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It was twelve-year-old Dolores’ turn to make coffee that morning. There was something therapeutic about working in the kitchen alongside Abuela and Tía Julieta. Her tía was chopping vegetables to add to the huevos pericos while Abuela was making tamales. Beside Dolores, Isabela was hard at work at kneading the arepa batter. Dolores herself was busy grinding coffee beans for the whole family while the water was boiling in the kettle. As much as she loved making the coffee, she didn’t love boiling the water. Pretty soon, the kettle was screaming that the water was ready.
Searing pain cut Dolores’ head in half from ear to ear. The twelve-year-old girl groaned in discomfort as she was pulled from the otherwise pleasant dream that she had forgotten was a dream. The pain and the ringing in her ears didn’t stop. Her bleary eyes opened to the little alarm clock at her bedside table. It was only 1:15 in the morning. There was still time to sleep before school tomorrow, but with her mounting headache, she couldn’t just slip back into unconsciousness. She reached for the little bowl of cocadas that Tía Julieta had made for Dolores for her headaches. Her fingers only touched the bare bottom of the bowl.
“No,” Dolores mewled even as her head now began to throb. Now she had to go out and look for something in the kitchen that Tía Julieta had made.
Without turning on the light, Dolores made her way to the door. The moonlight gave Casita’s inner courtyard a gentle glow. Dolores could make it to the kitchen with her eyes closed, but she would rather not fall down the stairs and injure her head further, even with Casita there to catch her. Her jaws tightening with the headache, Dolores urgently hurried to the kitchen where she found the jar of recently made cocadas. Sighing with relief, she took one and waited for Tía Julieta’s gift to take effect. Within seconds, the pain subsided as did the noise, which was replaced by the singing cicadas and calling bats. Dolores then turned to the sink to wash her hands and paused. The sink and the lips of the pump faucet were wet. Someone had just been in here.
Dolores shrugged and washed her hands. It must have been one of her cousins, or her brother. Camilo had been known to periodically sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack, after all. While rinsing the soap from her hands, she turned to the drying rack. One plate and one set of utensils was still wet. Someone had just eaten a full meal, then. Was it Camilo? No, they’d had a heavy dinner.
Suddenly she heard the splashing of water from the bathroom near the kitchen. Eyes widening, Dolores quickly toweled her hands and took a knife from the rack. Weapon in hand, Dolores tiptoed to the bathroom door. Dogs barked and howled in the distance, reminding Dolores that a guard dog could have been useful for warding off intruders, except their noises hurt her ears. Then, she lowered the blade, remembering that Casita could have thrown out intruders. Now it was her heart that was slamming in her ears.
Dolores took a deep breath to steady her heart. Scanning the doors, Dolores focused her hearing to try to figure out who had just used the kitchen and the bathroom. She had a niggling suspicion. Everyone was gently snoring in their rooms. Her papá was snoring loudest of all.
Dolores gasped softly when the doorknob turned. There was no time to hide. Dolores froze like a deer as the door opened, letting out steam. The girl’s body went cold with shock as Tío Bruno came out in a moss green bathrobe and a brown towel around his head. He carried a basin of wet laundry and a small bucket of toiletries. The knife fell out of Dolores’ hands.
Tío Bruno had disappeared shortly after Mirabel’s gift ceremony last year. The family had tried to look for him. But it only took days for the family to give up, especially when the villagers of the Encanto had expressed how glad they were that Bruno was gone. Dolores had expressed to her mamá how much it had hurt her to hear those things. Her mamá had looked just as hurt to hear the name of her brother. Her mamá had held her hands, Dolores’ little hands looking darker than they really were against her mamá’s rosy-white skin. Tears in her green eyes and a tremble in her voice, Mamá had said, “We don’t talk about Bruno.”
The clatter of the knife against the clay tiles broke Dolores out of her reverie. The noise startled them both. Tío Bruno yelped and stumbled backwards. Then, he finally saw her. “Dolores?”
The rush of emotions overwhelmed Dolores. An ache filled her heart and overflowed into the tears in her eyes. She didn’t understand what she was feeling, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying. It’s been a whole year! she wanted to say. What came out was a primal cry of anguish. She curled her fists and stomped her feet. In her distress, she didn’t feel her tío’s hands on her shoulders.
“Dolores, mírame, mírame,” he whispered urgently as he crouched to level his face with hers.
Dolores blinked the tears from her eyes. Still sobbing, she looked at her tío’s face. He was thinner than the last time she had seen him. This was accentuated by the fact that he was clean-shaven, no doubt having groomed himself in the bathroom just now. His eyes were wide as he looked at each of the glowing bedroom doors. “Chiquita, listen to me,” Tío Bruno hissed. “Nobody knows I’m here, not even you. ¿Entiendes?”
“B-b-but…” Dolores struggled to get her voice working again. “But you’re here! You’ve been here this whole time?”
“It’s hard to explain. Oh, come here.” Tío Bruno pulled her into an embrace. Dolores let out a shuddering breath as she wrapped her arms tightly around her tío’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, chiquita. I can’t explain. And it’s best if you don’t know. But trust me, it’s better that I’m not here.”
“So why are you here?” she mewled into his shoulder.
Tío Bruno disengaged from the embrace and held Dolores at arm’s length. Grinning, he gestured at his clothes. “I eat in the kitchen and use the bathroom when everyone’s asleep.” His smile fell slowly when Dolores didn’t laugh. “Please understand. Nobody’s ever left the Encanto lest the guerillas outside find out about us and destroy us like they killed my papá,” he explained. When Dolores and Isabela were old enough, they had learned about the war that had brought their family and community here in their secluded paradise.
Dolores nodded in acceptance of his explanation. But she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. She had heard the grownups whispering about a vision that Tío Bruno had had. But now she was too emotionally exhausted to ask any more questions. Tío Bruno kissed her cheeks. “You should go back to bed. There’s a good girl.” He smiled weakly and stood to his full height.
“Please, don’t leave again.” She held his wrists tightly. He gently pulled away from her grip.
“I’ll always be right here,” he said.
He walked Dolores to her room and tucked her in. He kissed her forehead. “Buenas noches, chiquita,” he whispered before leaving the room. Moments later, Dolores left the bed and opened her door again as quietly as she could. She only needed to open it by a crack to listen for Tío Bruno. She heard hinges creaking and the rustling of his clothes. Dolores bit her lips when she heard the soft sobbing of her tío before the hinges creaked again, and wood tapped gently against concrete.