Page 42 of Big Britches
“You wear blushes better than anyone else. I’m convinced. You’re—” Titus searched vainly for words, settling on, “–so beautiful.”
Predictably, Pedro’s gaze went down as his own color rose. Titus was growing fond of the reaction.
They were quiet for a while, enjoying the sound of crickets chirping while gazing at the glowing blue water. When Titus spoke again, he asked, “So, what’s your story, P? How the hell did you end up in the booming metropolis of Spoon, GA, population thirty-five hundred?”
Pedro smiled, acknowledging Titus’s sarcasm. “Well, let’s see… I already told you I’m from Chiquilá. It’s on the Yucatán Peninsula.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s at the eastern tip of Mexico, on the gulf but across, and due south of Alabama—surprisingly close to Cuba, about a hundred and fifty miles west. It’s a tiny town, less than half your population. My family was what you’d call middle class, I guess. We were comfortable, with a roof over our heads. My father was a teacher; my mother is a seamstress.”
Titus sat back, relaxing into his chair and sipping his drink. His eyes locked in on Pedro, immersed, like a child at storytime.
“Papa became ill six years ago—cancer. We struggled. I was near my last year of preparatoria—what you would call a junior in high school—and he wouldn’t let me quit to help support our household. Mi madre–my mother–worked around the clock and missed out on a lot of his final… moments. God knows what he did during the days, but I was up most nights with him, sleeping when I could before school the next day.”
“So, you do know what it’s like,” Titus said, recalling Pedro’s commiseration from earlier in the day. “I didn’t realize we had this in common, too.”
“We do. Yes.”
“And he wasn’t in a hospital.”
“Occasionally, and at the end, but never for a long time. Without him working, we couldn’t afford it. We found ourselves living on other people’s charity.”
“I thought doctors in Mexico were less expensive.”
“Maybe for Americans.” Pedro said. “But our wages are much lower. It’s a known issue. There’s talk of universal healthcare, but who knows when that will happen? Too late for us anyway.”
“I’m sorry, P. You had it much worse than me.”
“Maybe. It doesn’t matter. Losing someone you love is terrible in any situation. We made do.”
Titus admired Pedro’s sense of pride, knowing that he would have done the same had the situation been reversed. Only he’d never had to consider such things. His family had always had money.
“You said you lived by the sea.” He continued probing. “Is that why you’re comfortable in the water?”
Pedro’s smile returned. “I love the water. It’s the thing I miss most other than my mom.”
“So, how did you end up here, land-locked?”
“I almost didn’t. My friend, Rico, works in Morehead. He’s a painter with Burgess Construction.”
“Jim. Jim Burgess.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. Not well, though. We went to school together.”
“Did you go to school with everyone?”
Titus chuckled. “No. But most folks in Spoon and Morehead know each other—small, adjacent towns with only one high school. Anyway, Jim’s older than me. Is he friends with Silas?”
“He is. They both run crews that are predominantly Mexican. They both sponsor immigrants.”
“Cheap labor.” Titus scowled. “They’re not paying you fairly, P.”
“I know. It’s OK though. It’s part of the process. When I become a citizen, it’ll be worth it.”
“It still makes me burn.”