Blood Brothers

By Laura Roybal

Jason Delgado is sent to live with his grandparents after he gets shot at a school dance. His estranged father lives there along with his cousin James. His resentment towards his father and cousin festers until he learns the truth about his cousin James.

• Language: English
• Publisher: All About Kids Publishing
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781733046862

Book preview

HOMECOMING

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday when I pulled up at my grandparents’ house: quiet, warm and sunny. I was supposed to have come the day before, but I didn’t want to come at all, and I’d made excuses—lame ones—and put it off as long as my mom would allow it. I was too tired Saturday. I was in pain. I had taken the pain drugs the doctor gave me and was in no condition to drive. I gave in and drove on Sunday mainly because if I didn’t, Mom would bring me. If she brought me, I’d not only be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, I’d lose my wheels. Blackmail, of course. But effective.

My Grandma Rios has lived in three different places in the past ten years. Every time I go to see her, she’s got a new apartment, a bigger condo, or at least she’s redecorated the old one again. Nothing is ever the same at her place of residence, wherever that might be. Here, at my Grandma and Grandpa Delgado’s, though, nothing ever changes. I even seem to be here at the same time of day, when the sun is sinking behind the high ridge on the opposite side of the narrow river valley, shooting arrows and streamers of gold at the battered old log cabin that my grandfather built a couple millennium back. The cabin is perched on the side of the mountain, almost half-way up from the valley floor. The height lets it catch the last rays of sunlight after the valley itself is in shadow, and gives it a commanding view of the river, the neighbor’s junk yard, a goat pen, and a two-lane blacktop road that snakes along the canyon crossing and recrossing the river. The front of the cabin hangs out in space, supported by huge log pillars. Between the logs firewood is always stacked, and a narrow, rickety staircase leads up to a broad screened-in front porch that would be a wonderful place to watch the sunset, but I’d never seen anybody sitting out there enjoying it.

Never and always. Words people over-use these days, but at Grandpa Delgado’s house, words that are accurate.

Never and always.

I never feel comfortable in this house. Mainly because James is always there.

James is not my father’s son by another marriage or an outside girlfriend. He’s just a cousin, Dad’s sister’s kid. I still have memories of him and his mother as part of family get-togethers when I was little, when my parents still lived together and we all went to Thanksgiving dinner or Fourth of July picnics at Grandma’s house. James was just another cousin then, one of forty or so (Dad came from a big family), shy and quiet but my age—almost to the minute—so we hung out together, were pretty close. His parents split up when he was about five, and he and his mother lived with Grandma and Grandpa after that. I saw him a lot more often then, and for a couple years we were best friends. Then my mom and dad divorced and Mom and I moved away to Albuquerque. For the first year, Dad came to visit me every month, and we’d do divorced-dad activities like check out the zoo, the museums, go to a baseball game. Then one Saturday, he brought James with him when he came to visit. It was okay, because we were still good buddies, and we had a good time that weekend. And the next month, and the next. Something about Delgados, though. They all seem to live in that world of absolutes. Always and never. Dad always brought James when he came to visit me after that. He never came alone. He’d moved into his parents’ house, meantime, he lived with James, saw him every day. But when he made the drive in to Albuquerque to visit me, his only real child, he brought James along, too. Always. He stopped coming when I was nine because I told him to stop. I guess I’m half Delgado myself. If I couldn’t have my father all to myself, I didn’t want him at all. Always, never.

I had visited my grandparents a few times over the years, trying to time my visits so I’d arrive when Dad was up hunting in the mountains (with James), or off on a fishing trip to Navajo Lake (with James), or up in the high country, chasing Grandpa’s cattle (with James). I hadn’t seen either of them in a lot of years, and I could have gone the rest of my life the same way. Always visiting when they were out, never seeing either of them again. Except for a cop’s favorite phrase—gang related—that threw my mother into a panic so she sent me packing to get me away from the evils of the city to live a clean, healthy and, hopefully, long country-boy life with my grandmother and grandfather Delgado. And my father.

And James.

One heck of a punishment for kissing a girl at a school dance.

As I stood at the bottom of those rickety, open stairs leading up to the screen porch above my head, I thought of that kiss again, the vague memory I had of it. The taste of girl and cookies, the flash of heat as her hip ground against me. And déjà vu became fact instead of daydreams when soft, feminine arms wrapped around my neck. Silky hair smelling of shampoo brushed my cheek, and warm, full lips pressed up against my mouth.

Shocked, I staggered back from the girl who’d gripped me, leaning against the rail to catch my breath, and to slow my heart to normal. I had a glimpse of deep brown eyes, thick honey-gold hair, and a mischievous smile. I fell in love.

It wasn’t like being drunk and passionate. It was the high that drugs promise but never can deliver. I felt alive, on top of the world, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I felt like laughing out loud. I restrained myself, though. I smiled as warmly as I could and said, Hello there!

Suddenly she clapped both hands to her mouth and stared at me in horror.

You’re not James! she informed me.

The jealousy I had felt for my cousin for years exploded, blinding and vicious as a force of nature.

MAX

You must be Jason, she said, when she recovered herself a little. This is so embarrassing! Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?

James’ girlfriend. Beautiful, of course. James always did seem to get the best of everything. But I fought down the volcano in my soul and gave her a smile instead of the fury that I felt. Losing it isn’t cool.

I don’t feel damaged, I said. Try it again, though, and we can find out for sure.

Yeah, you’re Christy’s boy all right! she grinned, rolling her eyes. I’m Max. I just came by actually to see if you’d gotten here yet, cause I know everyone was kind of worried about you. You don’t look sick, though. Or badly damaged. Been here long?

About fifteen seconds, I said.

Oh! You mean you haven’t... You just...

No, I haven’t.

Well, your grandma’s waiting for you! Come on, let’s go tell her you’re here!

She caught my hand in hers and dashed up the steep, narrow steps. She didn’t exactly drag me with her, but given a choice, I’d have gone up a little slower. At the top of the steps was a screen door that had a squeak like a cat being tortured (always had). She threw that open and hurried across the bare floorboards to the front door of the house, which she also flung open (it was never locked) and she stepped into the living room, shouting, Hey! He’s here!

The main part of the cabin was one long, narrow room that went from the front door straight to the back. Grandma was in the kitchen, the back part of that big room, cut off from the living-dining area by a counter rising up from the floor and cupboards hanging from the ceiling so that all that was visible of her was her shoulders. She came around the partition, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She did not run across the room and hug me. My grandma was a sweet lady, but not very demonstrative. She stood there in the kitchen doorway and smiled, her small black eyes sparkling with warmth and gladness.

Hi Grandma, I said. I crossed the room to her and bent to give her a light hug around the shoulders. Her hands, which were lined and veined, were still slender and strong. She patted my shoulder with one and smiled up at me.

¿Cómo estás? she asked. How do you feel? Do you need to rest after the drive? We could have gone to pick you up.

No, I’m fine. I was just being lazy, I said.

She smiled, but there was knowledge in her eyes. She patted me again, because women of her generation don’t argue with their men-folk, even grandsons who tell palpable lies.

Come, sit down, she said. I’ve been sitting for over an hour, I said, referring to the drive. Maybe I should start getting unloaded.

Wait for your daddy to come before you do that, she said. You want some enchiladas?

You talked me into it, I said.

She smiled, pointed at a chair at the table, then glanced at Max. Siente te, she said. Sit.

Oh, I probably shouldn’t stay... the girl said.

You sit, keep him company, Grandma said.

Max smiled at me, causing my heart to skip about four beats, and she pulled out the chair opposite me. Her skin was honey-gold, smooth and rich more than dark. Her hair was like streaks of light, from corn silk to deep amber to soft brown. Dark brown eyes, dead black eyebrows and long, achingly beautiful eyelashes.

Are you sure you’re okay? she asked me, leaning across the table to whisper the question under the clattering sounds Grandma made in the kitchen.

How old are you? I asked.

Fifteen. Why? she said.

Not old enough to get married without your parents’ permission, I said sadly.

I don’t intend to get married, she said. At least not till I finish my sophomore year in high school.

Well, we could just live together, then. I would consider that a commitment without a formal ceremony. We could get the license as soon as you’re of legal age. What exactly are you staring at, anyway?

Looking for scars, she said. I didn’t know you had a head injury.

The wound is to my heart, I said, imitating the way my English teacher always talked when he read Shakespeare to us. There is but a single cure for such debilitating damage. Wouldst thou consider dumping mine cousin James?

Dumping James? she asked, looking surprised. Then she laughed. Oh, well, it was worth a try. Grandma came in then with plates and silverware and began laying places at the table, and Max abandoned me to help her. Grandma laid four places automatically, then remembered five, then added a sixth, pulling up spare chairs around the table. Grandma and Max brought stuff out in waves: a bowl of beans, a bowl of sopaipillas and homemade bread, a pitcher of juice, glasses. Grandma paused to look in the oven, but then came back out and sat down in Grandpa’s usual chair. The enchiladas, I guessed, weren’t quite ready.

So, where is everybody? I asked.

A cow is sick, Grandma said. "Tu grumpa y tu daddy went up to check on her."

And James, I said.

"Sí, el James también."

Of course James, too. I wondered if Dad went to the bathroom without taking James with him.

How is your mama? Grandma asked. "And... uh... ¿cómo sé llama?

Alan, I reminded her. They’re both doing good.

He’s a good man, no?

Alan? Yeah, he’s okay. He works, and he’s not into beating wives or anything. They’re having a kid.

¿Tu mama?

Yeah. Around March, I guess. A boy, so they tell me.

So, you will have a brother. That’s good.

Is it? I said. The kid wouldn’t even be able to sit up by the time I left for college. He’d be a half brother, and I’d never know him anyway. But, Mom was all happy. Lose one kid, gain another. Maybe she’d have a couple with Alan, have herself a whole new family.

Don’t you want a brother? Max asked me, grinning.

I’ve lived without one all my life. At this stage, I don’t think it makes a lot of difference.

Well, isn’t James almost like a brother to you?

She was teasing, I could see it in her eyes. But the subject was too close to real hurt for me to want to joke about. Instead, I said, Who did you say you were anyway?

You don’t know Max? Grandma asked, looking surprised.

We just introduced ourselves a few minutes ago, I said.

"Oh, sí. Her gramma is la Adelita Valencia."

Country people talk like that. They introduce you to someone by telling you who their parents or grandparents are, instead of what you’d like to know, like what school they go to, whether or not they can drive, how long and how seriously they’ve been dating your cousin.

Oh, she’s Adelita’s granddaughter, I said, nodding wisely. Oh, sure, that explains it all.

Adelita is our neighbor, Grandma said, looking a little displeased with my sarcasm. To the north. They have goats. Adelita makes the best goat cheese in the canyon.

I’ll have to remember that, I said. I made a motion with my hand like I was tacking something sticky on Max’s forehead and said, Goat cheese.

Grandma smiled and shook her head, then she cocked it sideways, listening. My city-tainted ears caught the sound a few moments later: a low-geared truck growling down off the mountain. Grandma got up and went back into the kitchen to put on the coffee.

Need some help? Max asked her. She had a great mouth, lips full and soft. I could remember the feel of those lips very clearly.

Grandma answered her, the Spanish too fast for me to catch, and Max stood up again and gave me a sassy smile as she slipped past into the kitchen. I wondered if James still looked like me. Grandma had always made a big deal over the resemblance when we were kids. Maybe I could talk him into taking the Camaro to Albuquerque and cruising up and down Central. Ray-Ray, or some other gang-type would think it was me, blow his brains out, and I could sit up here and comfort Max. And, while I played that movie scene in my head, the back door opened and three men stomped inside.

JAMES

My grandma was a tiny woman, not quite five feet tall. But the men in the family tended to be big. My grandfather was slightly over six feet tall. My dad was six-two, and at seventeen and still growing, I had passed him by an inch and a half already. James was the exact same height as me. They tromped through the door in order: Big, Bigger, Biggest, like the three billy goats of the fairy tale, only reversed in age. Grandpa had lost weight since I last saw him. His shoulders were thinner and more rounded, his hair more gray, his face more lined. He was still a commanding presence in the house, though. He came through the kitchen into the dining room and stopped at my chair.

Jason, he said.

I stood up and offered a hand to shake, which he accepted. Good to see you Grandpa.

You don’t look like you’re dying, he said.

If I was, I wouldn’t have driven out here alone.

He nodded again, accepting the logic in that and said, Are you in a gang?

No, I said honestly.

His eyes stared into mine, long and hard. Finally, he nodded. He patted me on the shoulder and went into the bathroom to wash up for dinner. With him gone, I was standing face to face with my father. Taller than Grandpa, he was also bigger in the chest and shoulders. His hair was still mostly dark brown, his beard starting to go noticeably salt-and-pepper.

Long time, Jason, he said softly.

Yeah, well, we’ve both been busy.

Busy wasn’t why I hadn’t seen him in years and he darn well knew it. He nodded though, letting me get away with the lie and said, I’m glad you came.

Are you? I asked.

I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Have you been here long?

A few minutes is all.

Why don’t you go upstairs with James, get washed up for dinner. We’ll get you moved in afterwards.

I nodded, and he passed by, heading for the living room to wait his turn in the bathroom. James had his own toilet and sink upstairs, in the narrow attic that was his bedroom. He looked at me once, hostile as I was feeling, nodded briefly, and squeezed through to the hall to pull down the attic stairs. I followed him, as per instructions. Upstairs was a very narrow room, a sort of rectangle raised up out of the center of the rectangular house. It was where all the grandkids stayed when we slept over, back before James moved in full time, so I knew it pretty well. In the front, at the top of the stairs, was an area little more than a wide open space. It had once held a couch, a couple beat up kid-sized chairs, and a shelf full of ancient games and toys. It was fixed up now with a twin bed, a dresser, and a little book case that doubled as a night stand. My room, apparently. The back half, separated by a wall that went most of the way across the attic, was a slightly larger area with the half-bath, a small closet, a full bed, bookcase, dresser and desk. Just what I always wanted. To share a bedroom with James.

Not.

James didn’t wait for me to get up before he slipped through the gap at the end of the wall to get to his own side of the room. I followed him, with another odd feeling of déjà vu. Kids had been exiled to wash up here in years past. I remembered James and I, many years ago, getting muscled out of the way by older male cousins, flicking water at shrieking female cousins. Now, I waited in the corner, watching while he flipped on the left hand faucet, washed his hands and face, grabbed the towel to dry, and stepped aside to let me use the sink. The sink sat right there next to an ancient toilet that reminded me of the Coke I’d drunk on the road to help keep me alert. James was standing there, though, staring at me, waiting for me. The toilet would wait. And meantime, I thought, this arrangement sucks. James would always have privacy, I never would. Back to the land of the absolutes. I flipped on the left hand faucet like James had done, stuck my hands under it, and nearly scalded them both off.

It was the same old sink from childhood, so old it not only had two handles, but two separate faucets on the left and right for hot and cold water. But the hot water heater was on the back porch. If you could get there first and wash fast, you could use cold-to-luke- warm water out of the hot water faucet, and leave the scalding hot water for the next idiot in line. Which is why the older cousins used to elbow and shove to