* * *
—
“WHAT IF I DON’T pass the citizenship test?” said Annette, eighteen years later. “Then what happens to the cake and the sparklers?”
“You’ll pass,” said Louis.
* * *
—
THE WHOLE PARTY MADE Annette a little queasy. While Louis insisted the event was to celebrate Annette’s American citizenship, she knew （even if he did not） that it was truly to show off. It was tone-deaf, especially since the bizarre events of the night before.
When had Annette become the kind of woman who wouldn’t say what she felt? Her transformation into the type of wife who sighed but stayed quiet had happened in tiny increments. But now and again, she felt her old self rise up. “Louis,” she ventured, “do you think maybe we should postpone? It seems wrong, having a party when…”
Louis deflated. “Are you worried?” he said, taking her hand.
“Robert didn’t do anything,” said Annette, though her stomach ached. Had he done something? Or seen something—stood by when he should have intervened?
“That won’t stop them!” said Louis. “They can accuse a boy of anything nowadays! It doesn’t have to be true.”
Annette was often disgusted by her husband’s politics, but at the same time, she, too, was scared of Robert’s life being ruined.
“You either control the story or you get screwed,” said Louis grimly.
Annette exhaled. When Robert had thrown a whole watermelon at Xavier indoors during a neighborhood barbecue, the fruit smashing against a wall （Xavier ducked） and ruining the wallpaper and white couch, the neighbor called Annette to complain. Louis had called the woman back and told her it was her own fault for serving watermelon.
The year before, Robert had ridden his bike past a little girl on a narrow greenbelt trail. According to the little girl’s mother, Robert had knocked the girl down and kept riding. （Robert insisted he hadn’t seen the girl.） The child had ended up in the ER with a sprained elbow, but the version of the story from Louis was that the mother was litigious and needed to be taken down a peg. There was no reflection, no punishment for Robert （save a periodic threat to send him to Midland for a while if he didn’t shape up）。 Louis’s dad’s lawyer had sent the woman a check and a cease-and-desist letter. The story had been controlled.
Sometimes, Annette was afraid she was raising a creep. She and her siblings had felt safe understanding the rules, knowing who was in charge. Still, she didn’t want her son accused of something he hadn’t done. He’d only found the body. He hadn’t known the woman. That was what he’d said.
There were times when Annette’s Catholic faith—her deep belief in what it meant to be good or evil—was at odds with her knowledge about how the world operated. She observed her white friends, surprised by their casual assumption that nothing bad could happen to them. Annette’s life in the U.S. had always felt precarious. She could be deported in a day—that was not paranoia but reality; she’d seen it happen to relatives and Mexican friends.
Annette was protected by money and a white husband. She was so close to gaining citizenship. As much as she wanted to do the moral thing, examine more deeply how Robert may have been involved with whatever had happened on the greenbelt, Annette had too much at stake. For her, and for her family of origin, the choice to do the “right” thing could be a fatal mistake. And yet her Catholicism taught her the perils of dishonesty. It was anguishing, but despite believing in a vengeful God, Annette knew she would do whatever was best for her family.
“Everything is fine,” said Louis, trying to convince himself. Annette squeezed his hand.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
“No,” whispered Louis.
Everything was not fine.
-11-
Barton Hills Mamas
TESLALUVR
Good morning, Ladies! So my husband works downtown and he heard that it was kids from the ’hood who found the body on the greenbelt. ANYONE know more?! Has the body been identified? Please tell me it’s not one of ours.
CHERI
That’s really offensive.
TESLALUVR
What? That I hope it’s not a child?
CHERI
No, that you hope it’s not a white child.
TESLALUVR
I completely resent this comment. My sister adopted a child from Russia. Don’t make this about race! I am just saying I hope whatever happened on the greenbelt last night didn’t happen to one of the children from Barton Hills Elementary School. That’s what I’m saying.
CHERI All white kids at the BHE.
TESLALUVR
For one, that isn’t true and for two, what does that have to do with anything?
KARENSMITH
BHE is pretty white! That’s always bothered me. We tried to get into Zilker, which has a much more diverse student population, but they were not accepting transfers when Haven was in K. BHE is a great school, but I do wish it were more diverse.
CHERI
Plenty of “diverse” neighborhoods in the city, Sis! Try Rundberg & 183!
TESLALUVR
I feel like this discussion has gone way off course. Does anyone know anything about what happened last night on the greenbelt?
MARYKAYMOM
I suggest gathering information until Friday and then we can all present what we know at my house, 2104 Side Dip Cove, 5PM. We need to stick together! Free margaritas! （And did I mention Mary Kay’s new City Gal Lip Plumper Kit?）
ADMIN
Janine, this is your third warning. Solicitation is not allowed on this forum.
MARYKAYMOM
Sorrrrrrrry!
-12-
Liza
AFTER CHARLIE GOT OUT of the car, I moved to the driver’s seat and sat in the parking lot of the Deep Eddy Pool. A young family exited a Volvo station wagon, pulling swimmy diapers and floats from the back. The mother wore a tiny bikini and a big hat, her back covered with a large tattoo of an armadillo （the official small mammal of Texas）。 The father had a mustache and goatee. Each parent held a golden-haired toddler—were they twins? They had a Yeti cooler on wheels, Guatemalan blankets to lay on the grass.
I was pierced with jealousy. I missed my chubby little redhead boy, and I felt a familiar ache: wanting a family, a father for Charlie—even one as silly looking as the one before me, strapping a guitar on his back. （As if you’d have time to strum with two toddlers next to a pool!）
I rolled the window down to feel the early-morning sun on my face, and remembered my “young mother” years. Whitney, Annette, and I would meet with the kids at one public pool or another, in the days before both women had backyard pools of their own. We’d laugh, run after our toddlers, or perch a child on a hip and gossip, standing in the shallow end and bouncing. I’d dated for a while （before I gave up） and my friends wanted to know every detail. They were bored to tears of their husbands—did everyone hate their spouse in the baby days?
My friends had especially feasted on my story of a hot guy who’d claimed he was in the police academy and given me three orgasms after a concert at Stubb’s. When I’d snuck out early to get little Charlie from Annette’s house, she called Whitney and we drank coffee as I regaled my friends with the story of my fabulous new lover. But it had felt wrong to be away from Charlie—I’d never called the number the “officer in training” had written on my hand, and eventually it washed away.