Sia (11 page)

“
Do you like working here?”

“
Si
. Very much. This is a beautiful house, your parents are good people, and they pay me well. They have some wonderful parties. I meet many celebrities—” She glances apologetically at me, as if she feels guilty. “Well, I don’t really
meet
them, but I see them, and I listen to them while they are talking to each other.”

“
What about your family?”

“
I have a very large family,” Beatriz says, smiling faintly. “Most of them live in Mexico.”

“
Do you miss them?”

“
Of course. But I know we’ll be together again one day. For now, I send them money. And I bought them a computer so we can see each other on the Internet sometimes.”

We work together for half an hour or so, talking and eventually laughing. Almost every word Beatriz says unknowingly helps me understand the person I was. And she makes it easier to see the person I want to become.

“
Were you and I friends before?” I ask.

Beatriz’s smile is wistful. “I don’t think you could say—”

A loud wail and a
thump
coming from the living room interrupts us. Beatriz and I exchange a look. Her expression says I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to have heard.

“
What was that?” I ask.

Beatriz wipes her hands on her apron, her expression set, and heads toward the door. She’s all business now. “It’s nothing,
mija
. Just wait here, okay?”

“
Was that my mom?”

“
She’s not feeling so good. You just stay—wait! Sia!”

I push past her, desperate to find out what’s going on. As soon as I see what she’s trying to hide, I understand. My mother is stumbling from chair to chair in the living room, holding an empty vodka bottle and demanding that Beatriz get her some more. “Mom?”

She stops ranting and places one clammy hand on my cheek. “My beautiful, beautiful baby,” she gushes. “Have I told you how much I love you, Sia? I just love you so much. You’re so, so beautiful. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“
Mrs. Holloway—”

“
Beatriz!” Mom snaps, jerked from her drunken trance. “I need another bottle!”

“
I’m so sorry, Mrs. Holloway, but we have no more.”

“
Go buy some!”

“
I’m afraid the car isn’t here, Mrs. Holloway.”

I glance at Beatriz, aware that isn’t the truth, but she ignores my look. I understand what’s going on. Sadly, it looks like Beatriz has a lot of experience with this kind of thing. “Mom, you look tired,” I suggest carefully. “You should go lie down.”

Beatriz winces and squeezes her eyes shut, which I don’t understand.

Suddenly, Mom’s bloodshot eyes are on me, her hands in her hair. “I do?” She wails in horror. “I look
tired
? Oh, Sia! That’s just a nice way of saying I look
old
!”

Now I get Beatriz's reaction. “Come on upstairs, Mom. I’ll tuck you in.”

“
Oh, my baby!” she says, vodka slurring her words. “I love you so much. Do you know that?”

“
Yes, Mom. Now let’s go.”

“
I’m sorry I’m such a bad mom. You deserve a good mom, but I just wanted—”

“
It’s okay, Mom,” I say, sliding one arm around her waist. Beatriz takes the other side, and we start to lead Mom toward the stairs. “You’re a great mom. Really.”

“
I just wanted to give you everything, you know? You deserve
everything
.”

The stairs go on forever. We balance Mom between us as we climb upstairs, but she keeps stopping to talk to me.

“
You have given me everything, Mom. Look at all this! You’ve given me a terrific life.”

“
Aw, sweetie. You’re such a good girl. And so, so beautiful! Yeah, we have a nice house and car and everything, but the truth is I failed. Oh, Sia,” she sobs. “I failed!”

By the time we reach her bedroom, Mom’s eyes are starting to roll back in her head. Beatriz and I maneuver her into bed and tuck the sheets around her.

My mother smiles placidly up at me, and the words ooze awkwardly from her lips. “I’m sorry, baby. We were doing so great. Now we’re going to lose everything. It’s all a disaster. I don’t know—” She slips out of consciousness and immediately starts to snore.

“
What’s she talking about, Beatriz?”

Beatriz eyes me uncertainly.

“
Please. I deserve to know.”

She sighs. “Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

This time, we sit at the kitchen table, and Beatriz pours us both a glass of lemonade. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Your mother has been drinking like this for about a year now,” she says.

“
Why?”

She scratches the back of her neck, then frowns, looking uncomfortable. “Your parents’ company did really well for a while. But they made some bad choices. They’ve had a lot of box-office flops.” She quirks a smile. “Your mother can’t stand people talking about her. Not unless they’re saying good things, that is. She’s used to people loving her. She used to be a model, you know. That’s why there are so many beautiful pictures of her in the house.”

“
Oh. I was wondering about that.”

“
She was really popular. People always wanted to be near her, kind of like you at school. Till recently, everyone wanted to be like the Holloways.”

“
So that’s why my dad’s not home much?”

She tilts her head one way, then the other, as if she’s balancing her words out before she says them. “He’s doing what he can. He works very hard, you know, looking for great screenplays, interviewing better casting agents, and looking for talented new actors. He’s doing everything he can to save the company from going bankrupt.”

I blink. “Bankrupt? Tell me you're kidding.”

“
I wish I was,” Beatriz replies with a light shrug, “but I am serious. Things aren’t looking good. Actually . . . ” her mouth kind of twists to the side “ . . . it gets worse.”

“
How?”

“
I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this. In fact, I probably shouldn’t even
know
all this,” she says, “but your mom talks a lot when she drinks. She mentioned that this house is close to foreclosing. And the cars may be repossessed.”

Shock makes me dizzy. I’m starting to understand where all my stress came from—the stress that had brought on the amnesia. “And my parents? How are they dealing with all this?”

Beatriz reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of one of mine. The intimacy of the movement scares me most of all.

“
Sia, your parents’ marriage is in trouble. They’re in counseling, but it’s . . . well, it’s serious.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope it’s okay that I told you all this. But since you knew it all before, I don’t see why I have to keep it a secret now.”

I shake my head slowly, feeling completely drained. “I’m glad you told me. Thank you.” I glance at our joined hands, then pull away and rub my fingers on the bridge of my nose. My eyes are burning. “You know, Beatriz, I think I need some air. I’m gonna go outside.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I don’t stop in the garden. I go through the back gate and keep on walking. As I walk, I think about what Beatriz had told me. After everything I’d learned at school, I hadn’t expected the day to get any worse. But it had. What had seemed like such a perfect life was only a shell, a fragile one that was cracking all around me.

I think of Carol, of the wisdom shining in her eyes, and of the way she remained calm even in the storms of such a confusing, impoverished life. I decide that no matter what my parents say, I am going to find Carol. I am going tell her what I’ve discovered and ask for her advice.

I turn at the next corner, following the sidewalk. It’s a beautiful late afternoon, and a lot of people are out walking. I smile at a couple of elderly ladies as they come through a door. Then I inhale a wave of sweet air emanating from the shop behind them.
BooBoo’s Bakery
, the sign says. I can’t resist. I seem to have developed a passion for fresh bread, and right now it’s calling my name.

The bakery is actually a long room with a counter at the front and a few small tables clustered in the back. Jazz music sets the mood and makes me smile even more broadly than the delicious, yeasty, buttery, sweet aroma of the delights coming out of the ovens. It is exactly the kind of break I need. The display behind the counter is loaded with sinful pastries painted with glistening sugar and chocolate. I practically salivate as I stare at them all.

In the back of my mind, I remember seeing this place once before, when I’d been out walking with Carol. We’d both imagined what it might be like to waltz right in and buy whatever we wanted, to sink our teeth into something soft and sticky and sweet. Now I’m back, and this time, I actually have money. I picture Amber’s disapproval back at lunch, when I’d filled my tray with food Amber says “we” don't eat. All the more reason to eat this. I lean closer to examine all the treats.

“
Can I help you?”

I straighten, but my eyes are still glued on the buns. “Yes please. I’d like—”

“
Sia?”

“
Kyle! What are you—
this
is your bakery?”

“
Yeah.” He flushes slightly. “BooBoo’s Bakery. Lame, I know.”

“
Not at all! I think it’s cute. And this place . . . ” I close my eyes and breathe in, grinning with pleasure. “It smells incredible.”

He smiles briefly, then looks away. “So what can I get you?”

Something about the way he does that bothers me, the way he cuts off all casual conversation intentionally. Almost as if he’s afraid to get along with me. I thought our little talk after school had cleared things up between us, that he’d forgiven me. But from the look on his face, I don’t think he has.

“
Um . . . I’d like a cinnamon bun, a chocolate donut,” I say, trailing one finger along the case’s glass window, “and a croissant. And butter to go with that, please.”

“
You want this to go?”

“
No, I’m staying.”

“
This is
all
for you?”

“
Yeah,” I say, sighing. “I’m having a lousy day. I deserve it.”

Kyle hands me the tray, looking at me strangely. “That’ll be four dollars.”

I hand him a five dollar bill. “Thanks,” I say, then touch the warm croissant and almost purr with happiness.

He gestures to the back room as he hands me my change. “Looks like we have tables open.”

“
Right.” I smile, embarrassed. I hadn’t been thinking straight. I had actually planned to take it outside to eat it. Like I would have with Carol.

He gives me a puzzled nod as I head back.

I pull out a chair and dive into the chocolate donut. The dough is soft and sweet, just as I knew it would be. The chocolate sticks on my lips and cheek, but the need to devour everything pushes me on, and I grab the croissant next.

Just as I’m taking a bite, I become aware that the room has gone quiet. The weight of a lot of eyes begins to bear down on me. I slowly sit straight, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

A few feet away, at the table just behind me, I notice a boy and two girls from my school. I recognize them from the cafeteria, and I feel unreasonably guilty when I recall they are Kyle’s friends.
Losers,
as Amber calls them. The only one whose name I know is Ben, the curly-haired boy Duke tripped in the cafeteria. He’s staring hard at me, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to say a word. I don’t know the girls. But they seem know me because they’re watching me with a mixture of fascination and something very close to revulsion.

“
Hi,” I say uncomfortably, aware that my mouth is still partially full.

The other kids don’t say anything.

“
What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

One of the girls exchanges a weird, brow-lifted look with her friends. Like they have a secret and they sure as heck aren’t about to let me in on it. Her smile is more like a smirk than anything else. She has long, dark hair, tinged with red, and her bangs almost touch her eyelashes. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you ate this stuff,” she says.

I snort. “Yeah, well, this is the new Sia.”

They continue to frown at me, but I refuse to back down. Really, what do they want from me? I smile, then chew and swallow, still looking back at them.