“I’m okay, chispita. Really. It’s a Saturday night. You’re a young girl. Go out with your friends. And then go back to your mother’s place.” Vega began hefting Joy’s suitcase down the stairs before she could voice any protest.
“I can’t believe you’re throwing me out.”
“I’m not throwing you out. I love when you visit. But it’s not practical for you to be so far from school and friends.” And not safe either, Vega decided. He’d been so consumed with grief last night and earlier today that he couldn’t process his actions. But driving back from the Bronx this afternoon after his frightening encounter, he’d begun to take stock of his situation and the toll it could exact on the people he loved. Anyone associated with him was at risk—emotionally and, God forbid, physically.
“I’ll make it up to you this summer,” said Vega. “You can stay all summer if you want.” He wondered if he were being overly optimistic to presume that by summer things would be better. He tried to imagine warmth and green but everything outside and inside of him felt cold and dead.
Joy hesitated by the front door. “So I spoke to Danielle today.”
“Who?”
“Danielle Camino? My friend at Fordham? She said I could take the train down and visit the campus tomorrow.”
Vega dropped her suitcase at his feet. “You want to go back to the Bronx? Tomorrow? Are you crazy?”
“I had fun today—”
“Look, Joy—”
“Dr. Torres said after I finished up at Fordham tomorrow, he’d give me a tour of his school and talk to me about what it takes to become a teacher—”
“No!”
“What do you mean, ‘no’? Because you’re still fixated on me becoming a doctor?”
“It’s not that. It’s just that—I don’t like you wandering around the Bronx.”
“I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
He picked up her suitcase and carried it out to the trunk of her Volvo. She kissed him on the cheek. He wagged a finger at her.
“Keep a close eye on your surroundings. Don’t travel alone. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone you’re related to me.”
“Roger that, Double-O-Seven,” she teased.
“C’mon, Joy, I’m serious.”
“Chill, Dad. I’ll be careful—and in the meantime, you need to make an appointment to talk to a therapist.”
“Mmm.”
Joy frowned. “That sounds suspiciously like a ‘no.’ ” Then she got into her car and Vega heard the pop and crunch of gravel beneath her tires as she backed out of his driveway. He watched her red taillights fade and then disappear.
He was alone. Already the sky had darkened, closing like a curtain around his house. He’d always liked his own company before this. But as soon as Joy left, Vega felt jumpy and restless. The normal sounds of the house—the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator—all felt magnified and predatory tonight. He stared out the sliding glass doors onto his deck. The world was a solid sheet of black that reflected his face back at him. He looked older and gaunter. He still hadn’t shaved. Could he really have aged in only twenty-four hours?
Food. He should eat. His stomach felt hollow but he had no appetite. He was afraid to get takeout right now. He was afraid some restaurant worker with a chip on his shoulder would recognize Vega and mess with his food. He searched the refrigerator for something that appealed to him but it was filled with Joy’s gluten-free, vegan crap. Tofu. Organic beets. Soy burgers. Kale. In the freezer, he found a frozen Stouffer’s Lasagna covered in ice crystals. He stuck it in the microwave then popped open a beer and drained it too quickly, feeling the slight buzz on an empty stomach.
Joy had left his mother’s photo albums open on the dining table. Vega began to close them and return them to their carton. One day, he’d put all these prints onto discs. There had to be hundreds of shots here. Weddings and christenings in the Bronx and Puerto Rico. He had dozens of relatives but they lived mainly in pictures scattered all over his mother’s apartment as a child, following Vega around like ghosts who didn’t age or did so only in giant leaps between mailings. His mother and grandmother, Abuelita Dolores, always had one foot here and one foot back on the island. Their gossip was just as likely to do with a cousin’s neighbor back in their mountain town of Barranquitas as it was one down the hall.