Clandestine

seventy eight

-julia-

I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.

Diane and I wait against the counters, the pressure building and building until I'm ready to scream. I wait for my mother to burst in. For a gun to fire. For a bomb to explode.

Anything. Anything.

I want something to react to. All the adrenaline pumping through me is building and it needs to go somewhere.

I'm about to relax, thinking that maybe it was a false alarm. Maybe Rosalina, it was her handwriting. just thought she saw someone. She's not the best with faces after all. I remember the time she went up to a random girl at the fair and hugged her because she thought it was me, not a stranger. Maybe it's all wrong.

A mistake.

But then the door opens and a woman slips through.

My mother.

She's not screaming or cursing or shouting threats or anything.

She just surveys the room with a cold stare.

Diane and I duck down below the counters. Can she see us over the counter tops? Are we hiding exactly where she can see us?

The entire kitchen stills. Everyone recognizes my mother. While I might have slipped past, everyone knows my mother's face. It's on every political poster and banner and pin. Her face is everywhere.

She is everywhere.

Mindy says, "Can we help you, ma'am?"

My mother responds in her calm, polite voice. The same voice that won her all the respect and love. "Yes, actually you can. I'm afraid that I lost my daughter. Julia. Do you know if she's here?"

I swear that every staff member glances over to where Diane and I hide.

I'm sure that they are doing the math in their heads, trying to make sense of the situation. Why are two family enemies hanging out together? Why would I be with Diane? Surely my mother must be furious. and for good reason, too.

My mother steps forward. Her heels click in the silence. "Are they over here?"

My hand goes to my handgun. Do I use it? Can I pull it out? Can I turn the safety off? Can I raise it and focus the sight on my mother's head? Can I pull the trigger?

Diane pops above the counter. Her voice is cold and hard, a fierce competition with my mother's. "Don't you dare take another step in my home."

I stand myself, not nearly as fearless as Diane. I keep my hand on my gun, the bulge in my waistband invisible behind the counter.

My mother steps forward, "There you are. I need to talk to you." Her voice is off. Of course it's off. She's furious and she's struggling so hard to keep it under control.

She says to the kitchen staff, "Do you think I could have a minute? It will only be a minute. I just need to talk to my daughter and her little friend."

Diane shakes her head, "Don't leave. Don't you have duties that you need to take care of?"

They can't leave. They are the only witnesses. If something happens to us, who will be able to tell the truth?

But the staff follows my mother's orders because my mother is Marcia Quintana and Diane is just Diane.

They leave the room. filling out the door one by one. I try to catch one of their eyes so that I can silently plead, but they stumble out of the room with their eyes on the floor. Mindy looks up at the last second and I just shake my head a tiny bit.