Echo Soul Seekers

shame in heeding an old man’s wisdom.”

 
    fifteen
    Dace
    The last person I expect to see when I enter my mom’s house is Leftfoot. Yet, there he is, sitting at her kitchen table, hunched over a steaming mug of freshly brewed piñon coffee. Caught in midconversation when he says, “… simply vanished. But we know that’s not true.”
    He shoots Chepi a meaningful look, as her face goes grim in a way I don’t often see. The two of them so lost in thought, it’s a moment before they notice me.
    “Dace!” My mother leaps to her feet, her expression arranging to one I can’t read. Is it guilt—surprise—reproach ? Before I can decide, she’s rushing toward me, folding me into her arms and brushing a hand over my hair.
    I return the hug. Clutch her tightly to me, then gently pry myself free. My gaze darting between them, I say, “I need answers.”
    “Why aren’t you at school?” Chepi’s large brown eyes narrow on mine. Attempting to deflect a conversation she’d prefer not to have. “Winter Break starts next week.”
    “Mother, please.” My voice is as strained as the expression I wear on my face as I claim the empty chair between them, unwilling to play this particular game. “It’s time you leveled with me and told me the truth.”
    Leftfoot mumbles something about needing to leave. But before he can get very far, I say, “As it happens, I need you here too.”
    He locks eyes with me and returns to his seat. Directing his words to my mother, he says, “Chepi, it’s time. You can’t avoid this day forever.”
    Chepi kneads the table with hands calloused from years of jewelry making—the turquoise and silver pieces once coveted by galleries and tourists alike. But over the last decade, the galleries have all closed, and Enchantment has fallen way off the tourist path. Forcing her to make frequent trips to Santa Fe, where she hawks her wares in the plaza, trying to keep us afloat.
    “I know what happened to you on the Day of the Dead,” I begin, hoping to spare her from reliving that hell. “I know what Leandro did. I know what I am, what Cade is, and how we were made. I know you were not at all responsible for what happened to you. I know how hard it must’ve been for you to look at me for the last sixteen years—”
    “No!” Her hand finds mine, squeezing with surprising force when she says, “Don’t you believe it—it’s not at all true!”
    I free myself from her grip, rock my chair back until it’s balanced on two legs. An act that always resulted in a disapproving look followed by a verbal reprimand when I was a child but goes unnoticed today.
    “You are my son. I have never once regretted bearing you. You were destined to come to me.” Her fingers twist nervously.
    Destined. Yes. I study my hands, deciding what to say next.
    My thoughts interrupted by Leftfoot saying, “Dace, I’m sorry. There were many times I wanted to tell you, but—”
    “But I wouldn’t permit it,” Chepi breaks in. “I thought that by ignoring it, I could avoid it. Stupid, I know.” She shakes her head. “But when I saw you with the girl—”
    “Daire. The girl’s name is Daire.” My gut twists in anguish when a vision of her blooms in my head.
    “Yes.” Chepi nods. “When I saw you with her, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the truth was revealed. Still, even then, there never seemed a good time to tell you. Though please know that I never set out to lie to you or deceive you. I only wanted to protect you from the kind of regretful thoughts you’re now having.”
    My gaze meets my mother’s, and just like that , all the anger I’d cultivated during the course of a long torturous night dissolves as though it never existed. She’s suffered more than any person rightfully should. There’s no reason to rebuke her for hoarding her secrets. No reason to drag her any deeper into this than I already have.
    Though when I try to tell her as much, insisting Leftfoot and I can take it from here, a long dormant strength rises to the surface. “You deserve an explanation,” Chepi says. “You deserve to know the truth.”
    I steal a moment to steady myself. Despite barging in and insisting on this, I need time to prepare.
    She stares at the opposite wall as though the memory is imprinted upon it. Her shoulders sinking, posture softening, as the corner of her lip lifts ever so slightly—in such contrast to the hardened jaw and clenched fists I would’ve expected.
    “I was so very