Alexander
Without another word, I get into the back of the town car awaiting us and stare out of the window.
Uncle joins me and we make the silent ride toward the city center graveyard, where my mom was buried.
I didn’t get to attend her funeral, but I know she was buried in the family plot, even if she was a traitor.
“Does the rest of the family know she was a traitor?” I ask, glancing at my uncle.
Hernandez nods. “It was Pablo who learned the truth. He had her followed to confirm his suspicions.”
I clench my jaw, realizing that if it was Don Pablo that found out about his mother’s treachery, then there was nothing Hernandez could have done to save her.
I fall silent and watch the scenes of my home town rush past the window, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia as places I recognize rush past.
Places I’d been with my mom and dad before everything went to shit.
It takes a ten-minute drive until we arrive outside the ornate, wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. A cemetery I visited weekly with my mom, as she liked to lay flower on her parents’ grave.
“Do you remember it?” Hernandez asks.
I nod. “Yes, we came every week.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, Ines loved to visit our parents’ grave regularly.” He nods toward the gates. “Go and say your respects. I’ll give you privacy and have my time when you return.”
“Thanks,” I say, getting out of the car and walking into the cemetery I remember so well.
I never thought I’d step foot back in Mexico again, let alone this place my mom brought me to so frequently. The paths feel familiar as I make my way to the Estrada family plot in the center of the cemetery.
My heart beats harder as I get closer and when I recognize the two grave stones of my grandparents, who died when I was so young, I don’t remember them.
Apparently, they died in a car accident, but I’m sure it probably wasn’t an accident. Now I know the truth about our family and what we’re embroiled in.
I stop still when I see the newer white marble headstone next to my grandmother’s, a wave of emotions coursing through me. I approach slowly and then drop to my knees in front of it when I see her name etched on the headstone.
Ines Martina Estrada.
I’m thankful to see they left my father’s name off of her gravestone. “I’m home, mama,” I murmur, placing my hand gently on the stone. “I’m sorry it took me so long to visit, but I’ve never been allowed the chance.” A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it, tears prickling at my eyes. I won’t allow them to fall, as crying is weak.
I shake my head, struggling with all the different emotions racing around my body. Anger, confusion, sadness, betrayal, and sorrow. If she hadn’t betrayed her family, she’d still be here alive and well.
Hell, we might have still lived here in Reynosa.
“Why, mama?” I ask, wishing she could answer me. “Why did you do it?”
I’m surprised that despite my hatred for my uncle, I believe what he’s telling me. Hernandez isn’t the kind of man who lies about these things. Why would he bother?
My father, on the other hand, was a coward for not standing up to Don Pablo and telling him no, even if that meant someone else had to do it. It would have been a certain death sentence for him, but it’s no less than he deserves. At least I wouldn’t have spent my entire childhood hating him the way I do.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say to the gravestone. “I’m just glad I got to come and say goodbye to you after six long years.”
I swallow hard and stand to my feet, wondering if all this time my hatred for the girl from the Gurin family has been wholly unfounded.
I blamed her family as well as my father and uncle, but it felt good to take my rage out on her. A girl who had nothing to do with any of it. I bite the inside of my cheek and then turn away from my mother’s grave, knowing that now the full story of that night has come to light, everything has changed.