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Three Snakes (continued from preceding page)
home. Then I rifled through the contents of Pedro’s drawer too, finding neatly folded t-shirts and briefs and several pairs of jeans. Mopping the sweat from my brow I lifted a pair of his underwear and exam- ined them. The elastic band that hugged his waist, the reinforced support, the furtive slit. I brought them
to my nose to inhale something heady, something fundamentally male. Yet the only scent was of a clean and flowery detergent. Carefully refolding them, I returned them to the pile and noticed an envelope with a foreign postage stamp hidden at the bottom of the drawer.
Sitting on the edge of the bed I studied the open enve- lope with Pedro’s name scrawled across it, bumping into the foreign-looking stamp, a P.O. Box listed below it. Then I slid out the birthday card tucked inside, along with a single-page letter. It was written in open, loopy handwriting in Spanish and signed simply, Ma- ria, with the dot of the i shaped into a heart. I stared at the letter a long time, imagining Maria’s words, her devotion. I thought about my own father out there somewhere and how he might react to such a letter
if I knew where to send it. I fanned my face with the card as currents of hurt stung my insides.
Then came the sound of the twins rustling, their tinny voices calling my name. I slipped the envelope with the card and letter into my pocket. “Coming!” I said,
as I hurried down the hall.
~
When Joanie and Pedro returned home, the twins and I were at the table, coloring bold-shaped animals in a book. Pedro dropped his lunch pail on the table and headed straight for the shower. Joanie lifted a bag of groceries onto the counter. The twins were elbowing each other to show Joanie their artwork.
“In a minute,” she said, turning to me. The heat rushed to my cheeks and I swallowed, fidgeting, wondering what she knew. Her eyes, dark as berries, drilled into me.
“Stay for supper,” she whispered, lifting a small cake from the grocery bag. “I just found out it’s Pedro’s birthday!”
Relief shot through me and coupled with the heat made me feel dizzy. Then came the tug again, this time about family, about eating dinner together— which was something we never did at home. My mother sometimes brought leftovers from the diner, but she’d sit in the living room, smoking and watching TV while my brother and I ate, ignoring each other.
“Sure,” I said and shrugged, even though what I really wanted to do was give Joanie a hug. Or have her hug me.
“Good!” she said and turned to marvel at the twins’ work. They threw their arms around her, her cheeks crushed between them. Down the hall, I could hear the shower running.
I felt like I wanted to live there forever.
“Come on,” she said, linking her arm in mine, as if we were buddies. As if I weren’t fifteen. “You can set the table.”
I arranged the plates and silverware on the cramped dining table. Pedro emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and smelling of aftershave, and an- nounced it was feeding day for the snakes. While the twins devoured pasta with butter at the kitchen table, the snakes swallowed thawed rodents that Pedro had purchased from the pet store on his way home.
“Him and those snakes,” Joanie said, playfully rolling her eyes as she fried chicken at the stove.
“Ah,” Pedro said, coming into the kitchen. “Another person who don’t like my little friends.” He gave her a playful pinch, which made her jump a bit and laugh. And in that moment I knew this is what I wanted. Just as it was, everyone together, the warm smell of chicken on the stove.
When the twins finished their pasta, their lips shiny with starch and butter, I took them into the bath- room to bathe. Pedro’s towel hung limp on a hook
by the door, and I kept looking at it. Imagining it wrapped around him, concealing what lay under- neath. Afterward I put the boys to bed and read them their three favorite books. With their full bellies and a long day in the heat, they settled easily, their eye- lids heavy. I closed the door and slipped out.
Pedro looked up from the snake tanks as I came into the living room. Joanie passed us with her head down, and I sensed a shift in the air.
“The boys asleep?” he asked.
I nodded, tugging at my t-shirt, the bottom half of which was still damp from bathing them.
“I had to tell her,” he said, lifting one of the tank covers. I shot him a look even though I wasn’t surprised. “This is Clarita,” he said, rolling the r. With his nose
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