“Lie back down,” she said.
However assuring Aracely’s voice sounded, Miel caught the straight line of her back, like a current had gone through her.
Ms. Owens lay down again. But she shivered. She clutched at the air.
Aracely hovered her hands over Ms. Owens, ready to set her palms against her collarbone.
But Miel could see the lovesickness, even more restless now that it had left and rushed back, kicking around inside Ms. Owens.
Ms. Owens sat up, and her hair spilled down her back. “No,” she said. The tightening of her face pinched two more mascara-darkened tears from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t.”
She ran out of the indigo room, the waves of her hair sweeping her shoulders.
These were not words Aracely drew from those who got up from her table. Each time Aracely gave a cure, the visitors always said they were tired. It’s so strange, I’m so tired. I’ve never been this tired. Aracely’s lovesickness cure often made people sleep for days. They felt fine at first, awake and alive, and then they sank into relief and exhaustion. Once the lovesickness cure had made a man fall asleep to the rust-colored leaves of late November and wake to the first snow silvering his window.
But Ms. Owens was running out of the violet house, startled and awake.
The door slammed. Ms. Owens’ steps scattered the gravel outside.
The torn pocket square had fallen to the floor.
Miel bent to pick it up.
Aracely’s steps clicked on the wooden floor, and Miel looked up. Aracely was rushing toward the front door.
Miel followed her outside, the air cool and green with the smell of grass and light rain.
But Ms. Owens had already started her car. In the distance, the taillights were growing smaller.
“Just let her go,” Miel said. “She’ll come back.”
Aracely turned to her, so close Miel could smell the amber of her perfume. “You told me you were ready. You told me you could do this.”
“I thought I was,” Miel said. “I just wasn’t paying attention for one second. I’m sorry.”
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Aracely looked stricken, possessed, like she’d witnessed sons and daughters scratching out the names on their family’s headstones.
“I’m sorry,” Miel said.
“Great,” Aracely said. “You’re sorry. Well, that solves everything, doesn’t it?”
Miel felt the aftertaste of her own apology turning, growing sharp on her tongue. “Look, if you’re so mad at me, why don’t you call Sam?” she asked. “He’s better at helping you anyway, right?”
“Sam.” Aracely’s laugh was a sharp inhale, almost a gasp. “You wanna talk about Sam? How do you think he and his mother have kept that secret this whole time?”
“What are you talking about?” Miel asked.
Aracely grabbed a handful of Miel’s sweater and tugged her close, more like she didn’t want anyone to hear than to shake Miel.
“Emma Owens is the only one who’s seen his real paperwork,” Aracely said, her teeth half-clenched. “She’s the reason he’s registered as Samir and not Samira.”
The grass under Miel felt soft, like it would turn to water and pull them both under.
“What?” she asked.
“Did you think we got lucky this whole time?” Aracely asked. “That the school just took his mother’s word about his name and his date of birth? Sam’s mother got away with saying she didn’t have the papers for grade school or middle school, but they wouldn’t let it go for high school. They wouldn’t register him without official documents. So I called in a favor, to the one woman who’s on that table more than anyone else. She owed me. She’s the only one who knows his birth name. And she’s kept quiet because of everything I’ve done for her, but now…” Aracely’s words trailed off, and she looked down the road Ms. Owens had left by.
Now Aracely had failed. So many flawless cures, as much mercy as medicine, and now she had failed. It hadn’t just been Aracely’s good name resting on her giving a remedio so skilled it felt like a soft, shimmering dream.
It had been the secret name Sam didn’t want anyone knowing. And it was Miel’s fault.
Dread billowed through her.
Aracely went back inside.
“Can you fix this?” Miel asked, going after her.
Aracely slid into her coat and lifted her hair out from under the green velvet of the collar. “I don’t know.” She grabbed her car keys. “But you better hope so.”
marsh of sleep
Pain sparked through Miel’s wrist, startling her awake. She shuddered at the feeling that there were words she’d just heard, but that she’d been too asleep to hear them, and their echo had become too weak for her to catch now.
She scrambled from where she was curled on the sofa, waiting for Aracely to come home, and she sat up.
“Aracely?” she called toward the door.