Material Witness by Lisa Mondello, L. A. Mondello Page B

agent she’d met three seconds before climbing into the
car. She wasn't eighteen anymore, but she was once again on the run.
    “How'd it happen?” Jake ask.
    “Emilio?”
    He nodded.
    “Well, like I said, it was spring
break. My father was livid I’d gone to Miami.”
    “He was angry you went to visit your
family?”
    “Yes, well, no, not really for
visiting my family. It was because I went to Miami without telling him. I
didn’t tell anyone. I just showed up on my grandmother’s doorstep one day. She
was so thrilled.”
    Cassie laughed just thinking about
how her grandmother had called all her neighbors from the front porch to tell
them her little Juanita had come home.
    “My father didn’t want me to travel
to Miami. He'd said if I wanted family around, he would have paid for them to
come visit us in Stamford. He just didn't understand.”
    “I'm afraid I don't, either.”
    She laughed quietly, without the
bitterness she'd felt her whole life about her father's reasons for not wanting
to return to Miami.
    “My dad didn't have an easy
childhood. Things were rough for his family when they first came over from
Cuba. That's something I was spared because I grew up in a nice middle class
Connecticut neighborhood, well away from the prejudice he'd encountered in his
life. He worked hard, not only building his business up in Stamford, but
building his self-esteem.”
    “Something to be proud of.”
    “Yes, and I am. Unfortunately, it
built a wide gap between me and my only other family here. It wasn’t just the
cultural differences either. He tried hard to blend into the mainstream,
leaving his culture behind. He wanted to be American in all ways that counted.
I doubt I'll ever know everything that caused him to leave Miami. He doesn't
speak much of that time. But I got a good glimpse of it the day Emilio died.”
    “You mean, you were there…when it
happened?”
    Cassie swallowed hard. She'd always
wondered if things would have been different if she hadn't gone to Miami. Maybe
Emilio would still be alive.
    “I remember it was this gloriously
perfect sunny day, and Emilio and I had just come home from the beach. I loved
the beach and the warm water.
    “Anyway, we were just sitting on the
porch with my grandmother, dumping the sand from my beach bag.”
    She paused for a minute, running her
hand over her cheek as if to wipe away the image. But it remained.
    “A man started yelling in Spanish.
He’d apparently followed us up from the beach. I didn't understand any of it
because I don't speak it fluently. My parents only spoke English, even in the
house. The next thing I knew my grandmother was screaming and the man had
grabbed me by the hair. He'd pulled a gun, was waving it around like a flag and
laughing. Emilio was shouting in Spanish. I had no idea what he was saying.
Then I was thrown aside and Emilio was lying on the ground bleeding.”
    Cassie swallowed down the acrid taste
of bile. The sound of the gunshot, the smell of gunpowder still seemed to choke
the air around her with startling clarity, even after all these years.
    “The man who shot him didn't even
run. He wasn’t scared at all. He just stood there laughing as Emilio bled on
the dirt, like taking my cousin's life was nothing. Then he looked at me and my
grandmother—I'll never forget his face—he said we were next.”
    Jake swore then. It didn't shock her,
like the plethora of expletives she'd heard that day during the shooting. Or
the look in the eyes of her cousin's killer.
    “So this is nothing but a reoccurring
nightmare,” Jake said almost to himself.
    Sighing, she said, “That's putting it
mildly. I testified then. My grandmother didn't. Even though she witnessed the
murder, she refused to believe it happened. She was too frightened. I don't
blame her. It was pretty horrible.
    “My father was furious at me, both
for going to Miami and for doing what I thought was right.”
    Jake reached across the seat and
covered his hand over