Page 21 of Because I Need You
I never met my grandfather, though I had spoken on the phone with him whenever my grandmother did. When I was eight, he was first arrested by the Cuban government for his vocal activism against what was happening in his country, and then, murdered. With his death, my grandmother’s hope died. The hope she’d see him again, that he’d live here with her at some point, that they’d make up for all of the years that had been unfairly stripped of them. She turned into an angry woman then, lashing out at my mother and I, but mostly me, since I was the one who was always there. Up until I was eight, Mima had taken on the role of caregiver, cooking, and cleaning while my mother worked two jobs. She was always telling me stories, brushing my hair, and singing to me. After she lost her husband, everything switched, as if the light inside her went out completely with his death. Growing up, I’d resented her for the way she treated me. Now, I understood that she probably placed the blame on my mother and me. If not for us, she would have gone back and maybe prevented my grandfather’s death. It was too late now, though, the damage had been done all around.
I pushed off the threshold and walked over to her.
“Hey, Mima.” I kissed her head. She continued to look at the telenovela in front of her for a moment before glancing up at me.
“Anita.” She gasped, covering her hand.
I sighed. The last few times I’d visited, she’d called me by my mother’s name, and treated me as if I were her. It was never okay. When she wanted to cling on to her resentment for my mother, I had to sit there and take it. When she decided my mother had been the perfect daughter, I had to sit there and take it and pretend she hadn’t abandoned us and moved to another country, and I wasn’t the one who was visiting every week. I pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, setting down the bag I brought with me and fixing the blanket on her lap.
“I was fine until that man started visiting.” She looked over both her shoulders before leaning in. “He asked where Isabel was. I told him to fuck off.”
“Mima.” My eyes widened and I bit back a laugh. My grandmother never, ever cursed. She hated it when I did, so I tried not to in front of her. Even though I knew this was yet another consequence of her illness, I played along. “Who is this man?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see his face. I can never see his face,” she whispered, her light brown eyes searching mine. She frowned. “Isabel?”
I nodded, offering a small smile. “What did the man say?”
“He asked for you,” she said, now in a rush, “He came last night and the night before. I told him nothing. You need to leave. He’ll find you.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Mima.” I set my hand on hers. “I’m safe.”
“Have you spoken to your father?” she asked. “Speak to your father.”
My chest squeezed. “Speak to him about what?”
“Tell him to tell you everything.”
“Can’t you just tell me?” I ran my thumb over her soft hand. She fixated on that. When she looked at me again, her face had changed, and I knew I’d lost her.
“Anita,” she said, sighing. “You need to help Isabel.”
“I will.” I let go of her hand to reached into the bag. “I brought you cheesecake.”
“Junior’s?” Her eyes widened.
“Of course.” I smiled, bringing it out to feed her a slice. “Tell me about this telenovela you’re watching.”
I spent the rest of the hour watching it with her while she told me about it. Every so often, she’d remind me about the man who visited her. Two weeks ago, the idea of anyone coming in here and asking for me would have seemed far-fetch, but I didn’t know what to think anymore. On my way out, I asked the nurse to please keep an eye on her throughout the night and promised I’d be back next week. I’d go to Chicago, clear out my father’s house, sell his truck, and hopefully get more information about what it was Giovanni needed from me. If this was at all related to him, I needed to wipe my hands of it as soon as possible.
9
ISABEL
I hated the idea of staying at my father’s house, but I’d only managed to pack up four donation boxes before I had to stop. By then, it was almost one o’clock in the morning and I was hungry and tired. I ordered pizza. It was the only thing within a five-mile radius that was still open, and even though I’d have to pick it up and hated the idea of going out this late, I had no choice. Thankfully, the pizza parlor had a well-lit parking lot and a space open directly in front of the door. It took me no more than four minutes to pick it up and get back in my dad’s truck. The moment the doors were locked, I opened the box and started eating. Every single person I knew would have my head for thinking a pie from a big chain was this good, but I was that hungry. My eyes were closed as I chewed when there was a loud knock on my window. I jumped in my seat and looked over to find a homeless man with pleading hands asking for money. I lowered my window just enough, so I could tell him I had no money. He eyed the pizza. I sighed and looked at the box. I’d eaten two slices. As hungry as I felt, I would’ve probably had all eight, but if I felt this hungry from not eating for six hours straight, I couldn’t even imagine how he must have felt. I closed the pizza box, opened my window a little more, and handed it to him.
