list. Spain rocked, too. Tiny sparks of lightning crackle in my palm.
I race back toward the bedrooms. “Papi?” I push his door open to an empty room. As I walk down the hall replaying the trip, a memory that isn’t mine sweeps over me.
I’m another little girl and my friends and I are playing with our favorite dolls when a loud motorcycle roars by us. We wave at the boy and girl on the bike. The pretty girl on the back waves back.
It was me. I was the pretty girl on the back of the bike.
Something crashes at the back of the house, startling the quasi-memory away.
“Papi, are you here?”
Another crash and a curse. “Evy? Are you okay?”
I bounce up on my toes and pat myself down. Seems like everything made it back to all the right spots. I dance a quick rumba step through the kitchen door.
I freeze, my left hip pushed outward. A stranger stands in the kitchen, a fistful of bills in one hand and Bimni nudging the other. I trust her judgment—dogs don’t come any more discriminating than she is. She sits, tongue lolling, slimy ball at her feet.
“Uh, hola .” I rotate my hips back to normal and take in the whole scene, smiling that Spain is already rubbing off on my lingo. And that my day is filling up with super spicy guys. He must be one of Papi’s workers, come to get cash for the upcoming library job. They’ve been in and out of here my whole life, but none this chiseled.
“Where did Vic go?” As much as I’m loving my ratio of hot guys today, I do need to find Papi. I saunter past and give him my best come-get-my-number smile before looking away, chest up, with a little extra swing in my business.
“What are you talking about?” Papi’s voice shoots from behind me.
I stop and slowly rotate.
As I ask my next question, I watch hottie’s face. “Do you know where Vic is?”
“Stop fooling. Come help me.”
My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.
“What happened to you?” I inch closer. He does look a little like Papi, only young. Real young.
And I’d thought he was hot. Gross.
He taps the bills against the counter, straightening their edges, then shoves them in a coffee can I hadn’t noticed. I’d also failed to spot the coffee grounds scattered all over the counter and linoleum. What in the world . . .
“We must have somehow—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—we must have somehow time traveled,” Papi says.
“Yeah. I got that. I mean, what happened to your face?”
Reading my disbelief, he touches his cheek and sends a bill fluttering.
“What’s wrong?” He bends and snatches a hundred off the floor. “I don’t have time for this, I have issues.”
That’s no joke. I ease my hand forward and cradle his elbow. “You’re going to want a mirror.”
Chapter 5
Tugging against me, he stuffs the last few bills into the coffee can and forces the lid shut. When at last he turns to me, the strain around his lips and eyes catches me off guard. I haven’t seen this much emotion in him . . . well, ever.
I squeeze his elbow gently, and he wraps his arm around my waist and gives me a hearty hug. “Where were you, Evy? How’d you get home? Were you in danger?”
“Shhh.” I lead us to the bathroom, flick the switch, and brace myself.
“Holy shit!” He yanks from my grip.
His eyes flash from my reflection to his and back again. When he leans closer to the mirror, I slide onto the counter and study him, too. A precisely trimmed goatee hugs his strong chin, and his silver hair is gone, replaced by a tight crew cut of dark spikes. The stress lines on his face are deep, though age no longer wrinkles his cheeks or brackets his eyes. His face is lean, tough, fierce.
“You look like that picture when you won the belt,” I say.
He straightens and lifts his shirt. Not an ounce of his old-man paunch remains. Now a rock-hard boxer’s core barely holds up his pants. Even if he is my papi, it’s an admirable six-pack. I’m totally
I race back toward the bedrooms. “Papi?” I push his door open to an empty room. As I walk down the hall replaying the trip, a memory that isn’t mine sweeps over me.
I’m another little girl and my friends and I are playing with our favorite dolls when a loud motorcycle roars by us. We wave at the boy and girl on the bike. The pretty girl on the back waves back.
It was me. I was the pretty girl on the back of the bike.
Something crashes at the back of the house, startling the quasi-memory away.
“Papi, are you here?”
Another crash and a curse. “Evy? Are you okay?”
I bounce up on my toes and pat myself down. Seems like everything made it back to all the right spots. I dance a quick rumba step through the kitchen door.
I freeze, my left hip pushed outward. A stranger stands in the kitchen, a fistful of bills in one hand and Bimni nudging the other. I trust her judgment—dogs don’t come any more discriminating than she is. She sits, tongue lolling, slimy ball at her feet.
“Uh, hola .” I rotate my hips back to normal and take in the whole scene, smiling that Spain is already rubbing off on my lingo. And that my day is filling up with super spicy guys. He must be one of Papi’s workers, come to get cash for the upcoming library job. They’ve been in and out of here my whole life, but none this chiseled.
“Where did Vic go?” As much as I’m loving my ratio of hot guys today, I do need to find Papi. I saunter past and give him my best come-get-my-number smile before looking away, chest up, with a little extra swing in my business.
“What are you talking about?” Papi’s voice shoots from behind me.
I stop and slowly rotate.
As I ask my next question, I watch hottie’s face. “Do you know where Vic is?”
“Stop fooling. Come help me.”
My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.
“What happened to you?” I inch closer. He does look a little like Papi, only young. Real young.
And I’d thought he was hot. Gross.
He taps the bills against the counter, straightening their edges, then shoves them in a coffee can I hadn’t noticed. I’d also failed to spot the coffee grounds scattered all over the counter and linoleum. What in the world . . .
“We must have somehow—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—we must have somehow time traveled,” Papi says.
“Yeah. I got that. I mean, what happened to your face?”
Reading my disbelief, he touches his cheek and sends a bill fluttering.
“What’s wrong?” He bends and snatches a hundred off the floor. “I don’t have time for this, I have issues.”
That’s no joke. I ease my hand forward and cradle his elbow. “You’re going to want a mirror.”
Chapter 5
Tugging against me, he stuffs the last few bills into the coffee can and forces the lid shut. When at last he turns to me, the strain around his lips and eyes catches me off guard. I haven’t seen this much emotion in him . . . well, ever.
I squeeze his elbow gently, and he wraps his arm around my waist and gives me a hearty hug. “Where were you, Evy? How’d you get home? Were you in danger?”
“Shhh.” I lead us to the bathroom, flick the switch, and brace myself.
“Holy shit!” He yanks from my grip.
His eyes flash from my reflection to his and back again. When he leans closer to the mirror, I slide onto the counter and study him, too. A precisely trimmed goatee hugs his strong chin, and his silver hair is gone, replaced by a tight crew cut of dark spikes. The stress lines on his face are deep, though age no longer wrinkles his cheeks or brackets his eyes. His face is lean, tough, fierce.
“You look like that picture when you won the belt,” I say.
He straightens and lifts his shirt. Not an ounce of his old-man paunch remains. Now a rock-hard boxer’s core barely holds up his pants. Even if he is my papi, it’s an admirable six-pack. I’m totally
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