Chapter 7: The Silence Between Us
Beneath the Weight of Water | 1980s Mexican American Women’s Fiction
Previously:
Lucia chose a version of herself that matched the life she was trying to build. For one brief moment, being seen by Matteo felt like possibility instead of danger. But confidence was fragile, and home was still waiting.
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Matteo
There are things which man is afraid to tell even to himself.
~Fyodor Dostoevsky
Lucia’s neighborhood came into view, at once familiar and foreign. Modest stucco homes with rust-stained bars lined the street. Sun-bleached murals of the Virgin Mary, lowriders, and Aztec warriors kept silent watch from the corner stores. Like her, the place wore its faith and fear in every line. Her fingers pressed the car door. Her shoulders were locked, her breath, small and contained. “Do I really look okay?”
“Yes.” He caught her glance. “You’re very pretty.”
“Liar.” Her gaze snapped away. It was a quick and sharp retreat he recognized as an echo of her grandmother stripping away her confidence. She looked toward her home, and her shoulders folded as if she had already stepped back into that house. He noticed that her breath was barely moving in her chest.
He reached for her hand, as though her sharp answer had not landed. Her eyes dropped to his hand. Too late, he realized he shouldn’t have reached for her. He had crossed a line she needed him to keep. She pulled her hand back.
“Anyone who tears you down is lying.”
“Good luck with Carol.” Her words were tight, jealousy threaded through her voice, subtle, but not subtle enough to fool him.
His expression slipped, a flash of hurt before he smoothed it away. Knuckles white on the wheel, he swallowed hard. He should have ended things with Carol long ago.
A gentle tap on the window made them both turn. Matteo smiled at the Black woman standing beside his car, gardening gloves and a trowel in hand.
“Babies.” Her voice was firm, word landing like the tap of a gavel.
“Yes, ma’am?” he responded, softening his voice to a velvet warmth.
“My husband and I,” the woman said, “watch you drop this little lady off late at night. Right out here.”
Not late. Always by ten. He got out of the car. Lucia followed his lead like a soldier scanning for snipers. He recognized she was bracing for whoever might twist the sight of them into trouble.
“I’m Matteo Johnson, and my friend is Lucia Perez. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He extended his hand.
“I’m Mrs. Linda, and my husband is Mr. Jamar,” the woman said, taking his hand in hers. Her husband’s nod was smooth, earned over a long, probably happy, marriage. She slipped the trowel into her pocket and shook her head. “Now, I know you can’t take her to her door if you drop her here. Parents aren’t always… open-minded.”
He nodded. In her grandmother’s mind, a white boy was a greater threat than Lucia changing buses downtown at night.
Mrs. Linda lowered her chin. “Baby. A girl was raped here a few months back. You need to take care of this young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The promise settled heavier than he liked to admit. He could never forget how easily people made promises they couldn’t keep. Fatigue dragged at his limbs, hidden by practiced ease. “I will take care of it.”
“If you park in our driveway, one of us will walk with her to make sure she is safe,” said Mrs. Linda. Mr. Jamar nodded at her side, more mountain than man.
“I live two houses down, just around the corner,” Lucia whispered. He nearly dragged a hand through his hair.
“We enjoy walking, baby,” Mrs. Linda assured her. “Ain’t no bother to us. Mr. Jamar was the pediatrician for many of the neighborhood kids, and I was the elementary school teacher for the rest. No one will give us any trouble.”
Admiration flickered in Lucia’s eyes, but he knew her rhythm: hesitation, silence, retreat, like the pull of the tide. Then, she surprised him, stepping out from behind him.
“Please, don’t worry.” Her voice clipped, but determined. “I’ll just go back to taking the bus. I don’t want to trouble you.”
Matteo saw the tension in her jaw, a familiar warning that owing anyone might feel more dangerous to her than walking home alone.
Mr. Jamar’s voice was rich, low, like an old vinyl record. “Wouldn’t be offering if it was trouble, young lady.”
Mrs. Linda smiled, a teacher encouraging a skittish student. “We’re up till all hours watching our shows, so don’t worry about disturbing us. Old folk don’t sleep like working people do.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Matteo said. “Would nine o’clock work for you folks?”
Lucia’s hand slipped into his, and he felt the quiet plea in her gesture. He drew a steady breath, met her eyes, and allowed himself a small smile.
“It would be mighty fine with us,” said Mr. Jamar.
Matteo inclined his head in gratitude. His thoughts looped back to the promise he’d made. Her shoulders eased, as if the weight of the barrio, its kinship and its judgment, had lifted just enough to let her trust someone. He felt the change, a small step to a new faith. He let it anchor him.
Outside his bedroom, the surf worked to lull him to sleep, as it did every night. But Matteo lay awake in the dark, the ceiling a dim blur. The only thing he liked about the medication he took was how easily it carried him under. It had never failed before.
His thoughts returned to Mrs. Linda’s warning, to the weight of her voice when she said, Take care of this young lady. The thought of failing Lucia the way others had failed him tightened something low in his chest.
He remembered his mother whispering promises while he lay beneath hospital sheets, her mouth trembling against his cheek. She promised it was the last spinal, one more blood transfusion, new medication that wouldn’t make him sick. Promises, even tender ones, dissolved easily under the pressure of reality.
Outside the hum of a car engine rolled past, a voice called down the street, and laughter cut through the surf. He turned onto his side, pulse quick, eyes wide, and breathed until calm returned and a cold ripple moved across his skin despite the warmth of the room.
He would keep his word, because he was determined to be the safety Lucia needed. No lies. Just the truth. The best he had to give.
As the sounds faded, he felt it. Control, like sleep, was elusive. He had to try because the moment he let go, his family shaped his life without mercy.
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Have you made a promise to someone while secretly fearing you might not be strong enough to keep it?
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8: New Friend
Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Alex offers Lucia the future Abuela wants for her, so she lies to him to keep Saturday free for Matteo, whose pull frightens her.
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Author’s note
Mrs. Linda asks Matteo to take care of Lucia, and to anyone else, that might sound simple. He knows it is not. Early in life, his body forced him to learn that promises can be loving, sincere, and still fail under the weight of reality: hospital rooms, whispered assurances, one more procedure, one more medication, one more reason to believe the worst was almost over.
When he promises to keep Lucia safe, he is not making a romantic gesture. He is accepting responsibility.
Matteo does not want to repeat the failures of the people who promised safety and could not give it. He wants his care to mean something solid. But wanting to protect someone and having the power to protect them are not the same thing.
Matteo does not fear responsibility because he wants less of Lucia. He fears it because he knows care can fail even when love is real.
Copyright © 2026 Angelica Thorne
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