn away from the boys, and Seamus took the opportunity to throw another tamal, smacking Wally on the forehead.
Raúl caught it before it hit the floor and the three of them doubled over in silent laughter.


“Carlito! I can make breakfast.”

Over his mother’s shoulder, Carlos could see the boys shaking their heads no behind her back. Seamus put his hands around
his neck and stuck out his tongue. Wally covered his mouth with both hands and shook his head violently. Even Beatriz’s own
son Raúl extended his hands to make the sign of the cross with his index fingers.


“Um, no you can’t,” Carlos said.

“Ha, ha, ha.”

“ ’Amá, I know how to cook, remember? Besides, this is your special day and I want to.” Carlos could more than cook; he was
a wizard in the kitchen. He joked that he developed his skills in order to defend himself. Beatriz was a terrible cook. Everyone
else in the Sánchez family were excellent cooks, but somehow she’d been overlooked.


“Ay, mi’jo, it’s okay.”

“I’m cooking, jefecita! And you, you’re helping,” Carlos said to the boys.

“Yes, master,” Raúl said in a raspy voice. Everyone turned to look at him.

“You’ve got to stop watching those old horror movies,” Seamus said.

Raúl stared back at him before hunching his shoulders and letting out a breathy “Hehehe.”

“Dude,” Seamus said. Wally giggled wildly and imitated his older cousin.

“Ya! We’ve got work to do,” Carlos barked as he poured coffee into an insulated mug with “Go Blue!” printed on it in large
block letters. “You, go get me some potatoes and onion,” he ordered the boys. “Y ’Amá—take this coffee to your husband and
tell him there will be something to eat in about thirty minutes. You want some tea, mi reyna?”


“I’m good, mi’jo,” Beatriz said, watching her son prepare the coffee just the way his father liked it. She leaned against
the counter. “So, what time is Marisol coming?”


“Later this afternoon.”

“How come she’s not coming sooner?”

“She always works mornings at the bakery.”

Beatriz smiled. She liked Marisol. She liked her a lot.

“Well, you tell her to come earlier, if she can. She’s welcome anytime.”

Carlos was getting embarrassed. “ ’Amá, the coffee is getting cold.”

“Okay, okay!”

Beatriz went around the room and kissed each of the boys on their foreheads, saving Seamus for last.

“Did you sleep okay, mi’jo?” she asked.

“Yeah. I always sleep good here.”

Before Beatriz could ask what Seamus meant by that, Carlos was standing behind his mother holding the cup of coffee, gently
pushing her out of the kitchen. “Take this and go already. I got this.”


“Okay, okay, pero, oye: After you help Carlos, I need you boys to go pick up the yard. I started a pile of those loquats on
the table out there. Bring them inside, por fa’,” Beatriz said. “And if you keep throwing food at each other like you were
doing before, that’s how I’m going to feed you later,” she said over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.


Larry was in the shower when Beatriz entered their bedroom. She shut the door behind her and walked over to the window that
looked into the backyard. Seamus and Wally were already out, collecting the loquats by throwing them at each other and catching
them in plastic grocery sacks. She giggled when she saw how much fun Wally was having but was concerned when she saw that
Seamus was throwing the fruit too hard at his younger, smaller brother. She was about to open the window to issue a stern
warning when Seamus hit Wally in the cheek with an especially large piece of fruit. She knew it must have stung good, and
sure enough, the little boy began to cry. But before she could open the window and scold him, she was heartened to see Seamus
take his brother in his arms and comfort him, setting the boy on his knee and tending to him in a gentle way that he ordinarily
kept hidden. Beatriz sighed with relief. She’d noticed that Seamus had been more surly than usual lately. Larry blamed it
on puberty.


“He’ll grow out of it,” he said. She thought there was more to it than that, but she went along with her husband, for now.

No blood, nothing broken. Wally was better in a wink. The boys began their work again, this time ignoring each other, picking
up the fruit and putting it in their own sacks. Beatriz tapped on the window, and when Wally looked up and saw her, he smiled,
. . .