Filthy Secret

LUPITA

“If she’d been born a boy, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

Actually hearing the words come out of Dad’s mouth is like having the skin peeled back from my chest. It’s never been a secret he’d been expecting a boy when I was born, but still. Swallowing the bitter truth, I reach for the truck keys I was sent to retrieve. It takes everything inside me to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes.

“What difference would it make?” Mom snaps.

I suck in a breath, frozen where I stand. What could have happened to have her talking to him like that? She’s always the perfect little wife, unwilling or unable to stand up to her gruff husband.

“What the hell do you expect me to do, Ines?” Dad asks, exasperated. “Stand there with my arms crossed while these assholes slaughter what’s left of our cattle?”

“You wouldn’t send your son out there any more than you’d send your daughter.”

The coyotes who’ve cut across our land have graduated to running drugs. Over time, it’s been harder for Dad to turn a blind eye. This isn’t someone trying to find a better life for themselves and their family. The traffickers are bringing drugs across the Texas-Mexican border, and they’re armed. From the sound of it, they’re making trouble.

I pinch the key ring with two fingers, pulling it up and away from one of the nails Grandad drove into the wall. I tiptoe out, holding my breath as I inch the screen door open. I make it through without a sound only to have the door slip out of my fingers at the last second, outing me. I cringe, pressing my lids closed. There’s a tiny chance-

“Estela?”

Damn it. I bite down on my lips, searching my mind for a quick plan. “It’s me, Dad.” I shake the key ring. “Estela forgot the keys.” I throw in a chuckle, hoping he thinks I just ran into the kitchen. “So, we weren’t going very far. Bye,” I tack on then let the door slap against the frame so there’s no time for either of them to ask questions.

“Okay, mija.” Mom’s voice is back to the even-tempered wife and mother she’s always been. “Be careful.”

“Lupita,” Dad’s voice booms out as the hinges squeak again. “You let Estela drive. There’s a lot of traffic on the road.”

“Yes, sir,” I toss over my shoulder without slowing down. I don’t need to see his face and have his words echo in my head. I jump into the passenger seat and slam the door a little too hard.

Estela reaches for the keys and catches my expression before I can clear it. “What’s wrong, Lupita?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.” I pull the seat belt across my body and clip it in place.

She puts her hand on the seat, refusing to move. It’s not the time to try standing her ground, not when Dad’s in the doorway, likely already wondering why we aren’t leaving. We’re supposed to be going into town for some feed and supplies while Dad’s at home during the hottest part of the day. He came across a downed fence that needs to be fixed before we lose any cattle.

“If you want a single word out of me, you’ll leave now.” But the wrinkled brow isn’t giving an inch. “Or we can go inside, and Dad can yell at you wasting precious time.” I paste on an innocent smile.

Her gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. Whatever she sees has her jabbing the key into the ignition and giving it a turn. The engine on the beat-up ranch truck roars to life, then she slides the gearshift to first before I can manage a smile. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that nobody wants to deal with a Torres when they’re pissed off.

We pull out of the drive and hit the main highway in silence. She veers toward the center, avoiding the potholes in the asphalt. We make it two or three miles before she clears her throat. “Now, what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

I open my mouth, ready to give a full confession, then think better of it. Having a long, drawn-out conversation about something neither of us can do anything about isn’t going to solve anything.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about the dead cattle?” I ask, turning the conversation to her.

She fidgets in her seat, checking the mirrors, one after another. It’s a tactic she’s used before while she’s gathering her thoughts.

“You know how your father is, chula,” she says in a placating tone. I can almost see her sitting behind my ten-year-old self, brushing my hair as she’s trying to make me feel better. Back then, she was with us full-time. Now, we can only afford to have her come by a couple of days a week.

“Don’t give me that.” Unexpected bitterness slips into my tone. “Both you and he know I’m bound to find out one way or another.”

Her shoulders rise with her indrawn breath. “I know.” She sighs. “I wonder if your father thinks he’s raising a fool,” she says in disgust.

I purse my lips. Is she serious or just trying to appease me? “How many did we lose?”

“Two cows and a calf,” she admits. “Shot multiple times.”

“Awww.” Needless ends to life. On top of that, given the state of our finances, even that loss equals a lot of money. As it is, this drought is making it nearly impossible to get enough water for the animals. “Could they salvage the meat?”

“No.” Her shoulders droop. “The boys found ’em this morning, but they’d been dead at least a day.” With the South Texas heat and the wild animals, they’d be a complete loss.

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as I look past Estela to the land on the other side of the road-my inheritance, or what’s left of it. I can understand why he’s upset. No water, dead animals, hostile coyotes, lost money, and nobody to blame but fate. Though Mom’s right. Even if I was male, he wouldn’t send me out when we’ve got someone using the herd for target practice. No Torres in his right mind would risk their only child over cattle.

“Maybe if I could go out there and help,” I mumble under my breath.

“Are you crazy?” she snaps, turning to glare at me.

I bristle at her reply. “Why? You think I can’t help put up the fence since I’m a girl?”

“Pshaw. That’s neither here nor there,” she says turning back to the road. “God knows what he’s doing, and he doesn’t make mistakes.” She sniffs, ending the conversation in her typical manner. “The fact your father hasn’t been able to add to the family legacy shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Then who’s going to take responsibility?” Every Torres had done their part to grow the ranch, up until Grandad lost half the land on what may have been a fixed card game. So now, in my generation, not only will the ranch not grow, we can’t even afford to have me go to college.

“Maybe if we leave your parents long enough, they’ll try for another kid,” she chuckles.

I snort, knowing the mood they were in just a few minutes ago. “Not likely.”

“You never know, young lady. They’re not too old to try,” she chastises. “Are you trying to throw even more shade on Mom?”

“Oh please,” she says, slowing down as we approach town. “That thing about your ancestor being cursed is nothing more than a story.”

“You’ve got to admit, there’s something weird about what’s happened to us.”

“Nothing you should believe or worry about.” She waves a hand in dismissal.

“Oh, come on. Ever since the first generation settled in South Texas-”

“On a deed granted by the king of Spain,” she adds, familiar with the story.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“On a deed granted by the king of Spain, the Torres’s have only had one child. And they were always male.”

“Until you.”

“Until me.” It’s the only other time the family name has come into question. The first time a Torres had a second child, though sadly, he didn’t survive. “I’m not sure what would happen if Mom went from the first one to have a girl to having two kids.”

We pull through town, waiting to turn onto Main Street and get to the feed store.

“If I believed in such a thing, I’d say it was jealousy.” The turn signal clicks quietly as her words sink in.

Jealousy? I’ve never considered it. Though family members have whispered about the possibility of a curse. Because it’s what you do when there’s no other explanation and you’re living in the Dark Ages. The whole thing’s been dismissed as an old wives’ tale, but you never really know how these things start.

“Only love, hate, and jealousy can be strong enough to endure this long. And nobody knows much about the original settlers, since their only written records are the births, weddings, and deaths documented in the family Bible.”

Yeah, our family history is mostly gossip that’s run from one person to another in the tiny town of Nueces.

She turns then pulls into the parking spot in front of the town’s one and only cafe, next to a familiar car, then puts the truck in reverse. We’re backing up as the car door opens and Roman de Marco steps out. He’s wearing a different suit today, a blue so dark it borders on black. I can barely breathe as his gaze meets mine through the cracked windshield.

“Hey, Estela,” the owner of the feed store greets her. “Heard about the trouble out at La Escuadra. Everything going okay?”

The question is enough to break the spell. I huff out a breath and unbuckle the seat belt. We aren’t even out of the cab yet, and the town already knows what’s going on at our place. I push on the door, but nothing happens. “Crap.” I must have slammed it too hard when I got in. Annoyed, I put my shoulder to the panel, bumping it in an effort to dislodge the door.

“Get out on the driver’s side,” Estela calls out with concern, her attention somewhere past me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Roman taking the last few steps toward the truck. He reaches for the handle, pulling the door open with a solid crack, to set me free. Heat rushes through me, rising incrementally to match the restraint I recognize in his eyes. Then he offers a hand.