Chapter Text
‘Ay, Carlito. It’s been an hour already,’ Maria said.
Carlos sighed as he watched his mother lean against the window frame and peer out into the dreary street. She’d been checking it every few minutes since he’d gotten up that morning.
‘Mama, you’re being nosy.’
She rolled her eyes and kept staring. He stepped up behind her and saw the big curly-haired guy from across the street still standing in the gutter. He wasn’t watching the end of the street anymore at least. Instead, he was watching the rainwater run over his sneakers. His shoulders were soaked through and slumped down. His khaki trousers were almost black with how raindamp he was getting.
‘He’s going to catch his death, poor chiquito.’
‘It’s kind of pathetic, mama.’ She slapped his chest with the back of her hand. ‘Ow! What was that for?’
‘For sounding too much like your father.’
Maria turned from the window, ignoring her son’s spluttering as she made for the front door. She scooped up an umbrella hanging from the coat rack and stepped out onto the front porch.
‘Mama!’ Carlos hissed, scrambling after her.
She was already down on the footpath, umbrella open over head and making a beeline to the man. Carlos sighed resignedly and jogged to catch up. If she was going to talk to a potential psycho then he wasn’t going to let her do it alone.
Up close the guy was even more sad looking. His eyes were red and his hair was limp, the curls heavy with rain. There was a pink bruise on one side of his face surrounding his brow. Carlos winced in sympathy. Whatever the blow up had been, it must have been pretty bad.
Maria stretched up to hold the umbrella over his head. The sudden dryness must have shocked him back to awareness. He blinked and looked up at her.
‘Are you alright, carino?’ she asked.
There was a softness in her voice that shocked Carlos. His mother by nature was not soft, and had only hardened further since his father. This stranger bringing it out of her? Carlos narrowed his eyes.
The man gaped for a moment, shook himself and then plastered on the least convincing smile Carlos had ever seen.
‘Sorry, yes, I-I’m fine.’ He stumbled back a step, out from under the umbrella, and looked up and down the street. ‘A-am I blocking your car or something? I-I’ll move. Just got lost in my head a little.’
Carlos’ mother stepped forward, re-shielding him with the umbrella and took a hold of his arm.
‘You’re not bothering anyone, carino. We just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve been standing out in the rain for a long while now.’
The man glanced down at his watch and winced, then ran a hand through his hair, seeming to suddenly realise how wet he had gotten. He shifted from foot to foot, fingers fiddling together.
‘I… Sorry,’ he said again.
God, this was pathetic. His mama looked even more displeased by his answer and Carlos could practically see the mothering instincts he remembered from his youth rearing up. He didn’t know who this guy was or what his deal was but he gave into the inevitable, because once Maria Serrano set her mind to something there was no stopping her.
‘¿Vas a traerlo adentro o qué?’ he asked his mother. The smile she shot him was sharklike and honestly, Carlos felt kind of bad for what was about to happen.
‘Come on, chiquito. Let’s get you sorted out.’
She started towing him back across the street to their house and the guy stumbled after them, too shocked to really protest.
‘Oh, I- uh, I’m fine. I’ve got clothes at home. I can-’
‘Ah, but Abuela Maria has homemade conchas and hot chocolate. That will warm you right up.’
‘¿Abuela Maria?¿De verdad?’ he scowled. Carlos’ mother was well into her sixties, having had him late in life. But she was in no way old enough to be anyone’s grandmother.
Maria merely shushed him as the guy was helplessly led up their steps and into the sitting room.
Buck wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here. One minute he was watching Eddie drive away and the next he was being shoved into a small, yellow-tiled shower with a bundle of soft clothes and told to take his time. The woman, Maria had pushed him down onto the couch the moment he emerged, wrapping a red and black afghan around his shoulders and pressing a warm mug into his hands. The clothes were slightly big on him, the flannel bottoms bagging at the waist and the charcoal sweater somehow swimming on him. He wondered vaguely who they’d belonged to because they certainly weren’t the young guy that had been in the street with them. The minute they were back inside, the kid had disappeared somewhere in the house. Maria tutted at his retreating back but let him go.
As he waited for her to come back, he looked around the room. The walls were an off-white colour, decorated here and there by small frames. In each one was the kid, some of him young with a gap toothed smile, others older. In the frame by the archway through to the kitchen, he wore a cap and gown, recently graduated. There was an arm around his shoulders but whoever it belonged to was cropped from the picture.
Maria bustled back in with a plate full of the small sweet rolls shaped like seashells. Some were a dark chocolate colour, some strawberry pink. The smell of fresh bread made Buck’s eyes unexpectedly water as he remembered all of a sudden the three batches of cookies he’d thrown out before he finally got some that were perfect for Eddie.
‘Oh, chiquito, you’re okay.’
Maria sat beside him and rubbed her hand up and down his arm. Her brown eyes were warm and kind, framed by a sharply styled set of curls. She reminded him of Isabel Diaz and for a moment he missed her almost as much as he missed her grandson.
‘What happened, mijo?’ she asked and Buck was just so tired.
‘He, uh, Eddie. He left. Chris is in Texas and Eddie had to go after him so…’
Buck realised he wasn’t sure if Maria even knew who he was talking about. He didn’t know how much Eddie actually talked to his neighbours.
‘The little boy with the glasses?’ Buck nodded. ‘He left to go bring him back?’
‘No,’ Buck said and looked down into his hot chocolate, the heat from the steam disguising the burning in his eyes. ‘He bought a house down there. I don’t think… I don’t know if…’
He swallowed thickly, unable to get the words out. Maria made a tutting noise and fiddled with the blanket, pulling it tighter over Buck’s shoulders.
‘Well,’ she said. Buck looked up at the change in her tone. Her lips were pulled into a tight line and there was a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before, but her touch was still gentle as she took his free hand and deposited one of the conchas into it. ‘That would be his loss, carino.’
Buck wanted to laugh because, really, it was his loss, not Eddie’s. Eddie was getting Chris back and Buck was alone again. He didn’t say that to Maria though. He just smiled, watery and weak, and bit into the bun.
A week later, Buck was in the front garden of Eddie’s house mowing the lawn. He still couldn’t bring himself to think of it as his house, it would always be Eddie’s. But he enjoyed having a lawn to mow. Even when he lived in Hershey, his parents had replaced the lawn with synthetic grass so they didn’t have to maintain it. He was sure after a few months the novelty would wear off but for now, he kept the yard looking as pristine as he could.
He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that whispered that he wasn’t doing all the work for himself, but so the house would be perfect when… if…
‘Buckito!’
He turned to see Maria walking down the street with two other women on her arms. They were dressed in their Sunday best, no doubt on their way back from service at the church down the way. Buck cut the mower and walked over to meet them. He’d barely stopped in front of them when Maria whacked him with her purse.
‘Ow! Mrs Serrano, what-’
‘You wear a hat when you are working in this sun, entiendes? And how many times have I told you?’
‘Yes, Mrs-’ She raised the bag again. ‘Uh, Abuela Maria.’
She smiled and pinched his cheek affectionately. Buck winced but was helpless to return the grin.
‘So, you are the gringo that Maria has adopted, hmm?’
The other two women were looking at him, brows furrowed. They kept glancing back and forth between them. Buck blushed and ducked his head. Maria huffed, planting her hands on her hips.
‘Su marido lo dejó solo,’ she said and Buck noticed the same hardness in her voice from the night they met. ‘Él nos necesita.’
He wasn’t sure what Maria said but the other women softened immediately, turning understanding looks at him. One, a blonde woman with laugh lines around the eyes and a crochet shawl protecting her shoulders from the heat, stepped forward and held out her hand.
‘You can call me Abuela Frieda,’ she said with a teasing smile at Maria. She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Buck took her hand. ‘If you ever want to learn a new hobby to keep yourself busy, I’ve tried them all.’
Buck perked up, a cautious smile on his face.
‘Do you play any instruments? I was watching this video about classical guitar and-’
‘Pah!’ the third woman interrupted, elbowing her way in front of Frieda. ‘If you want to learn guitar, you come spend some time with me and mi esposo, Simón. We were the best performers in León.’
‘Aida, you were an actor, not a musician!’ Frieda said, laughing, shaking her head.
Aida flipped her greying hair over her shoulder in a move reminiscent of the most melodramatic stage performers, her red-painted lips curling in a sulking pout though her cat-winged eyes danced with mirth.
‘Simón played and I play acted. See? A perfect partnership. The gringo can learn both the arts.’
‘How, when he will be too busy learning to bake with Abuela Maria,’ Maria cut in. The other two women scowled at her and an argument immediately broke out in Spanish.
Buck stared, bemused, as they carried on, gesturing wildly to him, to the surrounding houses, to each other. He would be more worried about it if they weren’t all grinning like maniacs. He wasn’t entirely sure what the argument was really about at this point but eventually, some sort of deal seemed to be reached. They nodded to each other and then turned to him. All their faces split into wide smiles. He gulped.
It had taken them a few days to work out a schedule and to rope in a few more hands but it was working. Maria had made sure that Buckito was never lonely while they could help it. When he wasn’t working, he was either at one of their houses or they were at his. Frieda was teaching him to garden as he had never had a yard and wanted it to look nice.
He would watch old telenovellas with Aida and had guitar lessons with Simón. When their son Antonio was around, he would drag Buck to play football with a local team. Buckito was quite good. He had offhandedly mentioned he had received a scholarship for it before he dropped out of college when he was nineteen. Maria was still working on getting him to talk about why he never finished. She gathered it had something to do with his parents but he rarely said anything about them at all. Maria was almost positive that was for the best.
Buck’s next door neighbour was a man named Marty. He was about to move from his eighties into his nineties and Maria had convinced him to keep finding things that needed doing around the house. Buckito was always happy to help and when he was finished, he would sit and listen with a smile as Marty talked about his late wife Carmen. Their daughter Georgie lived a few houses down and would pull Buck into nursing her two year old son, Diego using doe eyes and pleading.
‘My arms are so tired, Buck. You have to hold him for a while. Please, you’re my only hope!’
Buck would agree every time without a fight and the goofy smile on his face as he looked at the sleeping child was worth it every time.
Georgie’s husband, Nathan was a fan of Buckito from the start when he saw how easily Diego slept in his arms.
‘You’re a natural,’ he praised, running his fingers over his sleeping son’s baby down hair. ‘Do you have your own?’
The smile slipped.
‘No,’ he said, keeping his face turned down so that no one could see his expression. ‘No, I don’t.’
Maria’s heart had broken for him all over again.
When Buck was with Abuela Maria, she helped him with his baking. He’d gotten pretty good at it on his own but having someone who had done it for a living show him where he was going wrong was invaluable.
‘How come you retired from the bakery?’ he asked one afternoon while she was showing him how to braid together strands of dough for a pan de leche loaf. ‘I mean you clearly love it.’
She had smears of flour on her cheeks and her apron was dusted white. She was throwing her whole weight into kneading the bread and the soft sheen of sweat on her forehead made the lively sparkle in her eye all the more bright.
‘Ay, I loved it. But it wasn’t my most important thing,’ she said.
‘What was?’
She stopped working and smiled softly. Her fingers played gently with a gold chain around her wrist, thumb rubbing over the small medallion that hung from it.
‘My Carlito, of course.’ She separated the dough into three lumps and began rolling them into thick ropes. ‘I wasn’t exactly young when he was gifted to me. It was hard on my old bones but I thank God for him every day.’
‘You’re not old, Abuela,’ Buck said chidingly.
She smacked him up the back of the head, sending flour and dough raining down.
‘And who are you to tell me how old I am, hmm? You don’t question a lady’s age. If she says she’s young, she’s young. If she says she’s old, she’s old.’
‘But Abuela-’
She raised her hand threateningly and Buck ducked his head, going back to work.
Maria continued, ‘There was only so much of me to give and I gave it to the thing that deserved it. Not that puta baker who never gave me a raise in ten years-’
‘Abuela!’ Buck gasped.
‘What? She was! Anyway, I knew I was old to be having a little one. I wanted to give him the best chance and that meant taking care of myself for a change.’
‘So, you quit?’
She nodded.
‘I saw the doctors, I took the vitamins, I did everything I was supposed to. And then I got to hold him. It was perfect.’
Maria gently scooped up Buck’s sloppy loaf and placed it on the baking tray next to her immaculate one, popping it into the oven. She dusted her hands off on her apron and started loading Buck’s arms with dirty dishes to carry to the sink.
‘Can I ask…’ He took a breath, waiting for Maria’s nod. ‘What happened to Carlos’ father? Why aren’t there any pictures?’
Buck was expecting it but it still chilled him to watch the complete shut down on Maria’s normally friendly face. Her expression flattened and her eyes blazed, shoulders squared, ready for a fight. She piled the last dish into his arms and then turned to begin filling up the tub.
‘When Carlos was seventeen, he graduated high school a year early. He’s a bright boy, my Carlito. That man was supposed to pick him up from their graduation party. I stood on the porch and I watched him drive away. An hour later Carlos calls me to ask where his father is. He never went to the party.’
Buck set the stack of dishes down, separating the glassware and sliding it into the sudsy water.
‘Was… Was there an accident?’ he asked, careful.
‘No.’ She scrubbed the mixing bowl, rinsed it and passed it back to Buck to dry. ‘No, there was no accident, chiquito.’
Buck put the now clean bowl away in the cupboard, watching Maria out of the corner of his eye. Her movements were slow, absent like she was somewhere else.
‘I thought there might have been,’ she said, passing off the next bowl. ‘It wasn’t until the next morning that we realised our neighbour, Evie, she was gone too.’
‘Maria, I’m so sorry.’
She looked up at him and Buck could see it again, that hardness and that fire. He remembered how nervous it made him that first day they met. Now, he could feel the warmth of it, the protection that she radiated.
‘That’s why we have you, carino. We understand. This community, they were here for us when we needed them and now we will be here for you, entiendes?’
Buck does the only thing he can and folds himself down, wrapping the woman in a hug as tightly as he can.
‘Yes, Abuela Maria.’
It was three months after Eddie left that the dam finally broke.
Despite what Carlito said, Maria was not nosey. She was just concerned. Which will be the excuse she gives when he asks why she’s been camped at the window for the past three hours watching Buck’s front door.
‘Mama,’ Carlos said on a sigh.
‘He hasn’t left yet.’
Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. His mannerisms were much too old for a man of twenty-one. Maria would blame that on his father.
‘He’s a firefighter, Mama. Maybe he had a late shift and he’s sleeping in.’
‘He missed his guitar lesson with Simón.’
‘That doesn’t-’
‘And his playdate with Diego.’
That made Carlos pause. Buck doesn’t miss Diego time, even he knows that despite how much he’s been avoiding the man.
‘Did you call him?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t pick up. Marty says he can hear it ringing though so he’s definitely at home.’
Carlos stared at his mother.
‘Do you have the whole neighbourhood watching this guy?’
‘He goes on a run every morning but he hasn’t even opened the curtains yet. Something is wrong.’
‘For the love of God…’
Carlos couldn’t believe he was doing this and if anyone asked, it was because his mother asked him to, and definitely not because he was concerned.
He stormed out the front door and across the road, pounding his fist against the door before he could second guess himself.
‘Buckley! Open up!’
He waited but there was no response. He considered knocking again but as he raised his fist he heard a noise, a soft hitching sound. Carlos grit his teeth and grabbed the handle. It turned and so he shoved it open, scowling at the scene before him. Buck was sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, his legs folded up to his chest and his face buried in the top of his knees. There was a cardboard box full of photos open in front of him and, of all things, a set of oven mitts crumpled in his fists. His shoulders were shaking quietly and Carlos hated everything about it.
‘What the hell is this, Buck?’ he asked, trying to keep the rage from his voice as he crouched down in front of him.
He lifted his head and Carlos winced. His eyes were swollen and red, tear tracks running down his face. He was snotty and panting, lips chapped and cracked from the hiccupping sobs. He hadn’t shaved, his hair was frizzy with grease and there was a coffee stain on the front of his shirt. He looked horrible.
‘I- Sorry, was I being too loud? I didn’t-’
‘For fuck’s sake, Buckley, shut up!’
Buck flinched, his lip wobbled and he nodded, shoulders raising protectively around his ears. Carlos growled in frustration. He wasn’t good at this. He hated emotional people.
‘Stop apologising for existing. It’s stupid.’ He paused long enough to scowl down Buck’s next sorry. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s… It’s my birthday. I’ve spent every birthday for the last seven years with Chris a-and Eddie but they’re not here.’ His chest heaved and his eyes screwed shut in pain. ‘Eddie said he’d take me to the museum. They have an exhibit on space travel. Chris is obsessed with Mars b-but I can’t…’
He choked off, burying his face in the oven mitts. Carlos noticed the white embroidery on the side: “Buckley Birthday Bake-Off 2024”. His hands balled into fists and he looked down which was a stupid mistake because he looked straight into the goddamn box. The photos were of all three of them, Buck, the curly-haired kid with glasses and the Latino guy. They looked so happy. Buck was smiling in all of them and Carlos realised that he’d never seen the guy’s real smile before. The one he knows, that he always thought was corny and goofy, was his post-Eddie smile, his trying-too-hard smile, his I’m-fine smile.
Carlos hated those photos because he hated that he’d seen this all before. He remembered his mother on her first birthday without him. He’d come back from the store and found all the photos out of their frames and her in the middle of the mess, tearing each and every one of them. She set the half containing the two of them to one side and the half containing him went straight into the bin. It was the last time he saw his mother cry. He’d helped her light the match she threw in.
Now Buck was sitting here mourning some guy who left him, just like she had.
‘Get up,’ he said. Buck didn’t move. Carlos ripped the mitt out of his hand and ignored the agonised cry as he stood. ‘I said get up, Buckley.’
‘Why? What’s the point?’ he asked.
‘The point is that they’re not here,’ Carlos hissed down at him. Buck’s lip wobbled but Carlos didn’t stop. He grabbed Buck’s sleeve and hauled him to his feet. ‘They’re not here but we are so go get dressed.’
Buck wiped at his eyes like a little kid and Carlos absolutely seethed.
‘W-where are we going?’
‘To the goddamn museum.’
Buck hadn’t realised when Carlos said ‘we’ he meant the entire block. Somehow, in the time it had taken him to shower and change, he managed to round up all their neighbours, even Marty in his wheelchair, and corral them out the front of Eddie’s house. There was loud chatter as people went back and forth about carpool arrangements, Georgie bouncing Diego as he laughed loudly while his father dangled a stuffed rocket ship over his head. Frieda and Aida were cursing at each other in Spanish as Simón held a set of keys behind his back, Maria with her hands on her hips, shaking her head at the lot of them.
And Carlos was there, scowling at where Buck stood on the stoop, eyes wide and red-rimmed, taking in the chaos.
‘You still look like hell,’ he observed.
‘Yeah, sor-’ He caught himself just as Carlos’ scowl started deepening. ‘Uh, what’s going on? Ow! Abuela!’
Maria brandished her purse at him and Buck was not too big a man to admit that he may have ducked behind her son for defense.
‘Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday, Buckito?’ She scowled at him, lifting the bag again.
‘I didn’t, uh… I didn’t really feel like… celebrating, so…’
‘Too bad! Here, hold this.’
Georgie deposited Diego straight into Buck’s arms and he felt the baby’s infectious smile creep over his face.
‘Much better.’ Nathan nodded. ‘Now, everyone clear on the plan?’
The group chorused affirmatives and began beelining for the nearest car, Georgie pushing her father to a white van with a wheelchair lift.
‘What plan?’ Buck asked as he shuffled Diego higher in his arms, the squirming toddler trying to use his ears as climbing holds.
‘We’re taking you to the museum. Don’t you listen?’ Carlos said, rolling his eyes.
‘And then after, we’re going to Aida’s for dinner since she has the biggest yard,’ Frieda nodded.
‘You didn’t give us time to get presents together, Buck.’ Nathan clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘So, our company will just have to do.’
Buck sniffled. ‘That’s kind of all that I could want.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Buckley, again with the crying?!’
And as Buck watched Abuela Maria chase her son around and threaten him with a bar of soap if he didn’t watch his language, he didn’t feel lonely for the first time in months.
It was Simón and Aida with him when he got the call. Buck was perched on a stool on their back patio, Simón’s old guitar settled across his thighs and his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. He was rough but he’d gotten much better since his first lesson, Simón had to admit. He had a natural sense of rhythm that helped him find the right notes but getting him to slow down and keep time was the real challenge. Simón strummed a simple melody at a leisurely pace and Buck tried to play the chords to match. He was staying slow so far but Simón knew him well enough by now to know that his mind would wander and his hands would follow. Sure enough, Aida walked out with a tray of lemonade, Buck’s attention snagged and the simple 4/4 beat they were keeping slipped into a jaunty swing step that didn’t at all match the tune.
Simón chuckled and shook his head, closing out the song until Buck blinked back to him and smiled bashfully. The chords faded and Aida clapped while Simón took a gracious bow.
‘Ah, mi pájarito, you’re getting so good!’ she cooed, patting the top of Buck’s head affectionately.
‘Thanks, Abuela Aida. Simón’s a good teacher.’
‘Don’t I know it, pájarito.’
Her red lips pulled into a grin and Simón whistled lowly back. Buck flushed and looked away, the two of them chuckling at him. He was sweet like that, Simón thought.
Buck’s phone started ringing. He shifted the guitar away, Simón scooping it up to return to its stand. The younger man smiled gratefully, fishing the device out. His grin dimmed a little as he looked at the caller ID.
‘It’s, uh, it’s Eddie. I have to…’
‘By all means, Buckito,’ Aida said, sitting gracefully on her chair, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her fist, sharp eyes locked onto Buck.
Simón chuckled at his wife’s antics. They had been married for almost forty years and she was still just as theatrical as the day he first saw her standing on that stage, still as hungry for gossip.
She adored Buck, he knew. Their own two children had chosen to move back to Mexico in their twenties, not wanting to stay in LA while their parents chased stardom. He saw something of Briana’s innocence and Lola’s spark in Buck, something that made him feel more connected to his children than he had in a decade. He knew Aida felt the same or else she wouldn’t lie to the boy about his playing; she was nothing if not brutally honest when it came to art.
Simón made himself busy tidying up the dropped picks and scattered sheet music but he kept one ear tuned as the boy picked up the call.
‘Hey, Eds! Good to hear from you! How’s… Yeah? That’s awesome man! You… Uh, r-really? Y-yeah. Yeah! Okay, um, when…?’
Simón turned. Buck’s face was split in a wide smile, so wide Simón was worried it would get stuck that way. His eyes were dancing, excited, like he’d never seen the boy before. Worry settled in the pit of Simón’s stomach. A glance at his wife’s narrow-eyed stare showed a similar reaction.
‘I-I can’t wait, Eds. Really. Okay, bye.’
Buck hung up and just stared down at his phone, grinning. A laugh bubbled out of him, uncontrollable and joyous. He looked up at the both of them and it was only long years of living with his actor wife that had Simón manage to wipe the concern from his face in time.
‘Eddie’s… Eddie’s coming home.’ His voice was breathless, disbelieving. ‘He and Chris. They’re really coming home.’
Aida stood up and pulled him into a hug.
‘That’s amazing, Buckito. I’m so happy for you.’
Simón clapped him on the shoulder and Buck laughed again. The musician had never heard such a carefree sound that filled him with so much foreboding.
‘Thanks. I’ve… I’ve gotta go. I have to get the house ready. I…’ He laughed and laughed. Buck bent to hug Aida one more time and then he was gone.
They stood on the patio and watched his back retreat into the house and out the front door.
‘Well,’ Simón said.
‘Well,’ his wife agreed.
They both pulled out their phones and began making calls.