THE QUIET

1. Mariana

1

MARIANA

The first time Zac Topper ever talked to me I was fifteen years old. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school and shortly after Abuelito, my grandfather, had suffered a heart attack and passed on.

My parents had been gone for over five years by this point, and I’d been staying on a pull-out couch in Abuelito’s office ever since. But when my grandmother became a widow, I started sleeping next to her each night to help her through the nightmares that plagued her.

She hadn’t taken his passing well, so I liked to be on hand as much as possible in case she needed anything.

Which she did. A lot.

On the same day of his funeral, after we’d all gone home, Lita sent me back down to the cemetery with a handful of freshly picked yellow dahlias to put on his grave.

“Dahlias were his favorite,” she fussed. “And I didn’t see any during the service. So you run along, now, Mariana. Take these down to him. He’ll need something with him on this trip to the Land of the Dead.”

So I went.

It was hot, early August, and the locusts were screaming around me as I walked the three miles to the cemetery from our collection of three trailer houses that our family had positioned in the shape of a U to contain the entire Ruiz clan. My flip-flops slapped against the gravel road, kicking dust onto my ankles as sweat poured down the center of my spine.

The dahlias had wilted twenty minutes back.

A lump of fresh earth was still piled next to the burial plot when I arrived. I slowed, realizing the gaping hole that housed Abuelito’s casket hadn’t yet been filled.

For some reason, knowing he was still exposed made my heart start to thump a little harder.

It’d been different when my entire family had been around me. But now, I shivered and crept forward, not wanting to go any closer. As soon as I was within tossing distance, I chucked the wilted flowers forward and watched them disappear into the hole.

Then I eased a folded note from the pocket of my dress and took a deep breath. Since I couldn’t voice my final goodbye aloud, I’d written down everything I wanted to say instead. But when I pitched the paper forward to toss that into the hole, too, the breeze caught it, and it drifted to the right, away from the grave, where it sailed straight into the heap of dirt waiting to cover him and lodged itself firmly.

With a whimper of frustration, I scowled at the note for not going where it was supposed to go.

But I couldn’t just leave it there, above ground, where anyone could come along and read it. If one of my cousins got their hands on it, they’d make fun of me mercilessly. I just knew it.

So I heaved out a disgusted breath and took a single step forward. When that didn’t kill me, I took another and another until I was right there and staring down at the top of Abuelito’s casket.

I swallowed, staring death in the eye, and forgot all about the—

“Hey!” an indignant voice shouted from behind me.

I jumped and spun around, stumbling enough that one foot slipped into the hole. With a squeak of fear, I lurched away from the grave, only to find a tall, irate-looking figure storming toward me.

“What the f**k do you think you’re—oh…shit.” Lifting his hand to block the sunlight from his eyes, the boy jarred to a stop the moment he recognized me.

I knew who he was, too, of course. Everyone did. He’d been in my cousin Camilo’s class in school, which would make him currently eighteen.

Honestly, Zac Topper probably wouldn’t stand out in a crowd if it weren’t for the fact that he was thought of as the worst character in town. He was tall—his mouth would probably hit my forehead if we were to stand face to face—and on the skinny side but packed with wiry muscle. His hair was a nondescript dirty blond, his eyes an unremarkable hazel, and his eyebrows could use a good plucking while his teeth weren’t as straight as they could’ve been. But with such a bad-boy aura vibrating around him and that defiant, make-me dare permanently creased into his expression, he was shiveringly attractive.

Because of his dismal reputation, however, he couldn’t seem to get a decent job and therefore usually ended up doing all the dirty, manual-labor things that no one else wanted to do. Like digging and covering graves by hand in these older cemeteries that didn’t like backhoes rumbling through them and tearing up the topsoil.

Most people thought he’d torched the old Runicker place a couple of months back. It had been abandoned for years, but that didn’t seem to matter; the rumor had gone around that he’d done it, so people liked to whisper arsonist whenever he walked by.

I was pretty sure Lula Everett was behind that particular line of gossip, though, since Zac’s mamá had been the secretary of Lula’s papá for years now, and it was a well-known fact that Grace Topper did a whole lot more than just secretary-ing for Jude Everett.

In return, Lula took all her rage over her papá’s affair out on poor Zac.

Since I never talked, people seemed to think I couldn’t hear either, and they said the most incriminating things in front of me, not seeming to care that I was right there. And let me tell you, I’d caught Lula spreading some serious whoppers about Zac.

But even knowing he couldn’t be as guilty of all the malfeasance everyone in town thought he was, I lurched a step back, anyway, startled by how mad he appeared. I nearly tripped back into Abuelito’s grave all over again.

At my reaction, Zac tossed down the menacing shovel he’d been carrying over his shoulder and lifted both hands into the air to show me he was harmless.

“Didn’t realize it was you,” he explained. “I thought someone was robbing your grandpa.”

When I merely blinked at him, he cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck before motioning toward the open grave. “I was only going to fill in the dirt,” he explained and made the motion of digging.

I inched another step away from the hole, unable to take my leery gaze off him, and he flushed before flailing his hand. “No. Go ahead and stay. It’s alright. You probably want to give him your last—hey!” Cutting himself off, he shook his head and then tipped his face as he squinted at me. “You heard me coming,” he announced in surprise. “You heard me and turned around to face me.”

I squinted right back at him and then nodded.

He shook his head again, looking equally perplexed before he finally just blurted, “But aren’t you supposed to be deaf?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, as this was not the first time I’d heard that very common misconception.

I always kept a pen and pad of paper with me, though, so I pulled it from my pocket before jotting down, “I’m mute. Not deaf.”

When I turned to show him the words, he blinked at the notepad, then glanced at my face in reservation before he hesitantly stepped forward to read what I’d written.

A second later, he snorted and lifted his gaze to mine. “Seriously? But everyone says you’re deaf.”

I nodded and then wrote some more. “Well, obviously everyone else is wrong.”

That made his mouth twitch in amusement. “There’s a shocker,” he agreed dryly.

When he made eye contact again, something in his hazel depths seemed to find a kinship with me as if he could tell just how much I understood him. We both knew how gossip became more truth than actual fact in these parts.

“They usually are wrong, aren’t they?” he added in a warm, private murmur.

My stomach dipped at his tone, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling this connected to anyone else before.

It was intoxicating.

Not wanting the moment to end, I held up a finger before quickly scribbling, “You would know better than anyone.”

He squinted after reading my note and shook his head, letting me know he didn’t understand.

So I wrote some more. “I heard YOU couldn’t read.”

When I showed him that one, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Is that so?” he asked with interest. “Then why did you bother writing to me in the first place?”

I shrugged before writing again. “To see if everything Lula Everett says about you is true or not.”

Reading Lula’s name made him narrow his eyes. “Hmm. Well…” He took a step back and motioned toward the grave. “I’ll go ahead and let you have some alone time with your grandfather before I cover him up. Take as long as you need.”

He started to turn away from me, but I reached out and grabbed his wrist.

I felt his muscles twitch in surprise under my hand, but he didn’t pull away. Glancing back, he lifted his eyebrows in question.

I motioned to the grave.

“You saying you’re already done with your goodbyes?” he guessed.

I nodded. So he nodded too. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll get started.”

As he picked up his shovel, I wrote, “Thank you for covering him. He never could sleep without a blanket.”

He read the words when I showed them to him, and he bobbed his head once, then dipped his chin as if embarrassed by my gratitude. “Yep,” he mumbled.

Ignoring me from there on out, he plowed the shovel tip into the dirt and got to work.

I watched him for a bit, then released a breath and turned in the direction of the family complex to trudge home. But I didn’t get very far down the road before I remembered…

My note!

With a horrified gasp, I whirled back, hoping Zac hadn’t seen it while he was shoveling.

If all remained right in the world, he hadn’t even noticed it and had already heaped it into the grave along with a shovelful of dirt, right where it was supposed to end up anyway with no one being the wiser. But as I rounded a cypress, I realized it was too late.

He’d already found it.

I jerked to a stop as I watched him crouch and lean forward, arm outstretched until he had the crisp, white folded sheet tucked between two fingers. “What’s this?”

Pressing a hand over my mouth, I shook my head, wishing I could call out a warning and beg him to leave it alone. But he was already unfolding the note and skimming the contents.

With a wince, I sank an embarrassed step back and wondered what he must think of me now. Probably that I was a silly nitwit of a girl that he was going to laugh at whenever we passed each other on the street.

Pausing, he pointed to the sheet as he glanced down at Abuelito’s coffin.

“I think this was meant for you, bud,” he told my departed grandfather. “Want me to read it out loud?”

I blinked, startled that he would offer such a thing.

Curious to find out if he actually did read it to Abuelito, I stayed where I was and kept my presence quiet, holding my breath until he cleared his throat and started in.

“Que…rido Abuelito,” he said slowly, butchering the pronunciation of the letter’s salutation horribly.

With a brief glance up, he added, “I’m going to guess that means Dear Grandpa.”

I smiled and nodded. Which, of course, he didn’t see.

Then, he continued, carrying on more smoothly, since the rest was written in English.

It’s not the same here without you. Lita still sets a place at the table for you and then pretends you never existed. We’re not allowed to speak your name around her, and she spends most days wandering around as if lost.

In your absence, your sons are fighting for the patriarchy. Quietly. Without their mamá noticing. But she probably wouldn’t anyway, even if they shouted and brawled. I think a piece of her has gone away with you.

Your absence is the loudest at night when Lita puts the television on for you, but no one sits in your chair to watch it.

I miss your gruff voice most or maybe your gnarled, wrinkled hands that will never kindly pat me on the head again, or possibly even that secret smile you always sent me whenever Lita and Tio Franco argued.

I wish you all the happiness in your journey to the great beyond, even though selfishly, I wish you could’ve stayed here longer. I doubt anyone will ever sneak me an extra piece of their favorite candy again like you always did. But your path is leading in a different direction now, and I’ll try to respect that, even though this sadness is oppressive and painful.

If you see my mamá and papá, tell them hola for me. I miss them too. I promise to keep Lita from wandering off too far, and I’ll remember all the wise things you told me. Take care in the Land of the Dead. See you on Día de los Muertos.

Besos y abrazos,

Mariana

Zac once again stumbled over the closing salutation, but I didn’t even care. Tears filled my eyes, and I just wanted to thank him for doing this for me, for saying aloud what I could not.

“Huh,” he murmured and carefully refolded the letter as it had been. “If I could get a sweet sendoff like that someday…” He lifted the note as he continued to talk to Abuelito. “I’d consider myself a lucky man.”

I snuffled through a watery, flattered smile and wiped my eyes.

But Zac heard the sound.

Whirling around, he lurched to his feet, his eyes wide. “s**t,” he muttered as if he thought he was in trouble. “I…I— Look, I know I read your private—whoa!”

He broke off, startled as I rushed toward him. Eyes flaring with worry as if he were scared I might hurt him or something, he swallowed audibly when I stopped again.

Trying to smile at him through my tears, I set my right hand on my chin and then moved it down and toward him, thanking him in ASL.

Pure panic entered his expression. “Is that sign language?” he asked, waving his hands and taking a cautious step back. “Because I don’t—I don’t know what you just said. Here…” He extended the letter to me, trying to give it back. “I didn’t mean any harm. I only wanted to—”

He didn’t understand.

And I couldn’t continue to just stand there and let him think I was upset about what he’d done, so I rushed forward again.

“What the…?” His eyes widened and he lifted his forearm, probably to block me from slapping or hitting him or something, but I ignored it and ducked under the limb so I could wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.

“Uh…” He froze at the contact and lifted both hands this time as if to show the world that all this was my doing, not his.

I held on to him for nearly ten seconds, until I felt his muscles shift and change, finally accepting my hug for what it was. Then, and only then, did I release him and lift my face. His pale hazel eyes were wide and uncertain, gaping at me in question.

I sent him the most grateful smile I had and then cupped his face in my hands before kissing each of his cheeks.

When I pulled away, his lips were parted while his eyes were still full of shock as they focused on my face. And all that wonder on his expression made him the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.

Then, his eyebrows lifted. “So…. You were thanking me for reading the letter out loud? Because you couldn’t.”

I nodded and smiled again before I wiped a stray tear off my cheek. Then I dove back against his chest for another hug.

“Oh!” He gave a strangled laugh but awkwardly allowed it. “Okay, we’re doing this again. Um…yeah. You’re, uh, you’re welcome, I guess.” He took a step back to gain some space between us but then paused when I only stepped with him, refusing to let go.

For some reason, it felt imperative, as if it were my life mission, to teach him how to hug properly.

So I kept clinging, forcing him to endure the contact. And as I set my face against his shoulder and sighed, releasing all the sadness and grief inside me, Zac slowly, over the seconds, seemed to get it.

First, one arm tentatively came around me, slowly followed by the second until he was hugging me as fully as I was hugging him. A moment later, he murmured with more certainty, “You’re welcome.”

When I pulled away at last, he released a breath as if reluctant to break the contact, and he swayed toward me for a moment before pulling himself straight again.

I stayed in front of him for another second, facing him with an arm’s width between us, and I looked into his light, intoxicating eyes one last time.

He seemed captivated by me, and when he lifted a hand to gently touch my cheek, I felt it all the way to my toes. And I knew…

Zac Topper wasn’t as bad as everyone thought he was. He wasn’t even bad a little.

Sending him a sudden, bright smile, I tugged the note he’d just read from his surprised fingers, and I tossed it into the hole where it belonged. Then, I whirled away and ran off, leaving him to finish his digging job alone.

He laughed after me and called, “You’re most definitely welcome, Mariana Ruiz.”

Without turning back, I lifted a thumb to let him know I’d heard him.